Chapter Text
Oo baby, here I am, signed, sealed delivered,
I'm yours
Here I am baby
Oh, you've got the future in your hand
~Stevie Wonder
***
“Mm. Morning. Are you getting up to cook?”
Rolling over onto his side, a bleary, brown eye peered at the ugly red numbers of the clock, mocking him with their early hour. “Why’re you up right now?”
“I have that interview in Rochester. I have to be at the airport in like twenty minutes.” Chad stretched his arms above his head, then rolled over and nudged Bitty with his foot. “Seriously.”
“Seriously, it’s my one, single day to sleep in,” Bitty groaned, scrubbing at his eyes. “And the fact that Chris has been away for three weeks and he’s finally back today. Let me live.”
“Let you sleep, you mean,” Chad replied.
“Same difference.”
“I don’t have time to lecture you on the wrongness of that phrase.”
Bitty felt Chad roll the other way, and stand up off the bed as he buried his face back into the pillow and sank back down into a half-sleep. He could hear Chad grumbling, “…very own boyfriend is a literal baker and I’m eating instant oatmeal before my flight…”
He didn’t care. Well, he cared a little, but not enough to push himself out of the warm cocoon of his blankets and go into the kitchen to make breakfast. “You are a grown-ass man, Chadrick.”
“If you call me that one more time,” Chad grumbled. He was flinging shirts into his case haphazardly, which Bitty wanted to remind him about the wrinkles, but then he realised Chad’s hotel service would probably have them pressed before he had to be on TV.
As Chad finished his morning routine, and went about banging together a bowl of the instant oats, Bitty’s thoughts began to drift. A moment of hesitation, excitement, anticipation because he’d have the house to himself, and more importantly—he could jump on his laptop without fear that Chad might peer over his shoulder.
It sent a wash of guilt through him again—something he’d been feeling since he’d discovered the messaging system on Instagram, and the quiet, dry humour of the photography account he’d messaged on a whim. But he reminded himself he wasn’t doing anything wrong.
It was a small comfort, because he didn’t feel guilty for no reason.
But he was lonely, and Bitty didn’t connect with people the way he connected with @jzedphoto very often. Or ever, at all. His relationship with Chad had come through several drunken nights out where Chad had been working part time as a bartender while waiting to hear back from the sports journal.
Chad had gotten the job three weeks after meeting Bitty, and Bitty—being the sort of nice person he was—agreed to have a few drinks with Chad on his last night there. Which turned into making out, and exchanging numbers. Then texts.
It was an antagonistic relationship which Bitty didn’t totally understand the appeal of. But every book and every movie and every story published always told him that people who didn’t totally like each other eventually made the best lovers.
He was still waiting for that moment.
For now, he was going to enjoy the place to himself. The quiet, without Chad’s prattling on about sports statistics, and maybe being able to have a conversation about things he cared about.
He startled when there was a thud near the bed, then he smelt Chad’s cologne as the other man leant down and nudged Bitty with his elbow. “I’m leaving. Are you going to give me a kiss goodbye?”
“Do you want one?” Bitty challenged. “My mouth is disgusting.”
Chad sighed, then shrugged, pressing a kiss to Bitty’s temple before hiking his bag on his shoulder. “See you soon.” There was silence, then the sound of feet tromping across the polished wood floor, then Chad calling, “Love you!”
“You too,” Bitty called back.
The door shut.
He waited, anticipation tingling in his fingers, zinging up his spine. It was wrong, and he knew it, and yet he couldn’t wait to log on. To see if @jzedphoto had left him anything new, an insight, a photo of another goose, or a patch of dirty snow near the street that sort of looked like a starbucks logo.
@jzedphoto and @omgcheckplease knew very little about each other. Both accounts were abstract—Jzed’s mostly being nature, animals, and sunrises. Bitty’s was anything he found worthy of capturing—which could be from a perfectly latticed pie crust to the way the clouds turned pink at dusk. He didn’t have the same eye as jzed, but he was fairly happy with his work, and it was nice to have something that wasn’t associated with his public twitter, or his bakery.
