Page 17 of Daily Grind
What do you want, Bri?But that wasn’t something to say yet. “Since we’re on the subject of family…”
That got him a much warmer expression. “Like I said, I grew up in Bloomfield. My folks are still there. I have an older brother and a younger sister. And a metric ton of cousins and uncles and aunts.”
“A big family.” There was the longing, the need, the desire to be connected. He hadnothing. “Only child,” he added.
Brian shrugged lightly. “We’re Italian.”
He studied Brian, who looked, to his eyes—utterly American. “You never told me your last name.”
Brian laughed. “You haven’t either, you know.” He took a bite of his dish.
Touché. “Ancroft. Robert Ancroft.”
Brian repeated the name in his flat American accent. “You prefer Rob?”
“Over Robert? With friends, yes.” And lovers. “Robert is—too formal.”
Brian set down his fork. “Mine’s Keppler.”
“Like the astronomer?”
“Well, twops, but yes.”
Brian Keppler. Nice. Rob rolled it around in his head. “But Keppler isn’t Italian.”
A snort. “Yeah. It’s German. I’m like an eighth German and the rest is Italian, but my branch of the family ended up with the German name.” He reclaimed his fork and set to eating again. “It’s a hell of a lot easier to spell than Nascimbeni, though.”
A laugh bubbled up in Rob and broke through the painful knot in his chest. “That’s true.”
They settled into talking about Brian’s family. His older brother had gone into the military and ended up a pilot in the air force. He flew commercially now. His sister was a biologist working in a research lab for one of the billion hospitals in Pittsburgh. They still all saw one another once a month.
“Family’s important,” Brian said.
Rob hid his wince. Time to change the subject again. “How’d you end up owning a coffee shop?”
“That’s a long story,” Brian said. He pushed his empty plate away. “Short form is that a friend opened one where Grounds N’at is now and I took a job as a barista there. He had horrible business sense, was pretty much a slacker, and when he realized it was damn hard work, he offered the whole thing to me for a song.”
“That was a hell of a risk.” Taking on a failing business and making it work was also quite an accomplishment.
Brian shrugged. “People liked the shop a lot. I mean, there’s a ton of coffee places in Squirrel Hill, but we had regulars. I created the drink menu when I started and, well, it seemed a shame to close when all that was needed was some hard work.”
So Brian the artist had become Brian the businessman. “And it’s doing well now? Aside from the staffing issue?”
Brian’s face twisted. “It’s okay at the moment. But running a food service—it’s never easy. You’re always two steps away from disaster.”
Hence the long hours. Sounded quite a bit like creating a startup, except for Rob, the days of constant work and worry were done. CirroBot could stand on its own now. “It’s a lovely shop, Bri.”
Brian dipped his head, his smile faint and embarrassment clear. “Thanks.”
The server cleared their plates and brought the dessert menu.
From Brian’s expression, there wasn’t anything he saw there that appealed to him.
Nothing piqued Rob’s interest, either. “I think I spied an ice cream place up on Forbes?”
“You did.” There was a glint in Brian’s eyes. “Shall we take a walk?”
“Could use one, yes.” Walk off some dinner, get a treat, and maybe without this table between them, they could get a bit closer.
