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Kimball Cho cautiously opened the door to the vaguely hipster coffee shop. Not his usual kind of thing, but this was the closest coffee shop to the home he just moved into. “Home” was overstating things, a studio apartment with a bed in one corner and a halfway decent kitchenette in the other. That was important, so many of the apartments (rooms, if he was being honest) he looked at had dingy little kitchen appliances. He wondered how people survived without cooking for themselves, there have been studies, you can’t live on take out.
The coffee shop, The Burnt Bean, had a pleasant feel. The warm aroma of coffee permeated the air, people were chatting and the music was calm. So far, so good. He walked up to the counter and a mousy girl who didn’t particularly look even old enough to work snapped her gum at him and said, “What can I get cha?” Her nose ring was a small emerald. Black eyeliner almost hid beautiful green eyes to match. The scowl didn’t help, either. Her name tag read “Rosemary”.
“I’ll have a 16 ounce Americano,” Kimball said, not sure of the terminology in use at this particular shop.
“Cream?” Rosemary asked.
“No, thanks.”
“Sweetener?”
“No.”
“Name?”
“What?”
“Do you have a name?” She said, slowly, as if he was too stupid to understand.
“Kimball,” he said, looking her straight in the eye.
Snapping her gum again, she wrote it on the cup with his order, set it on the counter by the espresso machine.
“Medium Americano, no room,” She hollered to the barista. Kimball looked a little uncomfortable having his order shouted for everyone to hear. If it was on the cup, what was the point?
“That’ll be $4.65.”
Kimball made a face at that. Two shots of espresso and some hot water. He rolled his eyes and gave her a five.
“Keep the change,” he said, not exactly politely, put his wallet away and started walking over where a couple of other people looked like they were waiting for their drinks.
“Wow, thirty-five cents, thanks,” Rosemary said sarcastically.
Kimball couldn’t wait to get his coffee so he could leave. This wasn’t going to work out. He’ll have to find another coffee shop. He leaned against the wall, took out his phone, started idly scrolling through email.
The voice said, “Kimball, I have your Americano ready.” There are few sentences in the English language that he liked more than that one, coffee addict that he was. But to have it spoken so sweetly by a man with the bluest eyes to ever blue was a new experience for him. Those eyes were behind black rimmed glasses, topped by blond ringlets forced into framing his face by the navy blue slouchy beany he wore. Kimball reached to take the coffee from him when he winked winked! at him and said, “You get used to her,” nodding his head toward Rosemary, “She’s a sweetheart underneath,” and then he smiled. Kimball had never seen anything like it. His smile lit up his face, lit up the room, lit up Kimball’s insides. He had to smile back, momentarily stunned.
He took the coffee, mumbled “Thank you” and instantly decided to stay. Couldn’t hurt to sit and finish his coffee here, right? He went and found a seat, one that he could glance at the barista without looking too obvious, even if he felt a bit sheepish doing it. Damn, I forgot to read his name tag. He got his laptop out and started doing anything to look busy. He glanced at his cup as he picked it up to sip. “Kimbo” was written on it. The barista had gotten his name right even though the cup was wrong. He snuck a glance and smiled to himself.
Kimball’s job as a high school/college math and physics tutor often left him free time in the mornings when kids were at school. He’d tried being a high school teacher full time, but couldn’t stand half of the kids. He couldn’t understand why the system made teenagers sit in a building at 7:15am and then expected them to cooperate. They didn’t want to be there and he didn’t want to deal with them. He discovered there were a lot of wealthy parents that would pay anything for their children to get through high school and he much preferred working one on one. Every teenager loved the attention and most were willing to work when someone took an interest. The work was rewarding, he ended up loving the teens and loved seeing them succeed. Word got around that he was one of the best and he almost never went without work. He decided to live simply and save his cash and buy a home a few years down the line.
He stayed at the shop as long he thought he could without looking weird, packed up his things and left. The barista watched him go.
It wasn’t until three days later before Kimball could get himself to the Burnt Bean and it was in the afternoon. He often craved a second cup around two, to gear up for the afterschool work. He walked in hoping to see the barista again. All he got was Rosemary, snarky as ever. He got his coffee and left. The barista walked out from the back in time to watch him go, disappointment on his face.
“Why don’t you take a picture, it would last longer,” Rosemary teased, “Patrick and Kimball up in a tree, K-I-S-S-I N-G,” she sang, laughing.
