Page 2 of A Tall Order (Shade Grown Coffee Boys #1)

I drive behind Austin, making sure not to lose him. He’s moved out of the house that he and Paul shared and into a small, two-bedroom cottage style house. It’s quaint and the yard is kept intact, mostly.

As a property manager, I notice the small things. Like the bushes out front have been trimmed down, but they’re not even. Walking behind Austin, up the stairs, I notice that the mulch bed is definitely in need of some fixing.

Inside is much the same. It’s nice, homey. But there are things that catch the eye when looking for more than a glance. The bookshelf with all the books Paul liked to read has a layer of dust. There’s an empty plate and cup on a tray table, which tells me that Austin most likely eats his meals in front of the TV.

Maybe I can get him to eat something at the table with me .

He never ate the bag of chips or the wrapped sandwich I found in one of the fridges. I put the food back before we left, untouched. Even though I know that Paul never lived in this house, the framed photos and the touches of him still remain. It makes my heart hurt to know that Austin still misses him so much. We all do, but I know it hit him harder than anyone.

“Um, so…” Austin stumbles over his words and I give him a small smile as I take off my jacket. We closed the door the second both of us were inside. It’s making out to be a cold winter this year, for sure. “I don’t really know…”

“I want you to go put on your comfiest jammies that you have,” I direct. “And I’m going to make you something to eat. And we’ll eat together and then read a book.”

Austin looks like he’s going to argue the plan but instead of words, a surprise yawn filters in and he relents without a discussion. I nod, tamping down the urge to say good boy to him.

I turn to walk through the rest of the house. The front door opens to a big space. There are three doors on the left wall, two bedrooms and the closet presumably. Then straight across from the front door is the bathroom, set into a half wall that separates the bathroom from the open dining area. I know that because I catch a glance when Austin sheepishly opens it and slips in quickly.

The space is longer than it is wide. There is a three-cushion sofa on the wall separating what I’m assuming is the kitchen. On the right wall is a fireplace with shelves on either side. Random knick-knacks throughout Austin and Paul’s relationship, photos as well, sit on those shelves. I recognize myself in two of the photos. The TV is sat between two windows, which evenly split the wall into thirds. The bookshelf is the first thing I pass by, only a foot away from the front door. There’s a basic two tone rug covering most of the floor.

The dining room is as simple. A few photos sitting on a mantle against the back wall, the table large enough to fit six chairs. It's the same one he and Paul had in their home. The kitchen is homey, more like a grandma’s kitchen than modern chrome. The appliances don’t match, the fridge is basic white with no ice maker, the counter tops are a laminate style.

In all of my quick discovery of Austin’s life over the last three years, I notice one thing. There is not a single thing pointing toward his Little side. Sure, most people don’t parade it around and some are only looking for a scene here and there, but Austin was a lifestyle Little. He loved playing with blocks and had the colorful racecar rug where I had, more than once, raced him around the track, only to lose again and again to his delight.

Paul always had a basket of toys in the living room, ready to be played with. He would have colorings and artwork from Austin pinned everywhere proudly. Stickers were a must have thing too.

I continue thinking about my best friend and all the good he did for Austin over the years as I head to the kitchen. There isn’t much food in the cabinets, which I add to my list of concerns to bring up. I’ll have to stop by more often. I always felt like I was crowding him, being that person that hung around too long and reminded him of times past. I only want the best. Paul made me promise I would take care of him if anything happened and I hope I’ve done an okay job. At least physically.

I’m stirring a pot of noodles when Austin clears his throat behind me. I look over my shoulder and see him fiddling with the zipper of the onesie he’s wearing. A dark line starting at his collarbone and trailing down the middle of his chest catches my eye before he zips the outfit closed and folds his arms nervously around his body. It doesn't look like a scar, something like that I definitely would have noticed before. More like a tattoo.

The onesie he’s wearing is adorable. It’s a giraffe pattern, footies included. The hood isn’t up, but I know this one well. It has the eyes and ossicones on it. And the only reason I know that word is because of the man wearing the pajama set currently. He is obsessed with random animal facts and the fuzzy horns on a Giraffe's head is one of them.

“You look comfy,” I say with a smile. He does. I’m still in jeans and a button down over a white t-shirt. I feel way overdressed now. “I’m making spaghetti. Is that okay?”

“Yummy,” Austin says. His face goes still and then he looks down and starts picking at his hands. I set the spoon down and take a step toward him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Austin says. “I’m just— Not used to doing this.”

“Have you given yourself any Little time at all? Even on your own?”

Austin shakes his head. “It just felt weird. I can’t get into the right headspace if I know I still have to do all the things for myself. Even if I put it all out at the beginning, I still have to think about clean up and it ruins it.”

