“Nah.” Zack tugged at his sleeve, making sure the bruise was covered. “You’re just being polite, but I’ll take it. You look…good, too. Like, kind of amazing, really.”
For a moment, nothing in the world seemed more interesting than the way Colton shifted his weight, broad shoulders stretching the shirt.
Zack nearly whimpered.
They sat. Colton was way too large for the space, knees nearly brushing Zack’s under the table, but he didn’t look uncomfortable. Instead, he lounged back and let his left arm rest on top of the seat. That was the kind of relaxed confidence Zack had always wanted to bottle.
The barista came over, pen tucked behind his ear. “Fellas ready to order?”
Colton didn’t even notice the guy, eyes fixed on Zack. “Coffee for both of us?”
All the air went thin. “Please.”
The barista smiled and hit them with the you-make-a-cute-couple look before disappearing.
Zack’s cheeks burned. “So, um, thanks for meeting me here. I wasn’t sure if this place was too…” He gestured helplessly at the decor. “Much.”
“Reminds me of home,” Colton said. “We used to have a place just like this. My mom would take me and my sister every weekend.”
A weird warmth spread through Zack’s chest—not an ache, just a kind of ease. Maybe that was what safe felt like, sitting next to a man who could break a two-by-four with his bare hands but was talking about weekends with his mom.
He reached for another napkin and realized his fingers had already mangled three into sad little confetti piles. “Sorry if I’m, you know. Awkward.”
“You’re not,” Colton said, hand still loose on the seat. “You’re adorable.”
Zack started laughing, mostly because he didn’t know what else to do with the compliment. “You are so not allowed to call me adorable unless you plan to buy me pancakes and tell me not to run with scissors. It’s the law.”
Colton’s smile widened, as if he’d been waiting for Zack to make a joke. “Fair. You do look like someone who should be supervised.”
“Hey.” Zack cocked his head, trying to look wounded. “I’ll have you know, I am totally responsible. I only set off the smoke alarms twice last year, and one of those was not my fault. No jury would convict.”
Colton laughed, the sound low and rolling. It did things to Zack’s insides. Good things.
“You always this funny?” Colton asked.
“I think it’s called masking.” Zack wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “But hey, I stick the landing…sometimes.”
Was that lame to say?
“You’re great,” Colton assured him.
The barista returned with their coffee then left. Colton hadn’t glanced at the cute guy, his entire focus remaining on Zack. If ego had been a thing that survived in this booth, it would have gotten whiplash.
Words failing him, Zack wrapped his hands around the to-go cup. He risked a glance at Colton’s forearms, the way the muscles flexed even when he barely moved. This was a man who worked with his hands, maybe used to fighting or at least holding his own in a bad situation.
Meanwhile, Zack worked in a place where serving the wrong order was the closest he’d ever come to mortal combat.
Colton leaned in, elbow sliding onto the table. “So, you sleep okay?”
There hadn’t been any sleep, or at least not the kind that erased bad energy from the night before. “Not bad. Heat’s brutal even at night, so I mostly tossed around. Nothing exciting.”
Their banter slid easy, like two people who’d done this a hundred times. Zack admitted it’d been a long week. Colton countered with a story about a construction job and a supervisor who couldn’t tell the difference between a stud and a joist. That got a solid laugh.
“You ever done construction?” Colton asked.
“No,” Zack said, “but the other night, I assembled a bookcase from Target and only swore twice. It still leans a little, so I’m calling it rustic.”
“Brave man.” Colton smiled, an appreciative tilt at the edges.
