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I rushed to the changing room and scrambled into the shower. By then, the sweat had cooled and dried on me and I felt disgusting. If I was at home I’d have stayed in there for twenty minutes and worked through all my mental shit while I relaxed in the heat and the steam, but I wasn’t at home, and although the changing room wasn’t busy, it wasn’t conducive to relaxation, either. I did the bare minimum, dried off, and hustled over to my locker to get changed.

I was buttoning up my jeans when Kevin wandered in, glowing with sweat, rude health, and burned-off sexual energy. He ambled over to me.

His t-shirt was sticking to him. It had been form-fitting to start with. Now it was all but vacuum-sealed to his chest and abs. His shorts clung to his thighs and his cheeks were red. His focused, intense eyes were back to their usual soft and gentle brown. “I’ll be quick,” he said. “Meet you out front in a few?”

“Yes. Thanks, Kevin. You really don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He gave me a friendly tap on my shoulder before wandering off to his locker, where he proceeded to yank his shorts down and moon me.

I was out the door so quickly, I didn’t even remember moving across the room.

Kevin was as efficient in the shower as I was, because it was indeed only a few minutes before he joined me outside the gym, where I was leaning against the wall, scrolling on my phone.

“What’re you looking at?” he said. “Insta?” He took hold of my wrist and pulled my phone up to his face.

We were touching each other now?

Casual manhandling was a thing we did?

Or a thing Kevin did, because I’d die before I reached out to another human being and made the first move?

“You’d better not be looking for workout Reels,” he said, disapproval heavy in his voice. “Because you shouldn’t waste your time. If Jasper isn’t available, you gotta let me—oh. Oooh. Look at that. I love that, Charlie.” He glanced from the phone to my face and back again. “Will you make me one?”

He’d discovered my secret obsession.

I was addicted to latte art, and I’d been enviously admiring the grid of a barista from Melbourne who had a cult following for all the little foam creatures she conjured into being.

“No.”

His excited smile didn’t even slip. “Ah, go on.”

“No.”

He took the phone clean out of my hand and I just let him do it.

I’d let him do absolutely anything he wanted, wouldn’t I?

I hoped he never worked that one out.

He swiped around with more approving oohs and ahhs . “These are wicked. They’re so clever. This one’s my favourite.” He angled the phone at me. A small, round-faced bear was clinging to the side of a large cup and smiling up at the camera lens. “Look at this little guy. I want him.”

Maybe I could be strong-armed into a leaf or a heart. A swan, even, as long as it was 2D. I refused to make adorable little bears only to stand by and watch them dissolve.

I was a cold, mean man, but I had standards.

“May I have my phone back, please, Kevin?”

“Hang on.” He swiped a few more times before handing it to me. “Please make me one.” He opened his eyes wider. “Please-please?”

“It won’t work. Your order is a flat white.”

He frowned.

“This is latte art, not flat white art.” I moved off, striding confidently for the main carpark. He put a commanding hand on my waist, making me miss a step along with a heartbeat, and turned me ninety degrees.

“My car’s over here,” he said.

We really had advanced to manhandling, hadn’t we? He could have pointed.

We headed for a neon-blue Land Cruiser hulking in the far corner of the small carpark. It was lifted high on enormous wheels and had a bull bar, a snorkel, and a surprising decal on the side. “Company car, is it? Work must be going well.”

“No?” Kevin said.

I stopped at the passenger door and gestured at the giant sign that took up a serious amount of real estate. Henderson’s Handymen: No Job Too Small!

“Craig reckons we’ve got to hustle 24/7 to make bank. Those were his words, anyway. To be honest, I was a bit miffed when he told me I had to put it up. I saved up for years for my baby and all the mods. The sign’s crap, but what can you do?”

“Tell Craig to stick it on the side of his own fucking car?”

Kevin beeped the locks and we climbed in. Tension flickered in his jaw. “Yeah, well. I can’t. He’d fire me.”

“You know he also can’t make you give him free advertising, don’t you? Legally speaking?”

