"You work in a coffee shop?" It was just his voice. A voice he'd heard say exactly four sentences. But it hit Carey like an electric shock and his hand slipped. The scalding brew he'd been pouring missed the cup and burned his hand.
"I OWN a coffee shop. Twelve of them actually." Carey didn't mean to sound defensive but given that it resulted in injury, he felt like Daryl's greeting was an attack. He'd dropped the cup and was running his hand under cold water as he spoke. "Ryan, could you take over and remake that one."
He should have expected Daryl to make his way to the new shop sooner or later. Daryl was new in town, which meant the odds were good he came to work in the new GenLife Development Center, along with a hundred other scientists and specialists. Carey's newest coffee shop was just off the lobby in the GenLife building, to take advantage of the new business.
Glorified tract home that it was, Carey's house was in the nicest section of town. Since Daryl was his only new neighbor, he must be someone important here.
Ryan had the replacement coffee half done and was asking Daryl what he'd like, but Daryl put him off with, "I'll wait for the boss." And that was that. Ryan shrugged and went on to the next customer. Daryl moved down the counter so he was as close to Carey as he could get, a concerned look on his face. "Are you alright? I'm sorry for startling you."
"I'm fine. It's not the first time I've done that. Every trade has its hazards." Carey dried his hands and applied an ointment, then put together an ice pack and held it gingerly against his hand. "How do you take your coffee?"
Daryl raised a questioning eyebrow, but took Carey's lead and asked for a dark roast, with a little half & half, no sugar. "Got that Ryan? On me, and jasmine tea." Ryan nodded and Carey moved out from behind the counter.
"Are those the same brownies you brought to my house yesterday?" Daryl's question stopped him.
"Huh?"
Daryl pointed.
"Oh, yeah, my grandma's recipe."
"There goes my waistline," Daryl muttered.
"Ryan, add two brownies and two bananas," Carey directed his employee. Daryl raised an eyebrow at that but followed Carey to a seat on the outside patio. They weren't too busy yet. Ryan could bring the drinks out.
"You're making me feel like a pig here eating bananas while I eat brownies," Daryl teased as he pulled out a chair with a chivalrous flourish for the smaller man. The aura of murderous intent came and went quickly, but it was adorable on his neighbor's face too. Like a kitten pretending to be a lion.
Carey's irritation passed in a flash. He wasn't going to let this man disrupt his peace anymore. He decided to sit graciously and pretend ignorance. "The fruit cancels out the junk food, so you have to eat it together."
"Oh really?" Daryl's lips twitched.
"That's my theory and if the science disagrees you can keep it to yourself."
Ryan arrived with the coffee and treats. Daryl took a sip of the elixir of life and groaned in pure pleasure, as you do after finally finding a good cup of coffee when you've been sent halfway across the country to establish a new branch of a massive pharmaceutical corporation, and before you can even finish arranging your furniture you're getting called into emergency meetings. When he looked up, the man across from him seemed frozen with an odd look on his face, teacup halfway to his lips, lips pursed slightly ready to sip. Their eyes caught and something hot passed between them. Carey's face turned red and Daryl's pants got tight.
When the moment seemed to stretch, Daryl decided to clear his throat. He needed relief from the intensity and that was enough to break through his companion's strange spell. "By the way, I'm Daryl Hancock. I don't believe we exchanged names when we met last time." Saliva, yes, names, no. The way the mention of their first meeting brought his neighbor to attention, it must have affected him as much as it did Daryl.
"I'm Carey, Carey Andrews." He was way too old to feel this awkward about an introduction. That's what Carey kept trying to convince himself, but it was no good. Those soft tender lips that had kissed him again and again in his dreams were kissing the edge of a coffee cup now, and it seemed a waste.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Andrews," those lips were saying. "Will I find you here often?"
"Um, not often. I'm training a new manager. I don't schedule myself in a regular shift so I'm free to fill in wherever I'm needed. That also allows me to keep tabs on all the shops, spending a shift here and there at each of them. When everything is in order, I'm free to be an absentee owner. But that's never the case in Spring and Fall when students are moving in and out of town since we employ quite a few of them. A new shop requires about six months close attention so I may be here more than normal for a bit but it'll taper off."
"So if I want to run away with you it'd be best to schedule it in the winter?" Daryl asked like it was a regular innocent question.
"Or July," Carey answered, ignoring the impertinence of the question. "July is usually stable."
"I'll keep that in mind." Daryl's coffee and brownie were half gone and it made him feel a little sad. Sitting beside this adorable small town square felt unaccountably restful. Like home, but better than any home he'd ever known. Like the ideal of home a child dreams of when his reality is parents arguing all day and night until they inevitably divorce.
The quiet moment stretched as they sipped and ate, no awkwardness intruding, in Daryl's view anyway. Carey's sensations were entirely different. His insides felt like they were dancing the rhumba.
"What time should I come over Friday?" He finally asked.
Daryl smiled slowly, a wicked grin developing. He'd wondered if his invitation was accepted, though he'd given no opportunity for refusal. Still, Carey could have simply not shown up. Instead, he was asking what time. What time did people eat dinner in this part of the country? "Is seven too early?" He asked.
"For a Friday that's about right. Though I'm an early diner since most of the coffee shops open at six and close at four. But that's fine. Your day probably ends at five or six. That's when the exodus seems to happen around here."
"Six, usually," Daryl confirmed. "But on Fridays people sneak out early. We've got flex time here so if they've worked overtime at all during the week, they're allowed to leave early. It's everyone's least productive day anyway. I'm usually out by noon since I've been the first one in and last one out Monday through Thursday. But I've got to finish getting my house together, and I'm not confident I can get it done and get dinner together much before seven."
"Seven is good then. Can I bring anything? A bottle of wine?" Carey asked.
A shudder passed through Daryl at the thought of what sort of wine Carey might bring. "I've brought in a supply of California wines to last through nuclear winter. How about you bring dessert?" He licked his lips unconsciously as his brain conjured up an image of Carey showing up empty-handed, bringing himself for dessert. It would pair nicely with the wine.
"I'll do that then," Carey answered, then he was setting his cup down and standing. It was Daryl's turn to blush after his momentary misinterpretation of Carey's response. "Looks like we've got a little rush happening. I'd better go help Ryan. I'll see you Friday." Carey smiled warmly and gathered up the dirty dishes as he left.
The only thing that remained was one untouched banana, placed deliberately in front of Daryl in the most condescending way possible. "Fine," he muttered as he picked it up and opened it. It gave him an excuse to sit a few minutes longer and watch his cute neighbor be all businesslike and competent.