Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Cooper
Darkness had descended on Main Street as I wiped down the espresso machine for the third time.
The stainless steel gleamed under my cloth, reflecting my distorted image back at me.
I’d already cleaned every surface twice, emptied the pastry case, and loaded the dishwasher.
Anything to keep my hands busy while my mind churned over the upcoming birthday dinner.
“Boss, I’m pretty sure that machine is clean enough to perform surgery on.” Jessica leaned against the counter. Her purple-tipped hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she had that patient look she got whenever I was being neurotic. “You’ve been polishing it for ten minutes.”
I set the cloth down with a sigh. “Just making sure it’s ready for tomorrow.”
“Uh-huh.” Jessica raised an eyebrow. “And this has nothing to do with whatever your brother was talking to you about yesterday?”
The bell above the door jingled as our last customer of the day departed with a to-go cup, leaving us alone in the shop. Outside, Seacliff Cove was settling into that peaceful lull between the workday and dinner hour.
“You’re too observant for your own good,” I muttered. I moved to lock the front door and flip the sign to Closed. “Ryan wants me to attend his birthday dinner next week. My parents will be there.”
“Ah.” Jessica’s expression softened. She’d been working for me since I bought the coffee shop a year ago, and she knew enough about my family situation to understand. “That explains the stress-cleaning.”
I’d spent years perfecting the art of limiting my exposure to my parents’ particular brand of disapproval. Now I’d agreed to willingly subject myself to it for an entire evening. The knot in my stomach tightened.
“Go home, Jess.” I attempted a smile. “I’ll finish closing up.”
“You sure? I can stay if—”
“I’m sure. Thanks.”
After Jessica left, I moved through my closing routine with practiced efficiency.
The ordinary tasks—wiping down tables, running the end-of-day report, loading the dishwasher—grounded me.
By the time I finished, evening had settled outside the windows, and the coffee shop felt like a warm cave against the January chill.
I pulled my coat tight around me as I stepped onto the sidewalk.
The cold air hit me like a splash of iced coffee, and I hurried toward my apartment four blocks away.
My breath puffed white in front of me as I walked.
My thoughts circled back to the same painful realizations I’d been torturing myself with all afternoon.
My parents hadn’t changed in the sixteen years since I’d come out during my sophomore year of college.
They hadn’t disowned me—that would have been too dramatic, too obvious.
Instead, they’d settled into a pattern of cool politeness, treating my sexuality like a regrettable phase that they were enduring.
Every interaction came with unspoken judgment.
And I’d just agreed to pour myself another cup of that particular blend.
By the time I reached my apartment building, my fingers were stiff and cold despite having shoved them in my pockets. I fumbled with my keys, grateful when the lock finally turned and I stepped into the relative warmth of my first-floor apartment.
Inside, I kicked off my shoes and hung my jacket on the hook by the door.
I was dying to sit and put my feet up, and my gaze strayed to my threadbare but comfortable chair.
More focused on paying down the loan for the coffee shop than on interior design, I’d furnished the modest one-bedroom apartment frugally.
My phone chimed, and a text from Jack lit up the screen.
Coming over? I’ve got a new co-op game.
I smiled despite my mood. Our weekly gaming nights had become a fixture in my life since Jack moved to Seacliff Cove last spring, but they were just the latest iteration of a friendship that had somehow survived regardless of the distance between San Jose and Seacliff Cove.
Jack had been my anchor during those tumultuous college years when I was figuring out who I was, both as a gay man and as someone trying to find my place in the world. His friendship had been uncomplicated—a safe harbor during the storm of coming out to my family.
During the years after college, we’d kept in touch through an evolving series of connections.
First, it was weekend visits when he’d drive up 280 to crash on my couch, bringing obscure coffee beans he’d discovered for me to try.
Then, as his career in cybersecurity took off and the coffee shop demanded more of my time, we shifted to weekly calls and a constant stream of texts—Jack sharing amusing stories of clients, me sending him photos of experimental latte art.