“Shut up,” Patrick said playfully.
“Patrick has a cruuuuush!” she singsonged.
Patrick shoved her shoulder playfully, “Alright, enough Sis,” he said with a smile. “He’s probably an asshole, anyway. He’s too gorgeous, there has to be a flaw somewhere.”
“His eyes were pretty hot,” she said.
“Fuck. He’s probably straight.” Patrick said as if the thought had just occurred.
“All the good ones are,” Rosemary couldn’t resist a final jab.
Kimball told himself he wouldn’t go back for another few days. He had a life. He had other things to do besides pine over someone he never really met. He was a grown-up, in charge of himself. All these thoughts ran through his brain as he stepped into the Burnt Bean bright and early the next day. This time he was ready for Rosemary.
“Good morning, Rosie!” he said cheerily because he knew it would annoy her. He saw the barista glance over and smirk. He had to get his name.
“Don’t call me Rosie, Kimbo,” she said.
“Can I have a medium Americano, no room?” he said, ignoring her last remark.
“I don’t know, can you?” she snarked at him.
“Depends. Do you think he’ll make one?” he said, indicating the barista.
“Who, Patrick? Yeah, he’ll make one, if you’re nice,” she said. “Patrick” suited the barista to a T.
“Good. I’m always nice,” Kimball said with a false smile. “Thanks, Rosie.” She grimaced and Kimball felt he may have won that round.
“Want an extra shot?” Patrick said to him. Patrick is talking to me, his brain helpfully provided.
“Sure,” he answered and was thankful his voice sounded confident. His insides were flipping out.
They smiled dopey smiles at each other and that winning feeling he had a minute ago was replaced by the ground being pulled out from under him. Patrick made Kimball’s coffee and handed it to him. There was a line building up, so he had to get to making their coffees. Kimball said, “Thanks,” and went and took a seat.
He started making time to go to the coffee shop. He got up a few minutes earlier so he could spend a few minutes or an hour there in the morning. He started bringing work, papers to grade, or a textbook to look over. He’d take a table and spread his stuff out, getting coffee and sometimes breakfast too. It was a calm place to work, so much nicer than his lonely room. Nothing to do with Patrick, nope. He liked bantering with Rosemary every morning, that’s all. She was fun to rile up, and he was more often than not rewarded with her reluctant smile. He had a way with young people.
One morning he sat down and got out the work of one of his students. He had his laptop open and was completely engrossed in following the proof that he’d assigned. Somewhere along the logical progression, his student had lost his way, but he couldn’t find where they’d gone wrong. He completely forgot to pick up his coffee order. Then he had that feeling like someone was standing too close, finally looking up.
Patrick was standing there with a grin on his face, holding a cup of coffee. “Wow, when you concentrate, you really concentrate,” he said. “I called your name twice from over there and I’ve been standing here for at least a minute.”
Kimball was thrown, he really had been concentrating and now Patrick of all people was talking to him. He took a moment to process, unfortunately, that meant he was staring at Patrick stupidly for a beat or two. He blinked, gathered his wits and laughed nervously. “Oh, sorry, “he stammered and reached for the cup.
“No apology needed, thought I’d bring this to you before it got cold,” Patrick said, friendly enough.
“Thanks,” Kimball said, internally rolling his eyes at his dazzling conversation skills.
“No offense, but aren’t you little old for high school physics,” Patrick was talking, Kimball was struggling to keep up.
“What?” Kimball wished the floor would open and swallow him whole. He felt sorry because he was beginning to love this place and now he could never come back. Too humiliating.
“That’s high school physics, right?” Patrick said, indicating the work.
“Oh. Yeah. Good eye,” Kimball complimented, feeling a little more stable. “I’m a tutor. Sorry, I was completely engrossed in this proof.” I just used the word engrossed. Such a weirdo.
“I could see,” Patrick smiled at him. “I got to get back to the machine, have fun with your physics.”
“Thanks for the coffee,” Kimball smiled back. He died a little inside. He stayed long enough to drink his coffee so wouldn’t look like he was running, packed up his things, and ran from the shop. Patrick, as he always did, watched him go.
“What the fuck did you say?” Rosemary indelicately demanded.
“I just said hello, I swear,” Patrick answered. “We talked about physics, he’s a tutor.”
“You scared him away, idiot,” as only a sister could say.
