Chapter 6 Shaun
Shaun
The next morning, I arrive at the café half an hour early to get things ready for Freddie’s first shift.
It’s a mess inside. Yesterday I was so shattered I couldn’t face doing the usual clean down, so I left as soon as I cashed up the till.
While the coffee machine heats up, I wipe the tables and give the place a good sweep.
Though less exhausted than yesterday, I’m still fighting back yawns, and I drop my broom to make a flat white the second the machine’s ready.
I drink it, then, sensing I’m still running on empty, I make myself another.
By twenty-past six the café is presentable. Not to my usual standards, but clean enough that I won’t lose my food hygiene certificate if the health inspector comes a-creeping. Most of the cake from yesterday is still good to sell, but we’re out of brownies. We always sell out of brownies.
As far as I know, we’re the only place in town that does all our baking in house. It would be easier to buy stuff in, but I have it on good authority my brownies are, and I quote, “better than sex.” This would have been more of a compliment, were Lara not the one who told me so.
I glance at the front door. No sign of Freddie yet.
Using a wooden stool, I prop open the kitchen door so I can keep an eye out for him while I whip up a fresh batch of brownie batter.
Into the mixer goes flour, eggs, sugar, and enough butter to fill a cardiology ward.
The secret to a perfect brownie is to use both cocoa powder and dark chocolate to get that proper fudgy texture.
I toss a mug of cocoa powder in while the chocolate melts in the microwave.
Soon, the kitchen smells incredible. Lastly, I throw in a generous scoop of chocolate chips and a glug of vanilla syrup.
I switch off the mixer and admire the glistening batter. Not bad for ten minutes work.
The mixture fills six trays for forty-eight brownies, which might seem excessive, but they’ll be gone by three o’clock. I bung them in the oven and set a timer. As I do, I see the time: 6:33. Less than half an hour till we open.
Still no Freddie.
I thought it was customary to be early for your first shift?
One of those unspoken social rules everyone knows so you don’t have to say it out loud.
Either Freddie doesn’t play by those rules, or he’s slept in, or, worst of all, he’s decided he’d rather not work here at all. I check my phone for messages. Nothing.
“Come on, Freddie,” I mutter, dipping a finger in the mixing bowl. “Don’t make me regret hiring you before you’ve even—”
A knock on the front door.
I look up to see Freddie waving at me through the glass. His face is pink and he’s bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet. There’s a fine sleet coming down behind him. Wiping my chocolatey finger on a napkin, I quickly go to let him in.
“T-thanks!” Freddie is shivering as he steps inside, his mop of ice-blonde hair soaked with what is fast becoming actual ice.
“Oh gosh, are you okay?” I shut the door behind him. “You look frozen!”
“M-missed the bus,” his voice is feathery. “Had to run.”
“Where from?”
“Cherry Street.”
“On the other side of town?”
Freddie nods, his teeth chattering. He’s wearing the same leather jacket as yesterday and it’s far too light for this kind of weather. Its black surface is slick like tar.
“Well, get that jacket off for a start, it’s drenched!”
He wastes no time peeling off the sodden jacket. I gasp when I see that, underneath, he’s only wearing one more layer—a thin knitted shirt. “No wonder you’re cold! The heating’s on but sit down and I’ll make you something hot to drink.”
Freddie objects, but I ignore him and set to work making him a latte.
“I’m f-fine, honestly.” Freddie takes a couple of napkins from the counter and uses them to sponge his hair dry.
“You should wear different clothes!” I say, pouring milk into a jug.
“Why? Does this not look good?” Freddie looks alarmed and assesses his outfit. The top he’s wearing looks fantastic on him. It shows off his arms. They’re good arms. Long and lean.
I catch myself looking and turn my attention back to the coffee machine.
“No no, you look great! I mean, it looks great, ‘it’ being your clothes…” I trail off when I see Freddie’s grinning at me.
“Only kidding, boss,” he says.
I feel my cheeks redden. Why am I the stammering wreck here? He’s the one who nearly gave himself hypothermia.
“I meant you should wear warmer clothes,” I explain as I pour his coffee, doing my signature latte art on top: a dragon. It looks awesome, if I do say so myself. Took me months of serving customers wobbly lizards in my student barista days before I got them right.
With a final flourish on the dragon’s fire breath, I hand Freddie the latte, proudly.
“Oh,” he says, cocking his head. “What is it?”
