Chapter 16 Shaun #2
“Be right back!” I stammer, turning towards the door. Before Freddie can say anything, I flee the kitchen, bolt across the café and lock myself in the bathroom.
Fuck.
There’s a roaring in my ears now. In the mirror, I look like I’ve just run a marathon.
My face is strawberry red and sweaty. It’s too late to stop the meltdown, I just have to ride it out as anxiety takes the reins.
Pins and needles prickle my hands, which tremble as I struggle to slow my breathing down.
In and out. In… and out.
I feel like I’m twelve again, getting overwhelmed at a school dance and running off to the toilets to hide. Guess there are some things we never grow out of.
For a split-second there, I was so sure he was going to grab me, pull me into him, and plant his gorgeous lips on mine. In that moment, I knew I wouldn’t have stopped him. I would have kissed him back.
Shit, what is happening to me? It's like my willpower has evaporated in a cloud of steam. I'm so weak around him.
I turn on the tap and stick my hands under the cold water—a technique I picked up from therapy years ago. The change in temperature is sobering and my senses start to trickle back to normal. Of course, the second they do, I burst into tears.
As I sob, an overwhelmed mess of a man stares back at me in the mirror.
What the hell am I doing? Entertaining this crush was a stupid idea.
I should’ve nipped it in the bud like I did with Freddie’s flirting, been harder on myself.
Instead, I’m three wanks in and one inappropriate comment away from a sexual harassment lawsuit.
Not that I think Freddie would actually do that to me, but at this rate, it might be the reality check I need. I’m such a hypocrite.
Hiring Freddie was supposed to make life easier! How have I let things get this messy so quickly?
Maybe I should put in the final nail and just tell him how I feel?
Yeah right.
“Gah!”
I hear Freddie shouting through the walls. My stomach drops.
Dabbing my eyes on my sleeve, I fling open the bathroom door and stride towards the kitchen. Please say he hasn’t burned himself or chopped a finger off; that would really tip me over the edge.
“Freddie, are you okay?”
“No. Don’t come in.”
He’s not screaming in pain so that’s a good sign. My hand hovers above the door handle.
“I heard you yelling—”
“I was trying to make the brownies. The mixer, it…” A heavy sigh from the other side of the door. “I’m coming out. Don’t laugh.”
“I won’t.”
I take a step back as the door creaks open and Freddie emerges from the kitchen.
Oh gosh. He’s wearing an apron, but it's done little to protect him from what looks like a tsunami of brownie batter. It’s dripping from his arms, his face, his hair, falling onto the floor in thick brown globules. If he’d taken a bath in the mixing bowl, it wouldn’t have made this much mess.
I try to hold back the laughter, I really do, but it bursts out of me like a rifle blast.
Freddie looks affronted. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”
“I can’t help it,” I say, clutching my belly. “You look like Augustus Gloop.”
Freddie scowls. “I don’t know who that is either but it sounds negative.”
Wiping a tear from my eye, I grab a wad of napkins from the counter and slide them towards him.
“Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. We can’t have you walking around like a swamp monster; you’ll scare the customers away.”
He grimaces. “Um, the kitchen took a bit of a hit.”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean back here, you focus on getting all that chocolate out of your hair—”
Freddie groans. “Oh man, it’s in my hair?”
“Just a smidge,” I fib. “Take your time, we’ve got a while before we open. Oh and lose the apron. It’s a goner.”
With a grimace, Freddie peels the batter-slick apron off his torso and drops it into the sink with a heavy splat.
“Thanks Shaun. Sorry.”
It’s only once he’s out of sight, and the last shivers of laughter leave my body, that I realise the worst of my symptoms have passed.
Normally I’d be fighting tooth and nail to get through the rest of the day, but it turns out one cure for a meltdown is a gorgeous man covered head-to-toe in brownie mix. Damn, I should have taken a picture.
The mess in the kitchen isn’t as bad as Freddie made out; it seems like he took the worst of it.
A quick inspection of the mixer reveals he had it on the highest setting.
Thinking about him getting engulfed in a vortex of brownie batter sets me chuckling again as I fill a bucket with hot water and soap.
Freddie emerges from the bathroom soon after I’ve finished mopping the kitchen floor. He’s managed to clean up most of the mess, but the sleeves of his T-shirt are ruined.
“Don’t suppose you have a spare shirt lying around?” he asks, hopefully.
We dig around in the back office where, to Freddie’s relief, I find one of Kyle’s old T-shirts—a black crew neck with some 8-bit video game characters on the front.
Without hesitating, Freddie pulls off his dirty top and I’m greeted with a full view of his torso. Bloody hell, he’s ripped. Not big like a gym rat, but lithe like a swimmer. I can’t even try to look away.
As he picks up Kyle’s black tee, I spot something smeared just below his collarbone.
“Wait,” I say. Freddie cocks his head towards me, a coy glimmer in his eye. I point at his bare chest. “You, er, missed a bit.”
Freddie glances down at the smear of chocolate and smiles. With one finger, he wipes off the lion’s share and licks the digit clean.
“Wow,” he says, licking his lips. “I taste awesome.”
My mouth waters. I believe him.
The brownie explosion sets us back a bit, but by opening time we’ve got a fresh batch in the oven and I’ve iced two whole cakes.
The third, a double chocolate fudge cake, is the hardest to screw up so I save that one for Freddie.
Cake decorating is an art, but if in doubt, smother it with chocolate.
Given this morning’s accident, I’m confident Freddie can handle that.
I dollop the last of the fudge icing into a piping bag and give it a twirl. “This one’s all yours, if you can manage that?”
Freddie gives me a sheepish grin as he takes the piping bag. “Yes. No more mess, I promise.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I reassure him. “Though I’ve got no more T-shirts so if it happens again, you’ll just have to go topless.”
Stop it, Shaun…
Freddie snips the tip off the piping bag. “I thought that was against the uniform code?”
I shrug. “Topless barista? There might be a business model there, you know!”
Shut up, shut up, shut up!
Freddie gasps in mock-offence.
“Are you suggesting you want to pimp me out?” A flash of mischief in his eyes. “Can’t say I’d be totally against that, if I get a share of the profits, of course.”
I linger in the doorway, pretending to deliberate. “Let me speak to my people and get back to you.”
“I’m assuming ‘your people’ is your cat?”
“Oi!” I narrow my eyes. “How did you know?”
My thoughts race as I leave Freddie to piping.
I've been learning a lot about myself these past few days. Apparently, I’ve got zero impulse control.
At least, not around him. And I’ve never thought of myself as much of a flirt, but that boy certainly brings it out in me.
I’m getting whiplash from the constant clash of heart versus head.
This is like fighting a war against myself, only I’m not sure which side is winning.
I unlock the front door and peer out onto the street. West Marbank is waking up. Early morning dog walkers stroll by on their way to the beach while cars and cyclists race each other to work. Pale dawn light illuminates the esplanade, glittering off the frosty ground.
It’s freezing, but my chest is full and warm as I look out on the picture-perfect view.
I haven’t felt like this in weeks. Despite all my complicated feelings for Freddie, I’m actually happy to be at work.
I humour myself trying to pinpoint what’s changed, like I don’t already know.
There’s only one thing, really. The obvious thing.
No one comes in for the first few minutes, so I have time to arrange the two cakes I’ve iced in the display fridge, leaving enough space for Freddie’s chocolate one.
“Getting on okay back there, Freddie?” I call towards the kitchen.
“No Freddie here,” comes his reply. “Just Pete Hollywood.”
I roll my eyes but can’t hold back a smile.
The door jangles open and I look around to greet our first customers of the day.
Then my jaw hits the floor.