Change of Plans (Common Grounds #1)

Chapter 1

Diccon

The best thing my parents ever did for me and my brothers, other than naming us all after classic literary characters, was raising us all to do what we loved instead of joining the rat race and working for a paycheck.

Sounds simple enough, right? Something everyone should do. But you’d be amazed how many people fall into the trap of going broke to pay for college, then sitting around in a beige cube farm for the rest of their lives watching the seasons come and go from a fifth-floor office window.

I preferred to be on the ground, dressed in jeans, a green t-shirt, and an apron with our family coffee shop’s bean-heavy logo printed on it, dancing through the morning choreography of serving customers and sending them on their way with a smile and sometimes a wink.

“I’ll have a macchiato with a shot of Irish cream, almond milk and two sugars,” Kenny, one of our regulars ordered as soon as it was his turn, then promptly burst into a loud, morning yawn. “And one of the blueberry muffins, if you have any left.”

“Macchiato, Irish cream, almond milk, two sugars,” I repeated back, tapping on the tablet we’d recently started using in place of the clunky old register Mom and Dad had installed when they opened the place fifteen years ago. “And a blueberry muffin.”

“Macchiato, Irish cream, almond milk, two sugars,” Brian, my bestie since forever sang out in echo of me as he got to work making the drink.

“Macchiato, Irish cream, almond milk, two sugars!” Hannah, who did the baking in the tiny kitchen on the other side of the back counter and its industrial coffee machines, sang the order in her amazing rock-star voice as well.

Kenny snorted with laughter and shook his head. “You guys are ridiculous,” he said, but he was smiling as he did. “And you’re all way too perky for this early in the morning.”

“Perky is as perky does,” I said, shifting to the side to take one of the muffins from the display case with a pair of tongs, then bagging it and sliding it across to Kenny. “That’s why the family put me on the morning shift. That’ll be seven-forty-two.”

Kenny tapped his card, took up his muffin, and moved to the side to wait for his drink.

“So if you’re Mr. Perky mornings, what does that make Sam?” the next customer, Bill, another regular who worked in the office building a block down Easton Road from Common Grounds, asked with a wry smirk.

“That makes Sam Mr. Don’t Fuck with Me in the Mornings,” Sam answered as he walked past the counter, heading from the seating area to the large room off to the side of the shop where our performance space was set up.

He carried a box from the printer up the street that probably contained fliers for that week’s open mic night.

“Language, Sam,” I called after my older brother. “You owe the swear jar.”

I picked up the old mayonnaise jar that sat on the corner of the counter with a taped-on paper label that read “Tips and Swears” and shook it at him.

Sam replied with a scowl, giving me the finger with his free hand.

“That’s going to cost you extra,” I laughed and put the jar down. “What can I get you today, Bill?”

“What’s good today?” Bill asked, leaning into the counter and craning his neck to try to catch a glimpse of Hannah in the kitchen.

“We’re testing out a new Kenyan blend from a fair-trade distributor who wants us as a regular customer,” I said, knowing it wasn’t the coffee that brought Bill in every day. “We’re looking for opinions about whether we should reorder, so if you want to be a guinea pig, go right ahead.”

Bill was a half a beat late with, “Okay, I’ll try that.”

“Medium special blend,” I called out as I tapped in the order on the tablet.

“Medium special blend,” Brian echoed, followed immediately by Hannah’s harmonious, “Medium special blend.”

“Morning, Hannah,” Bill greeted Hannah with a smile as he shifted to the side.

“Morning, Bill,” Hannah waved to him through the window into the kitchen, grinning as she did. She had a girlfriend and Bill knew it, but that didn’t stop either of them from enjoying the sight of each other in the mornings.

Which was one of the reasons working at and co-owning Common Grounds with my brothers was the best job I could have possibly had.

No, it wasn’t glamorous. A few of my friends from high school were still shocked that I’d only gone as far as getting an associate’s degree from the Bucks County Community College instead of pursuing some four-year degree at Temple or U-Penn.

And yeah, sometimes I felt a little self-conscious about my lack of formal education.

But seriously, why go into debt when the job that made my soul happy and the place where I wanted to be in life didn’t require any of that?

Common Grounds, especially during the morning rush, was a community, and God only knew the world had been short on community for a while.

