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T he morning after Kevin kissed me, humped me to orgasm up against my kitchen table, then had me make him another latte while he jogged back to his car, grabbed his tools and the hinges he’d picked up from B&Q on his lunch break and fixed my kitchen cabinets, Adam Blake strolled into The Chipped Cup.

The counter was clear, quiet jazz music was playing, and I was puttering about doing busywork—twitching things into place, tweaking cups on the shelf, measuring out another load of beans to run through the grinder and sniffing the air appreciatively—when the door opened, letting in the sound of traffic from the road outside. I glanced up and saw Adam.

He doesn’t know anything, I thought desperately. Be normal. No one can possibly guess what happened just by looking at you, even Adam. It’s no one’s business!

He stopped in front of me, cocked his head, and did a slow smile.

“Morning,” I said loudly. “How are you? Nice weather we’re having. Started rainy but it’s turned out lovely, hasn’t it? How’s Ray? What can I get you? Drink in or to go? Do you want a pastry with that?”

Great. Fantastic. That was spot on. Very normal. He wasn’t going to suspect a thing.

Adam’s smile deepened. “Hmm,” he said as he bent at the waist, leaning his forearms onto the counter.

“That’s fine,” I said. “Take your time. I’ll come back when you’re ready to order.” I turned on my heel to march into the back, the bell jingled as the door opened again and, yes.

Of course .

Kevin and Craig walked in.

Tomorrow, Charlie, I’m gonna come into your coffee shop and do what I always do. Only tomorrow, you’re going to know the whole time that I’m thinking about this. About you. About doing this to you.

I heard Kevin’s voice in my head as loudly as when he’d said it in my ear last night.

My stomach plunged, my cheeks scorched with heat, and my eyes locked with Kevin’s across the room.

The little shit winked at me.

Adam made an amused sound, breaking my involuntary stare down with Kevin. “Charlie—” he began, but didn’t get any further.

Kevin bounced up to the counter. “Morning, Charlie,” he said cheerfully. “Hey, Adam.”

Adam, in full-on lounge mode, didn’t straighten. He simply turned his head to look up at Kevin. “Hello, Kevin. Good night last night, was it?”

Kevin glanced at me, eyebrows lifted, and he gave a little shrug. He opened his mouth to reply but before he could fall into the hole Adam had dug for him, I suavely redirected the conversation.

“Morning, Kevin,” I all but yelled. “How are you? Nice weather we’re having! Started rainy but it’s turned out lovely, hasn’t it? What can I get you? Drink in or to go? Do you want a pastry with that?”

They both stared at me.

“Uh—” Kevin said.

Adam’s eyes sparkled.

Another regular walked in and joined the queue.

I clapped my hands briskly together. “Guys, come on,” I said. “You’re holding up my customers.”

“We are your customers,” Adam said mildly. Still sparkling.

I gestured impatiently at Gemma Richards, who was scrolling on her phone, hip cocked, as she waited. “Some people have places to be. Gemma, for example, has to be at work in ten minutes or she’ll get reprimanded for tardiness again.”

At the sound of her name, Gemma glanced up questioningly.

Kevin, being the sweetheart he was, gestured her in front of him. “After you,” he said.

She slowly slipped her phone into her side pocket and ran an appreciative gaze up and down Kevin. “What a gentleman,” she said.

The woman could not be more wrong.

Gentlemen didn’t insert themselves into other peoples’ houses, manhandle them all over their kitchen, hump an orgasm out of them, and then fix their cabinets.

Kevin took the compliment with his usual calm and stepped back from the counter. She shimmied past him, flinging her long shiny ponytail in his face, before coming up against Adam. She looked to be enjoying herself greatly, sandwiched between them.

Adam held out a hand. “I haven’t ordered yet,” he said. “After you.”

“Another gentleman,” she said approvingly, moving to the front of the little queue.

“Well?” I demanded. “What do you want?”

“ Not a gentleman,” she said to me with a glare.

I was in no mood to have my poor-to-middling manners critiqued on the best of days. This wasn’t even approaching the best of days. I scowled.

Gemma was unimpressed. I must be losing my edge. She should have quailed, told me her order, and left before Adam did something.

Or said something.

