by Peter Styles
When Rowan moves closer, he does so slowly, hoping that Stephen will have time to decide whether he wants to back away. He doesn’t have time to be surprised when the other man moves into the kiss, allowing him closer, because then it happens. He can’t quite concentrate on anything other than the feel of a warm mouth against his. It’s nothing more than a brush, brief and soft. He can feel Stephen’s perpetual stubble, just a little scratchy, and he wonders if the man’s temperature runs high because his skin feels like it burns. For a blessed moment, they move apart and just look at each other, green and brown eyes, whatever just happened still lingering there.
And then they panic.
It’s almost funny how sad it is that they both turn on their heels, Stephen furiously mopping while Rowan sweeps mindlessly. Like nothing and everything just happened. Which it did. What did I just do? What did we just do? Rowan can barely focus on getting the floor clean; after another minute of movement, he gives up, throwing the front end in order as fast as possible. The tension between them has mounted a hundred percent and Rowan doesn’t know what to say or do. He’s not even sure why they just kissed.
Headlights flash against the back door and Rowan almost sighs in relief, avoiding eye contact as he makes his way to the back door. Stephen is staring at the table, probably pretending to look at a spot, and Rowan opens his mouth to speak.
“Um—can you—”
“I’ll lock up,” the man says quickly, still staring at the table, “Thanks for staying.”
Rowan makes some noise of affirmation—embarrassing, to say the least—and practically sprints out the back door. He’s throwing his seatbelt on when he catches Jen staring at him, confused and mildly alarmed.
“You okay?”
Am I? He feels a tiny bit hysterical and a lot confused. He just shakes his head silently, trying to come up with a way to play it off.
“Just hungry. Thanks for getting here so fast.”
“Yeah. No problem,” she replies, turning the wheel to pull away from the parking lot.
Rowan spends the entire trip home thinking about that one, brief moment. No matter what he does, he can’t bring himself to understand why he just decided to kiss Stephen. There’s nothing. Nothing but the shock and confusion of having done it in the first place. He only has one thought before he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as if it will give him the answer.
I’m not going to enjoy work tomorrow, am I?
9
Stephan spends most of his night thinking about it. The accident, he would call it, except it wasn’t really an accident. They were both entirely sober and functioning when it happened. So why did it happen?
It wasn’t like there was some sort of extended flirting that led up to it. Besides which, Stephen has rebuffed his fair number of advances in the past week—hell, the past day. He is not interested in a relationship, casual or long-term. Or at least, that’s what he thought. Not that he has really thought about it much lately. His routine of work, drink, and attempts to sleep is all he’s known for the past five years. It was all he cared about, at least until Rowan showed up in town and turned everything on its head.
He was starting to hate Rowan back after the man’s inadvertent push and the way Stephen had gone out and gotten too drunk. Stephen felt like he had been pushed to the edge, all of Rowan’s questions stinging like arrows when he was already insecure about the state of his relationship with Melissa and Jordi. Everything was spiraling downward—losing his comfortable job, the security it gave him, and the time he spent trying to keep himself on stable ground.
And then Rowan tried to offer some sort of help. Stop pushing back. People are going to want to help you. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, when Melissa first tried to intervene, but somehow, this was different. As if Rowan actually cared, which made no sense, given the fact that the man had seemed so resentful of Stephen up until that point.
Maybe it’s just because it’s been so long since anyone, outside of family and the friend he has in Jen, has shown a real concern for him, an unbiased interest in the fact that he’s clearly not doing well. Rowan’s reminders weren’t gentle and they weren’t unnecessarily harsh; they were just true. Somehow, that seemed to reach him.
He’s still not sure where they stand. Things had thawed between them enough for their shifts to become even a little friendly but then the kiss happened—sudden and unexpected. Not that he can’t tell that Rowan is attractive; that much is obvious at first glance. He’s even willing to entertain the thought that, if he weren’t such a mess, he’d probably be interested in what little there is to offer between them. After all, Rowan is leaving in less than a month.