He was a treasure in Providence. He’d been open exactly seven years and was doing well. He battled hard against places like Starbucks and Timmy’s—customer loyalty was hard to sway, but he prided himself on everything being fresh and homemade and crafted with love and attention. They weren’t always above water financially, and times were getting even harder. Bitty was feeling even more on edge when he’d hear news like Zimmermann’s—another massive corporate conglomerate, was expanding their reach from Canada to the US.
He wouldn’t worry though. He wanted to just exist, and make his pies and pastries and coffee, and enjoy the thing he’d worked so damn hard to build.
With a sigh, he stretched into a patch of morning sun, then rolled off the bed. Creeping to the window, he peered out and saw Chad and his Lyft were long gone. He was alone, and would be for the next few days.
With a grin, a shiver of curiosity, he rushed to his laptop and fired it up. The seconds it took to load felt like eternity. Watching the screen flare to life with the day’s new photo. Typing in his password, connecting to his wifi. Watching his Instagram load with the tiny, round circle letting him know it would be moments.
Moments.
Just another moment.
The little one at the top of the screen, telling him there was a message, sent a smile blooming across his face. His fingers shook as he dragged them across the touchpad, and there it was.
@jzedphoto:
Last night I went for a walk with a friend of mine who lives in my building. He has a thing for those Bangal cats, the ones you can walk on a leash. He’s trained her to do a bunch of tricks, and it makes me think of my ex (who is still my best friend). He and his husband had cats before they had my nieces, and it’s been a while since he’s thought about pets, I think. With all the barbies and superheroes and star wars my nieces love so much. I think he’d really like a bangal. I could hear his laugh in my head when my neighbour told me that his cat likes to jump in the tub and swim. My ex had a rough childhood, and he always wanted a cat more than anything in the world. Apart from a husband and kids, of course. Anyway I’m thinking about getting him one for his birthday. It’s coming up this summer. I thought you might like this video of Stripes walking on his leash.
Thank you for that last message by the way. I was in a bad place that night. Sometimes my anxiety gets the best of me, and I think that I made the wrong choice in life. My job—and of course I can’t tell you, that was the agreement, right? Well it’s not something I ever thought I’d do. I always told myself I wouldn’t follow in my father’s footsteps, and the strangest thing was that both did and didn’t follow him. But I didn’t listen to my heart or my head. It meant my teenage years were rough, and sometimes that catches up with me. But what you said—that helped. It was grounding, and I don’t know how to thank you. It’s strange, feeling like this about a faceless stranger on the internet, and yet here I am. CheckPlease, because I don’t know what else to call you—you’re important to me. I’m glad we met.
Bitty had to take a minute, feeling the warmth in his eyes, and his heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted to fly straight out of his chest. How did a single email from a person he didn’t know make him feel like this? How did a faceless stranger on the internet—as wide as the earth was—make him feel like he was soaring.
This. This was why his guilt existed. This was why he felt the twinge every time he hid a message, or hurried into the bathroom to read on his phone while Chad sat not feet away.
Bitty didn’t plan on doing anything about these feelings, but it didn’t matter. This was what he wanted. Not the constant fighting, and antagonistic chirping, and feeling like the person he was supposed to love, supposed to have a future with, wasn’t ever going to make him happy.
He knew what he should do, but for as brave as jzed thought he was, he knew he was everything but. He was a coward.
For now though, he decided not to care. For now he’d reply.
Jzedphoto,
I like starting these emails with your name, like a letter. I miss that sometimes, you know? The old fashioned pen to paper. I haven’t done that in years. When I was nine, I won an award for penmanship, and now it looks like chicken-scratch. I write a lot at work, but mostly little notes on post-its—sometimes words of encouragement for my co-workers, but mostly reminders of what needs to be done, and I can barely understand myself anymore. The other day I saw a calligraphy set on amazon and I thought to myself, I should get that. I should get back to that boy who had that little certificate saying he had the nicest handwriting in the class.
Seems ridiculous though, right? Who actually needs that skill? I’m sure my time can be used better elsewhere.
And now, Mr Jzed, I have to wag my finger at you and ask you what you thought you were doing to this poor boy’s heart, sending me words like that. I was all aflutter. I had to sit here for ten full minutes before I could think of a reply.