Because he was about to. I knew it. He was going to say something that would oblige me to ban him from my coffee shop forever, and I didn’t want to do that. Ray wouldn’t come in half as often if I did, and I liked Ray.

Fine, I liked Adam, too.

He was just mean, like me, and if I was in a bad mood today, he was in a shit-stirring mood.

“… today , if that’s not too much trouble, Charlie?” Gemma drummed her nails on the counter.

“What?” I snapped, realising I hadn’t been paying attention.

“ Wow . Uh, okay.”

“Sorry.” I forced a smile. “I missed that. Can you repeat yourself, please?”

“I don’t know if I want to now. I might swing by Starbucks instead.”

“Yeah? You do that. Enjoy. Adam? Ready to order?”

“I said might .” Gemma shuffled irritably.

We both knew she wouldn’t. Gemma Richards was one of my best customers. She came in twice a day—three times during summer—and always ordered the largest drink. Her capacity for holding liquids was truly impressive.

“You’re going to be late again,” I told her, “if you don’t get on with it.”

“Fuck.” Gemma worked at the library. Her boss was a genuine arsehole, not a plain old grump like me.

He’d like nothing more than to fire her, because apparently her bachelor’s degree in Library and Information Studies, her Masters in Knowledge, Information, and Data Science, and her willingness to host story time for the local kids three times a week were somehow rendered worthless in the face of her devotion to TikTok beauty trends and Instagram fashion.

On some days this devotion made her look stunning, other days it made her look deranged, and on every damn day it was none of her boss’ business.

“All right,” she said. “Gimme my triple venti mochaccino with hazelnut, extra foam, and sprinkles.”

I glared at her.

“Oh my god,” she said. “What?”

I pointed at the clock. That was going to take more time than she had.

“Well, if someone wasn’t in such a fucking mood today…fine. Black Americano, make it snappy, and I’ll have an almond croissant with it. No, a cheese Danish.”

I rang it up and whisked about putting her order together, and she was out the door clutching her drink and pastry in enough time for her to speed-walk across town to the library.

“Right.” I put my hands on my hips. Kevin and Adam were both still standing there. “Haven’t you two got anything better to do than hang around watching me serve customers?”

“Again,” Adam said mildly, “we are your customers.”

“So order and leave.”

“I’m drinking in today.”

Just my luck. I dropped my head back on my shoulders and stared at the ceiling. “Adam,” I said. “Give me your order.”

“That’s all right. I actually don’t have anything better to do than hang around and watch you serve your customers. Kevin can go first. I’d like to hang around and watch you serve him.”

God, he was awful.

“That’s all right, Adam,” Kevin said. “You go first.”

“No, I insist.” Adam was still lounging all over my counter. I prodded him to get him to straighten but he didn’t.

“Nah,” said Kevin. “It’s fine.”

“Please, you first.”

“I’ll wait.”

I got my spray bottle of cleaner and shook it meaningfully, then spritzed the counter and wiped it down with big circles, bumping the cloth into Adam’s elbows.

He still didn’t move.

“Kevin, you’re busy,” Adam said. “You’re working. Go ahead of me in the queue.”

“S’all right,” Kevin said placidly. “I’m not in a rush.”

Adam tipped his head in the direction of Craig, who was sitting at one of the corner tables, frowning at his phone. “Craig’s probably wondering where you’ve got to.”

“He can see me well enough from there.”

I wasn’t sure whether Kevin knew what Adam was playing at or not, but either way, I was impressed. I loved how…how sturdy he was. Unflappable.

Determined.

I spritzed the counter again and Adam obligingly shifted. As soon as I’d cleaned the spot he’d been leaning on, he settled right back down. I sighed.

Then I felt the air charge, and he abruptly straightened

My eyes widened.

Kevin had reached down and hauled Adam up to standing. Adam looked as shocked as I did.

Kevin continued to look placid. He smiled at Adam. “You were in his way.”

“I know ,” Adam said indignantly.

“Boys,” I said, “will one of you please order?” Neither of them were going to back down. We’d be here all day, or at least until either Craig came up to ask Kevin what was taking so long, or Ray arrived. “Kevin?”

He looked at me at once.

“What can I get you?”

Something in his calm brown eyes turned over, and that was when I realised my mistake.

“Well, Charlie,” he said. “I think I’ll have a quick look at your pastry selection first.”

