There’s a hand on his cheek. Mom says, “I’ll be okay, I promise. What’s important to me is not this silly inn, but that you’re happy. You won’t even bring any boyfriends home for me to meet. I worry about you.”
His face burns red, and he pulls away from her hand. Not this again. It’s such a jarring jump of topic, but he should’ve expected it. He has a hunch that Mom brings up his love life—or lack thereof—all the time to throw him off-track. Refusing to take the bait, he says nothing.
“Now go,” Mom says. “You’ve been driving for two hours. Go home.”
“I was planning to check if they needed anything in the dining room.”
“No need. Go home.”
“…Okay,” he lies.
***
He, in fact, does not go home.
Miles heads to the dining room, thinking they might need some help with dinner service. Even if there are barely any guests, their staff numbers are low and he’s expecting the worst. He realizes he’s only overthinking when he gets to the dining room, and it’s quieter than he’s ever seen it.
There’s barely anyone there. There’s a single waiter grabbing some menus from the counter, and only a couple of tables occupied. He peeks at the kitchen, greeting old faces, and finds out they’re having his favorite carbonara today as the special. Awesome.
“How can I help?” he asks the single wait staff.
The boy, probably a part-time student, judging from how young he is, frowns. “Who are you?”
“Oh. I’m Miles. My family owns the inn. I wanted to see if you needed help with anything.”
“Table three hasn’t ordered yet,” he says, passively. “I was just about to bring the menu to him.”
“Got it.” He grabs the menu, but when he turns around, he freezes immediately when he sees who exactly is at table three.
Calvin Lowe, clearly recognizable without his sunglasses, sits with his chin resting on his hand as he stares out the window with a bored expression.Shit.Miles spins around to give the menu back to the part-time student, but the boy’s already walking off to god-knows-where.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Fine. His family owns this inn, and he’s here to help—not run away at the sight of one very intimidating guitarist. He can do this.Calvin doesn’t seem to notice his presence at all as he approaches.
“Hello.” Miles hands him the menu.
Calvin startles and reaches out for the menu. “Thanks,” he says, then looks up to see Miles, and his blank expression devolves into a very obvious frown. “Oh. It’s you.”
I can do this. I can do this.
Miles nods. “Yeah, hi, I work here. Rather, my family owns the place. Our special for tonight is carbonara. Would you like to try it?”
“A cup of coffee, please.” Calvin attempts to give the menu back.
“Coffee… at this hour?” He chuckles, staring out the window. The sun’s already setting. Miles puts a hand against the edge of the menu and gently pushes it back—now they’re two guys pushing a menu at each other, which Miles finds alarmingly hilarious. “If you don’t want pasta, we’ve got other things. What are you in the mood for?”
Narrowing his eyes, Calvin purses his lips into a straight line. He gives up and lets go of the menu, and Miles fumbles to catch it before it can fall to the floor.
“Coffee, please.” Calvin returns his attention to the window.
Miles admits that the lake is a captivating view. Still, he’s not a fan of being dismissed like this.
“Okay. Fine. Coffee,” Miles mutters. “There’s a bonfire this Friday. The inn sells some drinks and snacks, though the locals also bring a lot of free stuff. There’s usually music, too.”
Calvin slowly looks back at him.
He had always known that Calvin is the quieter one of the band, but this is insane. Not even a grunt, to acknowledge someone’stalking to him?
