Page 14

He looks wretched, and fuck if it doesn't make my heart do a somersault. I want to say something cheeky, something sharp and funny, but when I open my mouth what comes out is: "If I can ask…" I say slowly, waiting for his nod. "What do you mean, unneeded soldier?"

"My only purpose is to fight." He spreads his hands. "And there is no war on this soil at present."

Great. Now I have no appetite.

"You just sit around and wait for the bombs to fall?"

"Essentially."

"Fuck, that's bleak. So you come in and torture yourself by watching me do what you're not allowed to?"

Dav makes a noise that sounds more like a sob than he'd probably like to admit. "At least the scenery is fetching."

My heart gives up on somersaults and starts cartwheeling.

Fetching .

Fuuuuuck.

"You are very good at what you do," Dav says. His shoulders have dropped, as if he's set down a heavy burden for the first time. "There is a nobility in serving. The essential workers of The Great Pause taught us that, if nothing else."

My stupid jar-handle ears go red. "I'm just a barista."

"You're much more than that," Dav admonishes, that furrow beside his mouth deep and honest. I want to kiss it , I think suddenly, and bury my stupid face in my own lunch before I pull some sort of complete numbskull move and try.

"People come into Beanevolence grumpy, or upset, or stressed from their work day, and you take the time to offer them a smile, to hand them a cup.

You love everyone you serve, and in that moment when you connect, when your eyes meet, they love you back. "

"The heart-eyes are for the caffeine."

"Don't sell yourself short," Dav says, and then turns his attention back to the window.

His freckles are a constellation of golden stars in the syrupy slant of the summer sun.

He pushes his hair back off his face, seems to be steaming out the wrinkles his confession had creased into him from the inside.

Once he's smooth and refined again, he turns and digs into his lunch mechanically, like a soldier bolting back his rations.

‘When you hand them coffee, they love you back’ , his voice echoes in my head, and all I can think is, I hand him a coffee every morning.

"I'm sorry for pushing," I say, when our plates are cleared.

"I would have told you, one way or another."

"There's no reason I needed to know."

"But there is." When he meets my eye, there's meaning there.

Wait, something important just happened, and I don't think I caught it. "Come again?"

Pink flickers along the tops of his ears, backlit by the window. "Surely I've embarrassed myself enough today."

"Wait, I—" I stop, lick my lips, not sure I'm understanding what I'm supposed to understand. "Sorry, no, I—"

" No ?" he echoes, sinking further into himself. "I'm a fool, I—"

"No, wait, no, not no . That's not what I meant. Auuaugh, I don't know what I mean." My heart is thuddering so hard my neck is throbbing. "Can we, hold on, can I have a second to process what it is that I even think you're trying to say here?"

"Have I not been clear?" he asks, aghast.

"Yes?" I hedge, "But I'm an idiot sometimes, and Hadi made me The Rules to keep from being an idiot, so I want to be sure."

"The Rules," he repeats, confused.

"Dating Rules. I will recite them for you one day, but not right now." I take a deep breath. "For clarity, is this you telling me you're, um…"

Dav nods. "Attracted to you, yes. I thought I made that clear."

He kissed my hand .

"Fuck." I flop my arms onto the table, pressing my forehead into my elbow.

He brushes a so-gentle-its-almost-not-there touch on the back of one of my knuckles. I rest my chin on my forearm and look up at him. God, he's so unfairly handsome. I wish he'd smile, though. I hate seeing him so pinched.

"Is that unwelcome?" he asks.

"No," I confess. "It's … shit. It's just that I spent the last three weeks trying to convince myself I was seeing something that wasn't there."

"It's there," Dav says at once.

I'm flooded with relief so palpable that it splashes freshwater-sweet against my senses. He turns his hand over to run the tip of his pinkie finger, feather-soft, along my life-line. Goosebumps trickle up my wrist.

"Yeah, I'm getting that." I hook my own pinkie finger around his wandering one, and it's childish, but it also feels absurdly intimate. Another vow. "So what now?"

"Now," he says, and there it is, the kind, satisfied smile is finally back where it belongs. "Now we roast beans. And afterward, perhaps you will allow me to take you to dinner?" His finger tightens around mine. It should be awkward and stupid, but it isn't.

"You're sure that's okay? You're already spending all day with me."

"My dear." The endearment makes my stomach wriggle. "I'd like nothing better than to fill all my free time being close to you."

"Okay." I feel simultaneously wound so tight I can hear myself creaking, and so loose with joy that I could noodle right off the chair. "Okay. Just don't expect me to put on my 'serving' show when we're out."

When Dav laughs, when he really laughs, it's absolutely beautiful.