Page 3 of Coral Prince Conundrum (Runaway Prince Hotel #1)

CHAPTER THREE

Daryl

I clear my throat and gaze around at the restaurant.

The Princedelphia Diner offers typical American fare with booths lining multiple windowed walls.

Dad sits across from me, sipping his water, and I tap my fingers on the paper placemats.

He’s dressed in a dark suit while I’m wearing a blazer and a graphic T-shirt.

The clinking of forks from other guests is all I can hear; as usual, we don’t have much to talk about.

The waiter returns with our food, and I’m relieved. He places our respective plates down, and we both say, “Thank you.”

I hastily toss my salad with chicken cutlet bits. “The chicken here is really good,” I say.

“Great. I hope I can say the same about the steak.” Dad digs into the meat with his knife and fork, and I fixate on my food. I wish I could do more to hasten this awkward family lunch. “After a long day of being the king of tuna, the last thing I want to eat is fish.”

He chortles, and I politely nod. Dad loves touting how his fishery company is “his own empire”—his words—and how he’s one of the few African American executives currently thriving. He may be a successful jewel to the Black community, but I know how shady my father’s company can be.

“Mm,” I mutter while shoveling salad into my mouth.

“You in a rush, son?”

I nod. “Kind of. I have a shift after this.”

“Your little coffee stuff?”

I grip my fork and attempt to focus on food. “It’s my job.”

“Daryl, I could get you a real job, a career where you sit in on board meetings and you don’t need to depend on tips.”

I bite back a frustrated noise. “I’m aware, Dad.”

He continues his meal and studies me. “And yet, you don’t want to take up my offer. One might even say you’re the prince of the Tishman’s Fishery empire.” He laughs at his own joke, but I don’t even dignify him with a smile.

“There are a lot of princes in the world, Dad. I am certainly not one of them.” I focus on my food again. “I live in a tiny apartment for heaven’s sake.”

“Then come back home.”

“We’ve been over this, Dad.” I dab my mouth with my napkin. “I don’t feel right living in a big house funded by your…principles.”

“Principles?”

“Unsustainably siphoning creatures from the ocean.”

He scoffs. “You make it sound so dramatic. My only principle is that I pay my workers a fair wage. And there are plenty of fish in the sea, literally.” He giggles again, and I gaze out the window to prevent an eyeroll.

I want to retort that the rate at which he’s fishing will cause extinction in less than a decade.

I want to bring up all the articles about his boats callously destroying sharks, sea turtles, manta rays, and several other species in his quest to catch tuna.

My whole life has been about shedding light on his irresponsible fishery, but it’s always been in one ear and out the other.

My beliefs don’t matter to him; I’ll always be a little kid, not a twenty-four-year-old man.

The less I need to depend on him financially, the happier I’ll be.

We eat in silence for a few minutes more. Dad seems to get the hint and backs off. After we’re nearly done eating, his voice is softer when he says, “I want to chat with my son, is that a crime?”

“Nope.” I put down my silverware. “You can ask me anything about my life.”

“How is school?”

Finally, a topic I love. I grin and say, “It’s tough, but I’m getting a lot of hands-on time with the animals. I might even go on some research trips next spring for my dissertation.”

Dad gazes at me with skepticism. “And taking care of these animals pays a lot?”

My smile falls. “It’s…important. To the world.”

Dad leans forward. “Look, Daryl. I had to bust my ass off to climb my way to the top of the business world. I did that to make sure you never had to work nearly as hard. You don’t want to grow up with a tough life like I did.”

I shrug. “My marine biology studies are crucial. You can call me a bleeding heart, lazy hippie all you want. But I need to live my life the way your drive led you forward all these years.”

Dad sits back, clearly unsatisfied. We’ve gone over this month after month, and it seems we’re both stubborn. But my ideals are trying to protect nature, so I refuse to apologize. I check my phone. “Sorry, but this lazy hippie has to get to work, Dad.”

He sighs. “You’re not a lazy hippie. I just wish you’d prioritize a life of financial success. The world expects people like us to be thugs and failures, son, so?—”

“We have to work extra hard, I know.” I finish his sentence, a sentiment I’ve heard time and time again, and then stand up. “And I am working extra hard.” He has no idea that everything I do is to counteract the toll his company has on our oceanic ecosystems.

