by Eli Easton
River felt a little tug of melancholy, but he shrugged. “Nothing lasts forever. But I haven’t decided yet.”
Brent chewed on his bottom lip and stared at River. It was a small table, and they were only three feet or so apart. It felt like their tantric session, staring into each other’s eyes—so much so that River’s breathing deepened and got a little louder. And he noticed Brent doing the same.
He was perfectly aware that they were doing it, but he didn’t mind. It didn’t feel wrong to connect with Brent in a deeper way, even here. And staring into those green eyes was no hardship. But Brent’s eyes went a little glazed, his cheeks flushed, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Again, he was the one to break eye contact, looking down at his cup.
“So, uh, Justin said something about drink ideas? We don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to. It’s just that he mentioned it. So I thought… Though we do have enough drinks. Here. Always open to new ideas though. God, I’m sorry, I’m babbling.”
River bit back a smile. Brent McKay was a man of contradictions. He was a successful business man, and at least ten years older than River, but he nevertheless had an awkward, boyish side.
River liked that side.
“It’s the chai,” River said.
“The… what?”
“The chai. You use a commercial premix.”
Brent nodded. “Oh. Yes. We’ve used that brand for years. Customers seem to like it.”
River gave a tiny shrug. “It’s your place. But it’s nothing like real Indian chai. The recipe I have is a hundred times better.”
“Yeah? Where’d you get the recipe?”
“I lived on an ashram in Jaipur last year, and we made it the traditional Ayurvedic way. We made big batches in the kitchen every morning. It’s fantastic, and very nourishing to the body and spirit.”
Brent frowned. “How is it different from the premix?”
“In every way. Chai is meant to balance the three doshas. The ginger, cardamom, and cinnamon warm the vata dosha, and milk, honey and fennel cool the pitta dosha, and the cloves, peppercorn and tea energize the kapha dosha. But the balance is critical. When it’s made correctly, it’s way better than coffee for making you feel fresh and energized for hours.”
Brent’s eyes sparked with interest. “Well, I like the sound of that. Can you get the ingredients to make that recipe here in the States?”
“Sure.”
Brent looked River up and down curiously. “Would you be interested in making a sample batch for me to try? I mean, I’m not trying to steal your recipe or your ideas. If we decide to use it, I’ll pay you a finder’s fee, of course.”
River huffed a laugh. “I don’t want money for it, Mr. McKay. I’ll make you some. And if you decide to use it, I’m happy to give you the recipe.”
“I’d want to pay you something.”
“Not everything is about money. Besides, I don’t own the recipe. It’s ancient.”
Brent left off insisting. He took another sip of his coffee. “Also, you can call me Brent. What else?”
“What else is in the chai recipe? Cloves—”
Brent grinned. “No, Justin said you had ideas for drinks, as in plural.”
“Oh.” River leaned back in his chair, scooting down a bit. Under the table, his knee brushed Brent’s accidentally. Brent jerked like he’d been shocked and moved his away.
Wow, he was still nervy. Was it because River had given him a lingam massage? Was it because River was a man who’d touched him that way? People could be so uptight about the natural functions of the body. It was disappointing to see that Brent was so uneasy about their past intimacy. But River decided to ignore it.
“Homemade kombuchas are amazing. Citrus-ginger, berry, turmeric, hibiscus—”
“Like the bottled kombuchas?” Brent glanced toward the cold case near the register where they sold a few bottles of the stuff.
“Yes, but way better.” River rotated his glass on the tabletop again. “It’s like the difference between a bottled juice and a juice made fresh in the shop.” Or regular hookup sex and tantric sex, River wanted to add. But he refrained, given where they were.
“I see. So you make kombucha to order?” Brent leaned forward with interest, elbows on the table.
“Not exactly. Kombucha needs time to ferment, sort of like beer. But you could have a fermented base you add fresh ingredients to on order, like fresh squeezed lemon juice or ginger slices. Or you could have a few fermented flavors already made up, only you make them in house instead of selling the bottled stuff.”