He didn’t come back for several days. Patrick startled every time the door opened, looking up to see if it was Kimball. It never was. He felt like an idiot Rosemary accused him of being. He thought he was doing a nice thing, bringing his coffee to him, but it all went sideways. Was it the crack about age? What did he say that scared him off so badly? He was just being friendly.
Patrick started hanging around the shop more. This was his baby after all. He graduated with a degree in business and all he wanted to do was run a coffee shop. He learned everything he could about coffee when he had time while getting his degree. There were roasters in a large renovated shed out back and he had learned the best way to roast, learning several different varieties. He purchased what he felt to be the best espresso machine and learned it inside and out. He bought coffee from small organic farmers in South America. He even traveled there twice to see the farms and speak with the owners and workers.
Once he felt he’d learned what he needed to know, he scraped together the money to buy the stand alone shop with the apartment upstairs. He took out a loan for the roasters and the espresso machine and held a grand opening. At first, he was everything, from stock boy to roaster, to cashier, to barista. He worked night and day. For the first six months he was exhausted, but he finally felt like he could afford to hire some help. He hired his sister first. She was still in high school and he paid her minimum wage and all the coffee and snacks she wanted. While her customer relations skills could use work, she turned out to be an amazing asset. She kept everything neat and stocked and knew all the drinks by heart. Despite her occasional outward sourness, she knew the names of all his regular customers and greeted them by name. She worked hard and clearly wanted him to succeed. He didn’t know what he was going to do when she went off to college. She even pitched in training new employees on how the shop was run. He trained everyone on being a barista, so anyone of them could make the drinks if needed.
He’d started off just selling coffee drinks. He added a line of teas, then iced coffees and iced teas. He’d be damned if he ever started selling coffee frappes. They were an affront to true coffee. The bakery items started when he found a good source for them. They delivered a fresh supply every morning. They were across town and cost a little more than others, but they supported local farms and used as many organic ingredients as they could. He felt like everything was getting under control.
So when the man of few words with the endless brown eyes started coming into the shop, he took notice. Anyone who could hold their own with Rosemary and even get her to smile was someone worth knowing. At first he watched him with glances, sometimes indulging in watching him work for a few minutes when the coffee line was slow. He started imagining what he must be like. Maybe very intense. Maybe he was super intelligent. Maybe he had a dorky laugh. Maybe he was an undercover CIA agent. Maybe he LARP’ed. Who knew? Patrick longed to be someone who knew. He couldn’t resist his opening when Kimball, the name he only knew from the cup, forgot to pick up his order. Perfect chance for a meet. Then he said something stupid and hadn’t seen him since.
One of Kimball’s students had a final and begged him to meet him before class. Of course he would, but that meant missing going to his favorite shop. He had been embarrassed, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t go back. He had students all afternoon, this was his busiest time. The next morning his car had a flat. That screwed up his whole day, rearranging meets and getting grading in in between. The next day his mom called because her dishwasher stopped working. He sighed and headed to her house. Why was life conspiring to keep him out of the shop? He was beginning to miss it. He missed Rosemary. He missed Patrick, even if he’d only spoken two words to him. He promised himself that the next time he got there, he would speak to Patrick. Like a human being. Maybe even have a cup of coffee with him.
The line was nearly out the door when he got there the next day. He sighed and waited, looking down at his phone. He shuffled along as the line moved. Rosemary was grabbing a bag of coffee for a customer when she walked past him.
“Kimbo!” She said with surprise and threw her arms around him. He smiled awkwardly and carefully returned her hug. He didn’t want to seem untoward, she was ten years younger.
“Rosie, Hi!” he said. He saw Patrick look over at the two of them, big grin on his face. Kimball returned his smile.
“You been cheating on us or what?”
“What?” Kimball had forgotten to mentally prepare for Rosemary.
“Coffee addict like you, got to be getting your hit somewhere,” she said.
“Starbucks,” He lied, getting with the program. He’d just been making his at home, with The Burnt Bean’s coffee even.
She gasped. “Heathen.”
“Can’t beat their Espresso Roast,” he said with a smirk. He knew coffee aficionados complained about Starbucks espresso roast, insinuating that it merely consisted of all the beans they accidentally burned at their roastery.
“Get out. Get out of this shop, we don’t want you here.” she said, pointing to the door.
“Can you afford to throw out customers?”
“Oh yeah, good point.”
They laughed. Kimball promised he’d not been to Starbucks, he was just kidding.