I stand up and give Dad a brief hug, thanking him for lunch. It’s as awkward as ever, but the Tishman men both have greater callings. His requires running a fishery, and mine requires coffee beans.

I walk into the back entrance of Café Magnifique and clock in. “Watch your step, Daryl,” Justice says as he mops the kitchen area.

“Oh, hey, Justice. Thanks.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t do the first morning shift.” My buddy leans on his mop and studies me.

“I had an early lunch date with dear old Dad,” I say in a facetious tone.

I pick up the coffee beans and walk out to the main entrance.

The place is not too busy at the moment, but every time I work afternoons, there’s much to do at the start of shift.

As usual, we’re almost out of coffee, so I’ve grown accustomed to refilling the grinders without anyone prompting me.

“Did he finally get you a new car?”

I growl and shoot daggers out of my eyes at my supposed best friend. He knows I drive a massive, slow-moving former food truck with “Tishman’s Fishery” logos splashed all over it. “No,” I grumble.

“Why not? That thing always takes up, like, three parking spaces.” He puts away the mop, and I try to ignore him. “I thought you, the heir to the throne of tuna, or whatever, would have a better car.”

“I don’t want anything to do with Dad’s company.” I idly clean random cups to distract myself from the subject. Why isn’t anyone ordering? “And as atonement, he won’t buy me a real car.”

“Oof, brutal,” Justice says as he stacks clean cups.

“As usual, he questions my life choices. So yeah, I’m not exactly the happiest camper today.

” I head to the back and restock a tray of cinnamon rolls.

When I return to the front, I place the tray of food in the display case.

I scrutinize all the baked goods available, mostly to forget my family woes.

“Well, I know what will cheer you up,” Justice murmurs.

“What?”

“Go get on register,” he whispers. “You can serve your boy, he just walked in.” He disappears to the back before I can properly interpret his words.

“What are you— ah!” My voice gets caught in my throat at the sight.

It’s him . Time slows down, and sunlight from all the windowed walls of the café seems to glow around the majestic human before me. The man at the counter has been the object of my every lustful fantasy for the past almost two weeks.

Let’s review the facts: he’s Asian, with dark skin and freshly trimmed black hair. He’s not as tall as I am, but he’s built where I could use more definition. He has to have a lean, swimmer’s build in order to be the lifeguard at the neighboring hotel.

That’s another fact: I know he works there, because I had to do a supply run—the hotel owners also own the café—which led me to walk past the pool area. Seeing him clean the pool in all his shirtless glory, with long, dark, wet hair, was like a smack to the face.

Literally—I was gazing at him through a clear door, and when he turned to me, I hastily dashed headfirst into a column. And when he came out to investigate which idiot was making a ruckus, I ducked into a closet.

I hadn’t been closeted since I was thirteen. And there I was, hiding from the hottest guy I’d ever seen, trying to will my erection down. Yes, I told Justice all of this; what are openly queer coworkers-slash-besties good for if not gossip?

And the final fact of all: he’s standing right in front of me. He waves his hand, which snaps me from my daydreams.

“Uh, uh, yes. Can I service you?” I cough. “I mean, how can I be of your, um…service?” I shake my head. Come on, Daryl —you’ve said this phrase like a thousand times in the two years you’ve worked here. Use your brain cells.

I take a deep breath and smile at this gorgeous Asian hottie. “What I really meant to say is: Welcome to Café Magnifique. May I take your order?”

“Um, what is good here?”

Don’t say, “Me, on my knees. Complimentary blow job for first-time customers.” Even though I totally would, don’t say it.

“Our pistachio lattes are a personal favorite,” I reply.

He grins and crosses his arms. His dark work shirt nearly rips at that maneuver, and I try to will myself not to get hard. “I am afraid that where I come from, we do not have many cows or milk.”

His accent is so magical and sexy. I grin. “We have nondairy options. Would you like to try it with oat milk?”

“Very well,” he replies with a shy smile. I ring him up and notice the peculiarity of his credit card. It’s a color I’ve never seen, but the purchase goes through, so I don’t dwell on it.

I hand the hot guy his receipt and say, “Have a seat, I’ll get right on you. I mean, right on that …for you.”

