Chapter Four
Ross
Iwas on the way to the workshop earlier than usual. It was barely five but I’d given up on trying to sleep past four. That was when I woke so abruptly it was as if someone had shouted in my ear.
Every fucking day.
No matter how late I’d gone to bed, or how exhausted I was.
Thursday morning was when I didn’t have any deliveries. I tried to use the time to roast and get new customers.
How’s that going for you, asshole?
Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel didn’t help, but it pulled me out from between my horns, at least, for a few moments.
Then I spotted the figure huddled inside a bus stop about two miles from Finnegan Square. I recognised them.
I indicated and stopped, then I reversed until I was right next to her.
“Autumn?” I asked once I got out of my van.
She hastily wiped her tear-streaked face on her coat sleeve and looked at me. Fake bravado and apprehension mingled in her eyes, and she sniffed.
“Ross?” she said with a poorly and obviously forced grin on her lips. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask ye the same question.”
I huffed. “I’m on my way to work.” Her patently faked cheerfulness bugged me because I knew that her normal was that happy-go-lucky attitude I saw at the cafe every Wednesday.
“You’re crying at a bus stop. While that might be a catchy song title, it doesn’t look like fun,” I said, watching her blush. “Can I take ye to work?”
“What? No, I’m okay.”
And barely breathing past your sternum.
“Autumn. Please let me help or I’ll sit here and wait for your panic attack to end.” I took a seat next to her and her shoulders dropped away from her shoulders.
“It’s…I’m…”
“It’s okay. I’ve been there,” I muttered and gently bumped her arm with my elbow. “Believe me, I know what a panic attack looks like.”
“Oh gosh, you’re warm.” Autumn chuckled and gnawed her bottom lip for a moment. Then she got to her feet and approached the van.
“Thank ye for letting me give you a ride.” Part of me was proud of her for not jumping into my van, the other part wanted to get this tiny, crying woman off the streets as soon as possible.
She got in, buckled her seatbelt, and tried to make herself even smaller.
As much as her boundless energy overwhelmed me at times and made me a bit jealous of her people skills, I preferred that version over Autumn trying to dim her light.
“Okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’ll take ye to Scales & Steam now. That’s where you were going, right?”
I turned on her seat heater and started the van.
“Yes. Thank you, Ross,” she added.
We drove in silence except for the radio. I always listened to Radio-Active in the mornings. They played nice music and had interesting features about small businesses in Scotland. Maybe one day they would feature Wild Bull Roast. It was a dream I had never shared with anyone.
My private castle in the air. No pets allowed.
This morning they ran a special feature on Conall White, the Scottish folk sensation who had apparently disappeared off the face of the earth after his messy and public divorce. His ex-wife had given interviews to the worst kind of gossip magazines and aired all their dirty laundry.
“Nobody knows where he’s gone. Some speculate he is at the Swedish summer house he owns,” the early morning presenter said.
“Unlikely,” his co-host cut in. “He used to go there with his ex wife every summer. I wouldn’t set foot in it again after what happened. I would sell that place for all the memories that came with it.”
“You have a point there, Lou.”
They kept going on about Conall White’s private life, and finally played another one of his songs.
“Oh God, thank you!” Autumn blurted out. “That was painful to hear.”
“Right? Why don’t they leave the poor man alone?”
“If I were him, I would’ve gone away, too. Take a break from everything until the dust settles.” I felt her eyes on me and suddenly my van seemed way smaller than usual. Even as she tried to make herself small, there was something about her that took my breath away.
“Me, too, yeah. Maybe he’s getting treatment for his burnout,” I mused. Like I had.
“Is that what happened to you?” Her voice sounded tentative. “A burnout?”
“Minus the ugly divorce, yes.” It came out as a grunt. “Sorry, it’s okay for me to talk about it. I’m not trying to snub you.”
“Don’t worry, I’m used to your grumpy arse by now.”
