Chapter 5 Eden #3
Fucking men should only happen a great distance from Santa Leon, where there’s no chance of running into anyone he’s engaged in sex with.
Ever. He’s grateful the sex work he did while living on the street was done far away from Santa Leon.
He’s not ashamed of it, but he never wants to see those men again.
He survived, and that’s all that fucking matters.
Hated the loss of control, hated being touched when he wasn’t in the mood, hated the way men thought buying sex meant they were buying him.
Contrary to what some of his poor decision-making skills might suggest, Eden is not a total imbecile.
He knows his current issues with control and sex are related to the shit he endured on the streets, but that doesn’t change jack shit.
Honestly, this is exactly why Eden doesn’t make new friends or fuck people he knows.
It makes him think things and feel things, and honestly fucking fuck that.
Shaking off his thoughts, he forces himself to make a mental list of what else he needs to do before his shift ends today.
He should hurry back out and bus the tables.
For all he knows, Charlie might even be gone when Eden returns to the dining room.
Hell, maybe this is his first time here and he won’t ever see him again.
When Eden comes back out to the front, his hopes of avoiding Charlie are dashed when he spots a familiar head of unruly dark hair.
Charlie’s long, lanky body is hunched over in one of the smaller booths in the corner, making him appear slightly smaller than he is.
Eyes on his phone and elbows on the table, he’s completely unaware of Eden’s return, giving him ample opportunity to stare.
His hopes are further dashed when his boss, Juanita, comes out of the kitchen to hand deliver a steaming plate of pollo con mole y arroz to Charlie.
“Your usual, mijo.” Juanita sets down the plate in front of him before patting his cheek. “You need to eat more. You’re too skinny. You and that brother of yours. Where is he?”
His usual. Not his first time here then. Fuck Eden’s entire fucking life. Looks like he’s going to be running into Charlie a lot more then.
“Andrew is at home, ma’am.”
“Ma’am,” Juanita snorts. “Call me ma’am again and I’ll tell Armando not to make mole anymore.”
Charlie gasps. “You would never.”
“I wouldn’t,” Juanita agrees, “but only because it makes me money, not because of you. Even if you are one of my best customers. I’d tell you to learn to cook, but you keep me in business.”
“You can tell yourself whatever you want as long as you keep feeding me.”
“Keep paying me, and I’ll feed you whatever you want.”
“This is why you’re my favorite, Juanita.”
Juanita blushes. Actually blushes. It makes her look younger, the lines on her sun-worn face softening.
“Enough sweet talking,” she grumbles, wiping her hands on her mandil. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”
“You know I love you, Juanita.”
“You love my mole,” she corrects with a shake of her head.
“That too,” Charlie grins, making him look stupidly handsome. He’s got masculine features, softened by his colorful, almost feminine clothing, and the way it fucks with gender expectations is really doing it for Eden.
“Tell Andrew I said hello.”
“Speaking of my wonderful brother who you love so much. Can I get—”
“An order of pollo de caldo, no onions and no cilantro. A side of arroz e frijoles, in separate containers and an order of flour tortillas wrapped separately.”
“Yes, that,” Charlie claps his hands together. “Maybe a double order of tortillas. He was stressed earlier. Tortillas fix everything.”
Juanita sighs. “He’s too stressed lately.”
“What do you mean, lately?” Charlie frowns.
“What do I look like, a chismosa? Less chisme, more eating,” Juanita chastises. “I’ll go get your brother’s order going.”
“Thanks.” Charlie offers her a smile, but even Eden, who hardly knows him, can see it doesn’t reach his face the way his earlier smiles did.
Is it because of his brother? They seem awfully close, more than any siblings he’s ever seen, but then Eden’s never known a set of identical twins before. Maybe it’s always like that.
Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, Eden grabs a tray and begins clearing the booth on the opposite side of the room.
He wipes the table, trying not to watch Charlie eat and definitely not thinking about how he should apologize.
Eden doesn’t apologize to people. Not because he’s an asshole but because he just doesn’t talk to people who aren’t Addy.
Even his coworkers at his weekend serving gig don’t know anything about him, which is how he likes it.
So why the fuck can’t he stop thinking about telling Charlie he’s sorry, or worse, his name?
Angry at himself, and Charlie even if it's not his fault, Eden scrubs away at the tables until every single empty one is squeaky clean. He moves to the counters next, pushing aside the plastic tubs of cocadas and plastic wrapped mazapan that are kept by the register.
“You’re going to wear away the paint, mijo.”
Eden jumps, dropping the cloth and forcing away the sick feeling in his gut.
“I was just cleaning,” Eden mumbles, unable to make eye contact with Juanita.
She’d been so nice during his interview, which is exactly the problem.
Eden has no problem interacting with people he doesn’t like.
It's why he was able to keep his part time serving gig where he met Charlie for so long. His supervisor was a dick, and his coworkers were annoying. Interacting with people he doesn’t care about is easy.
Juanita is kind in the way someone’s mom or grandma might be, and it makes Eden want to quit.
“You can take this to one of the customers,” she tells him, setting a plastic bag on the counter beside him. “The man in the corner.”
“Charlie,” Eden supplies automatically.
“You know Charlie?” Juanita’s smile grows, and Eden can’t imagine what it must be like to be the kind of person people are happy to know. The knot in his stomach twists. “My best customer. He’s a good man. He can’t cook, keeps me in business.”
She laughs before picking up the tongs and placing two cocados in a small paper bag. She folds over the top then places it with the to-go order of food. “You’ll take this to Charlie then.”
“Uh-huh.” Eden curls his fingers around the plastic handle, focusing on the hefty weight of the order as he carries it towards Charlie, who is scraping the last bits of mole off his plate with a tortilla.
He pops it into his mouth, licking his finger clean.
There’s no reason at all his fingers need to go so deep into his mouth.
There’s also no reason for what Eden says next.
Maybe it’s watching Charlie lick mole from his fingers, or knowing he cares about his twin brother.
Maybe it’s that he’s Juanita’s favorite customer, or maybe it’s that he’s just really fucking sexy.
Or maybe Eden is a walking trauma response who only makes decisions guaranteed to blow up in his face.
Whatever the reason, there’s no taking back the words Eden blurts as he plops the to-go order of food on Charlie’s table.
“We can fuck.”