Latte Darling: Book Two of The Darling Series

Leaning my elbows on the counter, I let my finger trace down one of the grooves decorating my coffee cup. It’s pale pink, the sides are covered in a series of perfect vertical grooves and there’s a thin gold band around the rim. It’s pretty without being overly delicate and my staff has dubbed it The Owner’s Mug since I use it so much.

In an effort to make BeanBag a friendly place to work, I found a bunch of unique mugs from garage sales and secondhand stores for the employees to use. They range from cute to borderline inappropriate and the benefit is two-fold since it makes the place feel homier, while also creating less garbage.

My finger drags back up the groove.

I thought spending yesterday with Elouise, laughing about my ridiculous experience, might get Axel out of my system. Help me to forget. But that hasn’t happened. Not at all. Because here I am, still thinking about him.

It didn’t help that I woke up squirming in my bed, flashes of Axel’s oversized body looming over mine, filling my dreams.

I don’t remember all of the finer details, but I remember feeling the outline of the monster snake hidden inside of his boxers.

A harsh breath rushes out of me, and I straighten.

I can’t think about this right now. The shop is empty at the moment – it’s that weird time in early afternoon where all the morning folks are gone and the after work people haven’t shown up – but it won’t be empty for long. So, I need to use these next few minutes wisely.

It only takes me a few steps to reach the door for the back office. I hardly ever sit in here, since it’s so small and I have an office at home I use for computer work. It’s really just become a glorified storeroom with a blank spot on the desk big enough for one person to eat lunch. Or have a mental breakdown.

With a loud scraping sound, I pull out the single chair, drop into it, and close my eyes.

I always tell Elouise that she should meditate more. Find her happy place. All that jazz. And it’s true. She totally should. But I’ve fallen off the starship a bit with my own Zen and I could definitely use some today.

Taking a moment to center myself, I breathe.

Inhale – 1, 2, 3, 4.

Hold…

I ignore how much my lungs protest at the slow breathing – really need to work on this – and try to wash away the stress resting on my shoulders.

Exhale – 1, 2, 3, 4…

Everyone’s “happy place” is different but for me it’s a field of wildflowers – as far as the eye can see, with a stream cutting through the center and a single sturdy shade tree a few feet away from the water’s edge.

The sun is always shining, the clouds are always white and puffy, and I never feel anything but contentment when I settle myself beneath the tree, my back against the firm trunk, inhaling the scents of nature and fresh air.

My lungs fill with another deep breath and I let myself sink into the ground beneath me. Let the warmth of the sun heat my skin. Let the feel of his hands slide up my sides-

My eyes fly open.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

That’s a different sort of happy place.

I almost snicker at my own thoughts, but then I hear the rainstick – alerting me I’m no longer alone.

“Be right there!” I call out, fanning my face, hoping the flush I feel is as imaginary as my field but betting that it isn’t.

The rainstick is still tinkling out its sound when I push myself up to stand.

It’s funny how certain things can endear themselves to you. Such as that damn rainstick over the door, flipping over every time someone opens the door, sending a pile of coffee beans cascading down the hollowed-out piece of wood.

This location is actually the very first BeanBag Coffee, built 40 years ago, with an expansion done when I was 10, about 6 years before I became an employee. But the rainstick was an original feature and when the owners decided to franchise, they kept that as part of the agreement so every location has to have one.

The noise annoyed me when I first started working here, but now I find it calming. An audible hug.

“Take your time, Mads!”

Recognizing the voice, I’m smiling before I step out of the office.

“Hey, Dean. Fancy seeing you here.”

My neighbor grins at me, his dimples on full display with his freshly shaven face. He’s so cute it’s obnoxious. And even in those light blue scrubs, he still looks like a surfer with his tan, swagger, and shaggy hair.

He sighs, “Heading in for another twelve and need a little jolt.”

I grimace, not sure how anyone makes it through regular 12-hour shifts, especially at a high stress job like healthcare.

He laughs, “I’d make that face too.”

“You’re a freaking saint.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Not even close.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I pull a large cup free from the stack. “A spicy speedboat?” I ask, referring to the triple shot cinnamon latte he tends to prefer.

“You know it.”

I start prepping the espresso, as Dean leans his hip against the counter.

“So…” He trails off, and my eyes snap over to meet his.

Nothing good ever comes next when someone starts their sentence like that.

“What?”

His lips pull to the side like he’s fighting off a smirk.

I stop what I’m doing. “What!?”

“Met your boyfriend the other day.”

My face scrunches, trying to remember the last time he was in here and who he might’ve seen me talking to. “Boyfriend? Who are you talking about?”

Dean crosses his arms, “That big guy with the tattoos and nice wheels. The one that was leaving your place at the crack of dawn the other morning.”

Time creaks to a standstill.

He saw him?

“Axel?” I don’t mean to whisper it, but the fact that Axel stayed until morning is news to me.

I thought he hightailed it out of there the moment I passed out. And drunk or not, I’ve never been able to sleep with another body in the bed, so I assumed he hadn’t been with me. But apparently the rules are different with Axel.

Dean’s eyes narrow and I’m sure my face is giving too much away so I force my hands to move, getting back to the task of making his drink.

“Everything go okay with him?” Dean’s tone has changed from teasing to concerned.

“Yep!” my voice squeaks and I feel my cheeks start to heat.

“Mads. If there’s something wrong, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

“I know.” I groan, knowing I should be grateful to have people concerned for me. “Really, nothing’s wrong. He’s just not my boyfriend.”

