Chapter 1
The buzz of the heater mingled with the jingling, twinkling sound of Percy’s Christmas playlist. The heat wasn’t doing much other than keeping the worst of the chill off his bones, though that was hardly a surprise given the storm absolutely raging outside the coffee stand. And, you know, the fact he was in a coffee stand. Not necessarily the kind of structure rated to stand up to the worst of the cold. He reached out to clear a spot on the window, just enough so he could see out and get the lay of the land.
Not really the land, in the end. The lay of the snow, still cascading in fat flakes from a speckled gray sky. Easily four or five inches had already fallen throughout the day. Not even worth trying to keep the asphalt clear around the stand to make things easier for customers.
Mostly because there are no customersPercy sucked his teeth as the music shifted to Nat King Cole’s crooning rendition of ‘O Tannenbaum.’ Business wasn’t exactly booming as a general rule—Hydrangea Hollow just barely had the population to keep him and the coffee stand afloat—but with this harsh of a winter blanketing the whole area? Brutal for his rural coffee stand.
Maybe today, I should just close up shop early. He’d so far only sold a peppermint mocha to Maribel Guzman while she white-knuckled her way in for a shift at the hospital in the next town over. Given Percy was now on his third spiced apple latte, he was very firmly in the hole for today.
A rapping at his window nearly made Percy spill that third spiced apple latte all down the front of his apron.Almost would have been worth it to feel the warmth. He gripped the handle on the sliding window and, after a few good tugs, the thin sheet of ice finally cracked, allowing him to pull it open.The bell didn’t go off. One more thing I guess I’ll have to fix.
When he looked down, there was no car. So his bell might not be broken just yet. Someone had actually come up to him on foot in this shitstorm. A man. A hell of a man. Not that Percy could make out much of hisbody, with the black peacoat obscuring most of his details. But his eyes. They weren’t an ice blue or crystalline, didn’t bring to mind the waters of the Caribbean. If anything, they felt like the Mariana Trench. Deep blue and demanding his attention. They were set on either side of a button nose, and beneath a shock of bronze hair. His cheeks and ears were obviously flushed pink, tingeing toward red with the ferocity of the storm, and he had both hands shoved into his pockets.
But damn. Those eyes…
He shook himself from the stupor. “You’re braver than I am, weathering the storm like that.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “Not by choice, trust me. Car broke down. Needed a little warm-up while I make my way to the motel.”
Percy frowned. “Unless you’re a hundred percent sure you have a room there, I wouldn’t count on getting one. Been no vacancy for at least five years now.” For some folks, long-term motel stays just made the most sense as a living situation. “What can I get you?”
“Just something hot. And large. And sweet.” The guy dug out his phone, but nearly fumbled it into the snow. “Jesus. Colder than a witch’s tit.”
Percy stopped once the grinder was finished, leaving the portafilter on the counter and making his way to the singular door in and out of the coffee stand. He shuffled down the stairs, then trudged through the snow and around to the front. He waved at the guy, also getting a better look at him. Shorter than Percy, probably five-three if he was going to guess, but from this angle, Percy could see that he wasbuilt. Broad shoulders, chest pressing out against his shirt, and he wasn’t entirely certain that peacoat was held closed by anything more than prayer. Percy’s mind drifted unwittingly to a warm fire, and an excuse to get himoutof those clothes that barely fit anyway…
Percy cleared his throat loudly enough to get the stranger’s attention. “You can come in. It’s not warm, per se, but you should be able to get the chill out of your fingers long enough to use your phone.”
He hesitated a moment, then shoved his hands back in his pockets and followed along. Percy pulled out a plastic crate from under the counter as the door closed. “I don’t have another seat. Kind of a one-man operation. But you can take the stool and I’ll grab the box.”
“Shit no.” He plopped down on the crate, undoing the buttons on his coat to make room for his muscles to flex outward. “I’m CJ, by the way. Thank you.”
He rubbed his hands together, and Percy definitely took note of the lack of a ring on his finger.Right. That’s what I should be worried about. But there were less reasonable fantasies, right? Therecouldbe a gorgeous short king of a gay man wandering into his coffee shop, and hecouldbe seeking a little bit of an unorthodox way to warm up, and Percycouldbe his type.
Christmas miracles did happen, right?
He sighed, then tamped down the puck in the portafilter and slotted it into place in the espresso machine. It was a secondhand purchase, and it took a little tender loving care—and the occasional threat—in order to keep it working. But keep it working he did. “Since you’re not having to stand out in the cold, want to give me a little more to work with on this drink, CJ? I’ve got a lot of stuff that’s hot and sweet.”
Percy caught the innuendo, but decided to let it sit. If CJ wanted to read something into it, so be it.
“How basic would it be to ask for a vanilla latte?”
“Don’t mess with the classics.” Percy pulled the first shot, then went to the mini-fridge. “You do dairy?”
“Oat milk if you have it.”
Let’s test the waters a little more. It wasn’t every day he got an opportunity like this. Plus, depending how CJ reacted, he’d know whether they should cut this time together in tight quarters short or not. “I’m gay. Of course I have oat milk.”
CJ chuckled under his breath. “Why do you think I’m asking?”
Red alert, red alert. All hands on a hard body. Percy almost let the first shot over-extract, having to fumble it and almost knocking over an entire row of syrup bottles.Get your shit under control.He said he was gay, not that he wanted to dick you down.
He got another shot going, then pulled out the oat milk and filled up the metal pitcher. The earthy scent of coffee filtered quickly through the tiny space with two shots of espresso freshly extracted, and he began to steam the milk. He got the vortex swirling, the bubbles bubbling, and fell into a familiar rhythm.
Sure, this wasn’t a super viable business, all things considered. There wasn’t much room for upward mobility. But it was his, and he got to own a coffee shop. He got to surround himself with all these things that, albeit a little rough around the edges, let him craft these drinks. He couldn’t deny the magic of simply getting to do something that made him happy.
Plus, you know, it let him have a space to bring this cutie inside out of the cold.
He dropped both shots in, then measured his vanilla syrup out. Unlike the spiced apple syrup, he bought his vanilla from a supplier—cheaper that way—and he made a mental note to pull another bottle out of storage the next day. Luckily, it was shelf stable, unlike the apple that had to stay chilled.