Brent’s eyes grew wide. “Oh shit. You could have homemade kombucha flavors on tap, like craft beer!”
River nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. I’m not sure if you want to go that far, but there’s a fantastic place in Mumbai that has kombucha on tap. They had a ton of flavors, and it was the best kombucha I’ve ever tasted. The place was super popular.”
Brent gazed into the distance, as if imagining it. His face lit up as his brain worked it over, like a kid thinking about what he wanted for Christmas.
“That could be… wow. I’m gonna have to do some research, see if anyone’s doing that in this area, and what the health department regulations are on kombucha.” Brent took out his phone and typed into a notepad app. He muttered to himself, “Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.”
Done typing, he looked up. “What about the food? Any thoughts?”
River chuckled. “Well, your vegan options suck.”
Brent blinked. “You don’t like the veggie wrap?”
“Not vegan. It has aioli in it, which is made with mayo. And it would be nice to have more choices.”
“Oh.” Brent’s face fell, like he was embarrassed. “Yeah, actually one of my managers, Dani, has brought that up a few times. Guess I should have paid more attention.”
River shrugged. It was Brent’s business. But he had asked.
“Was there anything else besides the chai and kombucha and vegan offerings?”
River chuckled and took a sip of tea.
Brent grimaced. “Sorry. I sound so greedy. I don’t mean it like that. Like I said, I’d be happy to pay you. I’m not trying to suck you dry.”
“No? Too bad.” River gave a flirty little grin.
It was the sort of banter he might have done with a friend. But Brent McKay was not a friend, and it sounded way too much like a come on. Especially when Brent went red, choked on saliva, and splashed a bit of coffee on his shirt when he picked up his cup in too much of a hurry. He gulped his drink.
“Sorry,” River said. “I was just kidding. But that was crude.”
Brent put down his cup with a clatter and waved a hand. “No. It was… funny. God, you haven’t met ‘crude’ until you’ve met my friend Sean. I just didn’t, um, expect that. You don’t strike me as….” He hesitated.
“As having a sense of humor?” River shrugged. “Joy is a tantric aspect, too, you know.”
“Well, I can attest to that.” Brent laughed.
They looked at each other, smiling, and their gazes held again. And again, there was that slide into the way they’d stared into each other’s eyes in their sessions. Warm energy flowed into River and sparked down his spine, ping, ping, ping, all the way down to his Svadhishthana chakra where the warmth spread through his groin.
Objectively, as Justin had pointed out, Brent McKay truly was “a hot daddy.” But more than that, there was a softer sensitivity to him that appealed to something deep inside River, dragged at him like a tractor beam. Not just in their tantric session. Even here. Even now.
River could acknowledge the attraction now that Brent wasn’t a client. But their new situation wasn’t any less complicated.
This time, it was River who looked away first. “Well, I should probably get back to work. When would you like me to bring in the chai?”
Brent cleared his throat. “Tomorrow? No, you’ll need to get ingredients and maybe you’re, um, busy. We
can do next week, if that’s better.”
“Tomorrow it is, Mr. McKay.”
Chapter 11
River
When River got a call on a Tuesday morning, and saw the name “Brent McKay” on the caller ID, it took him by surprise. He’d forgotten that Brent had his cell phone number. But of course he did—they’d had each other’s numbers when they coordinated their tantric sessions. Still, Brent hadn’t used it since then, and it seemed strange that the big boss was calling him directly.
“This is River,” he answered.
“Hey. It’s Brent McKay.”
“How are you, Mr. McKay?”
“Uh, fine. I’m good. Hey, listen, I know you’re not scheduled to work today, but if you have time, I’d like to show you something. Work related. On the clock, of course. If you’re busy, we could do it tomorrow during your regular work hours. I can call Justin about getting in a replacement.”
