Page 3 of Daily Grind
He nodded. “And now I must fend for myself.”
So, single. “How’d you end up in Squirrel Hill?” Did he live here?
A laugh and that fascinating smile. “A coworker recommended some restaurants to me—and this shop. His husband works in the company above.”
Only one person that could be. “Todd Douglas.”
Rob sat up straighter. “Yes.” He sounded surprised.
Brian chuckled and finished his espresso. “Fazil Kurt’s husband.”
Rob glanced at the ceiling. “Do you know everyone up there?”
“Well, it’s a small office and I’m their coffeepot, so yeah.” He pushed his cup to the side. “Plus, Sam Anderson’s assistant, Justin, was my best barista until Sam hired him away.” He missed Justin’s competency and work ethic. The shop had run smoothly then. Unlike now.
“This isyourshop? You own it?” Rob leaned in, his face bright. “That’s fantastic!”
“Most days.” This one had started out as shit, but with Rob sitting in front of him, he couldn’t say that now. “So you must work at that robotics place down in Bakery Square.”
“CirroBot,” Rob said. “Yes.” His cheerful demeanor vanished into thoughtfulness.
That was odd. “Don’t like it there?”
There was something raw and unguarded about Rob’s reply. “No, Iloveit there.” The smile returned, but a bit more restrained. “Problem is, I’m somewhat of a workaholic if left to my own devices. Hence—” He gestured at the shop.
That Brian understood. “Get out of the house, see the sights, and not work yourself to an early grave?”
“Exactly.” The grin dropped away. “You as well?”
The bell on the door rang and Brian slipped off the stool. “This placeismy life. Just ask my ex-girlfriends.”
Rob’s brows knitted, but Brian couldn’t say anything more—not with three customers bearing down on him and another two ringing the bell on the door a second time. “Gotta go.”
“Of course,” Rob said. He didn’t move, just sipped his coffee and watched Brian as he waited on the flood of customers.
Oh, the confusion when he’d mentioned girlfriends. He didn’t know how to explain himself to Rob. Then again, he didn’t know how to explain himself tohimself, so that was nothing new.
He was thirty-eight years old andtired. He’d known since high school that he was bisexual—except guys weren’t bi. They were either gay or straight. If theywerebi, then they were just on their way to being gay. Or liars.
He whipped up a triple caramel macchiato with two pumps of chocolate and winced—more at himself than the drink.
He wasthirty-eight. Why did he still give a fuck what other people believed?
Two cappuccinos followed, then an iced latte.
Rob finished his drink, but he remained at the counter, idly running a finger around the lip of his cup.
During a small breather between customers, Brian leaned over. “Would you like another?”
“Yes.” Crisp and clear, and the force of that word made Brian shiver. “But finish up with your customers, and then we’ll talk.”
Brian nodded and got back to work.
* * *
Sadly,Rob Ancroft couldn’t lean back in his chair, cross his arms, and justwatchBrian, the barista and shop owner, since the barstool he was sitting on that made such displays impossible. Probably a good thing, in hindsight. He’d likely teeter over onto the floor.
What a curious and handsome man Brian was! Full of wit, innuendo, and charm. No doubt Brian knew exactly what he was doing, the flirty thing that he was. Not a naive young man—he wanted Rob. That had been apparent from hiscreamcomments.