I loved the eclectic mix of businessmen, students, blue collar workers, and retirees that swung by the shop on the regular, both for their morning java and for the entertainment we hosted on weekends, and often on weeknights, too.

Plus, thanks to my colorful family, Common Grounds was probably the queerest coffee place in Northeast Philly. We had the pride sticker in the window and the Georgia O’Keefe artwork on the walls to prove it.

“Who’s next?” I smiled at the unfamiliar man waiting a few feet away from the counter.

The guy was tall and built, with broad shoulders, jeans, and a worn, flannel shirt over a t-shirt, which was wild for the middle of August. But as hot as he was, I almost forgot about him entirely as my gaze drifted down the line at the counter to where the door had just opened.

As far as regulars went, Theo Callihan was my favorite.

Every weekday morning like clockwork, he stepped through the door in his business casual, auburn hair combed perfectly, green eyes serious.

Every weekday, my stupid insides did a little flip and my smile got a little bit broader as I watched him take his place at the end of the line.

Every weekday, I told myself today was the day I would to say something more than “Hello” and “The usual?”

The buff guy now standing right in front of me cleared his throat. My face heated as I snapped out of my reverie and paid attention to him.

“I’ll try some of that new Kenyan blend you just mentioned,” he said overly seriously. “Large, though.”

“Got it,” I smiled, tapping in his order. “Large special blend!”

“Large special blend,” Brian repeated.

“That would be one large special blend!” Hannah sang with particular enthusiasm from the kitchen.

The tall guy’s mouth twitched, but not quite into a smile. “Oh, and I just posted this outside, but I should probably give a copy to you, too.” He took a piece of paper from the satchel slung over his shoulder and slid it across the counter to me.

“Thanks,” I said, glancing over it briefly, then setting it down on the end of the counter, not really knowing what it was. Not knowing bothered me a little. Should I be smart enough to make heads or tails of it? “That’ll be four ninety-five.”

As the man paid, my other brother, Gilbert, walked past me behind the counter, spotting the paper before he walked out the other side on his way to join Sam in the performance space. “I’ll take this,” he said, glancing from the paper to me to the tall guy.

The tall guy nodded tightly to Gilbert, then moved on to wait for his coffee. Brian was on fire that morning and doing a great job of getting people their orders in a hurry, which meant I could take the next few people in line, all while watching Theo move ever closer.

At last, Theo reached the counter, and I felt that bright little hitch of attraction as our eyes met.

“Let me guess,” I said with a wry grin before he could give me his order. “Plain black coffee, medium, no frills.”

For a split second, Theo looked like I’d accused him of something. Then he softened, and the cutest little wine stain blush spread across his freckled face. “Am I that boring?” he asked, just a bit stiltedly.

“Not at all,” I told him, being as warm as I could. “I love it when people have regular orders.”

“Because it means I’m predictable?” Theo asked with a slight frown.

“No, because regular orders are what makes this place feel like family,” I insisted.

“Ah.” One syllable. That was all I got out of him.

That only made me warm to the man more. Theo couldn’t have been much older than I was at twenty-five.

He was far too serious for his age, which I kind of found adorable, and I could tell from the way he dressed that he took his job seriously.

I was pretty sure he was an architect or something along those lines.

I’d almost tried to strike up a conversation with him before, but since he always came in during the busiest part of the mornings, I’d never had time to delve deep.

“So we’re sticking with the usual today?

” I asked just so I could prolong the moment.

If I was smart, I’d just ask him out. The trouble was, because Theo was always relatively serious and shy, I had yet to figure out if he was into men or not.

There was a chance we were heading for a Bill and Hannah situation, where we liked each other but knew nothing was going to happen.

“Yeah, the usual,” Theo answered, almost but not quite cracking a smile.

“Plain Black No-Frills Medium,” I called over my shoulder.

“Plain Black No-Frills Medium,” Brian sang out.

We both waited, expecting Hannah to add her voice to the morning song, but instead she leaned against the kitchen window and said, “Small problem with that. Can I see you back here?”

Brian and I exchanged a look over our broken routine.

“Is something wrong?” Theo asked, looking deeply concerned.

“I don’t think so. Hold that thought,” I said, holding up a finger, then stepping away from the counter to swing around by the doorway to the kitchen. Most of the people in line were regulars anyhow and wouldn’t complain about the wait.