This came so unexpectedly that I gaped at her for a moment before focusing back on the street.
“I didn’t call it ‘Wild Bull Roast’ for nothing,” I muttered, gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked under my hands.
Autumn made a non-committal sound.
“I’m not good with people. When I worked at the bank, I was the team. I had my own office in my own department, and I was so good at it.” I failed to keep the wistfulness out of my voice.
“You miss it.”
“No.” I meant it. “The money was nice, and I enjoyed my work. But no job is worth my health or sanity.”
Quoting my therapist since 2038.
“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “You seem to like roasting. I mean as far as I can tell with all the growling and grumbling.”
Cheeky monkey.
“I love it,” I admitted. “It makes me happy but…”
“But?” she kept digging.
“I’m not good at getting new customers.”
Autumn sat up straighter. “Really? Your coffee is the best.”
My ears heated. “Thank you,” I muttered. “It’s more the getting new customers to try my coffee than getting them to buy it after than anything.”
“Oh yeah, I can kind of understand that. I mean, not everyone can deal with your grumpy ass.” Autumn snorted, and I reluctantly joined in the laughter.
“I know I suck at this, believe me, and I tried. I watched lots of videos on Kraken, but when it comes to being in front of an actual person, you know, it’s hard.
” I pushed a stray lock of hair back into my bun.
“I start to stammer and I forget my words and... Well, the thing is I need more customers to make Wild Bull Roast sustainable and to make enough money to live off it. You know, I’m mainly living off my savings for now, but there will come a time when I need to make money with the coffee roasting business. ”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“Autumn, would you like me to give you a ride tomorrow too? The commute won’t get any better, will it? The sun will rise even later the more we get into winter.”
“Yeah, I suppose, but I can’t ask you to drive all the way around.” She gnawed on her lip.
“I have to go all the way around the construction site, anyway. It’s no big deal, really.” I shrugged. I didn’t want to pressure her into saying yes, but I never wanted her to go through a panic attack at a bus stop again. “Just give me your address and I’ll come pick you up at five.”
She hesitated for a long moment. And then she gave me a tiny nod.
“Yeah, that would be”—Autumn took a deep breath and a smile fought its way onto her face—“so lovely, Ross. Thank you.”
The next day I got up at four and started the first brew like I did every morning. I showered and took an awfully long time to pick an outfit for the day.
Christ, Ross!
Then I enjoyed the first hot cup of coffee and surveyed my reflection in the terrace door.
Do I look okay?
It was my little ritual before the world outside my windows woke up—the coffee, not the spending an obscene amount of mental energy worrying about the way I looked.
I’d started it after my health cure and had held on to it until now. It anchored me and grounded me for the day ahead. Then, I poured the rest of the coffee into not one but two thermos cups and grabbed my car keys and my coat.
Crisp air greeted me as I stepped into the pitch-black quiet. I got into the van and drove through the empty streets over to Autumn’s place. I’d memorised her address and recognised it as a street not too far from mine.
Autumn waited outside her door, huddled into a button-up coat, a thick scarf, and a beanie. Her breath steamed in front of her mouth as she smiled at me, waved, and dashed down the path the moment I pulled up to the curb outside her house.
“Good morning, Ross,” she gasped as she flung herself into the passenger seat. She gave me a huge smile and buckled up with flying fingers.
“Good morning,” I said, a little overwhelmed by the brute force of this tiny woman’s energy so early in the morning. “I brought you some coffee.” I held up the thermos and suddenly felt a little dumb.
She works in a cafe and you bring her coffee? What the hell, Ross?
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you!” Autumn beamed at me. “It’s pretty nippy already, isn’t it? I could do with a warm drink.” She rubbed her fingers together, accepted the thermos, and then she started talking..
I enjoyed listening to Autumn talk. My mornings usually were quiet and introspective, but she filled the cabin with her boundless energy, and somehow this made me feel more alive than I had in years.