But the fact still remains that he’s supposed to be focusing on himself and making money for Jordi, however unhappy he is at the moment. His drinks at the bar are his methods of numbing, not flings with strangers he barely knows. Yet something tells him that if it happens again, he might not have such an easy time running away.
He shows up to work with far fewer drinks than he’s had in his system for a long time. Years, even. He only had one or two the previous night and his head is thanking him for it, the world sharper by the tiniest degree. It’s almost like he feels energized, which is ridiculous, because he should be feeling some sort of low-grade withdrawal. Instead, he’s left with a pleasant feeling of being less zombie-like than usual.
“Morning. Did you shave?” Jen teases when he shows up at the back door, juggling a thermos and several other items in her arms. Stephen just snorts, relieving her arms so that she can unlock the door.
“I always shave. It’s not my fault it grows a centimeter per second.”
“Oh, yes, you man,” Jen says, dramatically throwing the door open, “And your majestic man beard!”
Stephen finds himself wondering if Rowan is dramatic like her or if maybe he’s not, having to live with Jen for most of his life. He stops the train of thought, realizing it’s a little too close to home after what happened the last time he had a shift with Rowan.
They set about opening procedures until the phone rings. Jen sends Stephen a bemused glance, frowning as she picks up the phone.
“Why is she frowning?”
Stephen almost jumps when Rowan murmurs by his ear. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, a shiver running up his spine. Stop.
“I mean, the entire town knows when we open,” Stephen says, trying to play off his nervousness with a smile. “It’s weird to get a call this early.”
“Maybe it’s someone from out of town?”
The question is posed simply and from anyone else, Stephen might have accepted it as just that—a question. Except Rowan says it with a raised eyebrow, his tone so even that it’s almost robotic. He’s being a little shit, Stephen realizes, the thought making him want to laugh. Rowan, the suit from a big city, is a cheeky little fucker. It makes Stephen giddy with excitement—he feels like he knows something secret now. Something no one else really knows, or will, given the short time Rowan has.
“They’d have to look up the store and then they’d see the hours,” Stephen says seriously, staring hard at Rowan. There’s a moment where Rowan just stares at him and Stephen thinks I’ve gone too far, he really hates me again now, but then Rowan smirks and chuckles, turning away to finish setting up for the first batch of croissants.
He feels like a stupid teenager again, giddy with excitement from making a crush laugh. It’s embarrassing how accomplished he feels, getting Rowan to loosen up the tiniest bit. He resolves to make a point of it, hoping he can get the man to relax during their shifts together. It would be nice to be able to talk, he thinks, even if only for a short time. Maybe we could even go to the bar together, he thinks, the idea seeming less disastrous than it had the first time he’d suggested it. Now that he knows Rowan better, he thinks it would be good to get him outside of a work setting. He has no clue what the man likes outside of work; maybe it would help them both. Maybe.
“…I’m going to need your help,” Jen announces, rushing back into the kitchen, biting her lip. Rowan glances at Stephen, a long-suffering expression of defeat settling on his features.
“With what?” Stephen asks, bracing himself.
“The Charleston family wants cupcakes. Today.”
Stephen groans, leaning his full weight against the table, and Rowan looks between the two of them. The man’s mouth flattens into a line as he prepares himself and then, to Stephen’s shock, he doesn’t ask Jen. He asks Stephen.
“Who are the Charlestons?”
“Well-to-do family from the biggest church in town. They have a daughter, Ellis, who is eight and could either be a nightmare or a godsend when she grows up. They’re also pretty notorious for their house parties, which are apparently invitation-only and planned two weeks in advance.”
“That…sounds…interesting,” Rowan finally finishes. The wrinkle in his nose says he doesn’t really approve. Stephen smiles.
“Yeah. They’re nice, sure, but a little oblivious to the outside world.”
“Well, they’re hosting a soiree and they need cupcakes,” Jen sighs, tucking a pen behind her ear, “Apparently, Donald thought Susan ordered them and she thought he did, so there you go.”