I was still holding the spray bottle of cleaner and the cloth. At the reminder of last night— and when I’m staring at the croissants, I’m not thinking about pastries at all , he’d said , and then he’d rubbed my dick—I tensed and inadvertently pulled the trigger.

A small burst of spray shot out onto the counter.

“Oops,” Adam said after a moment of silence. “Don’t worry. Happens to us all.”

“Why are you like this?” I demanded. I wiped it up then set the bottle and cloth at the back by the clean cups.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said lazily.

Kevin, meanwhile, was busy surveying the pastry case. He’d bent a little at the waist, had his hands on his thighs, and was solemnly contemplating every single offering.

“Ray’s here,” I said when the door opened and the bell chimed.

After Kevin had hauled him up, Adam hadn’t gone back to lounging. He’d leaned a hip against the counter and had his arms crossed over his broad chest, looking every inch the model he’d once been. At the magic word, Ray , he immediately swivelled to face the door.

“Ready to order now?” I said dryly.

“Yeah. Cappuccino and a brownie for Ray and an Americano for me, thanks.”

“Are you sure you want the brownie? It’s Tuesday.”

Ray did love his brownies. A little too much—we had an arrangement, in that he’d made me promise only to offer him brownies on Mondays and Fridays. He had no self-control. If he wasn’t stopped, he’d have one with every cappuccino. Since he came in for a cappuccino six days out of seven, that added up to over three hundred brownies. Not a healthy choice.

“I’m sure,” Adam said. “He deserves a little treat.”

More like he wanted to watch Ray squirm while he attempted to resist the brownie.

I rang him up and left him to do his thing with his fancy watch and the card reader while I quickly made the drinks and put them on a tray. I slid the tray over to Adam and grabbed a plate for the brownie, adding a fork and a napkin. I selected a brownie from the display and glanced at Kevin as I set it on the plate, because I couldn’t help myself.

I’d expected him to be watching me, but he was busy contemplating the cinnamon buns.

“Here you go,” I said, adding the brownie plate to the tray.

“Thanks.” Adam hesitated, as if he was going to say something else. I narrowed my eyes at him. He gave a short huff of laughter, said, “See you, Kevin,” and strode off.

Craig Henderson was still slumped at the table by the window, frowning down at his phone. I checked the clock and realised that even though it felt as if it was hours since Kevin had come up to the till, it wasn’t even five minutes.

Good grief.

When I looked back at Kevin, he was still bending down. His eyes, however, were on me.

My stomach dropped, rebounded off the floor, and tried to exit my throat.

No more coffee for me today.

“Made your mind up?” I asked, more than ready for the morning to be over.

He shook his head.

“Would you like a recommendation? Try the apple Danish.”

He shook his head again as he straightened. “I’m in the mood for a little treat myself today. I think I want a nice bun. Make that two. I’ve gone off muffins. I want two tight little buns.”

I froze. No . Not heavy-handed innuendo and his appalling dirty talk. Not in my coffee shop.

His expression said yes. Innuendo and dirty talk incoming.

As did his gestures.

When he said muffins , he’d lifted his hands and held them out in front of him like he was honking a pair of boobs. When he said buns , he very deliberately rotated his hands to palms up.

Presumably that was him holding a butt.

His long fingers flexed.

Presumably that was him squeezing the butt.

I swallowed.

“Right. Well. I’ve got cinnamon and Belgian.” I pointed at them in turn and raised my eyebrows in what I hoped looked like impatience and not panic. “One of each?”

“Hmm. Which is the roundest?”

“The…?”

“Roundest. Like, which would you say is fuller?”

“Which bun is fuller ?”

“Yeah.”

I stared at him, then pointed at the Belgian bun. “That one.”

He considered it. “You’re right. It’s definitely rounder, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, I’d better have two cinnamon buns, then. Turns out I like flat little buns these days. Serve me up a couple of those, please.”

I held his gaze.

“Spread them out nicely on the plate for me, would you?”

Oh my god.

“Can’t wait to get my mouth on them.”

This was terrible.

“Bet they taste good.”

Terrible was in the rearview. This was appalling.

“Gonna take my time eating them.”

He hadn’t blinked once. He hadn’t changed his tone of voice at all.

