Chapter -6- #2
“Okay,” Denz agrees. “No selfies, face pics, or tagging you.”
He can respect that. It doesn’t stop him from arranging their hands next to their cups on the table. He weaves his fingers between Braylon’s.
“We can still make it social media official.”
After three attempts, Denz gets the perfect shot: an overhead photo of their hands bathed in a lush mix of sun and interior lighting. He adds a brief caption, some hashtags. His notifications skyrocket seconds after posting.
Braylon stares at his tea. “We probably shouldn’t tell anyone about our arrangement.”
“Yeah,” Denz says, wincing guiltily. “Except Jamie knows.”
Braylon sighs.
“But we can trust him!” Jamie is a vault of secrets. “Is there anyone you want to tell?”
Careful brown eyes study Denz. The crease between Braylon’s brows deepens. “I don’t really have anyone. To tell.”
“Not even a best friend?”
“No.”
“What about your old UGA teammates?”
They were Braylon’s little Athens family. Somehow, even when he was the youngest in the group, he was always the big brother type, watching over each of them.
“Haven’t kept in touch,” Braylon says.
“Your roommate? Ben? Bryce?”
“Brent.”
“What about him?”
“He barely said goodbye when we moved out of the dorms,” Braylon notes. “I bet he’s somewhere in Boston or Nashville. Chugging iced coffees. Living his best finance-bro life.”
“So, there’s… no one?”
The café’s music switches over to something slow, somber. Braylon’s expression matches it. He swirls the last of his tea, never drinking.
Denz’s next question comes out before he’s thought it through:
“Who came to your dad’s funeral?”
An emptiness flashes over Braylon’s eyes. He blinks, resetting. “Dad’s old colleagues. Neighbors. Loads of people who brought so many casseroles and cakes and—”
“Braylon,” Denz interrupts, “who was there for you ?”
The question silences Braylon. Like he’s never thought about it. Never given himself permission to.
“Who was supposed to be there?” Braylon counters.
“I don’t know. Didn’t your mom have a sister?”
“Who lives in Sweden, ” Braylon reminds him. “Besides, she stopped being close to Dad a few years ago. She called, at least.”
“No one else?”
Denz can’t imagine. His family is huge, on both sides. When his grandparents died, he couldn’t walk five feet without someone to hug him or brush his hair, let him sob on their shoulder.
“I didn’t have—” Braylon stops. “It doesn’t matter.”
Somewhere in those three words, Denz thinks he’s saying, You weren’t there so why do you care?
It’s probably not true. That doesn’t make the thought go away.
“Only Jamie knows,” he repeats.
“Only Jamie,” Braylon confirms, nodding.
Denz is tempted to ask Braylon to finish his thought from a minute ago. What didn’t he have? Who didn’t he have? But that’s not fair. Braylon doesn’t owe him anything from that time in his life.
Just like Denz doesn’t owe him anything from the last five years.
The sun’s warm on Denz’s cheek outside Crema.
He lingers on the sidewalk while Braylon orders something to-go at the front counter.
His thumb scrolls through his notifications, purposely ignoring the family group chat.
His attention keeps returning to the photo he posted. Their hands look so natural.
Believable .
That’s confirmed when a new comment from Auntie Cheryl pops up: five heart-eye emojis and a ridiculous number of exclamation points.
Braylon steps outside, holding a paper bag. “Sorry. Whit, my coworker, is a total badass. She’s also quite grumpy if you show up empty-handed after going out for lunch.”
“Relatable.” Denz motions to the cup in Braylon’s hand. “More tea?”
“An herbal blend.”
“Ooh, there’s more than one kind of dirty leaf water?”
“Has anyone told you what a dick you can be?”
“Multiple,” Denz says, catching a glimpse of Matty through the window. Speaking of. “I forgot to mention earlier, but… I’m not gonna date or, like, whatever with anyone. While we’re, you know.”
“Fake-dating?”
Denz smirks. “You’re learning.”
“Me neither.” Braylon tugs at his collar. “Not that I was. You know. Dating anyone.”
“Atlanta men aren’t as hot as the Brits?”
“Hardly.” Braylon looks away. “I’m invested in my work, that’s all.”
“Sounds boring.”
“And here I was worried you wouldn’t approve.”
“Always here to invalidate your love life,” Denz says.
The corners of Braylon’s mouth twitch higher.
“BTW…” Denz raises his phone to show off the various online platforms the nonprofit uses. “Who handles your social media? It’s grossly ineffective.”
“It’s a collaborative effort!”
“Hmm. You were never good at group projects.”
Denz stares at his screen. Skye’s the Limit’s online presence is like the vanilla milkshake of company profiles. Nothing offensive, just… there.
“All of you should be fired.”
Braylon’s laugh is a soothing noise. It hits Denz like a cold shower. Memories of nights on the grassy terrace between the Miller Learning Center and the Fine Arts Building. From talking for hours instead of sleeping. Kissing instead of studying.
It takes all Denz’s focus not to shiver.
“Sorry we can’t all be social media gurus like you,” Braylon says.
“It’s a shame.”
“Our five thousand followers aren’t complaining.”
“Because they’re either bots or people who get joy from watching grass grow.”
Braylon scowls. “You little shit.”
“Argh. Come here,” Denz demands after one last glance at the sad grid.
Under Crema’s black-and-white awning, where the natural light’s better, he poses Braylon near the door.
A Pride flag hangs inside the glass. The vibe of the entire block is small-town-neighborhood-tucked-inside-a-big-city realness.
Wide sidewalks, whimsical shops. The perfect backdrop for a cozy movie.
Denz arranges the cup in Braylon’s hand so the logo is visible. He adjusts Braylon’s messenger bag too. Branding is everything.
“What are you—”
“Shut up,” Denz says without any heat. He angles Braylon’s jaw toward the lens. “Just smile.”
He steps back. His fingers aren’t tingling from the soft, bristly hairs of Braylon’s stubble. That’s not a thing.
With an indignant huff, Braylon follows Denz’s instructions.
It only takes one attempt.
“You’re welcome,” Denz says after AirDropping the photo into Braylon’s phone. “Post this everywhere. Friendly vibes. Hot gu—”
He cuts himself off. Was he really about to say that?
“Instant reach,” Denz finishes, throat tight.
Braylon’s too busy staring at his phone to notice. “You’re… good at this.”
Denz’s face warms. He needs to get out of the sun.
“Don’t forget to tag the café,” he commands. “Add the location too.”
“Noted.”
“My work here’s done.” Denz pockets his phone. He buttons his coat before turning to leave. Over his shoulder, he says, “I’ll be expecting a dirty, flirty text from you tomorrow. Make it good.”
The left side of Braylon’s mouth edges up. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”
Denz walks away. If he’s smiling all the way back to his car, well—it’s clearly the caffeine. No other reason.