“Well, tonight you don’t have to worry about anything,” I say with a wider smile. “How about you go watch something on TV for a bit while I finish cooking and we’ll sit down together. What would you like to drink?”

“Just some water is fine,” Austin mumbles. I lift my arm up to grip his bicep and squeeze reassuringly .

“Go sit down and I’ll get it taken care of,” I say. I drop my hand and nod to him, signaling that he should go sit in the living room. Dinner will be ready in no more than ten minutes. I rummage through the other cabinets, smiling in success when I finally find what I’m looking for .

He has a single cup, plate, and bowl in an astronaut theme. It’ll be perfect for tonight. I grab a bottled water from the fridge and fill the cup, downing the rest of the bottle myself before taking the cup out to Austin.

He’s flipping through a couple different options. It’s a mix of cartoons and what Paul would call the grown up movies. “Find anything you like?”

I set the water next to him on the side table. I note that he looks at it for a second before turning back to the TV.

“Not really,” Austin says. And he sounds dejected. Like he’s already expecting this night to fail.

“What about that one show you used to watch? With the kid doctor that helped all the stuffies? That was a good one. I remember when I came over that time you had a marathon. I think I watched more episodes than you did. I could probably still recite the song they sing, too.”

“Oh yeah,” Austin says. His voice sounds just a smidge more excited. “I’ll look for it.”

I step around the side table and squat down, hiding a grunt at the quick movement. Austin is clearly fighting back a smile. I rest a hand on his thigh. “If this is what you need tonight, that’s okay. Anything goes with me, Austin. For tonight. If you want to watch TV, read a book, dance party. I just want you to feel better tonight, okay? ”

Austin closes his eyes but nods. I start to get up, but Austin opens his mouth to speak before I’m fully standing. “Can you feed me tonight?”

I smile and move my hand to rub over his knee lightly. “Yes, of course. I’m going to go finish cooking. You get all settled and comfy and I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

“Okay.” I stand up and turn to walk back toward the kitchen, but Austin reaches out his arm to grab my hand. “Thank you, Remi.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Of course.”

The spaghetti is ready in just under ten minutes and I dish it up on two plates. I can hear the theme song of the show I mentioned playing and smile to myself. “Austin, do you need more water?” I call before I leave the kitchen. I have a bottle for myself, but I’ll grab another if he needs it.

“No, I’m good. Thank you.” His response is a lot lighter now and when I walk into the living room, my heart both breaks and leaps for joy at the same time. He must have gone to get all his stuffies and lined them up on the couch beside him. Each of the ones that Paul gave him. They look like they're in perfect condition.

“Now now,” I say, keeping my voice light and playful. “Where am I supposed to sit if we have a full house tonight?”

“I can just move them.” My smile fades just slightly because Austin sounds more serious than I want him to. I was going for silly.

“No, of course not.” I set both plates on the tray table, taking the old one to sit in the sink and wash later. “I’ll just grab a chair from the dining room for now. They’re already settled in for the show. ”

I definitely would have fallen asleep sitting on his couch anyway. Austin turns the volume down but doesn’t pause the show as I grab his food and start twirling the first bite onto the fork for him. It’s been a minute since I’ve fed another person but instinctively, I blow on it to cool it down.

Austin opens wide and I make a small airplane noise with my lips as I feed him the first bite. I remember Paul doing that a lot when he would feed Austin. It seems my gut made the right choice when Austin smiles around the fork.

“Be honest with me chef, did I do a good job?” I tilt my head slightly, contorting my expression to seem equal parts worried and waiting. Calling him chef is only a joke, a way to make him smile again. Austin takes his time to answer, chewing slowly. He continues watching me and I fight to not break the silly expression and smile because I can see him finally falling back into that space.

He reaches over and takes a sip of his water. The contrast of the smaller cup in his hand, and even the small plate that doesn't hold much of a serving for his size is adorable. Maybe I can go out and buy him a couple sets to keep that would be more fitting for him. That thought gives me pause for a moment.

This is just one night. For Austin to unwind and be Little for a while. I shouldn’t be thinking of buying him things like that.

“I think it’s delicious,” Austin finally says. I slump my shoulders and let out a puff of air. “Better than what I can make. My noodles never turn out right.”

“You know, your Daddy was the one that taught me to cook,” I say. “I was a broke, college student when we met. He taught me spaghetti first, then we moved to chicken alfredo. I can make great burgers on the grill, too. And tacos. I love tacos. ”

“I love tacos, too!” Austin says excitedly. “Daddy used to do taco nights and I would help him put all the stuff on and roll them up. They were so yummy.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” I lean forward slightly, like I’m about to reveal something serious. Austin does the same and we’re only inches away from each other. Austin’s eyes are trained on me. “Your Daddy once told me the secret recipe he uses for the meat in his tacos.”