“Good to see you again,” Rosemary said as she headed back behind the counter,
“You have no idea how good it is to be here,” Kimball said with uncharacteristic sincerity. He glanced at Patrick, who happened to glance at him at the same time. They both looked away.
The person behind him in line was gawking, eyes big. Kimball raised his eyebrows in question. “Rosemary smiled and laughed. You called her Rosie and she didn’t kill you. How’d you do that?”
“Just lucky, I guess,” Kimball said. He wondered about that while waiting.
He got to the front and Patrick called over to him, “You want your usual Americano, no room?”
“Yes, please,” he replied while paying for it. He knew my coffee order.
Feeling quite pleased, he found a table and made himself to home. He got out the work he brought just in case he felt like staying and got everything arranged how he liked it.
“Kimball, your Americano is ready,” Patrick called loud enough for him to hear.
He walked up and shyly said thanks when he picked up his cup. He decided to risk it. “If you get a break, want to join me?” he tried to sound confident. There was that smile again. Christ this man knows how to smile. He hoped that was a good sign.
“Sure,” Patrick said with the same false confidence. He didn’t know what else to say. He went back to prepping the drinks. Kimball went back to his table.
It was nearly an hour before Patrick got a break. It was an hour full of surreptitious glances and pretending to be busy when actually all Kimball accomplished was to notice that Patrick had a black beanie on today with a black turtleneck that accentuated his face. He was friendly with everyone and laughed easily. He was efficient and calm and even when it was at its busiest, he never frowned or got irritated. Rosemary kept herself just this side of rude, but was adept at keeping orders straight, getting people what they wanted and keeping the other workers organized. They were a well-rehearsed team. Kimball noticed how similar the two of them were and wondered at their relationship. He was pretty sure Patrick was flirting with him, but you never know, he was probably straight and dating Rosie.
His fears were confirmed when Patrick kissed Rosemary on the cheek, picking up two cups of hot liquid. Kimball watched as he walked toward his table, deciding that he always needed a friend, hoping that at least he and Patrick could have that.
“On the house,” Patrick said congenially, setting down the coffee in a ceramic mug instead of the usual paper cup. Then, “Is joining you still an option?”
“Of course, thanks,” Kimball replied, indicating the seat across from him. Patrick sat down and put his cup on the table.
“Is that tea?” Kimball asked.
“Yeah, I know, right? I’m a coffee guy, but we started adding tea and I had to taste them all. Kinda got hooked,” he explained.
“Had to try them all?”
“Yeah, can’t serve something I haven’t tried. Could be disgusting,”
“So you only serve things you like?”
“Huh. Never thought of it like that, but yeah. Good thing I have excellent taste,” he said with a smirk.
Every question Kimball could think of to ask sounded like a cheesy pick up line. He hoped Patrick would say something, but neither of them seemed willing to start. They sat drinking their drinks. Patrick glanced at Rosemary who rolled her eyes so big, Kimball noticed too. He looked down quickly so they wouldn’t see that he did.
“You’re a..”
“Have you a…”
They started together, stopped and laughed anxiously.
“You go,” Patrick said.
“No, go ahead,” Kimball replied.
“You teach physics?” Patrick went on.
“Yeah, any college or high school math or physics. Majored in math. I was going to be a high school teacher, ended up not liking it. Love the personal aspect of tutoring, though. How about you?”
“Always wanted to own my own coffee shop. Got an MBA so I would know what I was doing, and here I am.”
“Living the dream,” Kimball smiled and Patrick smiled back.
Conversation went on like that, with bumps and starts. Finally Kimball said he had to go, which wasn’t too far from the truth. He had an appointment. Wasn’t for half an hour, though.
“Next time tea is on me,” Kimball smiled at Patrick.
Patrick laughed and said, “Sure.”
Rosemary walked up to Patrick and patted his back after Kimball left, “It’s okay, we all strike out every once in a while. Not me. But, you know, people. Like you,” she mocked.
“Stop. I didn’t strike out, we started slow,” Patrick protested, “he said the words “next time”, couldn’t have been that bad.” He was mostly speaking to himself, deep down he felt like he’d lost his chance. He couldn’t help how attractive Kimball was, he could listen to his voice all day. He clung to the “next time” to soothe himself.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Rosemary commented. Patrick grimaced at her, wobbled his head and mockingly repeated what she had said.
“Real mature,” Rosemary said, so Patrick repeated that too.
