Page 5 of Numbers Boy
“Mhmm,” she hums an affirmative sound and then turns toward Carlos. “Large black coffee.”
She pays and gestures to one of the tables. No please or thank you. No tip in either of the jars labeled for customers to vote on whether it’s pronounced “care-a-mell” or “car-mull.” Another strike against her. Maybe she just needs to warm up a bit after being out in the cold?
Henry and I sit down across from her, and he gestures back out toward the dog. “Is that your dog? He’s beautiful.”
“No, she’s one of the dogs I walk,” Miranda says slowly, eyebrows crinkled like she can’t believe he just asked that. “She’ll be fine, and by the time we’re done here, it will be time to walk her home.”
Aaand, strike three. Henry and I exchange a look at the absolute audacity of this woman, and I decide it’s not worth it to waste any more time on this interview.
“Well, you can bring her home now because we’re done here. Hot tip: don’t tell potential clients that you’re okay with not completing your job and leaving someone else’s pet unattended,” I inform her, sickeningly sweet smile plastered to my face.
I swear I can hear her eye roll as she gets up and grabs her boring-ass coffee that Carlos, with impeccable timing, has just brought to the pickup spot along the counter.
And it’s all downhill from there.
Over the next week, I meet with lots of possible people, but none of them feel right. If my life were a movie, this would be the montage highlighting my struggles to find someone to help me take care of poor, sweet Stacy. It would cut between my disastrous encounters with little sprinkles of her looking beautifully sad in her new fluffy pink dog bed. Half of the people barely have time to take off their gloves or get their coffee order before something major happens to end the interview.
I meet with someone who only does weekday daytime walks, even though I specifically said in our messages it would be an evening or weekend thing that I need. I thank him for his time and buy myself and Henry a consolation cupcake.
The next guy sneers at the small Pride flag hanging behind the counter when he walks in. Not wanting to waste any more time, or even any air, talking to this asshole, I pull out my phone and message him from my table, saying that I’ve already found someone. Henry gets the cupcake this time.
Eventually, Henry and Carlos start making bets as to how long it will take before a red flag pops up. So, I stop telling Henry when I’m meeting someone.
A week later, I’m on interview number seven, and I’m just about to give up on ever finding someone better than the high schooler who brought his mom and looked for her to answer every question I asked. Maybe I should just go with him. If nothing else, his mom will probably make sure he’s on time. And everyone has to start somewhere, right? I tap my nails on the back of my phone, weighing the pros and cons, when a guy walks in, and I forget about the fact that I’m waiting to meet someone.
He’s tallish, probably right around six foot like me, with a forest-green beanie peeking out from underneath his black hoodie. He brushes off a dusting of snow as he lowers his hood and pulls off his gloves to reveal tattooed hands. I can feel mymouth dry out at the sight of those hands. They look strong and solid. I wonder how far the intricately inked designs go up his arms. His long, beefy arms. I follow the line of his coat sleeve, trying to figure out just how much of that bulk is winter layers and how much is man.
But when my gaze gets to his face, all thoughts of his arms are blown away by the hunkiest man I think I’ve ever laid eyes on. His jaw is sharp and covered with a close-cropped beard that’s just too long to be called stubble. His face is all hard angles, tempered only by his full lips. When he notices me watching him, his light brown eyes seem to sparkle, and all of the sharp edges of his face soften as he breaks into a wide, friendly smile.
And just like that, my jock strap hits the floor.
Okay, not literally, but there’s just something about a genuinely friendly guy that makes my stomach feel warm and fluttery. Maybe it’s because toward the end with Adam, he never had a smile or nice thing to say to me. Well, unless he was feeling guilty about his cheating or needed to make nice in order to keep stringing me along. It’s kind of sad that this random stranger just lit up more upon seeing me than I think my ex ever did.
I lick my parched lips and give a tentative smile in return, trying to get that fluttery feeling under control. From my left, I hear Carlos greet Sean as he drops off a tray of cupcakes for the glass case up front. Sean owns Love at First Bite, the bakery next door, and is engaged to Carlos. Their conversation jolts me back to reality. Shit, I’m here to meet with someone about Stacy, not ogle the hot man who is now walking up to the counter. And, damn, even his walk is sexy. All long, confident strides.
I force myself to look back down at my phone and review the information I’ve gotten from the people at UnLeash Your Dreams. When I contacted the email address from the flyer Greg sent me, a guy named Blake messaged back and said that hispartner, Noah, would be the one to meet up with me because the times I need fit better with his schedule.
As I skim through the rest of the messages and pretend to be busy, I’m actually listening as hot guy orders a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream from Carlos. I smile to myself when he says, “Why don’t you add some caramel syrup on as well?” The way he emphasizes the word “caramel,” followed by the clinking of coins, makes me think he’s adding some change into the tip jar. That fluttery feeling is back, knowing that hot guy is nice enough to not only tip but play along with the voting shtick.
I’m just about to give up on waiting for Noah and go see if hot guy wants to sit with me when Carlos asks for a name to put on his cup.
“I’m Noah.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Noah
AS I WALKtoward my meeting with a new potential client, I take in the place he chose. I’ve found that you can tell a lot about someone based on where they feel comfortable, and so far, I’m loving what Spill the Beans is telling me about Steve. The café is warm and inviting, both in its bright color scheme and in the mouthwatering scents of coffee and baked goods that I could smell from down the block. Although part of that might be the fact that there’s a bakery right next door. Another big plus is the Pride flag I can see hanging behind the counter. Everything about this place is one green flag after another. Or rainbow flag, as it were.
I stop right inside the door to brush off the snow from my hat and stomp my boots on the rug. My gloves come off next so my fingers can start to thaw out. As I shove them into my pockets, I look up to see a gorgeous red-headed man sitting at one of the tables and staring at me. His eyes, surrounded by thick lashes, are wide, and his perfect pink lips are just slightly parted. I grin at him and watch, fascinated, as a subtle flush colors his cheeks. I can’t quite tell from here, but it looks like those cheeks are covered in freckles. Based on the fact that there’s no one else in the café and I’m a few minutes late because of the weather, I’m assuming this is Steve.
Walking up to the counter, I smile at the two guys behind the counter. The petite man with dark hair thanks the other one for dropping off cupcakes and brushes a bit of something powdery off of his cheek. He then turns to me and returns my smile with a giant one of his own. His name tag says Carlos and lists his pronouns underneath. I order a hot chocolate from Carlos and chuckle to myself when I see his tip jars are set up as a poll. I quickly amend my order and drop all of the coins from my pocket into the correct jar.
Which is “car-mull,” obviously.
“Can I get a name for your order?” he asks, sneaking a quick glance at the man with the cupcakes. I get the feeling they’re sharing an inside joke based on the way the bigger man blushes and shakes his head. I turn my gaze back towards the red-head who is probably Steve to give them some semblance of privacy. And, let’s be honest, because I want an excuse to look at him some more. “I’m Noah.”
At my words, Probably Steve freezes, his hand halfway to his coffee cup. I guess he wasn’t expecting me to be the person he’s waiting for. I bite back another smile and hand my card to Carlos, who then whirls off to make my drink. As he waits for the milk to heat up, Cupcake Guy presses a kiss to Carlos’s cheek and says he’ll see him at home later. Well, that’s freaking adorable. In no time at all after that, I’ve got my drink in hand, and I head over to Probably Steve’s table.