“Yeah. He banged on and on about it, though. He’s a demanding boss, is Craig.” His hands gripped the wheel. It creaked. “He didn’t used to be, back when I started working with him. Now he’s always going to these seminars and workshops and conferences, all about how to hustle. Things are different.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.”

He buckled up and started the car. “S’all right, Charlie,” he said, and slid me a sly look. “You can make it up to me.”

I eyed him suspiciously as he put the car into gear, flipped the indicator on and pulled out. I wasn’t stupid enough to ask him what he meant by that. He told me anyway.

“You can make me a latte.”

I waved it off. “You wouldn’t like it.”

“Don’t see why not. Isn’t a latte just a flat white anyway?”

I sucked in a sharp breath, and hissed it out angrily. “ No it is not. ”

He laughed. “Oops. My turn to hit a sore spot?”

“They are completely different drinks.”

“Right. How’s a flat white different from a latte, then?”

I gritted my teeth. “It doesn’t matter.”

Not one single person in the whole of Chipping Fairford took coffee seriously enough.

“I want to know, though,” Kevin said. “It seems like it matters a lot to you.”

It did. “Fine.” I twisted in my seat to face him as he drove us to my house. “Wait, do you need directions?”

“Nah, I know where you live.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” His jaw tightened again. “Craig likes to keep track of the local housing market. Who’s selling, who’s buying. Who’s moving. He likes to make sure that when they come to do the reno, he’s ready to get the job.”

Craig Henderson was a grifter. I knew it.

“If you was a lady, or older, or a nice guy like Ray Underwood, he’d have ‘bumped into you’ at the Co-op on accident, like, or tried chatting you up at the coffee shop.”

He grinned at me. We both knew how it would go for Craig if he tried chatting me up.

And it was good that Kevin thought Ray was nice and I wasn’t. That was exactly how I wanted Kevin to see me: not a nice guy.

After I broke down in great detail the difference between a flat white, a latte, and a cappuccino while Kevin listened and made interested noises, the rest of the drive home was quiet. I stared out of the window, feeling my poor muscles tighten up one by one after all the unnatural activity I’d put them through, and wondering if I’d be able to move tomorrow.

Kevin, meanwhile, was doing that thing where he existed in his calm, steady Kevin-world. He drove with economical grace and remained unflustered as we battled our way through the hideous tangle of traffic cones, angry drivers, and temporary traffic lights that had turned the biggest roundabout in town into an absolute horror show. Every now and then, he hummed along quietly to a song on the radio.

I’d never been the kind of person to fill an awkward silence with unnecessary chitchat. I was quite happy to let an awkward silence drag on and on. But this silence wasn’t awkward. It was warm and peaceful in the cab of Kevin’s car, and sparkling clean. He clearly took great pride in it. There wasn’t a stray travel mug, half-drunk bottle of Coke, discarded hoodie or chocolate wrapper to be seen.

I made a guilty mental note to set aside some time on Sunday to empty out and vacuum my car. While I was at it, I could stand to run it through the car wash, too.

There was no reason whatsoever for me to feel as comfortable as I did, and yet I relaxed into the seat bit by bit, until I nearly nodded off. I caught Kevin sending me an amused glance once or twice. I didn’t challenge him on it. I didn’t care. Sore muscles aside, I felt amazing.

I surreptitiously touched two fingers to the pulse in my neck. It was a slow, steady throb. Huh. Either Jasper was right and the gym really was all it was cracked up to be for stress relief, or this was down to hanging out in Kevin’s calm presence.

Kevin’s calm presence, I amended, when there was no chance he was going to suddenly drop his shorts in front of me, or put his hands on me. I hadn’t felt anything like relaxed when those things had happened.

I turned my head to look at him.

He smiled at once, which surprised me. As far as I could tell, he’d been focused on the road.

“What?” he said quietly.

“Nothing.”

He shot me a quick look, one eyebrow up.

“You’re very chilled out,” I said. “That’s all.”