Five years ago, we’d started online gaming sessions every week. Jack would log on from his San Jose apartment, I’d fire up my ancient PlayStation, and we’d spend hours playing whatever game had caught his interest. Conversation flowed effortlessly through our headsets.
It still amazed me sometimes how easily we’d maintained our friendship, as if the years and miles between us had been nothing more than a brief interlude.
And when he’d messaged me last year about possibly moving to Seacliff Cove, it had felt like the universe was offering me something good after years of striving to make the coffee shop successful.
On my way in 30. Need me to bring anything?
His response came quickly.
Just your stellar gaming skills. You’ll need them.
I could practically hear his teasing tone through the text. Jack had always ribbed me about my gaming abilities, even during those online sessions when the freeway separated us.
The prospect of spending the evening with Jack pushed thoughts of my parents—and the hacker—to the back burner.
I showered quickly and changed into jeans and a soft-washed comfortable sweatshirt.
In the bathroom mirror, I noted the tired lines around my eyes—evidence of too many early mornings and not enough sleep.
My damp hair fell across my forehead, and I made a halfhearted attempt to tame it before giving up.
Jack had seen me looking far worse during finals week.
I grabbed a six-pack of Barnacle Brews from my fridge and headed out. Jack’s apartment was above Tides & Tales, the bookstore next to my coffee shop. The convenience of his living next door to the shop had been one of the selling points when I’d mentioned the apartment to him last spring.
I walked the short distance back to Main Street.
Tides & Tales was closed for the evening, its front window display already sporting early Valentine’s decorations.
I rang the buzzer to access the separate entrance that led to the upstairs apartments.
When the lock clicked, I climbed the stairs to the third floor.
Jack’s door was on the landing at the top, and before I could knock, it swung open. “Did you bring the beer?” he asked without preamble.
“You have a sixth sense for beer arrival.” I held up the six-pack.
“It’s my superpower.” He stepped aside to let me in. “That, and always knowing when the pizza guy is about to ring the buzzer.”
Jack’s apartment was the opposite of mine: warm and lived-in, with colorful gaming art prints and a massive entertainment center dominating one wall of the living room.
Cutting-edge gaming consoles sat neatly beneath his impressive flat-screen TV.
Books and graphic novels, interspersed with collectible figurines from various games and movies, filled a large bookshelf.
I noticed a framed photo on the shelf that hadn’t been there during my last visit: the two of us at Brewed Awakening during college, Jack pretending to be shocked by whatever experimental coffee I’d forced him to try.
I remembered my roommate taking that picture, but I was surprised Jack had kept it all these years, let alone framed it.
But that was Jack—my safe, reliable best friend. The cornerstone of my life.
The apartment had undergone a transformation since he’d moved in. What had once been an outdated rental with old fixtures was now distinctly Jack’s space. He’d painted the walls a soft gray, installed a washer and dryer, and somehow convinced Mason to let him replace the ancient appliances.
“Pizza’s on the coffee table.” Jack took the beer from me and headed to the kitchen. “I got half veggie supreme for your boring, health-conscious side and half meat lover’s for people who actually enjoy life.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Some of us don’t have the metabolism of a hummingbird, Anderson.”
“Sounds like quitter talk to me,” he called over his shoulder. He returned with two open beers and handed one to me.
We settled onto the couch, and as I grabbed a slice, Jack’s expression turned more serious.
“Before we eat, I should tell you something.” He set down his beer. “The monitoring software I installed detected a probe of your internet firewall today.”
The slice of pizza suddenly felt heavy. “What do you mean?”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “The firewall held. They didn’t get through. But whoever it was, they were looking around—at you and at any connections to your system. They probed my security monitoring software.”
A cold ripple ran through me, like a draft through an open window. I set down the pizza, suddenly not hungry. “Why were they looking at your security monitoring software?”
Jack’s lips flattened into a thin line. “Probably to test it. We’re dealing with someone serious, Coop. This wasn’t some kid messing around.”
My stomach dropped. If they were probing Jack’s security software, that meant they were studying the very systems meant to protect me. It was like watching someone case your house, testing the locks, learning your defenses.