Chapter Sixteen
Sam
“Earth to Samuel.” Maya waved a hand in front of his face. “The machine is beeping. It has been for, like, thirty seconds.”
“Right. Sorry.” He dumped the burnt shot and started over, but his thoughts drifted back to the garden. Those crimson salvias against the gold marigolds… The way Urien had looked at him when Sam asked what else he should see in the design… The espresso machine beeped again.
“Okay, that’s it.” Maya grabbed the portafilter from his hands. “You’ve been useless all morning. What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Sam.” Maya crossed her arms. “You hugged someone yesterday. I can tell.”
Heat crept up Sam’s neck. “How could you possibly…”
“You have that soft and distracted look.” She grinned. “So who was it? The red-haired one who drank six coffees? The scary hot one in the expensive suits? Or the tall gardener who brought you vegetables at dawn like some kind of cottage core fantasy?”
“Urien.” Sam adjusted his glasses, abandoning any pretense of making coffee. The shop was empty anyway - Monday morning lulls were predictable. “He invited me to see the garden he planted in the park. He finished the whole thing in three days, and it was…”
He trailed off, remembering how the colors had shifted in the sunset and how carefully Urien had chosen each variety of plant.
“It was what?” Maya leaned forward, eyes bright.
“Beautiful.” Sam stared at the espresso machine. “Really beautiful. He seemed nervous about showing it to me, though, like my opinion meant something to him.”
“And you hugged him.”
“I hugged him.” It felt weird admitting something like that out loud, but it felt good, too.
“He looked so hopeful when he asked what I saw in the design, and then kind of sad when I described the colors. I don’t know what he wanted me to say, but I wanted to…
I don’t know…thank him for sharing it with me. ”
Maya was quiet for exactly three seconds. Then she squealed.
“Maya…”
“You like him!” She grabbed his shoulders. “You actually like one of them! Or wait…” Her eyes went wide. “Do you like all of them?”
Sam opened his mouth and then quickly closed it. Because the honest answer was yes, but to admit that…
“Oh my god, you do.” Maya’s squeal reached dog-whistle pitch. “You like all three of them.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“This is amazing! This is like, fate! Destiny! Your very own polyamorous…”
“Maya.”
She clapped both hands over her mouth, but her eyes were still dancing. When she lowered her hands, her grin could have powered the espresso machine. “Sorry. But Sam. Three gorgeous men who bring you flowers, baked goods, and gold bars…”
“We don’t know they left the gold bar.”
“And you’re developing feelings.” Maya said the word like it was sacred. “Plural, for multiple people. Do you know how rare that is? How special?”
Sam’s chest felt too tight. “They probably just want to be friends.”
“Samuel Brown.” Maya was using her serious voice. “Nobody plants an entire garden in three days for a friend.”
The espresso machine beeped, but neither one of them noticed.
/~/~/~/~/
Tuesday morning brought rain and Mabon in another impeccable suit - charcoal today, with a burgundy tie that looked smart and expensive.
“The usual?” Sam reached for a cup before Mabon answered.
“Please.” Mabon’s smile was friendly. “And one of those lemon bars, if you have any left.”
Sam plated the pastry, trying not to think about Maya’s squealing or the way his pulse kicked up whenever one of them walked through the door. He was ringing up the order when Mrs. Bellows emerged from her office, took one look at Mabon, and her entire face hardened.
“Samuel, a word. Now.”
Sam blinked. Mrs. Bellows never used that tone with him. “I’m in the middle of…”
“Maya can handle it.” Mrs. Bellows gestured sharply toward the back room.
Maya materialized beside the register, eyebrows climbing toward her purple hair. Sam handed over the transaction and followed his boss, his stomach sinking.
Mrs. Bellows shut the office door with a hard shove. She was a petite woman, barely five feet tall, but she could project authority like a general.
“That man.” She pointed toward the front. “The one in the expensive suit who tips you forty-seven dollars for a two-dollar-fifty coffee.”
“Mabon?”
