“You should mind.”
“Why? You’re the boss.”
“That doesn’t take away your right to make decisions.”
Luis hated it when Paolo said shit like that. It never made any sense. However many nights they’d spent together—a grand total of two so far—Paolowashis boss. To pretend otherwise was just fucking weird.
He took his place at the grill and took the filters out of the extractor fan to soak them in disinfectant.
Paolo peered over his shoulder. “I thought you did that yesterday morning?”
“So? You don’t do it every day?”
“Not since Nonna retired. She’d like you.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
Paolo looked as though he wanted to say more, but the cafe door opened and the first of the steady stream of builders walked in. Luis kept his back to them and cleaned the filters in record time. He refitted them as Paolo delivered the first breakfast orders. Paolo leant across Luis and wedged them onto the tab. He smelt of Luis’s cheap apple shampoo and, yet, still of himself. Of the scent that kept Luis up some nights. After an evening spent touching Paolo with abandon, it was odd not to press forwards and bury his face in his neck. To breathe him in and let his hands roam his smooth olive skin.
Disquiet replaced heat and bloomed in Luis’s gut.
Paolo glanced at him. “Okay?”
“Yup.”
“Sure about that? You look like you’re about to throw up.”
Awesome. If that was how Luis appeared when he was fighting the urge to jump Paolo and rip his clothes off, fuck knew what he looked like when they were in bed together. “I’m fine.”
He took the order slips and turned his back on Paolo too.
The morning stretched out. Luis cooked every order Paolo put in front of him and waited for his nerves to fade, but they didn’t. Every whine and slam of the front door rattled his bones. Every car pulling up outside. Every voice he didn’t recognise calling over the counter.
He craved the relative safety of the dishwasher. The anonymity.That makes no fucking sense either. You’d still have to come out to clear the tables.But at least he’d be able to see. At the grill, with his back to the front door and his busted left ear, maybe he did want to puke after all.
The breakfast rush petered out. Luis took his chance and ducked into the kitchen. Paolo wasn’t there. Relief and disappointment fought for dominance.
Relief won out. Luis sucked in a deep breath that rattled his chest, anxiety he hadn’t felt in weeks awakening like a pissed off dragon.Keep busy. Keep busy.A stack of dishes was waiting by the dishwasher. Luis flew through them, cleaned out the dishwasher filters, and topped up the detergent, rinse aid, and salt.
Mushrooms sat on the prep counter. He sliced them, along with an extra tray of black pudding, but couldn’t bring himself to take them out front.
He set them by the door and returned to the dishwasher.
Paolo appeared at the back door, phone pressed to his ear. He eyed Luis over his coffee cup as he gulped down the contents.
Luis looked away.
Paolo stepped up behind him. Luis’s skin jumped, anticipating his touch, and it came slowly, as Paolo slid his arms around Luis’s waist. “You wanna stay in here?”
How does he know?Luis closed his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry, I just—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Paolo pressed a kiss between Luis’s shoulder blades, his lips barely grazing the thin cotton of Luis’s T-shirt. “I got you.”
He disappeared, taking a piece of Luis’s heart with him and leaving Luis to ponder the trigger of the agitation prickling his skin.
Dante flashed into his mind. Luis pushed him away, but as he had Luis’s entire fucking life, he wouldn’t quit. He never did. Sending muscle to the cafe had just been the start, but of what, Luis had no idea. How bad did Dante want him back? It wasn’t beyond him to play with Luis for fun, but what if he was serious enough to come looking for him again? To take it out on the cafe—on Paolo—if he didn’t get his own way?