“Okay. So, how many?” Rowan asks, tipping his thermos to take a sip of coffee.
“Three dozen. Vanilla honey, raspberry cream cheese, and cocoa.”
Rowan chokes when Jen says three dozen. Stephen shakes his head, patting the man on the back sympathetically. Maybe he lets his hand linger a little too long but that’s nobody’s business but his own.
“Okay, how do we do this?” Rowan says, shoving his cup aside as he starts to rub his eyes in preemptive exhaustion. It’s not so much a question as a statement, Stephen notices, because it looks like the man is running mental math.
“Keep up with the normal flow,” Jen says, directing the order at Stephen, “and Ro, I want those cupcakes in top shape. You know the drill. I’ll deliver the haul at around six o’clock, which means I’ll probably be roped in until closing.”
“We’ll lower the flags for you,” Stephen jokes, already backing into the pantry to grab what he needs for the day. He gets the feeling it’s going to be a stressful one.
By eleven o’clock, Rowan is in the middle of making the second dozen while the first cools and Stephen is juggling three different pastries at once. The shop is bustling at the front end; Jen is on her toes, easily managing the flow of customers with the help of another cashier. It feels like they’re just on the precipice of not having enough help; everything is tense and new trays go out to the front just as the old ones are finished.
“Is that Mrs. James at the front?” Rowan asks, whirling from the pantry with a new bag of sugar. He sets it at Stephen’s elbow, quickly moving to check his cooling tray of cupcakes.
“I’m sure,” Stephen says, shaking his head. “She won’t let Jen hear the end of it if I don’t say hi to her.”
“Really? Why?”
“She, uh…likes attention,” Stephen winces at his wording, trying to figure out how to clarify, but Rowan just snorts.
“Oh, I got that part. Why do you entertain her? Or anyone, really?”
“Why? I…guess I like the attention, too,” Stephen manages, feeling a little sheepish. It’s nice that people act like they need him, he thinks, even if it’s only for superficial conversation during pastry runs. He likes feeling like people look forward to talking to him. Sad, he knows, and not a good enough substitute for having Jordi around, but at least it keeps him sane.
“Everyone likes to feel important,” Rowan agrees, his expression softening, and Stephen momentarily pauses his efforts to roll dough out. He thinks caring looks good on Rowan, even if the other man seems to try not to care most of the time.
“What about you? I’m sure you’re important in your workplace. Is it okay to be away this long?”
Rowan looks surprised—pleasantly so, Stephen hopes. The man pauses for a moment while mixing the icing for the first batch of cupcakes, preparing the tray.
“I’m just an animator at a video game company. There are several of us. I may be a veteran—the second-oldest employee—but that doesn’t mean I’m indispensable...not that Dean would fire me. It’s just…it was easy for me to take a break. I don’t usually.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Stephen says, smiling to take the edge off, “Jen doesn’t take a lot of time off, either, but then it isn’t usually this stressful here.”
“I guess I’m just bad at living outside of work,” Rowan grimaces, spinning a cupcake with a practiced hand as he swirls icing over it.
“You? Really?”
“Don’t act so surprised,” Rowan mutters. He seems to draw back minutely, shoulders closing as if he’s said too much. Stephen quickly tries to think of a way to backtrack.
“It just seems like you’re good at being…I don’t know, functional? I mean, you have a career and a place to live and you seem self-sufficient. Like you don’t really need anything or anyone.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Rowan finally admits, “Everyone needs connections. I mean—I have friends at work. And I like to visit my family, although I haven’t done that enough recently.”
“Well, I’m sure I’m not nearly as put-together as you are. I should probably be taking notes.”
Am I laying it on too thick? He’s not even sure how receptive Rowan is to conversation. Stephen wonders for a moment if maybe he drew things out, making the other man talk when he’d rather be silent. That doesn’t seem to be the case, though. Even after his little stumble, Rowan is still more relaxed than he’s ever been around the shop before. It makes Stephen more comfortable with drawing things out.
