“It’s not just the taste. It’s an experience. A ritual, if you will.” Evren’s elegant hands moved as he talked. I could have watched them for hours. Not to mention the things I wanted to have done by them. I was more than a little obsessed with his hands.
He paused for a few sips before he spoke again. “And in this case, a chance to apologize.”
“Apologize?”
“I was…harsh the other night. Not kind.” He looked down at the white wooden tabletop, tracing a crack in its surface with a broad fingertip.
I shrugged. “At least you’re honest. But seriously, what do you have against bi guys?” I kept my voice at a near whisper.
Evren’s lips quirked. “It is okay. Mira knows I’m gay. You don’t have to whisper. And it is not so easy to explain.”
“Try me.” I took another little sip of coffee. Evren was right—there was something to the experience of a small sip of thick coffee in between bits of conversation and bites of cake.
“I’ve had two serious relationships. Both men were bisexual, and I knew it upfront. And both had…indiscretions. And one left me for a woman and the other for someone ‘open-minded’ enough to accept…dalliances.” His fingers drummed against the white wooden tabletop.
“And so all bisexuals are now off-limits?” I shook my head. “Look, I’ve never had a real relationship for…reasons.” I wasn’t ready to tell him about my situation with the kids. “But whether it was with a girl or a guy, I’d have no issue with monogamy. Bisexual doesn’t mean you have to be poly or something to be happy.”
“Ah. You say that, Brady, but it is not that easy.” He shook his head sadly. “Regardless, though, I squelched your kind offer of friendship. And for that I am truly sorry.”
I leaned back in my chair. “So you’re saying you’re willing to be friends with the bisexual guy?” I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted.
He frowned. “Willing is the wrong word. I know I am…overgeneralizing, maybe. My biases are…silly. But I see you being all casual about it.” He waved his hand as if to indicate me flitting about. “And I remember someone else, equally blasé. And I am not such a thing, no matter how much I should be. And I am trying to work on that really. I don’t know many people in Portland yet, but you are a true friend to Mira. I think I would be honored to make your acquaintance as well.”
“But not hook up?” I just wanted to clarify what we were talking about. Friends were in fairly short supply for me as well, but that didn’t negate the fact that I really wanted into Evren’s designer skinny jeans.
“I hate that word: hook up. I can’t promise not to…forget myself, but I think we are better suited as friends, yes?” he asked.
I interpreted forget myself to mean flirting, and I liked that he was honest about it because that’s exactly what we’d both been doing from the first—him in his subtle, more refined way and me in my eager Oregonian obviousness.
No. “I’m not promising not to flirt either.” I grinned at him. “But I’ll take being friends. Maybe show you around a bit if we both have time?”
My vast, vast amounts of spare time consisted of the occasional uninterrupted long shower, but a guy could dream. As if laughing at me, my phone buzzed. My alarm for picking up the kids. “Oops. I gotta head out, Evren. Thanks for the coffee. And the friendship.” I stood and held out my hand.
He shook it, and a most unfriendlike jolt slid up my arm. I was right. His hand felt amazing—solid and strong and warm. No matter what each of us said, we had some freaky chemistry.
“My friends usually call me Ev. You can as well.” He said this solemnly, like granting me some privilege. And dang if I didn’t feel a little warm to be given it. Ev. I liked it. It suited him. And he suited me far, far more than I wanted to admit, but I still smiled all the way to the school to get the kids.
* * * *
Ev resumed his Americano habit, and most days if I wasn’t swamped, we chatted a bit. I told him about parks near where Mira was getting her treatments where he could walk and places to get cheap takeout when they were both too tired for cooking, and I tried to send him home with soup and cookies for Mira as often as he’d let me. For my part, over the last few years my life had narrowed down to only the kids and the job. And I loved both, don’t get me wrong, but it was blissful to get some adult conversation that didn’t involve child-care schedules or coffee orders.
My shoulders seemed to be lifted by invisible strings when he reported getting a sandwich at the new little joint I knew about near the hospital or when he asked for a florist near there and I pointed him at an open-air market on Wednesdays. Playing tour guide by proxy for Ev gave me a weird sense of satisfaction—like I got to uncork a useful side of myself that hadn’t seen very much air lately.
After about three weeks of this, one Friday I was working the tail end of lunch when Ev came in. He changed things up a bit, got a large chai for himself and a small one for Mira.
“So, are you on mornings or evenings today?” he asked as I worked on Mira’s drink.
“Morning. I’m off around two.”
“Excellent.” He smiled widely, the hand that wasn’t holding his chai fiddling with the keys in his pocket. “Do you have dinner plans?”
“Dinner?” Fuck. Fuck. I did indeed have plans. Renee had a friend’s birthday party. That left me with the kids and no babysitter.
“Violet and some of the Knit Night ladies are taking Mira for a ‘girls night.’” He made air quotes around the term. “I hope she is up for a little dinner and fun, but it leaves me at a bit of loose ends because no men are allowed. So I thought—as friends—we could get that beer. Maybe you could show me a brewery with decent food and good local ale?”
I knew exactly which brewery I’d love to take him to. And I also knew it wasn’t happening. “Sorry, Ev. I’ve got plans.”
“Ah. Well, it was an idea.” He shrugged, but a shadow passed in his dark eyes, and I had a sinking feeling the offer wouldn’t be repeated any time soon. He turned to leave.
“Wait. Ev.” I took a deep breath. I’d been enjoying being Brady the fun barista with Ev, but he deserved to know the truth about my situation. “I don’t have a date—not those kinds of plans. My sister does, however, and I’ve got to watch my younger brother and twin sisters.”
“Ah.” He brightened a bit. “Your parents must be grateful for your help.”
I made a hacking sound that wasn’t sure whether to be a laugh or a cough. “Nope. It’s just me. I’m raising the kids. My mom and stepfather died in a car accident.”
“Oh, Brady,” he started, and I braced for the expression of pity sure to follow. “That is so sad of a loss, but how wonderful of a thing you are doing. You are keeping the family together, yes?”
“Trying,” I said and looked at my shoes. “So that’s why I can’t go out. It’s hard for me to get away.” Try impossible. And nice as Ev was, I wasn’t sure about subjecting him to the chaos of the kids until our tenuous friendship was a bit firmer. Most guys our age saw kids as a huge drag, and I didn’t want to scare him away quite yet.
“Hmm. You have your phone, though, yes? Perhaps you will tell me where I can get a decent burger, and I will call or text you how it goes. See how your evening is progressing.”
It was a sign of how starved I was for adult contact that that sounded as good as a plate of wings and an icy brew. I quickly exchanged numbers with him before the next customer arrived and went home smiling. I had a date. Sort of. A phone date. A friends-only phone date, but it was more excitement than my Fridays had held in a long time.
Chapter 4
Dear