“Knock yourself out. I’ll be in the back getting everything started if you need anything else.” Cyril headed to the kitchen as Getty went behind the counter. It took him all of five minutes to figure out how to work the machine. It was easy enough. Dump the packet of grounds into a filter and fill the top part with water.
Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
Getty’s eyelids fluttered closed as he inhaled the smell of coffee brewing. The only thing better than a fresh cup of coffee in the morning was sex.
Damn it. Now he was thinking of Donnchadh again.
“I wasn’t aware Cyril hired a new server,” Kenny said when he came through the door. “Good morning, Getty.”
Getty chewed on his lower lip, wondering if Kenny was serious. “He didn’t hire me. Cyril told me to start a pot.”
“Relax.” Kenny came behind the counter. “I was just teasing.”
“Oh.” Getty smiled. “Good morning.”
“I can take over from here.” Kenny made a shooing motion. “Go have a seat and I’ll pour you a nice, hot cup of coffee.”
Getty slid onto a stool and strummed his fingers. He should’ve brought his laptop with him. With no other customers, he could’ve gotten some work done while listening to Kenny putter around.
He opened his mouth and closed it. Getty had started to ask if Kenny knew Donnchadh, but there was no use asking around about the stranger. They’d had their fun, and now it was time to move on.
“Here you go.” Kenny set a cup of coffee in front of Getty, as well as a plate of toast. “Something to hold you over until Cyril gets breakfast going.”
“Thanks.” Getty added cream to his coffee and took a sip just as someone walked in. He looked over his shoulder. It was Sheriff Copache and Moose, one of the servers.
“Hey, Getty.” Moose bumped fists with him. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Getty bit into his toast and moaned. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until that bite.
“Hey, Getty,” Sheriff Copache said.
Getty had designed the Maple Grove Sheriff’s Department website. The sheriff had wanted it updated—a sleek design and user friendly. The old website had been archaic, crashing often. They’d become friends after that.
He really liked the sheriff. “Hi, Sheriff Copache.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Grayson?” The sheriff winked at him, and Getty looked at Moose, the sheriff’s boyfriend.
Moose headed to the kitchen, paying them no mind.
“Sorry, force of habit.” Getty ducked his head.
“Mind if I sit with you?” Sheriff Copache took a seat on Getty’s left but spoke to Kenny. “I’ll have what he’s having until Cyril gets breakfast going.”
“Coming right up,” Kenny said.
Cyril looked out from the order window. Getty had always had a slight crush on the owner. Cyril was handsome as hell. “What can I make for you guys?”
“Waffles and bacon,” Sheriff Copache said.
“Same,” Getty said just above a whisper, but Cyril nodded as if he’d heard him.
“What projects are you working on?” The sheriff took a sip of his coffee. The guy was huge next to Getty, muscular, and hot for an older guy.
“I’m designing a website for a book company. They have a large catalogue that’s going to take me a while to create the pages for.”
Work was something Getty had no problem talking about. It was something he was passionate about, but he’d learned to keep that passion to a minimum. Most people found his work boring and tended to tune him out.
He also simplified the techno terms.
“What have you been up to lately?” Getty wished Cyril would hurry up. His stomach was grumbling, and the toast was already gone. Getty licked the butter from his fingers before he grabbed a napkin and wiped his hands.
“Paperwork, politics, and things that would bore you to tears,” the sheriff said. “That’s one of the perks, and downfalls, of living in a small town.”
Getty loved Maple Grove. He’d grown up there and never planned on leaving. A lot of people preferred the excitement of the city. Not Getty. Give him a slow-paced life anytime.
The diner was starting to fill, and Getty sniffed at the aroma of waffles. Kenny walked over to them, two plates on his arms. “Here you fellas go.”
“Thanks,” Getty and the sheriff said at the same time.
Copache used syrup, but Getty thought the blueberry waffles were sweet enough on their own. He was halfway through eating when he felt someone at his back.
When he turned, he nearly dropped his cup of coffee.
Donnchadh.
“Hey, stranger.” Donnchadh slid onto the stool on Getty’s right. He reached behind Getty and shook Sheriff Copache’s hand.
“What brings you here, Donny?” The sheriff went back to digging into his waffles.
“Hungry.” Donnchadh looked right at Getty. “I worked up an appetite last night.”
Getty felt his face fuse with heat as he quickly looked away.
“I want to sit by a window.”
Getty winced at the sound of that catty voice. He would know it anywhere. He looked over his shoulder and, yep, it was Bimbo. Getty’s dad was with her.
If he asked to borrow money last night, how was he eating at the diner this morning? Getty racked his brain trying to think if he’d locked his bedroom door. Getty didn’t think his father would steal from him, but he didn’t trust Bimbo.
“That looks good,” Donnchadh said, pulling Getty’s attention back to him. “I think I’ll have some waffles, too.”
God, his voice was silky smooth, and Getty’s body was reacting to the sound. He sat there between the sheriff and Donnchadh, popping a boner.
Donnchadh reached over and picked up a piece of Getty’s waffles, keeping eye contact as he slid it into his mouth. He licked his finger as if it were a dick, making Getty squeak.
“Something wrong?” the sheriff asked.
How was Getty supposed to eat when Donnchadh was turning their meal into something pornographic? Getty had a wild urge to feed Donnchadh from his fork. Fuck, watching the guy’s throat muscles work as he chewed turned Getty on.
“Yep,” Donnchadh said. “That’s exactly what I want.”
Was he talking about the waffles or Getty?
“Coming right up,” Kenny said.
Getty hadn’t even seen the server. He’d been too focused on Donnchadh chewing and staring at him as if he wanted to make a meal out of Getty.
A hand landed on his shoulder, making Getty yelp. Donnchadh looked behind Getty and curled his lip.
“Hey, son,” Getty’s dad said. “I thought you were at home sleeping.”
Donnchadh seemed to relax. His dark features smoothing out. Getty could’ve sworn he’d heard a slight growl rumbling in Donnchadh’s throat.
Getty turned. “I was hungry.”
“I’ll let you get back to your food.” Getty’s dad looked Donnchadh over before walking away. Did he suspect anything? Was he going to question Donnchadh’s behavior when they were alone?
“You still live at home with your old man?” Donnchadh asked as Kenny poured the guy a cup of coffee.