River was at the dog park. He watched Lily bound around with a German shepherd and considered it. He’d planned to do grocery and laundry later today. But his chores could wait. And he didn’t have a surrogacy session.
“I can work today.”
“Great. I’ll text you the address. What time is best for you?”
The address? So it wasn’t at his usual store. That was curious.
They finalized a time and ended the call. A moment later, an address came through via text. It was downtown, several blocks from Pike Place Market. Was it another one of Brent’s coffee shops? Was River filling in for someone out sick?
It had been over a week since River made the chai and took it in to the First Hill shop. Justin and Maddy had raved about it, and so had Brent. He’d seemed sincere, anyway, but he hadn’t committed one way or the other about switching to it. Which was certainly his call.
River had let it go. Someone else’s shop. Someone else’s business decisions. He had to admit, the idea that Brent valued his opinions had been nice. But ultimately, what did it matter in the big scheme of things? It was never good to let someone else make you happy or unhappy.
That was easier thought than done. Since “chai day,” Brent had stopped coming into the First Hill AJC. He hadn’t shown up for a week, and it had been hard not to wonder why, hard not to look at the door every time the little bell at the top chimed.
Now, getting ready to go meet Brent, River told himself he was chill about it. But there was a flutter in his stomach as he showered and towel dried his long hair. He wrapped it around his fingers and stuck a rubber band around it, refusing to fuss any more than usual. He put on some cargo shorts and a red mehndi-print T-shirt, made sure Lily and Beauchamp had water, and locked up the houseboat. His flip-flops made a flapping noise on the wooden deck. He’d been there long enough that the noise was starting to sound like home.
When he arrived at the address he’d been given, he found an empty storefront between a Seattle souvenir shop and a pizza place. The plate-glass windows were covered with brown paper, and it looked deserted. River thought he must have the wrong place, but he tugged on the front door and it opened.
Inside was a large room with a glossy cement floor. Holes in the cement gave the impression there’d once been booths or tables here, and in the back was a long counter.
Brent was at the counter looking over a collection of sketches. He smiled big when he saw River and came over. “Hey! Thanks for coming. I marked you down for four hours of work today. I appreciate you making the time.”
“No worries.”
Brent offered his hand and River shook it. Brent’s skin was warm. He was wearing well-worn jeans and a lightweight green summer sweater that brought out his eyes. He looked good, his face bright and lively. Where was the haunted man River had first met? It was nice to see him looking so well. The shiver of attraction that went through River was less welcome, but hell, he was only human.
“I realize this place is a mess, but my real estate agent suggested it. I’m not sure it’s quite right for what we need, but the location is ideal. Anyway, I have some sketches. Come on.”
Brent led the way over to the counter and River followed, confused. “What we need” for what? Sketches for what?
Brent pointed out a colored pencil sketch of a line of taps, like beer taps, only the flat handles had names like “Happiness” and “Vitality” and “Soother” in an artsy font, each handle a different color. River felt a catch of excitement in his chest.
“Is this…?”
“A kombucha bar.” Brent’s eyes sparkled. “I know the brew names might seem a bit much, but people love funky names. The same drink you call lemon-ginger kombucha will sell half as well as something called Happiness. But obviously, we’ll want to come up with names that actually match the properties of the brews.”
River blinked.
“Sorry.” Brent gave him a half smile, half frown. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up.” Brent took a deep breath as if trying to calm down his nervous excitement. “Your idea of homebrewed kombucha on tap—”
“It was your idea to have it on tap. I just thought it would be nice to serve a homebrew.”
Brent waved a hand, as if it didn’t matter. “Anyway, it got me thinking. Craft beer has been big for years. Seattle is full of microbrew beer pubs. But kombucha, that’s new. I looked at the grocery store sales data, and demand for the bottled product has been growing like crazy. It’s probiotic, it’s got a little kick but isn’t really alcoholic, and anything fermented is big in the health food market right now. Plus, it’s easy to make in house. I mean, there will be health inspections, and we’ll have to regularly test to make sure our fermentation bacteria isn’t growing anything nasty, but that’s not a big deal.”