You are important to me too, I just hope you know that. Sometimes I wonder what we’re doing here, writing each other like this. We know so little. No names, no jobs, no faces. But I know that you love apples, and that you run every morning, and you sing Rascal Flatts in the shower. I know you get sad at night, and you feel lonely even when you’re around people, and some day you want to be as happy as your ex and his husband are. And let me tell you, mister, you deserve those things. I’m not sure what kinda help I’d ever be, but knowing I’m important to a wonderful person like you, well that makes all this worth it. Even if we never meet, or never know each other’s faces.
Let me just say that I’m here. And I’m glad we met.
I hope you have a wonderful day.
Love Always,
CheckPlease
He hit send before he could over-think it. Then he slammed his laptop shut and rushed into the shower, and did his best to scrub away the longing, and the want, and the guilt.
***
Jack stared at his phone screen, and didn’t realise anyone was calling his name until he was hit in the face with a balled-up piece of paper. His eyes darted up, narrowed and murderous, and they landed on Shitty’s grin.
“You sweet little fucker. You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”
“Sorry,” Jack said, scrubbing a hand down his face. He flicked his screen off, and shoved the phone into his pocket. With a sigh, he glanced round at the construction. “Should we be in here without protection.”
“I have twenty condoms in my pocket.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, Shits. Isn’t this a violation?”
“We’ve had six this week. Lack of hard-hats when there’s not active construction is the least of our worries.” Shitty pulled out his own phone and flicked through the screen. “We have a TV interview with Providence Today scheduled for Friday to talk about the grand opening. And your dad wants you to do a print sit-down with some journal which is based out of Montreal, but they’re going on the stands through most of New England.”
Jack nodded absently, his mind still on those final words of the message he’d just read. I’m here, and I’m glad we met. He swallowed and looked over at Shitty again. “Any word on neighbourhood response? I don’t know if I can deal with protesters.”
“We always get protesters. There was that group last month who chained themselves outside that Starbucks in Boston. They saw record profit and two of the local bakeries shut down six weeks later.”
Jack sighed. “When did I get into the business of hurting locals?”
“Around the same time I sold my soul to the devil to become a corporate lawyer so I could stay by your side.”
Jack opened his mouth to retort, when he was suddenly bowled over by a massive figure. “Miss us?”
Jack sighed, turning to Ransom and Holster. “When did you get in? How is PR going?”
Holster shrugged, giving Jack a sour look. He’d known them forever, and he and Holster didn’t get on as well as he’d like, but he was also Ransom’s husband so he tolerated him as best he could. “We have a media campaign going live Thursday when we unveil the logo on the building. I’ve got Wicks dealing with back-lash on twitter, and I know Shits has some other stuff in place.”
“None of this is going to fall on your head,” Shitty assured him.
“Alright,” Jack said. He glanced at his watch. “I have lunch with my dad in twenty. You want to meet up later and talk numbers?”
“Mm, you know that gets me hot,” Shitty said, hip-checking Jack. “Anyway, yes. And then you can tell me all about the engagement.”
Jack blinked at him. “En…gagement?”
“You were looking at your phone like it hung the moon. You and Camilla are engaged, right?”
“Oh shit, bro!” Ransom said, shoving at his shoulder. “Are you fucking kidding? It’s been long enough, congrats!”
“En…no,” Jack said, shaking his head, feeling his hands shake. “Camilla and I are not engaged.” The laugh he gave came out strained and a little terrified. “God…god no.”
Shitty frowned. “I thought you loved her?”
“I do. Of course I do, she’s…great. Camilla is great.” He hated how false the words felt on his tongue because she was great, and he did love her. But marriage? He always figure the one he married would make him feel…
Like his palms were sweaty, and his heart was beating fast, and he was walking on clouds.
Sort of the way checkplease made him feel.
Though he refused to think about it.
“So…not engaged,” Shitty said.
Jack shook his head. “Trust me, you’d be the first to know.”
Shitty, Ransom, and Holster exchanged frowns, but shrugged it off. As Jack being Jack, he supposed. And maybe it was, but it didn’t erase the guilt he felt suddenly when he realised that he might be looking for something else. That maybe he wasn’t…entirely happy.