He grunted. “Got my workout in. You should see me when I haven’t been able to make it to the gym for a day or two.” He checked the wing mirror for traffic and pulled past a parked bus picking up passengers. “Be so wound up, I’d fuck a hole in the ground.”

Every last calm feeling exited my body.

“What?” Kevin grinned at me. “Don’t you ever get like that?”

“ No .”

He shrugged. “Think I’ve got a higher than average libido.”

I’ll say.

I spent the rest of the journey fending off thoughts of Kevin’s higher than average libido, and was relieved when we finally arrived at my house. Kevin pulled up at the bottom of the drive, put the handbrake on, and hopped out.

I reached behind me to get my gym bag from the back seat, then froze when he appeared at the passenger-side window and opened the door for me. What…?

He waited with an expectant smile.

I shooed him back with a flap of my hands and he obligingly made room for me to step down. As soon as I was clear of the car, he slammed the door, beeped the locks, and wandered up my drive.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and jogged after him. While I dug around for my keys, he stood with hands on hips, casting a critical eye over the front of the house.

“Hmm.” He wandered off the drive to go and look at the garage door. He reached up and ran a hand along the top, gave the bottom a gentle kick, then wandered back over to where I was still fumbling for my keys. He paused before stepping carefully over the piece of paving slab that had crumbled away from the doorstep. “Hmm,” he said again.

Ah. For a moment there, I’d been confused, wondering if he was aware that he was treating me like some sort of date by driving me home and walking me to my front door. Now I realised he was just doing his job, sussing out a potential client.

Excellent. I didn’t want to date Kevin Wallis. I didn’t want to date anyone.

And Kevin didn’t want to date me, because he was straight.

“Well,” I said. “Thanks for the lift. Appreciate it.”

He dipped his chin in a little nod. “Anytime, Charlie.”

I turned the key, put my shoulder to the door and gave it a couple of hearty heaves until it reluctantly opened and I almost fell through.

Kevin laughed and reached out to steady me. Next thing I knew, he was manhandling me off the doorstep and into the hall.

“Oh,” I said, startled. “Are you coming in?”

“Uh, yeah?” he said. “You’re making me latte art.”

“Kevin, I am not?—”

Kevin wasn’t listening. His eyes went wide as he looked over my shoulder. I heard the thud of heavy paws and the soft click of nails as Phil took his sweet time coming over to check on possible intruders.

“Oh my god,” Kevin said. “You have a bear?”

“He’s not a bear, he’s a dog.” I let the gym bag slide off my shoulder and hit the floor. “Kevin, Phil. Phil, Kevin.”

“I didn’t know you had a dog,” Kevin said. “A big dog. A very big dog. Is he friendly?”

I looked at Phil, who was trudging his way towards Kevin with an air of determination, eyes unfocused and drifting off to the side, mouth open and tongue lolling out. “Of course he’s friendly.”

Kevin plastered himself against the back of my body and slung an arm around my waist. “Are you sure?” he whispered in my ear.

I suppressed a shiver. “Yes. He’s a big softie.”

Phil scented the air, licked his chops, and adjusted his steps.

“He’s old and he doesn’t see very well,” I said. It should have been obvious by the way he was staring glassily past us at the front door rather than at me and Kevin, but Kevin possibly hadn’t registered it, as he seemed to be busy being nervous. I twisted to look at him. “Are you scared of dogs?”

“Me? Nah. I love dogs, me, I… eep .”

Kevin had been turning us on the spot to keep me between him and Phil, but while Phil couldn’t see for shit, he knew a potential new friend and cuddle buddy when he smelled one, and he wasn’t fooled. Kevin went one way, Phil faked him out, and when Kevin went the other way, Phil made contact with Kevin’s knee.

He butted him happily then just stood there, panting.

Kevin let go of me and dropped a tentative hand down. He hesitated. “Charlie,” he said. “Can I touch your bear?”

I tugged on the fluff patch on the top of Phil’s head and rubbed his ear. “Of course you can. He makes noises, though, so don’t be put off.”

“What kind of noises?”

