Page 9

8

I spotted Kevin’s neon-blue Land Cruiser parked up in front of my house the moment I turned down my road. Kevin and Phil were waiting for me on the doorstep.

I pulled into the drive, switched off the engine, and took a moment to take in the sight of my two favourite people.

Phil was leaning against Kevin, who had an arm around him. With Kevin sitting with his knees practically up to his nose like that, they were almost the same size. Phil was in heaven. He was attached to a cuddle buddy and life was good.

Kevin looked pretty smitten himself, to be honest.

They watched with contented smiles as I climbed out of the car, slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder. It was heavy; I’d stopped off at the Co-op and picked up an extra two litres of milk, and I’d thrown in a litre of oat milk and a litre of almond milk in case Kevin wanted to really spread his wings.

“Been waiting long?” I asked as I headed up the drive.

“I came right over,” Kevin said.

Long enough, then. “How did you get hold of my dog?” I stopped in front of them and ruffled the top of Phil’s head. He nudged up into my touch, getting his big tongue around my wrist.

“What?” Kevin said blankly.

“Phil,” I said. “How come you’ve got Phil out here with you?”

Kevin was staring dead ahead without blinking. “What?” he said again.

I glanced down, realised my dick was right in front of his face, and stepped back, primly blocking his view with my messenger bag.

“Uh.” Kevin shook his head. “She gave him to me. Miss Lawson, that is. From the newsagent’s? I was waiting here when she dropped him off, and she said it was all right if he waited with me, as I told her you’d be home any minute. She wouldn’t let me in the house. I did tell her you wouldn’t mind.”

He was looking at me expectantly, and a little defiantly.

“I wouldn’t have minded,” I said. And didn’t that blow me away?

I stepped past Kevin and opened the door. Well, I turned the key and gave it a go.

I was all ready to throw myself against it to get the damn thing open when Kevin gently inserted himself between me and the door, set his shoulder to it, and gave a little grunt as he popped it open.

“Thanks,” I said, cheeks warm.

I moved fix front door a couple of places up the mental list of DIY tasks that I’d get around to one day, and gestured him in. “After you.” Phil shoved himself between us and made a beeline for the kitchen. “Phil, that’s rude,” I scolded. “Sorry,” I said to Kevin. “He has no manners.”

Kevin didn’t seem bothered. He’d steadied himself on the doorframe with one hand when all one hundred and forty pounds of greedy dog wanting his supper barrelled past, and had reached out to steady me with a hand on my hip.

We were in kissing distance.

I remembered how it had felt when he kissed me—the softness of his lips, the heat, the surprise of it all. There was no way he didn’t know what I was thinking. I was hardly subtle. I looked down at his lips, and all but burst into flames.

His mouth curled up.

Exasperated with myself, I tugged out of his light hold and marched into the house. Kevin followed me in, and I shut the door behind him.

Of course, it got stuck and wouldn’t close properly.

My messenger bag slipped down to dangle from my bent elbow as I gave the door a good heave. Wood groaned against wood, door against frame. I gritted my teeth and heaved again, letting my bag slide to the floor. I adjusted my stance, and really put my shoulder to it. It was always harder to close than to open. And it wasn’t this hard every day, but on damp days, or rainy days—which we got more than a few of, what with being in the UK—it took a bit of determination.

Before I could bounce off it again, Kevin’s hands settled on the panels either side of my head. I flinched forwards in surprise, plastering my body flat to the door. Heat poured off him, and I felt his breath on the back of my neck as he said, “Let me help.”

“Oh, I’ve got it,” I said. “There’s a trick to it. You just have to know— eep .”

The strong wrists and forearms a couple of inches from my face flexed. Kevin breathed a soft and barely audible, “ Uhn ,” in my ear as he pushed against the door.

Oh my god.

His whole body was against mine. All the way, head to toe, mashing me against my own front door.

“Wow,” he said. “It really sticks, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said weakly. I was reeling here. Flat-out reeling.

“Let’s give it another go. On three. One, two, three . Uhn.”

Was he…?

Was he humping me?

Was that what was happening?

Because he bounced me lightly off the door, his hips bounced clear off my arse before snugging right back in there, and the door didn’t do a damn thing because that had been way too gentle.

“Almost there,” he said. “On three again. One, two?—”

“Wait!”

He obligingly paused as I squirmed around between his arms to face him.