“No!” Austin seems genuinely surprised about that. It is the truth. Paul liked to keep his secrets, but he did share a few with me when he was teaching me how to cook different things. And unlike him, I wrote them down so I wouldn’t forget. He always loved that people came to him to ask for things. He was definitely meant to be a Daddy, through and through.

“Cross my heart,” I say, omitting the last half of that saying. It’s not needed for Austin to know I’m being serious. “Maybe we can make them one day? I bet you make the best tacos. What are you favorite things to put on them?”

Just like that, Austin talks and talks. Between bites, he tells me about his favorite taco toppings, introduces me— or reintroduces me— to his stuffies. He brought home the koala and it’s tucked in beside the panda. Pam-da, Austin calls her. Once Austin is done with his food and I wipe his face clean of sauce, I settle in to eat my own as we continue watching the show. As expected, after hearing the song once, I sing along the next time. I can hear Austin mumbling the words too.

It’s close to ten when Austin starts yawning for real and I decide that it’s bedtime. “Alright, Mister Sleepy Pants. It’s bedtime. Do you you want to get your stuffies back in your room and then we’ll get your teeth brushed and go to bed?"

“Do you need- ”

I interrupt him immediately, not wanting him to pull out of his Little space so quick. “I want you to go pick out two books and we’ll read them before you go to sleep. Don’t worry about anything else.”

Austin doesn’t argue. He gathers the stuffies and heads across the space to his bedroom. It’s the last door on that wall. I vaguely wonder how he has the extra bedroom set up, but I’m not going to pry tonight. I would like to do this with him again. If he wants.

When he comes back out, he’s yawning again. But he has two books in hand. He gives them to me before motioning that he’s going to go to the bathroom. I nod and flip through the books. They’re simple. One is The Ugly Duckling, which is always a story that makes me sad. Then the other is a more upbeat one, with shapes and colors decorating the pages and every other line rhyming.

“All fresh,” Austin announces when he comes out of the bathroom. It’s an adorable sight the way he bares his teeth to show me that they’re clean. I purse my lips playfully.

“I don’t know.” I draw out the words and tap a finger against my chin. “I think I need a smell test.”

Austin rolls his eyes but giggles. The smell test was something else that Paul did with him as well. It was a running joke between the two. Usually ended up with a kiss or two but even tonight, Austin knows that I’m just playing with him.

“How about you grab one of the blankets on the back of the couch and we’ll get to reading? I can’t promise my voices are all that great, but I’m going to try.”

I wait until Austin is snuggled up on the couch. His head is resting on the other armrest and his feet are curled up next to my hip. I move them so he’s stretched out with his feet on my lap. “You’re fine, Austin. Now, which are we reading first?”

I really give my best with the voices. I’ve only heard Paul’s reading time once in my life. It was usually reserved for the two of them, but there was a time when he was stuck late on a job and I had been with Austin. He read him a book from memory over the phone.

By the time I’m done with The Ugly Duckling, I look over and see that Austin’s eyes are closed. I wait a few moments to make sure he’s really asleep before I set the books aside and slowly move myself out from under his feet. It isn’t the easiest of feats, but I manage.

Austin is the same length of the couch and I know he’s probably going to wake up with a least a crick in his neck if he stays there. So, like any good pseudo-Daddy, I brace myself and scoop him up toward my chest. He stirs a bit, but doesn’t wake.

I maneuver my way into his bedroom, taking care to not trip over anything. This is definitely the most-used room in his house. I smile when I realize that there are pajama sets in the floor and on the bed. He must have tried out at least six different ones before settling on what he is wearing now. The others are plain colors and way too boring for slipping into Little space. I'm glad he went with the giraffe.

Austin lets out a small noise in the back of his throat when I set him down on the bed. He sniffles, then rolls over and is out cold again. I fight the urge to brush the hair back from his face.

The room is warm enough and with the footie pajamas, he isn’t going to need the blanket tonight. I fiddle with the clock on his bedside table and smile when I see he already has an alarm set for six AM. Hopefully that’s the time he needs to be up. I make sure it’s turned on before cutting off the main light and leaving the door cracked just a bit.

As promised, I clean up. I go slow to keep the noise down. It takes me about twenty minutes to wash the dishes and fold up the blanket that Austin used. I find a notepad next to Austin’s phone and write a short message. Austin has my number, but I leave it again with a message to call me any time. I also promise to share the secret recipes I know at our next hangout.

I’m hoping there’s a next.