Chapter 18 Shaun #2
Andi’s café hasn’t changed one bit. It has that modern, minimalist vibe you can only get away with in the inner city where ninety percent of your customers are young professionals too busy to sit still for more than ten seconds at a time.
As I hold the door open for Freddie, I’m greeted by the dreamy scents of cinnamon and cardamom and my stomach rumbles. I skipped breakfast for this, knowing it would be worth it.
“What do you think?” I say, catching up with Freddie who’s wandering up and down, surveying Andi’s charms. He leans in close and whispers.
“It’s kinda like a Starbucks had a baby with a luxury car dealership. In space.”
To be fair, he’s hit the nail on the head. That’s exactly what it’s like.
We approach the sleek white counter where a young barista with pink hair greets us with a warm smile.
“Morning!” I say. “Is Andi in?”
The barista nods. “She’s baking in the back. Want me to get her for you?”
“Please,” I say, relieved she’s working today. I didn’t think to call and check. “Tell her it’s Shaun Harrison.”
The barista nods and sweeps off towards the kitchen.
Freddie sidles up to my left. “You know the owner?”
“I worked here for three years after uni,” I explain, a hint of pride winding its way into my voice. “Andi basically taught me everything I know.”
“I’ll curb my expectations then.”
I shoot Freddie a side-eye and he winks. Cheeky little—
The kitchen door swings open and Andi appears in her chef whites, a thin veneer of sweat on her forehead.
As soon as she spots me, her face lights up and I can’t help but beam right back at her.
She half-runs around the counter and catapults all five-foot-two of herself at me.
I catch her in a tight hug, her long dark braids tickling my forearms.
“Hi Andi,” I say.
“What a nice surprise!” She loosens her grip and I set her back down on the floor. “You should have told me you were coming to visit, Grumbles!”
My stomach lurches. I’d forgotten about that old nickname. Hopefully Freddie didn’t notice.
“The place looks great!” I say, changing the subject. “Busy?”
“Very. How’s your place?”
“Also busy.”
“Yeah?” She narrows her eyes. “You look shattered, mate.”
“I’ve been told.”
Andi clicks her tongue in the manner of a bossy older sister.
“I’ve always said you work too hard. You’ve got to take better care of yourself, Grumbles!”
I’m about to point out the hypocrisy in her statement since Andi works more hours than anyone I’ve ever met, but it’s not a fair comparison; somehow she’s always fresh as a daisy, whereas I feel more like a dandelion that’s been shat on by a herd of sick cows.
Andi glances behind me. “Who’s your friend?”
“Ah! Sorry, this is Freddie. He’s my new barista who neglected to tell me in his interview that he doesn’t like coffee. Freddie, this is Andi. Her name’s on the door.”
“Doesn’t like coffee?” Andi extends her hand and she and Freddie shake. “That explains why you’re here.”
I grin. Sharp as ever. “I’m taking him to all the best places. It’s my mission to fix him by the end of the day.”
“Fix me?” Freddie exclaims. “I’m not broken.”
“Not broken, no. Just… odd?” I say.
“Oi!”
Freddie and I share a smile.
Andi clears her throat. “Why don’t you boys take a seat? I’ll bring you some menus.”
Freddie picks a table by the floor-to-ceiling windows and we sit down. Andi appears a moment later with a couple of paper breakfast menus on wooden clipboards.
“It’s on me today, boys, so order whatever you like.”
I take the menus and hand one to Freddie.
“Are you sure, Andi?” I ask.
“Grumbles, am I ever not?”
Freddie catches my eye, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Andi talks us through the menu, each dish sounding even more delicious than the last. Fried potatoes with avocado drizzled in sriracha and served with scrambled eggs.
Freshly baked sourdough toast, bacon, and chilli jam.
Maple granola with yoghurt and winter berries.
Treacle porridge and stewed apples. Fresh, golden pastries.
Cardamom buns served with a black cherry compote.
By the time she reaches the bottom, Freddie and I are practically drooling.
“How about I just bring you a selection?” We nod like a couple of bobble-heads and Andi scoops up the menus. “Coffee?”
Despite his objections, I order Freddie a single-shot vanilla latte and myself a macchiato.
“So, Grumbles,” says Freddie, once Andi heads off to make our drinks. He draws the word out, making my toes curl. “Care to explain?”
“Oh god,” I run a hand through my hair. “So, it might have escaped your notice, but I take my work quite seriously—”
“No way!” Freddie smirks. “Sorry. Carry on.”
“Well apparently when I make coffee I get this look on my face like I’m trying to pass a kidney stone.
Some of the girls here thought it was hilarious.
When it got busy, I’d mutter the orders under my breath to keep track, but everyone thought I was grumbling away to myself.
One of them gave me the nickname one day and it just sort of stuck.
” I can feel myself blushing. “It’s silly. ”
Freddie bites his lower lip. “I think it’s cute.”
I fold my arms. “You’re not allowed to call me Grumbles.”