“Stop it.”
“Stop it.”
“I mean it.”
“I mean it.”
Then they burst into laughter. That’s when a customer showed up and they had to go back to being the professionals they were supposed to be.
Patrick needn’t have worried. Kimball was pleased with their halting start. He always thought that if you weren’t nervous when you met someone you liked, you probably didn’t like them as much as you thought. He was completely freaked. Rapid heartbeat, breathing he had to consciously control, trouble focusing, the whole time he was with Patrick. Patrick was stunning, beautiful blond curls and expressive blue eyes. He had to resist pulling off that beanie, never mind leaping across the table to press his lips to his. He loved his mouth, loved to watch when he spoke, nearly died every time it smiled. One day, I’m going to kiss that mouth. Or at least he hoped.
The next few days Patrick whistled and hummed everywhere he went, silly grin on his face. Rosemary was going to kill him. The only time she got a break from him was when Kimball was actually there. Then, Patrick did his best to act normal. Pleasant but not giddy, contained, his usual self. This mostly backfired. It’s nearly impossible to “act normal”, either things are normal or they’re not. But he tried. Rosemary, on the other hand, was all smiles when Kimball came to order his coffee. She looked at him knowingly and drew little hearts on his cup or smiley faces. Kimball cringed at her, glancing at Patrick to see if he was witnessing her antics.
Most mornings, Kimball went through his usual routine: coffee and work, only glancing occasionally at his favorite barista. Patrick came over on his break, like he had been since that morning, to sit and chat. Once they’d gotten past their initial nervousness, they had lots to talk about. They were both avid readers, reading everything from classics to scifi, to biographies and even a little philosophy. That lead to some great discussions. This morning, they were discussing Hebert’s idea of sentient plants and how that changes the way we view them and their importance to Earth’s ecosystem when Patrick had to get back to work.
“Have dinner with me. We can finish this discussion then,” Patrick suggested, as if he suggested it every day. “Is 8 o’clock too late?”
“Eight is fine. Where do you want to meet?”
“Want to meet here? You can leave your car in the lot and we’ll walk down to Blueberry,” Patrick answered.
“Blueberry?” Kimball hadn’t heard of it.
“Oh, my God, you’ve never been to Blueberry? Best burgers in town,” Patrick exclaimed.
“Can’t wait,” Kimball said and it was one of the truest statements he’d ever made. He couldn’t wait.
After Kimball left to meet a student, Patrick was unbearable. Grinning from ear-to-ear, practically bouncing. He simply couldn’t contain his excitement. He radiated happiness. The customers picked up on it, smiling and laughing with him. Rosemary tried to make fun, but even she gave up and smiled with him.
Jenny, Kimball’s physics student, was asking him a question.
“What?” he had to ask, “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”
“What’s with you?” Jenny asked.
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he stammered.
“No, it’s something, are you okay?” Jenny was concerned.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Kimball promised. Then, when she looked incredulous, “It’s just a date.” Kimball couldn’t help grinning when he said that.
“Oooooooh,” she said knowingly, “Good for you! Tell me all about her!”
“Him,” Kimball corrected, “And we’re here to study physics,” he continued, hoping to change the subject.
“Oh, please, you haven’t been studying physics with me for the last 15 minutes. C’mon, tell me all about him,” she pleaded.
“If I tell you, can we get back to work?”
“Cross my heart.”
“He owns The Burnt Bean, has gorgeous blue eyes, he’s very intelligent and driven. We’ve been flirting for months and he asked me out this morning,” Kimball stated quickly.
“And?”
“And what?”
“That’s it?”
“What else is there to say?”
Jenny sighed. Like pulling teeth. “Promise you’ll tell me all about your date?”
“We’ll see, but you’re not paying me to gossip, we have work to do.”
Kimball pulled into the lot, parked near the entrance. Business at the shop tends to wind down by 8pm even though it stayed open until nine. Kimball had on his best pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. As he got out of his car he realized how nervous he was. He didn’t even remember the drive over. He got out and lectured himself to calm down. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and determinedly walked toward the door.
Rosemary had willingly agreed to close up (“Anything to help you get a life,” she had snarked.) Patrick went upstairs to get ready. He tried to tame his curls and he couldn’t decide whether to wear his beanie or not. What if he only likes me for my beanie? Patrick scoffed at himself in the mirror for that paranoid thought. All the same, he felt better when he wore it, so he donned the hat, arranging it just right. He had on his favorite jeans with his best T and deep blue flannel over that. He made his way downstairs and waited in the back for Kimball to show.