“Is that his name?” Mrs. Bellows crossed her arms. “Well, Mabon tried to buy my shop.”
Sam’s leg wobbled. “What?”
“Last week. He showed up at my house with a briefcase full of documents and an offer for twice the market value.” Mrs. Bellows’s mouth thinned. “He was very insistent, almost desperate. He kept saying he wanted to ensure the establishment maintained its current standards and staff.”
Sam’s throat closed. “He wanted to buy the Daily Bean.”
“Wanted to buy it, keep everything exactly the same, and apparently pay me enough to retire to the Bahamas.” Mrs. Bellows shook her head. “I told him no. This shop has been in my family for thirty years. It’s not for sale at any price.”
Sam couldn’t breathe properly. The walls felt too close.
“He seemed surprised when I refused.” Mrs. Bellows studied Sam’s face. “Then he asked if you were happy working here, if the wages were fair, and if I treated you well.”
Oh, gods, no.
“Samuel, I don’t know what’s going on between you and that man, but…”
“Nothing’s going on.” Sam could barely get the words out. “We’re not… He’s just a customer.”
“A customer who wants to buy your workplace.” Mrs. Bellows’s expression softened slightly. “Look, I’m not telling you who you can or can’t associate with. But that kind of behavior? Trying to purchase a business just to what? Control your work environment? That’s not normal. That’s concerning.”
Sam’s hands were shaking. He shoved them in his apron pockets.
“Just be careful, all right?” Mrs. Bellows opened the door. “Whatever he wants, it’s clearly not casual.”
Sam walked back to the counter on autopilot. Mabon stood by the window, sipping his maple latte, looking composed, heartbreakingly handsome, and possibly insane. Why else would he have tried to buy the coffee shop?
Maya caught his eye, mouthed “you okay?” but Sam couldn’t answer. He grabbed a cloth and started wiping down the espresso machine even though he’d cleaned it twenty minutes before.
Mabon turned, caught Sam staring, and smiled, that same genuine smile.
Sam couldn’t help it – he looked away.
Finishing his latte, Mabon approached the counter with the empty cup, and Sam’s fingers tightened on the cloth. Just ask. Just get it over with.
“Mrs. Bellows said someone tried to buy the Daily Bean.” The words came out steadier than Sam expected. “Was that you?”
Mabon went completely still, the cup frozen halfway to the counter, his dark eyes widening with something that looked remarkably like panic.
“I…” Mabon set the cup down with exaggerated care. “Yes, that was me.”
Sam’s stomach twisted. “Why would you try to buy this place?”
“Because…” Mabon’s throat worked and his knuckles whitened against the counter edge. “Because I wanted to give it to you.”
Sam had to check for a moment just to make sure his heart was still working. “What did you say?”
“I wanted to give it to you.” Mabon spoke quickly, like the words had been physically dragged out of him.
“The Daily Bean. I wanted to purchase it and transfer ownership to you so you could…you work so hard here, and you deserve to have something that’s yours, something stable, and I thought if you owned it, then you could make your own hours and focus on your writing and… ”
“You wanted to give me a business.” Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “A whole business.”
Mabon seemed to realize, in real time, exactly how that sounded, and his face drained of color.
“Not - I didn’t mean - it was supposed to be an investment opportunity!
” He backpedaled so fast he nearly tripped over his own words.
“A sound financial decision. You have excellent business acumen, Sam. The way you handle difficult customers, your efficiency, your natural understanding of customer retention strategies - those are valuable skills that translate directly to ownership models and…”
“Mabon.”
“And I merely wanted to help facilitate your potential because you’re clearly underutilized in your current position, not that there’s anything wrong with being a barista, it’s honorable work, but someone with your capabilities could easily manage a small business enterprise, and I thought perhaps if I could just provide the initial capital investment, then you could… ”
“Mabon!”
He stopped, breathing hard. Sam studied his face. The genuine distress there, the way Mabon looked like he might actually be sick. Not dangerous or controlling. Just...completely and utterly panicked.