“Um,” I said.

He lifted his brows.

My mind blanked.

Kevin’s biceps were now in view rather than his wrists and forearms. He peeled his body slowly off mine. His muscles bunched as he shoved against the door.

I bounced lightly again.

He bounced lightly off me again.

His brows were still up.

I heard the latch click. “That did it,” I croaked, and ducked under his arm. “Great job. Thanks so much.” I scooped my messenger bag up off the floor and made for the safety of the kitchen.

Okay.

That was seriously not a normal way to close a door.

I busied myself getting the milk out of my bag and into the fridge. Kevin didn’t follow me straight away. I heard the door open and shut a couple more times, and decided to leave him to play with it. Phil was lying on the kitchen floor by his empty food bowl, the tip of his nose touching it, in case I wasn’t clear on what he wanted.

“That door,” Kevin said, wandering in when I was scooping out Phil’s kibble, “is warped to hell and back.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“All right. I’ve got a plane in my Land Cruiser, and after you’ve made my fancy latte, I’m going to fix it for you.”

“You are not,” I said firmly.

“You’re right,” he said, and snapped his fingers. “I’m doing your cabinets first. Besides, I hate to break it to you, but you need a new front door. No worries. I know a guy. I’ll get you a great deal.”

“Kevin.” I cocked a hip and set a hand on it. “You are not fixing my house.”

He shrugged.

Beside me, Phil groaned.

Right. “Sorry, Phil,” I said. To Kevin, I said, “I have to feed him first, then we can do your latte.”

“Cool. I want a bear.”

“I’m not doing you a bear. I’m not that good yet, and even if I was, I wouldn’t do one.” Kibble rattled in Phil’s bowl as I shook it out. Phil pranced on the spot beside me.

“That’s mean,” Kevin said.

I glanced up and over at him, surprised. “It’s not mean.”

“It is.” Kevin was leaning against the counter opposite me. His legs were crossed at the ankles and his arms were crossed over his big chest. His eyes were focused. There was something about the way he was holding himself that made my heart rate pick up. “You’re telling me I can’t have what I want.”

“That’s life. You don’t always get what you want, in case you haven’t worked that one out yet. You’re young. Perhaps you haven’t. Sorry to be the one to ruin it for you.”

Kevin stared at me.

“I can’t do bears,” I gave in and told him, before I did something like blush under that disapproval. “I’m actually not very good at even the basic stuff yet, and doing anything 3D will take a lot more practice to learn. As in years. And—” I couldn’t believe I was telling him this, but if I didn’t, he’d be convinced I was doing it to be ornery, “—I don’t want to create a little creature with a face and a smile and then have to watch them…you know. Dissolve.”

Phil butted his head into my hip, reminding me that I was in the middle of something more important than latte bears. I pushed him back out of the way while he pranced a bit more, and set the bowl down. He immediately stuck his entire head in it and got to work.

I put the bag of kibble and the scoop away in his cupboard and went to wash my hands at the sink.

“Fair enough,” Kevin said. “Although I’m not young. I’m only a couple of years younger than you.”

I dried my hands and rehung the towel. “How old are you? Twenty-three?”

“Turned twenty-four in February.”

I snorted. “To me, you’re young. I’m?—”

“Thirty-one. I know. I know a fair bit about you, Charlie.”

The intent look in his eyes made me shift nervously. “Yeah? How do you know so much?”

“I’m an observant guy.”

I supposed that he heard a lot of gossip on the job, not least because Craig Henderson was the worst, and Kevin would be a captive audience most days.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I hear mostly good things.”

I pointed at him as I strode over to my Gaggia and switched it on. “You couldn’t even keep a straight face for that one.”

His cheeks had bunched up with his smile, eyes twinkling. “A lot of people think you’re kind of stroppy.”

“Eh. I prefer to think of myself as bad-tempered.”

He made a dismissive sound. “You’re not stroppy or bad-tempered. You’re just overworked.”

I stopped, startled, then continued on to the cabinets where I kept my collection of latte cups.

“And you don’t like people much,” he said.

I nodded, taking down a cup. “That’s true.”

“And you’re sweet and shy.”

I burst out laughing. “Sweet?”

Kevin was unperturbed by my hilarity. “I think you’re sweet. You’re always nice to me.”

“I actually like you, so—” I cut myself off sharply.

“I know you do. I like you too, Charlie. And I like that you’re shy. Think it’s cute.”