I bite back a curse for myself and turn to see Justice lining up cups for me. “Ten out of ten, no notes,” my friend whispers. “So fucking entertaining.”

He snickers, and I nearly growl at him. “Shut up, I hate you,” I hiss.

“You’re not going to hate me when I help you in two seconds.” Justice walks forward, and my eyebrows jump.

“Sir, hi, excuse me!” Over my shoulder, I witness Justice hailing super-hot lifeguard over to him. “We need your name for the drink order,” Justice hollers.

“My name is Seero. Like zero, the number, but with an S. Two E’s.”

“Seero, that is an interesting name.” Justice is talking loudly, and he briefly glances at me. He sounds so intrigued on my behalf, and I don’t know if I want to thank him or strangle him. “You new around these parts, Mr. Seero?”

The angel with tight abs smiles at him. “I am. Working at the hotel.”

“Isn’t that something? Hey, Daryl, did you hear that Seero is working at the hotel?” He walks back to me and claps me on my shoulder, and I tense up.

“Yes, I heard that,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Well, Seero, it is our pleasure to make your acquaintance. Daryl here will take good care of you. He’s so talented, an overall great guy. Gotta go!”

Justice dashes off, and I resist the urge to snarl at him. When I make eye contact with Seero, he’s gazing at me, not reacting at all. I break out in a huge smile and turn back around to focus on the drink.

Several minutes later, I’m cleaning a counter, listening to the ambient bustle of Café Magnifique.

The place has an eclectic vibe, with people of all ethnicities, backgrounds, and genders ordering brew.

We’re not too far from mystical realms north of here.

Some of the patrons might actually have magic—sorcery is real, but it’s pretty uncommon in America—and everyone is chill here.

Other than that one audacious painting of a snake that the manager insists on keeping up, the environment is comfortable, with sleek, green-and-gold decorated surfaces.

Customers generally aren’t rude, the days go by quickly, and we typically get half-decent tips.

All in all, I enjoy being a barista while I’m a grad student.

As I wipe down another table, in the corner of my eye, that hot pool boy—I mean, Seero—is casually sipping his drink, gazing out a window.

He chose the seat closest to the counter, but I refuse to believe he wants to be near me.

The idea of him liking me is a delusion of heartache and horniness.

Still, I want to bask in his presence; my pulse is pounding just basking in his sheer proximity.

When he’s done drinking, he approaches me, and I try not to panic. “That was very good.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” I half-giggle for no reason because I’m a weirdo who can’t talk to cute boys.

“You should be proud. I could never make a drink like this.”

He smiles, and I bite back a swoon. “Well, maybe one day when you’re not lifeguarding at the pool, I could teach you.”

He chuckles. “I do not want to take up your time.” I want to tell him to take all the attention he wants from me, but instead, he gazes at the walls. “This place is so…comforting.”

“If you call the smell of burnt coffee comforting, then sure.” I laugh, but he nods.

“It is a scent I am not familiar with.” He turns back to me. “And you have been a huge help.”

“Aw shucks.” I wave the washrag at him.

“And do you work most afternoons?”

He wants to know my work schedule? My cheeks heat up, and I nod. “Yeah. It’s random, some mornings, some afternoons, but almost every day.”

“Good to know.” He bites his lip, and I want to lean forward and suck on it. “I will certainly be back.” He nods and lifts up his hand. “I believe it is customary to tip?”

“Aw, that’s so generous of you, you can—wait, twenty dollars?!”

I gaze at the bill in his hand. He looks at it and frowns. “Is that not enough?” He reaches into his pocket, and a moment later, he’s holding forty.

“Wha…what?”

“Ah, the tip jar is over there, I see.” He saunters over and places forty freaking dollars into our tiny plastic tub. “See you next time, Daryl.” He waves, and in a second, he’s gone.

My mind is in a tizzy with everything that just occurred. I don’t know what’s wilder: the fact that I know Seero’s name, or the fact that he tipped so generously.

Oh no, the biggest shock of all: he knows my name. And he wants to keep coming back to the café. I take in a deep breath. I’m going to have multiple excuses to talk to Seero again— this could either be the best thing to ever happen to me, or the worst.