“Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.”
Luis walked back to the grill, sensing Paolo’s gaze on him. The urge to go back and kiss him was so strong he nearly tripped over his own feet, but a glance at the clock stopped him. It was opening time.
Paolo unlocked the door. The usual queue of builders from the site up the road was waiting, and they flowed into the cafe like a river of dust and hard hats. Orders came in thick and fast. Luis deciphered Paolo’s scruffy handwriting and ploughed through them. From time to time, Paolo peered over his shoulder, but he said nothing, just took the food and delivered it. At least, Luis presumed he did. He was too busy to turn round.
It was after ten when the orders slowed enough to remind him what else Paolo did every morning. He cooked up two plates of leftover sausages and scrambled eggs and took them to the table.
Paolo was at the dishwasher, swearing at a stuck tray.
Luis reached around him and freed it. “That one’s broken. It catches on the runners.”
“Why didn’t you chuck it away?”
“It doesn’t belong to me.”
Paolo muttered something Luis didn’t mind missing. He pointed to the kitchen door. “Breakfast is ready.”
Luis didn’t wait for Paolo to respond. He retreated to the front and took the seat that left him facing the cafe entrance so he could watch for new customers coming in. He didn’t hear Paolo coming, but it didn’t matter because Paolo had stopped coming up behind him without warning. A soft hand on his back, a kicked chair. Something. Anything. Luis didn’t have the heart to tell him the hairs standing up on the back of his neck always let him know Paolo was close.
Paolo brushed a hand over Luis’s shoulder and slipped into his seat. Irritation clouded his handsome face, but Luis had learned not to take it personally. Everything annoyed Paolo—people, the weather, the radio. His near permanent scowl was part of his charm. Only his come-face came close.
Flustered, Luis tried not to think about it, but even grilling sixteen packs of bacon and thirty-eight sausages hadn’t kept Paolo’s naked self out of his thoughts. Not that Luis was complaining. Paolo’s bed had proved a pleasant place to be.
Maybe too pleasant.
Luis wasn’t looking forward to returning to his own.
Paolo kicked him under the table. “Tired?”
“Hmm?”
“Tired,” Paolo repeated, a little louder. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Passed out, more like. It was a trip.”
Paolo smirked. “Good. And I’m sorry about what I said earlier about you liking your dick in my mouth. What happened last night isn’t relevant to your job here, so don’t ever worry about that.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Are you going to tell me where you learned to cook for thirty people at a time?”
“You know where I learned.”
“I’m not a mind reader.”
“Nah, but you’re clever, so I think you can figure out it’s not something I picked up on the road.”
Paolo’s frown deepened, then cleared as comprehension dawned. “You cooked in prison?”
“In the canteen. You asked me if I had a job, remember? But I never got round to answering you.”
Paolo sat back in his seat. He hadn’t touched his breakfast, but then, neither had Luis. Who needed food when he had Paolo?
“Wow,” Paolo said. “That makes sense. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. What kind of stuff did you cook?”
“Nothing you’d want to eat. Most of it was packaged slop, but I did some courses a few years ago where we learned to cook other stuff, and I knew how to fry eggs before I went down. My mum wasn’t much of a mum.”
