My Home Is With You [LGBT+]

Eleven

I STARE AT MY PHONE and I can't stop the small smile that twitches on my lip. I've been talking to M. D. for over a month now and he seems like a genuinely nice person. We've switched from that horrid website to exchanging phone numbers and every time I receive a message from him my heart seems to skip a beat without my consent. 

"Ready Oseias?" Charlie asks with a bump to my shoulder and a wide excited smile.

I grin at the redhead that has slowly become a close friend since my return to the store. 

I head for the cash register upfront, covering for someone who called in sick not long ago. Again.

Charlie heads to the front door to open up before bringing out the donuts from the back and stacking them on the racks.

This morning things are a bit slower than usual, but we don't mind.

Lunch rolls around and the door opens with a chime.

A tall, ridiculously gorgeous man strides in confidently.

To be honest, I'm a bit uncomfortable and more than intimidated by him. He exudes confidence and power. He's the definition of white, privileged, and rich. He pisses me off.

"Good morning, how may I help you?" I ask politely, but sharp.

"A medium coffee would be nice, black, no sugar please."

I nod as I punch in his order in the computer before hurrying to prepare his bitter drink. In Miguel's eloquent baby speech, yuck.

I top it and slide it over.

"Anything else?"

"A vanilla chai, small. Two Old Fashioned and a Boston Kreme donut."

I nod and complete his order before ringing him up, "Your total is $6.26."

The man pulls out his wallet from the inside breast pocket of his gray suit jacket. He hands me a Benjamin Franklin with a smile. I glare at the money as I pop open the register and count his change to hand it to him.

That was unnecessary and uncalled for. Why would someone flaunt their money like that when there are people struggling to survive?

But everything I felt up until this point suddenly vanishes and is replaced with a twisting feeling of guilt as I watch him stuff every nickel, every dime, every 20 and every single, into the tipping jar.

I stare wide eyed, mouth gaping like a fish out of water in surprise.

"Thank you, Joseph," the man in gray says, his eyes crinkling at the corner, blue eyes bright and smile soft, kind.

My breath hitches.

"Do you mind if we talk for a bit?" He asks.

My heart clenches tight inside my chest.

"Yes," I answer quickly, "I mean no, I don't mind, I... let me get someone to cover for me," I stutter.

I drag Charlie to the front where she takes on the next costumer. She doesn't ask any questions, instead she eyes the man warily.

But I ignore her worry and lead the man toward an empty table in the back where he pulls out a chair for me before he takes a seat right across. I suddenly feel shy and embarrassed.

"Sorry for surprising you like this," he begins, toothy smile too bright and pristine.

He slides over the small cup of what I know is vanilla chai.

My favorite.

"I know it's more than a little weird, but I figured why not," he shrugs.

I can only stare at him, barely breathing.

"Joseph?"

"I'm sorry," I whisper, "It's just... you're gorgeous."

He laughs, the chuckle smooth like the liquid he downs and rumbling deep from his sculpted, defined chest I can just imagine.

"Thank you. You're beautiful as well," he says.

My cheeks heat up at that, "Thanks."

"Don't thank me when I'm only stating the truth," he smiles, "My name is Maximilian Doyle. You may know me as M.D. from, well, you know."

"I'm Oseias," I breathe, "Oseias Lopez."

He raises a brow and for a moment I wonder why he looks like a confused child.

"Oh! Right... Joseph was just an alias or umm what I consider my American name," I blush.

Sweet Jesus, it feels hot in here.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Maximilian replies, "Oseias."

And the way my given name rolls off his tongue makes my body shiver.

Holy shit!

"I'm sorry, I just... what," I stammer, "how did you find me?"

"Luck I suppose," he shrugs, "but not entirely coincidental."

"What do you mean?"

"When I asked to meet with you, it was because I knew I had a planned trip to NJ. I didn't actually count on meeting you here though, but as soon as I saw you, I recognized you. I knew you."

Isn't fate funny?

"I'm still... a bit surprised and kind of embarrassed," I confess, taking the stupid employee cap off.

He takes it from my hand and stares at it for a bit, "Why? You're amazing and absolutely breathtaking."

"Even if I'm covered in frosting and coffee and dough?"

"Especially so," he grins, reaching out to wipe his thumb across my cheek where a bit of flour painted my skin.

I can't help the butterflies in my stomach, nor the small shiver running up my spine and I find myself asking, "How long are you staying?"

"I'll probably leave when I get what I want," he answers before taking another sip.

"And what is it that you want?" I ask.

No filter, no brain.

I want to slap myself for being so- so-

"I'm trying to come to an agreement with S&M to expand my horizons, so it could be a week, maybe two. I'm still trying to determine if this will really be beneficial for my enterprise. Unfortunately, I'll have to return to Cali eventually."

"Oh..."

"Don't sound so disappointed," he chuckles.

I look up at his stubbled face, falling in love with those baby blue eyes and soft smile directed solely at me.

"I really like it here. I'm actually finalizing a few things and soon will have a townhouse in Mantoloking."

Of course, it's where all the rich people live. And I'm suddenly, cruelly, reminded of the differences between him and I. We live in completely different worlds.

"That's... That's great, but I should really get back to work," I mutter, taking my hat back and standing, ready to leave.

I feel his warm soft hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me back.

I look at him, his warm smile gone and replaced with a slight frown.

"Oseias," he calls a bit confused.

"Mr. Doyle, I should really get back to wor-"

He hands me the bag of donuts.

He leans in and I don't stop him, I don't push him away, as his lips brush against my forehead.

"It was really nice meeting you," he whispers.

I stand frozen as he walks away, walks and doesn't look back.

I don't understand why, but my chest aches.

The paper bag crinkles under my hands as I clutch onto it tightly.

I swallow the inexplicable hurt and go back to work.