Brent talked a mile a minute, his face was more animated than River had ever seen it. He dragged over another sketch, this one of a row of large glass mugs with different colored contents, each with a foamy head. “It won’t be just a kombucha bar. We’ll feature chai, of course. Real chai, the one you made me. And the menu will be healthy but hearty and delicious. Lots of vegan and veg options. And fermented foods. That goes with the kombucha idea.”
“Fermented foods?”
Brent bit his lip. “Yeah. After we talked, I did some research. You’re right. AJC is so behind the times. Some of the hottest trends in metro restaurants right now are vegan-friendly places. Like, you can make a wrap or a pasta or salad and get your choice of local, grass-fed meat, or tofu scramble, or soy curls, and with vegan cheese or sour cream options. I was just thinking that adding fermented health foods like sauerkraut and kimchi—made in house like the kombucha—could be a nice differentiator.”
Brent talked on about his ideas. River was honestly shocked. But looking over the sketches, he could see Brent had put a lot of thought into this already. There were a dozen concept sketches, some of small elements, like a flower in a vase, but there were steaming bowls of soup with hunks of old-fashioned bread, cups of what looked like chai with cookies on the saucer, and mugs of the kombucha next to plates of thick sandwiches. There was even a sketch for a logo. It featured the profile of a backpacker with a circle behind him, sort of like a full moon, with the words “Good Earth Café.”
“What’s this?” River asked, pointing to the sketch.
“Just playing around with logo ideas. But we need a name first. That’s just a stand-in for now. Unfortunately, ‘Good Earth Café’ is already taken.”
“Hmmm. And the backpacker?” River prompted.
Brent’s cheeks went a little pink. “Just a doodle. I was trying to come up with ideas for the theme. I mean, it can’t just be healthy or vegan-friendly. It has to be a deeper concept that touches a chord, you know? One idea was to have a global travel theme, foods from around the world. But that might be too complicated. The kombucha bar needs to be the primary focus.”
River thought about it. “No, I like that. You could have Indian curry, Thai coconut soup, hummus and falafel from the Middle East…. Yeah. Cou
ld be cool.”
The more the idea settled on River, the more he liked it.
“I know this probably seems too fast, even impulsive.” Brent looked chagrined, making River wonder if his friends or advisors had called it that. “But this feels good. It feels really, really good. It’s been a long time since I’ve been inspired. Way too long. And I have a feeling for this sort of thing. I know what Seattle likes. This could be a monster hit, I know it.” Brent’s eyes burned with conviction.
River smiled, bemused. “And here I thought you were just considering whether or not to change out the chai at Adrenaline Junkie.”
“No. I mean, I thought about that at first. To be honest, Adrenaline Junkie could use a makeover too.” Brent shook his head with a grimace. “Every other corner has a coffee place that’s knocked us off.”
He played with the edge of a drawing that showed a blackboard menu with a vine-and-leaf border. “But I soon realized, this idea is its own thing. It’s too big to be stuck on AJC. It needs to be ground-up—name, decor, menu, advertising, the works. We test-drive with one shop. And if it takes off, we can start more.”
River wasn’t sure what to say. This felt big, and a little overwhelming.
He looked at the sketches again. “Did you draw these?”
Brent looked sheepish. “Yeah. When I think, I sketch. It helps me visualize.”
“They’re really good.”
And they were. Not just technically good, but they captured a vision. There was something conveyed in Brent’s sketches, a vibe that the whole of planet Earth was good, that every culture had a unique way of presenting that bounty in beloved, handcrafted foods. It definitely struck a chord in River.
It should be cozy, he thought. The kind of place where a community could gather. Maybe even a community of travelers. They could have a bulletin board where they posted notices for local hostels or rooms for rent, spiritual classes, meditation groups.
Reiki and tantric massage.