I got my hands on both of Phil’s ears and scrunched them.

Phil groaned.

Kevin looked at me and bit his lip. Then he reached out and had a go. Phil groaned louder and slithered to the floor, where he lay suggestively on his back. “Wow,” Kevin said. “What a tart.”

I laughed, even as Kevin went down to a knee to rub Phil’s exposed and quivering belly.

Phil’s tail ticked over the uneven parquet and he folded his big front paws over his deep chest, having the time of his life.

Kevin glanced up at me. “He’s great, isn’t he? What breed is he?”

“He’s a silly boy.” I poked Phil with the toe of my shoe. “And god knows what breed he is. The vet said they can do a DNA test when I first took him in for a checkup and asked, but I’m not curious enough to shell out a few hundred pounds for it. Best guess is mostly Mountain Bernese or St. Bernard because of his tricolour coat and the fact he’s the size of a donkey. The vet also suggested he might have some husky in him because he’s so vocal and his build is a bit gangly. Maybe some Newfoundland too? Bit of Labrador? Who knows? He’s a big shaggy brownish beast with orange and white bits. Good enough for me.”

“Mountain Huskland,” Kevin said thoughtfully. “Berfoundly. Newhuskbern.”

“What?”

“I’m trying out those fancy names they give dogs. Like cockapoo. Or goldendoodle. I’m thinking he’s a Mountain Huskland. That sounds badass. You should tell people he’s a Mountain Huskland.”

I stared down at Phil. “If that’s not a specimen of canine badassery, I don’t know what is.”

Phil continued to expose himself shamelessly. I could tell from the way he was eyeing Kevin up that he was about three seconds away from army-crawling onto Kevin’s lap.

Kevin gave him a little drumroll of belly pats, which delighted Phil, then pushed up to his feet. “I love him,” he announced. “Now let’s have a latte.”

I was thrilled that he loved my dog, but I still wasn’t going to make him a latte.

“Ugh, Kevin. No.”

“Come on. It’ll be a latte fun.” He looked far too pleased with himself for the pun.

“One more joke like that and not only will I eject you from my house, I’ll ban you from the coffee shop for life.”

“You will not.” Kevin kicked up his chin and sent me a mischievous, sly look that I found ridiculously charming. He turned on his heel and headed down the hall.

“All right, all right.” I hurried after him, putting on a burst of speed. “I’ll make you a latte, but I can’t do it here. I need the proper equipment. Espresso machine, steam wand, milk jug and all that. All I have in the kitchen is a Nespresso pod machine.”

I managed to get the hideous lie out without choking on it, but it was a wasted effort. Kevin wasn’t buying.

“Bollocks. Bet you anything you’ve got another little coffee shop going on back—oh. Charlie . Your kitchen’s shit.”

“Yes, thank you, I am aware.” I muscled past and did my best to body him out the door and back into the hall. When that failed, I braced my hands on his stomach and pushed.

It was like trying to move a rock.

He cupped my elbows and steered me backwards into the room. “This is not what I expected at all. Where are your cabinet doors?”

I pointed at the corner where I’d stacked them mostly out of sight behind the small three-tiered vegetable trolley. “A couple of them came off.”

“A couple?” He walked over to stare down at the plain wooden doors. “There are seven here. No, eight. Why haven’t you put them back up?”

“I haven’t got around to it yet.”

“How long have they been like this?”

“Does it matter?” At his outraged glare, I shrugged and said, “I don’t know. A while.”

I kept it vague. I wasn’t about to tell him the cabinet doors fell off a couple of weeks after I moved in, around the same time the boiler conked out and I had to get the plumber in to break up the enormous fatberg blocking the drain out the back.

In other words, my kitchen situation had been sub-optimal for going on two years, and I thought it might make Kevin explode if he knew that.

He moved the trolley out of the way, poked through the doors and hauled one out, holding it up and running a critical eye over it. “Hmm.” He leaned it back against the stack, replaced the trolley, and stalked over to the nearest cabinet. He flipped the cup hinges clinging to the box back and forth a bit, said, “Hmm,” again, then went and stuck his head in all of my open cabinets, one by one.