That mood carried him into his car, down the street, through the awful traffic. He pulled up at his father’s building and stepped out, handing the keys off to the valet before strolling inside. He tipped a wave to the front desk before swiping his card at the lift, and riding to the top floor.
Inside his father’s office, he spotted his dad, his uncle Mario, and a couple of women Jack didn’t recognise. They were holding cases, and what looked like fabric samples. Jack poked his head in and raised a brow at a couch that was covered in a sort of dark green faux fur.
“Redecorating?” he asked.
Bob looked up from his computer and raised a brow. “Your mother thinks I need to modernise.”
Jack snorted and shook his head. “Ah. Well.” He shrugged one shoulder, then sat on the couch and grimaced as tufts of the faux fur clung to his shirt. “Tell her her taste is…lacking.”
“Maybe she has aspirations toward muppet?” Mario offered.
Jack pulled a face. “Are we ready for lunch?”
“Shortly,” Bob said. He was clicking through something on his laptop, then grinned triumphantly. “Starbucks on third closed. I think they caught wind of our opening.”
“Means there’s a good chance they’re going to drop the ball before our press release goes out,” Mario warned.
Jack sighed. “Fantastic.” He felt less bad about a Starbucks closing than he did some of the smaller bakeries in the area, but there was a weight on him. It was business, he reminded himself. His father had quit hockey and started up this empire of coffee and baked goods, and they’d worked hard at it. He’d done it for Jack, to pull his son away from the weight and expectations and danger that was hockey. And Jack needed to remember that.
Anyone who opened a business understood the risks they were taking, especially small, independent ones. None of those small places were going to make a dent in the market. None were going take over the world by storm.
It. Was. Business.
“Jack?”
Jack glanced up at his father, who was furrowing his brows in concern. “Ouais?”
“Are you okay?”
Jack sighed. “Fine. Just…not sleeping well.”
“Things with Camilla still okay?”
Jack winced inside, but forced a smile out as he rose, brushing clumps of fake fur off his sides. “Eurgh. And yes, things are fine. She’ll be back tomorrow, actually. We have a dinner and…a few other things.”
Bob smiled softly, clapping his son on the back. “Happy?”
Jack nodded in spite of himself. He hated lying to his father, but he also didn’t expect Bob to understand, and he didn’t want to see that look on his parents’ faces. Not after everything with Kent. He couldn’t shoulder the burden of their worry right now. He already had too much on his plate.
“Come on,” Mario said. “I’ll give the boys a call and tell them to drop the tarp. We might as well get it over with, eh? Like a bandage?”
“Like a bandage,” Bob said with a grin, and threw his arm round Mario and his son as they headed out.
***
Rounding the corner with bags of take-away curry in his hands, Bitty was chattering on and on to Chowder about his recent ideas for the mini-pies. He didn’t realise Chowder had stopped until he turned to look at him, and found him standing a few feet back with a devastated look on his face.
“Chris, hey?” Bitty said, frowning. “What are you…” His voice trailed off when he followed Chowder’s eyeline to the massive building which had been under construction for months. The two-story monstrosity had been getting closer and closer to reveal, and everyone had assumed it was going to be something awful, like a Walmart, or something necessary like another Whole Foods.
Instead, Bitty found himself staring his own death in the face.
Or at least, the potential death of his business, and eventually his life.
Zimmermann’s. The coffee shop and bakery which was taking Canada by storm.
Zimmermann’s, which was putting the occasional Starbucks out of business.
It had the coffee world shaking with terror when they started to expand, and now there was one getting ready to open not a block away from Bitty’s Bites.
“Oh lordy,” Bitty whispered, clutching his curry tight to his chest.
“It…it’ll be okay, right?” Chowder asked quietly. “I mean…we have your pies, and everyone loves your pies. Zimmermann’s doesn’t have those.”
“No,” Bitty said decidedly, with a firm nod. “They absolutely do not have my pies.” That thought was not a comfort, and as much as things had been tough between him and Chad, he suddenly wished his boyfriend was home. If Chad was good at anything at all, it was getting indignant and furious over the threat against small business, and this was most definitely a threat. “Come on, let’s go have lunch. No sense in worrying about it now.”
Chowder nodded, but his face reflected the fear Bitty had inside.
This could very well, and very likely, be the end of him.