My chest deflates a little. “A dragon. You’re holding it upside down.”
Freddie rotates the cup and raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah, totally. I see it now. I mean what kind of drink is this?”
Yikes, he doesn’t even know the basics. I try not to let the disappointment show; I knew he was a novice when I decided to hire him.
“It’s a latte,” I explain, patiently. “Espresso and steamed milk.”
Freddie sniffs the latte. “Expresso…” a fuse blows in my brain as he mispronounces the word, “that’s like a coffee, right?”
Oh dear.
“Yup,” I say through a tight smile. “Sure is.”
“Cool.”
Freddie wraps his hands around the mug, absorbing its warmth, but doesn’t take a sip.
“Sorry, do you take sugar?” I offer him a caddy of brown sugar cubes, but he shakes his head.
“Just waiting for it to cool down a bit.”
“It should be at drinking temperature,” I reassure him.
Freddie smiles. “Okay. Thanks, Shaun.”
He brings the mug to his lips, takes a deep breath and drinks deeply, so deeply that he downs the whole thing in one. His Adam's Apple bobs up and down as he gulps. Once, twice…
“Wow,” I say as he places the cup down. “Good?”
“Mmm,” he wipes his mouth and shivers. “Delicious. Thanks!” He covers his mouth and coughs.
I smile, taking the dirty cup. “That’ll warm your cockles.”
“My what?”
“Never mind,” I gesture to the office door. “Why don’t you hang your coat up in there and come join me when you’re ready. I’ll show you how to work the till before we open up.”
Freddie gives me a little salute before heading into the back.
He leaves the office door open so I can see him tying his hair up in the same loose man bun he was sporting yesterday.
As he does, his wiry biceps jump up and down like ping-pong balls.
The neckline of his shirt falls deep, revealing a triangle of lithely muscled chest and a small tattoo along his collarbone—
I snap my head away. Bloody hell, I really need to stop staring at him!
His good looks caught me off guard yesterday but I wasn’t expecting this to be a long-term issue.
It’s odd; I’m not used to other men drawing my eye.
Not unless it’s Jonathan Bailey or something but then again, no one is immune to his charms, right?
I defy anyone to not do a double-take at a man that pretty and Freddie’s definitely in the same league.
With a face like that he could easily be a movie star.
Maybe this is what being starstruck feels like?
A minute later, Freddie returns. He flashes me a dopey grin, a polo mint clamped between his teeth.
“Successfully thawed?” I ask.
“All but my cockles.” Freddie winks again. No man should be able to wink that much without looking seedy but somehow he manages it. “Right boss, you were gonna show me that till?”
“Yes. But Shaun, please.”
“Gotcha.”
I usher him behind the counter. As I do, my eyes stray over the rest of Freddie’s outfit. His jeans give new meaning to the term “skinny fit,” the dark denim hugging his long legs with a revealing tightness.
There I go, staring again! He might be distractingly pretty, but that’s no reason to perv at him; I’m his employer, for goodness sake. More to the point, I’m not even into guys!
Freddie sidles up to the till and turns around. He cocks his head when he sees me hanging back.
Something in the way he’s looking at me makes my heart do somersaults.
What is this? I feel like I caught the ball and now have an entire rugby team bearing down on me.
I thought something felt odd when I first saw him yesterday, but I put that down to delirium from being so bone-achingly tired.
But this… this feels like, and I don’t want to give it credence but there’s no other word for it, a crush.
A man crush. But there’s no way! It’s way too sudden and if I was into men, like actually into men, I’d know it.
Right?
“Everything okay, Shaun?” Freddie asks. Is he doing that seductive voice on purpose?
Or am I just imagining it? I give my mind a shake.
I can’t afford to get a man crush right now, especially not on someone I just hired.
Life’s confusing enough. Plus, I’m on the verge of total burnout and onboarding Freddie is my last hope for a decent night’s sleep.
This is not the time to get feelings, if you can even call them that—they might just be a Pavlovian response to meeting someone objectively attractive, which Freddie undoubtedly is. Even if he is a man.
Yes. That must be it.
Feelings or no feelings, I'll do to them what I’ve been doing to my hairline for years: ignore it and hope it gets better on its own.
I compose myself and join Freddie at the till, putting on my “manager hat.”
“Everything’s fine,” I say. “Now, have you ever used one of these before?”