“This is easy enough to fix,” he said. “Where’s your screwdriver?”

Chilling in the garage in a box of random crap, probably. “I don’t need you to fix them.”

Kevin looked put out. “It won’t take a minute. I might have to go to B&Q and get some new hinges because these ones are shit and a couple are rusting, but it won’t take long.”

“No,” I said, appalled. “I’m not asking you to do that.”

“I want to do it.”

“No, but thank you.” I’d taken advantage of his sweet nature more than enough for one day. On top of that, if I let him strap on a tool belt and do competent things with screws and screwdrivers while narrowing his eyes in that focused way he had, I’d never be able to get the ghost of him out of my kitchen.

He held himself a little stiffer, as if offended. “I could probably get Craig to give you a good price on it if you’d rather?—”

“No. God, no, that man is not coming anywhere near my house, thanks. If I hire anyone to do it, it’ll be you.”

“I work for Craig, though.” He sighed, and seemed to think that was the end of it.

Not for the first time, I wondered why Kevin didn’t tell Craig to fuck the fuck off, and set up his own handyman business. From what I heard these days, he was the one doing most of the work anyway.

His shoulders were slumped and he seemed a bit wistful. It didn’t last long—he perked right up when he spotted my restored vintage Gaggia espresso machine on the counter by the window.

“Ooh,” he said, and rushed over.

I rushed after him, and reached out just in time to smack his hand away before he could start pushing buttons and twisting knobs.

He looked at me, eyes round, and then something shifted in his expression and he went to touch the machine again. This time when I tried to smack his hand away, he caught my wrist and held it firmly.

I huffed and tugged, pulling free but only after he’d held on long enough to let me know he was allowing it.

“No one touches my machine,” I said.

“Aw. Not even me?”

He said it as if he was special. He was, but he didn’t know that.

…he didn’t know that, did he?

“I’m your gym buddy after all,” he said. “Your gym bro. I de-virginised you, like, an hour ago.”

“You are not my gym bro, and no. Nobody gets to touch it. Amalie let Jasper have a go on the La Marzocco at the shop once, and he pulled a knob clean off. I had to serve nothing but filter coffee for two days before the engineer could come out and fix it.”

“Yeah, but I’m way better than Jasper with this stuff. If I break it, I can fix it. I’m good at fixing things, Charlie.” He reached out again, paused at my warning look, then very deliberately poked one of my knobs.

I rolled my eyes at him.

He ran his fingertips over the boxy body of the machine and brushed them over the buttons. He was startlingly gentle with it. He didn’t jab and twist and click things like it was a child’s toy, which was what Jasper had done.

Of course, Jasper had been about fifteen at the time and was an actual child, but still.

Kevin ran his hands lightly over it as if he was reading it. I remembered what he’d said earlier about being a kinaesthetic learner.

“This,” he said, “is not a Nespresso pod machine.”

“Hah. Nespresso wishes. This is a Gaggia,” I said proudly. “Vintage. I got it on eBay.” I’d paid more than I wanted for it, but while I could compromise on kitchen cabinetry, I refused to compromise when it came to coffee.

Kevin’s attention went from my face to the machine and back. “You really like your coffee,” he said.

“Yes. It’s a good trait to have, what with me running a coffee shop.”

He made a pfft noise. “I reckon a fair amount of people want to have a coffee shop because they like the idea of it, and not because they’re into coffee like you are. They probably think it’ll be like the coffee shop on that old sitcom, Friends, or something.”

He wasn’t wrong.

The coffee shop industry was an absolute bastard. It was highly competitive, had a glamour to it that glossed over financial risks and hard realities, and being an independent coffee shop in this economy was about as easy as being an independent bookshop.

I lived in daily fear of Starbucks sliding on into town. Once that happened, all the other franchises would follow, as they always did.

As for me, I wouldn’t survive.