He tuts. “Boo. You’re no fun.”
Freddie laughs and for a moment I’m lost in the sound, the soft lilt of his voice drawing me in. Is it possible he’s getting more attractive by the day? My poor heart races. I’ve been staring too long. One of us should look away. I should look away.
But I don’t.
“Can I ask you something, Shaun?”
“Sure,” I say.
Freddie leans closer. “Do you take all your employees out for breakfast?”
“This is research,” I clarify.
“Riiight,” Freddie drawls, shooting me a knowing smile. “Okay then. Do you take all your employees out for research?”
I blink. “Only the woefully ignorant ones.”
Freddie mimes being shot in the heart and we chuckle. “Wow! Consider me told.”
The pink-haired barista appears out of nowhere with our coffees and sets them down on the table. As they leave, Freddie stares at his latte with thinly veiled scepticism.
“It’s a one-shot vanilla latte, about as mild as you can get,” I reassure him. “It’s what teenagers drink when they want to seem cool. Think of it like a gateway drug.”
Freddie nods and, slowly, lifts the cup to his mouth and takes the tiniest of sips.
“Well?” I ask as he swallows.
“Huh.” Freddie smacks his lips. “That’s not bad, actually.” He takes another sip. “Yeah, I don’t hate that. Tastes kinda like an ice-cream cone.”
He’s making an effort, so I resist the urge to berate him for equating the flavour of this artfully crafted mix of top-quality ingredients to something I often see children feed to seagulls.
“I used to drink these at uni when I wanted to fit in with the cool kids,” I admit.
Freddie narrows his eyes. “Wait, so you didn’t always like coffee?”
“Well, not when I was a child. But when I left home, I jumped on the bandwagon and never got off.” I take a sip of my macchiato.
It’s divine. The milk is silky smooth, the espresso rich like cocoa.
“I thought learning to like coffee was something everyone did when they left home. A rite of passage.”
Freddie shrugs. “Guess I never made it that far.”
I cock my head. “You didn’t go to college?”
“Nope.”
“Oh. I thought maybe music or something?”
Freddie shakes his head. “Self-taught, mostly. My mum taught me to sing, back when she was still around.”
His gaze drops, his smile growing sad.
“I see. Is she…?” I probe.
“Yeah. Cancer. A little while ago now. I helped look after her towards the end. We both did, Rory and I. He was the grown-up, but I chipped in where I could.”
My heart aches for him. I count myself lucky to have never lost anyone close. From the way he’s talking, I’m guessing he was a teenager when she died. Suddenly my problems seem incredibly pedestrian. I can’t imagine losing my mum at all, never mind at such a young age.
“I’m so sorry, Freddie. We can talk about something else.”
He looks up, his eyes glassy. “I don’t mind.
I try to remember her as much as I can. Illness aside, I don’t have a single bad memory of her.
She was awesome. Like seriously awesome.
I had the coolest mum in the world. Even when she, you know, started to fade or whatever,” his voice catches but his smile only broadens, “she never stopped being a rad mum.”
He rests his hands on the table, and I want more than anything to take them in mine.
“Still, that must have been so hard for you, and your brother,” I say.
“I mean, for Rory, yeah. I think he tries not to think about her. Throws himself into work and the gym and decorating the house or whatever. You probably thought he was an arsehole when you spoke this morning, but he’s really not!
He’s always been stoic but when Mum died, it’s like the wall around him grew fifty feet taller.
I think he’s still working through it. In his own way.
That’s why he might seem a little blunt. ”
Hammers are blunt. Rory was a wrecking ball.
“He grilled me about whether I was paying you for today or not,” I say.
Freddie rolls his eyes. “Having fun with people from work doesn’t compute with my brother.
He treats everything like a business meeting.
I swear the bank has stopped inviting him to anything that’s not the mandatory Christmas night out.
I got to go along to it once. It was a blast!
All the free prosecco I could drink, but Rory spent the whole time like a statue in the corner. Socialising just isn’t his thing.”
“I get that,” I say, remembering all the parties I’ve spent wishing I was cuddled up at home with snacks and a movie instead. “Some days the last thing I want to do is speak to strangers.”
Freddie laughs. “And yet, you work in hospitality.”
I sigh. “Yeah, but I’d be anxious anywhere. Might as well be anxious doing what I love.”
Freddie’s smile falters. “Are you anxious, Shaun?”
He sounds surprised. Maybe I’ve said too much. I shake my head.
“Ignore me. Doesn’t matter.”
Freddie’s head tilts. “Seriously, what do you have to be anxious about? As far as I can see, you’re nailing life.”
The cold knot forming in my stomach thaws a little. He really is a lovely young man. If I wasn’t his boss, if this was a date, this might be the moment to tell him about my diagnosis. I want to tell him. Then, I remember what happened when I told Lara, and look how that ended!
But Freddie isn’t Lara. That calm little voice in my head spurs me on.
Maybe I should just say it?
Before I can, however, our breakfast arrives, and all is instantly forgotten.