He was standing right there in the middle of my coffee shop, talking about doing things to my arse.

“Gonna start with a little nibble. These buns are sensitive. Delicate. You have to know how to do it right. And I know how to do it right. I’m really good at it.”

Short of running out the back door, I had literally no idea how to get out of this conversation. None.

“So,” he said. “Can I have your buns, Charlie?”

He waited patiently, like that was a normal thing to ask a man in his place of work at nine o’clock on a Tuesday morning.

“Sure,” I said.

He put his hands on the edge of the counter and leaned his weight into them, tipping his upper body towards me a fraction of an inch. “Yeah?” he said happily.

“Yep. Anything else?” With truly superhuman effort, I tore my gaze from his, snatched up a plate, and pincered two buns with the tongs, dropping them quickly onto the plate.

“Can I have an Americano for Craig?”

“Yes.”

“Can I have a latte? ” He smiled at me.

I set the plate down on a tray and made the drinks. When I returned to add them to the tray, I noticed that he had carefully rearranged the buns side by side.

Was he really trying to seduce me in code with pastries?

Catching my eye, Kevin very deliberately—delicately—inserted a middle finger right between the buns and dragged it slowly down the plate, and?—

“Nope,” I said, and swatted his hand away. “No. This is terrible. I can’t… no . Kevin. What kind of porn have you been watching? Who is aroused by this?”

Me , a little voice shrieked in my head. I am! I am horribly aroused by Kevin suggestively fingering his pastries!

And Kevin knew it.

He went to finger the buns again. I went to swat him away again, and realised too late it was a trap. He caught my wrist and gave me a tiny tug towards him.

For a dizzying moment, I thought he was going to do it. Just lean across the counter and kiss me. If he did, I wouldn’t do a thing to stop him. I’d be too busy enjoying the sensation of his lips pressing against mine, his tongue entering my mouth in that bossy, possessive way of his.

Maybe he’d hold my jaw while he did it so I couldn’t get away.

Hah. Yeah. He definitely would.

“Cute coffee shop barista twink gets railed,” Kevin said.

Well, that was a needle-scratch moment. What the hell?

“Hot coffee shop twink gets a triple shot,” he continued. “Handyman with XXXL tool nails twink to floor. Handyman surprises twink with his XXXL power tool.”

“What?” My face felt numb. All the blood was in my dick. I probably looked like a ghost. I had no blood whatsoever left in my upper body. My brain was stuttering.

“The porn I’ve been watching. You asked what I’d been watching.”

“I—wait. Twink?” I fanned the fingers of my free hand over my chest and he grinned. I scowled at him. “ You’re the twink.”

“Hee hee.”

Yeah. In no universe whatsoever would anyone look at solid, sturdy Kevin in his cargos, straining t-shirt and work boots and think, Ah yes. A twink.

They wouldn’t say it to his face, either.

I pulled my wrist out of his grip. He tightened it before he let me go with clear reluctance.

“How did you even stumble across…?”

“I didn’t stumble across it, I searched for it,” he said. “On a laptop and everything. Sassy gay baristas are a thing.”

“We are?” I said blankly. “I mean, they are?” He’d searched porn sites for sassy gay baristas?

Because of me?

He nodded meaningfully, and gave me a heavy look. “Yeah. I’ve seen lots of interesting scenarios. Got lots of ideas. Want to hear some of my ideas?”

“I don’t…no. I don’t think so.”

Did I?

No.

“My favourite videos were the handyman ones. There were loads more to choose from. And the porn baristas weren’t really all that sassy. Felt a bit cheated, to be honest. I think the titles were mostly clickbait because none of them were like you.”

“Because I’m not sassy , Kevin. For god’s sake. Or a twink.”

He sighed, his cheeks pink. “So sassy.”

“Stop saying that word.”

“Shall I send you some of my favourite clips?”

“Of burly handymen surprising unsuspecting twinks with their XXXL power tools? No thanks.”

“You sure? I think you’d enjoy them. On second thought, it’s best you don’t watch them.”

Finally, we agreed.

“I like the idea of wowing you with my wicked new gay skills.”

With that, he picked up the tray and wandered off to where Craig was waiting, still engrossed with his phone.

It took about five minutes of deep breathing in the kitchen for me to calm down.