Kimball walked into the Burnt Bean like he had so many times before. This time though, everything was different. It was dark outside and the lighting inside was muted along with the conversations. He didn’t recognize any of the customers. He never came to the shop this late in the evening. The bakery case had a few sorry looking pastries going stale on their dishes. Rosie was perched at the register on a padded stool Kimball had never seen before, filing her nails. She wasn’t often so still. That was until she saw him, that is. She looked up and smiled, that smile must run in the family, their portraits must be deadly. “Kimbo!” she shouted. Apparently that nick name was going to stick, he bemoaned to himself.
“Hi Rosie, how’s things?” he said, trying to cover his nervousness, ending up sounding forced.
“Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimon!” she hollered to the back. “Your boyfriend’s here!” she added loudly. Almost every one of the few people at the shop glanced up. Kimball cringed and gave Rosie a “not today” pleading look. She ignored him. “PATRICK!” she hollered again for good measure with a mischievous look.
Patrick saved the day by coming out around the corner. Kimball had never been so relieved. Patrick, who had been working himself up all day over this date, couldn’t hold it in any longer, walked over to Kimball and gave him a huge bear hug. Kimball forgot for a moment that everyone could see them and fell into his hug. It was warm and welcoming and a little squishy and a lot wonderful. He had the biggest smile that Rosie had ever seen from him. Patrick closed his eyes and held on. The hug lasted this side of too long. They finally stepped back with Rosie looking from Patrick to Kimball and back while they sent heart eyes to each other. Rosie finally cleared her throat, shaking her head.
“Hungry?” Patrick asked.
“Starving,” Kimball answered and the two of them headed out the door.
Blueberry was exactly what you imagine when you hear the phrase “hole-in-the-wall diner.” Clean, but cluttered and smelled of deep fryers and pie. The wait staff was warm and welcoming as they spoke to you like you were part of the family. The food was to die for. Kimball’s burger was perfect and the hand-cut fries were heavenly. They talked around delicious mouthfuls chased with beer from a tap. Kimball never wanted to leave. He suspected Patrick was feeling the same when he suggested pie and coffee. Even though he was full to the brim, Kimball gladly agreed. He was full, he was comfy, he and Patrick were getting along like a house on fire. The sounds Patrick was making while enjoying his food kept Kimball riveted to the spot. Life couldn’t get better.
The bill came, and after a brief discussion over who would pay, (Patrick won since he was the one to suggest going out) they made their way back to Patrick’s apartment above the coffee shop. There was a back entrance, but Patrick found he rarely used it, preferring to go through the shop. The alley the back door opened onto always gave him the creeps, even during the day. The only time he used it was when he had something large delivered, like his couch.
“C’mon, let me show you the shop at night,” Patrick said with a glint in his eye.
“Sure,” Kimball said, with a goofy grin on his face. The burger, beers and pie were a heady mix in his tummy, making him a mix of sleepy, lightheaded and strangely keyed up.
Patrick got out his key, letting them into the shop. It was pitch black and Patrick took Kimball’s hand to lead him so he wouldn’t trip over a table. They got behind the counter and Patrick couldn’t wait anymore. Even though no one was there, he maneuvered Kimball to a hidden corner, flattened him against the wall and kissed him.
“Oh, yeah,” Kimball said enthusiastically as he threw himself into the kiss. He grabbed Patrick by the back of the neck to keep him close. Patrick put his hands on both sides of Kimball’s face, kissing him with open-mouthed, intense kisses that Kimball, if he was honest with himself, had never experienced before. The fire started at his earlobes, pooled at the base of his spine, shot through his groin, and made his knees weak.
Patrick kinda forgot who he was. Kimball’s kiss was a punch in the gut. His mouth tingled and his heart pounded in his chest. How many beers did he have? Wait, just two. He curled his toes in his shoes to ground himself. Except then, they touched tongues and the vertigo began anew. He held onto Kimball’s face and let himself fall.
If anyone had asked, they wouldn’t have been able to say how long they stayed there kissing. Patrick pulled back to gaze into Kimball’s eyes, but it was dark. He could barely see his face. So he took Kimball’s hand and unlocked the door that led to the stairs that took him to his apartment. The apartment was warmer than the shop and smelled of cedar and coffee. And new beginnings.