“Oh.” Understanding clicked into place. “You were trying to give me investment advice.”
“I…what?”
“That’s really thoughtful.” Sam’s expression softened. “I mean, it’s way beyond anything I could actually do. I don’t have that kind of money, and I definitely don’t know anything about running a business, but it’s sweet that you thought I could. Thank you for seeing that potential in me.”
Mabon stared at him like Sam had started speaking Mandarin.
“Though maybe next time just, like, mention it over coffee instead of making an actual offer to Mrs. Bellows?” Sam managed a slight smile. “I think you freaked her out a bit.”
“Right.” Mabon’s voice came out strangled. “Yes. Of course. Next time. Coffee. Casual conversation about...investment portfolios.”
“Exactly.” Sam wiped down the section of counter between them. “I should probably get back to work. Maya’s handling the rush by herself.”
There was no rush. The café held exactly three customers.
“Of course. I should…I have a meeting… a conference call… Tokyo markets.” Mabon backed toward the door, still staring at Sam with a panicked expression. “Thank you for the coffee.”
“Anytime.”
Mabon turned and walked straight into the doorframe. He corrected course without acknowledging it, pushed through the exit, and disappeared into the rain.
Maya appeared at Sam’s elbow. “What the hell was that about?”
“He tried to give me business advice.” Sam watched Mabon’s tall figure hurry toward a black Range Rover parked across the street. “He’s kind of awkward about it.”
“Awkward.” Maya’s voice dripped skepticism. “That man just walked into a wall.”
“He’s nervous. It’s sweet.”
“Samuel Brown, I swear to god…”
But Sam was already moving to help the next customer. How did he knew that I write in my spare time? The thought was random, but Sam was busy. He’d think about it later.
/~/~/~/~/
Rux
Mabon wrenched open the Range Rover’s door and collapsed into the passenger seat.
“Well?” Rux twisted around from the driver’s seat, red hair escaping its tie. “Did he understand the gesture?”
“Two gestures down.” Mabon’s voice came out hollow. “Sam thinks I was giving him financial advice.”
“Oh, that’s not good.” Then Rux made a sound that might have been a strangled laugh. “You tried to buy him a business, and he thinks you were” - Another choked noise - “offering investment tips?”
“Don’t.” Mabon dropped his head into his hands. “Please don’t.”
“That’s actually impressive.” Urien leaned forward from the back seat, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. “How did you manage to make a grand romantic gesture sound like a seminar?”
“I panicked. I said ‘business acumen’ and ‘capital investment’ and he just, he looked so confused, and I couldn’t stop talking…”
“Did you actually say, ‘capital investment’ to Sam?” Rux’s shoulders shook.
“Shut up.”
“To the man we’re courting. You said, ‘capital investment.’”
“I’m aware.” Mabon glared at him. “Perhaps you’ll do better with your dinner invitation.”
That sobered Rux instantly, and his smile faded.
“One gesture left.” Urien’s voice carried a note of finality. “No pressure.”
Rux’s jaw tightened. “I won’t fail.”
“You said that before you took him seventeen pastries at seven in the morning,” Mabon pointed out.
“This is different. This is dinner. At our home. I’ll cook everything wonderfully, the table will be beautiful, the atmosphere will be romantic…” Rux gripped the steering wheel. “Sam will understand what we’re offering.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Urien asked quietly.
Mabon straightened in his seat, meeting both their eyes in the rearview mirror. “Then we tell him the truth. All of it.”
“The Council…”
“The Council can’t expect us to lose our Treasure because of their secrecy protocols.” Mabon’s jaw tightened. “If the dinner doesn’t work, we reveal everything. Dragon forms, mate bonds, hoard traditions… Everything.”
Urien nodded slowly. “Everything.”
“Then I’d better start planning the menu.” Rux started the engine. “Because I’m not losing him to a misunderstanding about investment portfolios.”
Mabon winced. “Are you ever going to let that go?”
“Capital. Investment.” Rux pulled into traffic, his wide grin showing his teeth. “Nope, I don’t think I will.”