I look back to see Dean’s doubtful expression, “You sure?”

That makes me laugh. “Pretty sure.”

“Why not?”

“Why not what?”

He rolls his eyes, “Why isn’t he your boyfriend. He seemed pretty… territorial.”

I freeze. “Um… What?”

Dean’s brows lift like he’s hinting at something.

“How did he seem territorial?” I pry.

It’s my neighbor’s turn to look embarrassed, “Just his mannerisms, I guess.”

I chew on my lip, wanting to ask more, but pretty sure it’d just make us both uncomfortable. So instead, I turn on the steamer and let the hissing noise fill the room as I heat up some milk.

Territorial. Hmm…

I want to know the exact details of their encounter. Because then I can sift through those details with my overthinking fine-toothed comb and decide if Axel has feelings for me too?

But since I won’t ask, I’ll just have to stew. Wondering if I’m reading into something that means nothing. Or maybe Dean read the scene wrong, and Axel was just being himself. Which is highly likely, since Axel would’ve been tired. And probably cranky since I left him with an unattended hard-on when I selfishly fell asleep.

I would’ve returned the favor, even though Axel had been pretty adamant about us not doing anything. I remember that much. It’s the random fuzzy bits I don’t recall clearly, but of course I remember using him like my own personal vibrator. And I remember the size of him when I tried to wrap my fingers around his fat dick.

My blush deepens with embarrassment, followed by worry.

Did my behavior with him cross from inappropriate into predator territory?

The steamer stops and I let my thoughts roll over in the silence as I combine the espresso, spices and milk.

Fortifying myself, I carry Dean’s drink over and set it on the counter between us. “Can I ask you something?”

He tips his chin down, “You know you can.”

“Okay.” I stare at him and feel my entire body flush. “Okay. Um…”

“Mads, do you forget what I do for a living? Literally nothing you can ask me would be worse than some of the literal shit I have to see some days.”

“Yeah, okay.” I lift my hands and hold them over my eyes, so I don’t have to look at him while I ask this.

“Oh my god, what are you doing?” He laughs.

“Shut up, I need to do it this way.” Dean snorts but doesn’t object further so I keep going. “Hypothetically,” I say, even though we both know this isn’t hypothetical, “say you meet a girl. You’re sober, she’s drunk, and you go back to her place.” I press my palms harder against my eyes. “And you agree to just… rest… in bed. And you’re vocal that nothing can happen because she’s been drinking. But then you start making out and she… um… then she grabs your… thing. Would that be bad?”

Dean doesn’t reply.

Nothing.

Silence.

Slowly I lower my hands and find him staring at me wide eyed, his cheeks turning red.

“I knew it! It’s bad, right?!” My chest starts to hurt at the thought of causing Axel any sort of distress. “Oh my god. I’m the worst human ever!”

Dean shakes his head, “It’s not that.” His words are choked and I’m about to ask him what he’s talking about when his gaze darts to the side.

Slowly, so slowly, with all the color draining from my face, I turn and find my 17-year-old employee, Griff, standing just a few feet away, grinning.

“Damn, Boss! You had yourself a weekend.”

I spin back to my neighbor, “Dean!”

He throws his hands up, “Sorry! I thought you knew he was here!”

“How would I know that?!” my words are shrill, but I can’t help it.

“He came in when you were making my drink!” Dean’s face is stuck somewhere between a laugh and a grimace. “I thought you saw!”

I press my fingers against my cheeks. That explains why I hadn’t heard the door. When I’m standing right next to the steamer it’s impossible to hear anything.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me.” Griff mimes zipping his lips. “But if you want my opinion, I’d guess everything is chill between you and your guy. And I mean, if you feel weird about it, you could always just apologize.” He lifts a shoulder.

I find myself staring blankly at my young employee. Wishing I was surprised that he’s apparently better at relationships than I am.

“Welp,” Dean clears his throat and takes a step back, drink in hand.

“Where are you going!?” I have to stop myself from lunging over the counter and physically restraining him. Not that I could manage the feat.

“Work.” He tilts the cup at me, “Remember?”

“Yeah, but…” I glance at Griff then lower my voice, like that will keep our conversation private. “What about my… question?”

Dean shrugs as he continues to walk backwards. “I’d say listen to the kid. Seems like he’s in tune with what’s right and wrong.”

My mouth drops. “That’s it? That’s your advice?”

A smile starts to pull at his lips, “Like he said, apologize to the guy and clear the air.”

I toss my hands up, exasperated, “How? I don’t have his number!”

Griff lets out a whistle and Dean – the coward that he is – smothers a laugh as he bolts out the door, a shouted Bye over his shoulder.

I stand frozen for a long second, hoping that either Griff or myself will disappear. At this point I don’t really care which. I just want these past few minutes to never have happened.

“Really,” Griff carries on conversationally, “it’s all about consent and safe sex. Miscommunications are gonna happen, but if you talk it through, and everyone feels understood and okay, then those gray areas don’t have to be so scary.”

I press my lips together, and swallow through my embarrassment. “Thanks, Griff.”

“Anytime, Boss.”

“If I give you an extra freebie from the case, will you pretend this never happened?”

My eyes are still trained forward but I can sense him straighten. “My choice?”

I nod, “Your choice.”

“Deal!”

When he spins around to select his pastries from the display case, I slowly sag forward until my forehead is touching the counter.

Fuck this day.