Page 6 of Should Our Hearts Catch Fire

He stares at the words in a stupor, a kind of numbness spreading through his limbs before it transforms into a raging turmoil of emotions.

He grips the cup tightly, just short of crushing it, but realizing last minute that it’s full of scalding liquid. He closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing to quell the surge of anger that’s climbing its way to the surface.

Who the fuck does the guy think he is? What makes him think he can act like a shrink to complete strangers?

Ellis isthisclose to marching back into the café and having words with the obnoxious barista, but gets himself together quickly. He’s already running late, and who knows what would happen if he went back in there. The guy probably writes random shit on the cups anyway, thinking it’s cute or something. That at least explains what he wrote on the woman’s cup before Ellis lost his cool.

Satisfied with his reasoning, Ellis finally brings the cup to his lips to take a much-needed sip of the nectar of the gods. The moment it touches his tongue, an involuntary moan rumbles out of him. He tenses, embarrassed, even though there’s no one around to witness his reaction.

He stares at the cup in bewilderment. How on earth is it so good? It must be that he’s so tired and desperate that even an average coffee would taste like heaven.

He takes another sip, half-expecting it was a one-off and it won’t taste as good the second time. It wasn’t a one-off. In fact, it tastes better with each sip, and as he slowly works his way through the whole cup, he swears he can feel the coffee travelingthrough his bloodstream, waking him up and chasing away all the tension that’s been piling in his body like poison.

By the time he’s halfway through the cup, he doesn’t even care he’s going to be late for work. He sighs, sinking into the seat and letting the warm feeling sweep through him. He better enjoy it while it lasts. Letting his head roll to the side, he zeroes in on the paper box. His stomach gives a loud rumble of agreement.

He reaches for the box and flips open the lid, not surprised but still elated when it reveals the cinnamon roll he was eyeing earlier. Fuck it, he can go off the rails once in a while. He’ll even survive the stomachache the dairy will likely end up giving him.

He digs into the roll, tearing off a piece of warm, fluffy dough. Once he pops it in his mouth, fireworks go off on his tongue. He soaks up the taste, tearing off another piece and licking his sticky fingers.

Yeah, work can wait.

Chapter 2

Blue. That’s his newfavorite color. Not just any blue, though. The sea after the storm when the first rays of sun are starting to peek through the gray sky. That kind of blue.

An hour ago, Gabe had no idea that eye color existed. Now it’s all he can think about as he absently polishes glasses, still hot from the dishwasher.

Zeke marches up to him, giving him a judgmental look. “Either you’re having a stroke, or that dumb expression has something to do with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Asshole from before.”

Gabe scowls, just barely restraining himself from defending the nameless stranger. “Now that you mention it, I do feel kind of dizzy. And I can’t feel half of my face.”

Zeke snorts, slapping a hand on the counter. “Spill.”

Groaning, Gabe puts down the latte glass he’s been polishing for several minutes. It’s probably shiny enough by now. “There’snothing to spill. He needed a pick-me-up. I tried to give it to him.”

That’s putting it mildly. It’s been a long time since Gabe has felt so much pain and loneliness in anyone. But this man with soul-deep sadness in his eyes, and walls around his heart taller than Everest…

Damn, Gabe nearly threw himself across the counter and gave him a much-needed hug. Since he had a feeling it wouldn’t have been taken well, he went with the next best thing: a cinnamon roll.

“Are you talking about the freebie—which you will pay for, by the way—or spiking his coffee?”

“We are co-owners. I can do whatever I want.”

“You still get paid. This is coming out of your paycheck,” Zeke says, just because he loves to be contrary.

“Dick.”

“Bleeding heart.”

Gabe sticks his tongue out. So he might’ve boosted the guy’s coffee with a dash of good vibes. Sue him. It’s not like he does it on a regular basis. Most of the time this kind of intervention isn’t needed. Experience has shown him that simply chatting with people helps lift their spirits. And if Gabe feels inspired to write a message on the cup, that’s just a little extra that can’t hurt. All in all, he usually refrains from using his mojo directly. Partly because he finds himself a little dizzy afterwards, but mostly because he feels iffy about the lack of consent. He’s not doing anything untoward, but still.

That being said, there are instances when a friendly chat and good coffee aren't going to cut it.

Like today.

“It’s the first time you’ve done it for a ten. Well, a nine. I’m taking a point down for being a jackass.”

“He’s not a—” Gabe presses his lips together, realizing Zeke is taunting him. “Whatever.” The guy wasn’t a jackass. Heactedlike a jackass. There’s a difference.