The Chipped Cup had started out as the friendly sort of teashop that used to clutter up every British high street. My parents had pivoted to coffee in the early noughties and The Chipped Cup became a popular fixture in town. I was fiercely determined to hang onto it.

Even if the rest of my family had abandoned it.

And, yes. I liked coffee.

“Come on, then,” Kevin said. He dropped his voice lower and tried out a wheedle. “Please, Charlie. I want it so bad.”

The breath caught in my throat and my eyes locked with his.

He’d sound like that in be?—

His phone rang.

For a moment, Kevin didn’t react. For a moment, his face was happy and his eyes were bright.

Then he said, “Fuck,” stuffed his hand in his sweatpants pocket, and pulled out his phone. “Scuse me.” He turned and lifted the phone to his ear. “Yep.”

He stood there, head bent and staring at the floor, motionless as he listened to whoever was on the other end. If I had to guess, I’d say it wasn’t a friend—his mouth was in that stern line that sat so oddly on his sweet face.

Unlike when I’d seen it in the mirror at the gym, this wasn’t a focused, sexy kind of stern. It was an irritated kind of stern.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I’m kind of busy right now, and?—”

The voice at the other end rose.

Kevin didn’t blink or move. Just listened.

“Right, but I’m with someone and—no. Not a client.” He slid his eyes my way but he didn’t look at my face. He stared at my chest, still unblinking. “No, I’m—right. Right. And you can’t—sure. Okay.”

He thumbed the screen to end the call, then dragged his gaze up my chest to my face.

“Kevin?” I said, shifting uncomfortably. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” He heaved a big sigh and stuffed his phone in his pocket. “That was Craig. I’ve gotta go and help Mr Webber put up some shelves.”

I shifted my weight, cocking my hip. “Why doesn’t Craig go and help Mr Webber put up some shelves?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Yes?”

“Craig doesn’t work weekends.”

“And you do?”

“If someone needs me to.”

“I suppose the overtime pay is good.”

“What overtime pay?” he said glumly.

“The overtime pay you should be getting if you’re on-call over the weekends.”

“Well,” Kevin said. “I asked about that, but Craig said he can’t pay me extra because it’d hurt his bottom line. He gets to charge extra if someone wants Henderson’s Handymen to work on the weekend, or in an emergency, and if he paid me extra, then he’s not making the extra profit and that’s not right. He said.”

It definitely was not right. “Kevin?—”

He gave a tiny shake of his head and I shut my mouth. It was clear that he knew Craig was overstepping, and he didn’t want to talk about it. “S’pose I don’t get my latte bear today,” he said.

“If it’s any consolation,” I said, “I wasn’t going to make you one.”

He was already on the move, heading for the front door, but at that he said over his shoulder, “Yes, you were.”

“Nope. I wasn’t. You’re not missing out on anything.”

He opened the front door and turned to face me. “You definitely were,” he said with confidence. “I was going to keep asking until you gave in.”

I shook my head at him with a smile.

He grinned back at me. “I had fun with you today. I’m really glad we’re gym bros now.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I hedged. “I’m not sure the gym is my kind of scene. I might never go again.”

He just laughed. And then he did something that I’d remember for the rest of my life.

Kevin Wallis put a gentle hand on the side of my neck, ran his thumb along my jaw and tilted my face up as he leaned in and dropped a quick kiss on my lips.

I caught my breath.

So did he.

His dark eyes slowly tracked up to mine, then back down to my mouth, where they held. “Huh,” he said.

I jerked, about to step back and...what?

Slam the door in his face?

Run screaming for the back garden and hide in the toolshed?

Swoon?

I didn’t get a chance to do any of those things.

He pressed his solid body fully against mine, wrapped an arm around my waist to pull my hips tight to his, and he did it again.

He kissed me.

It was another light touch of his mouth, but this one didn’t have the absentminded, casual air that the first kiss had. This was even worse.

It was slow, considered and deliberate.

My heart slammed with a hard, unsettling throb as I stared at him.

“See you later, Charlie,” he said, and left with a bounce in his step.