Just as he’s thinking about what to say next, Stephen notices Rowan tugging at the corners of a bag of flour. He stops his work, hands pausing over the mixing bowl.
“Be careful, the edge—” he starts to say, a hand moving to gesture, but then Rowan yanks and the bag makes a loud pop, flour diffusing over the table in a tiny cloud. Rowan freezes, wide-eyed, white dust sticking to his lashes as he blinks furiously. Then he coughs.
“Oops.”
Somehow, the scene is so ridiculous that they both start laughing. They’re coughing, too, waving hands in the air and covering their mouths with the crooks of their elbows, dissolving into fits of giggles as the flour falls like snow onto the table.
“If you wanted flours you could have just asked,” Stephen manages, laughing as he coughs the last of the dry dust from his throat.
“That was a terrible pun,” Rowan chokes out, dissolving into a coughing fit even while he’s still grinning like a fool. “I can’t believe you would do that to a man who’s already down.”
“Well, just let it mill around in your mind a bit,” Stephen adds, practically collapsing onto the table as he laughs. “You’re looking a little pastry there, you sure you don’t need a break?”
He doesn’t know how long they stand there laughing before the doors to the kitchen swing open suddenly, Jen appearing with a suspicious expression. Stephen immediately bites back his laughter, shoulders shaking with the effort. Rowan ducks his head, hiding in his work.
“I swear to God, if you two destroy the kitchen because you’re too busy making dad jokes, I’m going to put you both on opening duty next week. All week.”
As soon as Jen disappears, they start laughing again. It’s better than Stephen expected—he certainly hadn’t thought Rowan would be this open with him. He wonders if maybe things are warming up between them. Still, his mind keeps going back to that moment—the brief kiss and the way they both ran away from it. Was it a mistake? He can’t help but wonder if Rowan meant it—if maybe he needed something more from Stephen, something to keep him close. Stephen doesn’t want to push, though, because he knows he doesn’t want to make a mistake. Rush in.
They trade a few more bad jokes through the course of the day. Somehow, th
ey manage to move around each other as if they’re used to it. Even the occasional brush is met with more of a small smile than annoyance—Stephen almost backs into Rowan and the man gently stops him with hands on his shoulders, the touch lingering far past the time it should.
Is it just me, or is he making excuses to get close? He can’t tell. It’s frustrating and wonderful all at once; one second Rowan’s asking for help reaching for something and the next Stephen is making excuses to lean over the table and brush against his arm. It’s like whatever compelled their first kiss is drawing them back together, over and over again.
“Everything done?” Jen interrupts them near the end of their exhausting shift, startling both men from their half-slumped positions at the table.
“Yes. Yes—all the boxes are set up in the walk-in,” Rowan explains, shaking himself from his tired stupor to start cleaning up.
“Great. I’ll run these across town. Take care of the shop, okay? I’ll keep in touch.”
They wave Jen off, thankful for the reprieve the end of the day is bringing. Rowan goes to the sink to start washing a few things while Stephen starts returning supplies to the pantry.
“You know, I forgot to pay you back for the lunch,” Stephen says, testing the waters. “If you’d like, we can grab dinner after. I’ll drive you home.”
He wonders if it sounds like a date. It pretty much is, though, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He’s just nervous that Rowan will say no. It wouldn’t be unbearable but it would make their newfound friendship a little less easy.
“You don’t have to,” Rowan supplies, scrubbing at a pan. That’s not a no.
“Least I could do,” Stephen smiles, “and it’d be a welcome break. I think we earned it.”
“Yeah. Okay,” Rowan says, smiling back.
It’s probably the best thing Stephen’s heard all week. He spends the rest of the evening practically spinning around the bakery, a light feeling in his chest, getting everything done ahead of time so that they can leave as soon as they close. Part of him wishes he could shower before going out but he also knows it’s important not to make it into a big deal. He’s not going to make Rowan uncomfortable. It seems like barely a minute passes and then Jen is back, five minutes until closing, looking tired but pleased.