“All right.” I set the cup down by the machine with a crisp clink and turned to face him, hands on my hips. “I am not shy.”

“Mhm.”

I threw my arms up. “I’m not shy! I can’t be shy! I deal with people all day long! I have a customer-facing career!” I hadn’t chosen the customer-facing part. I wanted to make the coffee and run the business, not serve the coffee and chat. That was Amalie’s thing. Had been, anyway.

“Very cute,” he said.

I glared at him. He smiled back.

“I don’t think I like you after all,” I said.

“Yes, you do,” he said comfortably. “I don’t see you making anyone else latte art after hours. I’m special.”

“You’re annoying, is what you are.” I went over to the fridge to get out the milk. I took it over to the machine, set it by the metal milk jug, and unclipped the lid of the canister where I kept any surplus coffee from my morning grind.

“If you won’t make me a bear, what am I getting?”

“ Can’t make you a bear, not won’t make you a bear, and what do you want?”

“What do I want?” He pulled a face like he was thinking hard. “Hmm.”

“Let me make this easy for you,” I said dryly. “I can do a leaf, a heart, or a swan.”

“Ooh.”

I tamped the espresso into the basket, clipped the portafilter into the machine, and made a shot.

“Oh my god,” Kevin said when I tossed the shot down the sink, “you didn’t give me enough time to decide!”

“What? No, that wasn’t…that wasn’t it, I’m just warming the machine up.”

“Phew. All right.”

I poured the milk into the jug and set it under the steam wand. Kevin seemed content to watch me, because every time I glanced at him, his gaze was steady. I assumed he was still mulling over his choice of art.

“Decided yet?” I asked, and put two shot glasses ready.

“I’m on the fence. I think leaves are pretty, and I do like swans, but I also really want you to give me a heart.”

“Shall I choose for you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. You’re getting a leaf. And listen. I know you saw all those amazing pictures on Instagram, so I want to set your expectations here. I haven’t been doing it all that long and I’m not artistically inclined anyway.”

“Don’t care,” he said. “You’re making it for me. That’s all I want.”

He sounded alarmingly genuine. I cleared my throat. “Can you let Phil out, please?”

Kevin went over to the back door, unlocked it, and turned the handle. He sent me a disapproving look when the door didn’t open.

“Yeah,” I said. “That one sticks, too. It’s not nearly as bad, though. Leave it ajar for him to come back in when he’s done, would you?”

He flexed his arm and popped it open. Phil rushed out.

Kevin came over to stand beside me as I made his stupid latte.

Although he didn’t crowd me, I was hyperaware of him. Every single cell in my body was attuned to him, vibrating in his direction.

“How’d you get into this fancy latte art anyway?” Kevin asked. “And how come you don’t you do it at the shop?”

I concentrated on pouring the espresso into the white china cup I’d pre-warmed. “I don’t offer it at the shop because it’s all I can do to keep up with the more basic orders. Besides, I’m a simple, straightforward man, and that’s how I like to keep my business.”

Kevin snorted beside me.

I glanced up at him as I tucked the milk jug under the wand, then held up a finger and blasted it.

Kevin waited patiently, then said, “ I’m a simple, straightforward man, Charlie. You? Nope.”

Well if you used Kevin as the yardstick, then no. I tapped the milk jug lightly on the counter to get rid of any big bubbles. But Kevin was an outlier.

“Hush now,” I said. “Artiste at work.”

The sarcasm seemed to go over his head but he obediently hushed while I hunched over the cup and did my thing.

Kevin also hunched over the cup, pressing himself close beside me, and watched as I made small, quick movements with my wrist to draw a pattern in the microfoam.

“Ooh,” Kevin said admiringly. “That’s a lovely heart, Charlie.”

It was a bit lopsided. And I was intending to do a leaf. I set the jug down on the counter and leaned into my elbows. “That,” I said, “is not my best work.” I turned my head and looked into Kevin’s warm brown eyes, approximately three inches from mine.

He wasn’t looking at the latte, he was looking at me. His lids were half-lowered and his lips were parted.

Something twisted low in my stomach. I quickly glanced away and went to straighten, but before I did, Kevin put his hand on my jaw and turned me back to face him.

His gaze flickered down to the pulse he must have been able to see banging at speed in my neck.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I love it.”

And with that, he closed the distance between us and put his mouth on mine.