Chapter 2 #2
It came as no surprise at all that the usual jittery feeling I had whenever I walked into Diccon’s café was ten times worse as I pulled open the door outside of my regular visiting hours.
The morning rush was over, and while the place wasn’t completely abandoned, it felt weird to walk in without seeing a line and to be able to hear the local indie rock station playing instead of the noise of morning customers in need of their java fix.
Of course, because I was the only one walking in, Diccon, who was in his usual place behind the counter, wiping the area down and humming along with the radio, spotted me as soon as the door shut behind me.
He immediately burst into a sunshine-perfect smile. “Well, look who it is.”
My body had a hard time deciding whether to turn and run or to sail across the room to him like an iron filing drawn to a magnet.
I cleared my throat and said, “Um, is it okay if I work in here today?”
Diccon’s expression twitched through emotions that I couldn’t identify. “Yeah,” he said, then gestured around the front part of the café. “There’s plenty of places to sit. I’d avoid the back room, since Sam and Gilbert are still setting up for open mic night.”
Why was it so hard for me to just talk to the guy? He was all smiles and goodwill. I should have explained the sprinkler disaster to him, explained why I was taking up his space again.
“Thanks,” I said with a tight nod instead, then veered off to the side and slid into a booth next to one of the windows.
Diccon went back to work tidying up behind the counter, which meant he wasn’t focused on me anymore. I let my shoulders drop in relief, then took my laptop out of my satchel and opened it to get oriented for the day.
It was easier to get into the groove of work than I thought it’d be.
Probably because as soon as I connected to the work network, I had a dozen emails that needed answering right away.
Ironically, there was an email from Christopher that had been sent maybe fifteen minutes before I’d stepped into the office explaining the sprinkler problem and how everyone should work from home.
The rest of my emails were standard fare.
I started off by emailing my clients, letting them know what had happened and how they could get in touch with me if they needed to.
The thing that needed my attention most immediately was the Jameson Industries project.
How ironic that I was now sitting in the building next door to the lot where the plans I’d been working on for the last two months were about to be brought to fruition?
Without trying, I grinned in satisfaction for a job well done at my computer when I caught Diccon approaching me out of the corner of my eye. Immediately, I cleared my throat and put on a suitably professional expression.
“Aaw, I’m gonna miss that smile,” Diccon said as he came over and leaned against the bench on the other side of the table from me.
“Sorry,” I said, then tried to smile again.
I failed miserably.
Diccon laughed. “No, not that smile. The real one you had on just a second ago.”
“Oh. I was just happy that a project I’ve been working on for a while is about to hit the construction phase,” I said, sitting back and trying to look cool, comfortable, and composed, none of which came naturally to me.
Particularly when a hot, sweet barista was grinning at me while looking all cute in his coffee bean themed apron.
“You’re an architect, right?” Diccon asked, settling into a comfortable lean against the bench.
My eyes went wide. “How did you know that?” I asked, warming up too much.
Diccon shrugged one shoulder. “I saw something that said Gershwin and Anglesea in your satchel a while back. I live around here, too, and I know they’re an architectural firm.”
“Yeah, they are.”
Wow. I was actually having a conversation with Diccon Meyers.
Except maybe I wasn’t. More like Diccon was watching me with a barely concealed grin, like he was waiting for me to get the punchline of a joke.
I cleared my throat again. “Are you sure it’s okay if I work in here today?
” I asked, ready for him to tell me I was harshing his vibe or something and should go away.
“There was a small fire in our building last night that set the sprinkler system off. All the offices were flooded, and we’re not going to be able to work in the space until we have professionals come in and clean it up. ”
Diccon’s gently teasing look dropped into something more serious. “Shit. Sorry about that. Of course you can work here for as long as you need to. Can I get you anything?”
I was surprised, and a little touched, by the offer.
“Coffee, maybe?” Diccon went on, his teasing look making a reappearance.
He’d done it on purpose. He’d switched up my regular coffee for whatever deliciousness he’d given me.
Wait, was that flirting or treachery?
“You gave me different coffee this morning,” I said. Not my best conversational gambit ever, but this was the longest conversation I’d ever had with the man, so I needed to give myself a break.
“I did,” Diccon confirmed, his grin widening. “I was surprised you didn’t come back in to complain.”
I blinked once at him, wondering what the heck was going on. “Complain? About the new coffee? It was great.”
Now Diccon was the one who looked dumbfounded. “Great? That stuff?”
“What kind of coffee was it?”
“It was this weird blueberry coffee our distributor is trying to convince us to buy, and it’s terrible.”
“Blueberry? They make blueberry coffee?” I couldn’t believe it.
I couldn’t believe Diccon Meyers and I were having a real conversation.
“Apparently, it’s all the rage in, like, Maine, but I have no idea why,” Diccon said. And then he slid into the booth across from me. “You actually liked it?”
“Yes?” I flinched slightly when I felt his feet bump against mine under the table. “Am I not supposed to like it?”
“Oh, Theo,” Diccon said with pretend seriousness. “I have so much to teach you about what makes good coffee.”
The last thing I needed was more caffeine, because just hearing that from Diccon made my insides fizz and jump like I’d had a double-shot espresso.
“I’m open to learning more,” I said. I would be open to a lot of things where Diccon was concerned.
Except that going out on a limb and asking him out on a day when my luck was already in the toilet didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of working out.
On top of that, the café’s door opened and a pair of customers walked in, killing any chance to say something that I might have had.
“Duty calls,” Diccon said, setting a hand on the table and pushing himself to stand. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? A muffin? A bagel?”
“No, I’m fine for now, thanks,” I said, smiling up at him.
Diccon’s face lit up. “That’s the smile I want to see.”
Dear heaven above, the man was sunshine in a barista’s apron. My awkward, dorky heart didn’t stand a chance.
Diccon started back to the counter, but turned to ask say, “Why don’t you come to open mic night tonight?
I won’t be working, at least, I won’t be on the clock or behind the counter, so I’ll be able to give you my complete lecture on all the reasons why coffee made with the free trade, Ethiopian beans we roast ourselves is the best coffee you’ll ever taste. ”
Against every rule of routine and law of personal nature I possessed, I sat a little straighter and said, “Yeah, um, okay. Maybe I will show up.”
“Great,” Diccon said, pointing at me several times in rapid succession with both hands. “See you then.”
He turned in what was almost a dance move to greet the new customers, but before he ducked behind the counter, I had a perfect view of his jeans-clad butt. How was I supposed to concentrate on architectural plans with an ass like that in the room?
I forced myself to focus on my laptop, but I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. I was the King of Luck today, but I couldn’t figure out if it was bad luck or good for a change.