Two
Two years later
“He’s been coming by every day, I think. And he gets the same thing every time, too.”
Vik paused, listening to his employees’ hushed voices. The scent of coffee never failed to make him smile as he inhaled, and with the baking they were doing now that the holiday season was upon them, cinnamon and gingerbread also perfumed the air. This was his favorite time of year.
Or it used to be.
His smile fell away and he blew out a breath before walking up to the front. The three employees behind the counter all had their heads together, staring off at something—or likely someone—in the far back of the coffee shop. They straightened when Vik cleared his throat. Guilt crossed their features as they all scattered, searching for something to do.
He wasn’t mad at them, but he wasn’t going to tell them that. They’d had a lull after the morning rush, but it would soon pick back up. The Java Bean—his pride and joy—was a full bakery and coffee shop and they’d all been working hard with Thanksgiving having just passed and Christmas only a few weeks away. They deserved a breather.
“Sorry, boss,” Ginger, the manager, whispered as she wiped down the already spotless counter.
“What’s got you guys so interested?” he asked. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the bakery at all that day. Ginger was more than capable of handling things, but Vik had needed a distraction. He’d banked on his conference call with one of the suppliers for his soon-to-be-opened second Java Bean location taking up more time than it actually did and with nothing to do, he decided to stop in and grab a coffee and handle some paperwork that Ginger needed him to take care of.
At his question, Ginger glanced around and stepped closer to him, voice dropping when she said, “Remember that guy I told you about? Started coming in a few weeks back?”
Vik frowned.
“Comes in at the same time every day, orders two apple cider donuts and black coffee—”
“Oh! Right. Right.” He recalled her vaguely mentioning it. “What about him?”
“He’s back.” Ginger jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Look.”
As long as the guy wasn’t bothering the employees or other customers, Vik didn’t care one way or the other, but he leaned over the counter just a bit, peering in the direction Ginger pointed. There had to be something about the guy that had all the employees intrigued.
All Vik made out was a curtain of dark blond hair hiding the stranger’s face as he bent over the phone in his hand. “What’s the big deal? I don’t—” The sight of tattooed knuckles cut off his words. Vik’s brow lowered. “Wait, is that— Temple?” His voice rose. “Temple?”
The man’s head jerked up, hair swinging out of his face.
Yes. Temple. Even from across that space Vik couldn’t escape the brilliance of his blue eyes or the surprise and hesitance in them.
“You know him?” Ginger hissed, but Vik ignored her, walking out from the back and approaching Temple, who’d gotten to his feet.
Two years had passed but nothing had changed about him. He still towered over Vik’s five-seven frame. Marc Temple was a hulk of a man, silent, contemplative. And his presence was welcome familiarity and unwanted reminders. At the same damn time.
He’d always had a tortured look about him as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Knowing Temple, he probably did. According to Henry, the date and time tattooed on Temple’s left knuckles were a record of when he’d been abandoned as a two-year-old on the steps of a church by his crack-addicted mother. The date and time on his right were when he’d aged out of the system and was left to fend for himself.
His shoulder-length hair was loose and just a shade or two lighter than the scruff on his jaw. Dark eyebrows, a strong nose, and full lips all conspired to make it difficult to not stare at him.
“Vik.” Temple pushed the hair out of his face, tucking it behind his left ear, exposing the small gold hoop there. That was new. “How are you—”
“What are you—”
They started talking together then stopped. Vik couldn’t stop staring at him. Couldn’t stop hearing the words he’d hurled at Temple the last time they’d been this close. Actually, they’d been closer. Him wailing in Temple’s arms while the other man trembled with his own grief. Of course, Vik hadn’t recognized that then. Or maybe he did and just hadn’t cared about anything else but his own loss. Most likely it was the second one.
Pressure built in his chest, reminders he could do without. The urge to get away made him dig his nails into his palms as he swallowed when Temple motioned that he should speak first. “What are you doing here?” Temple had basically disappeared after that day. The day he delivered the news that Henry, Vik’s fiancé and Temple’s best friend, had died.
Worst day of Vik’s life.
“Got back into town a couple of weeks ago. I’m staying above Bella’s.” Temple’s voice was as deep as his eyes. And just like his eyes, his voice had always unsettled Vik. “How have you been?”
A couple of weeks and he hadn’t reached out to Vik. Why would he, when Vik had basically banished him from his life the last time? He couldn’t blame Temple for not wanting to have anything to do with him. He glanced away then back to the man before him. “I’m, uh. I’m fine.” That wasn’t all a lie. Most days he was fine. Therapy helped.
Temple nodded as if he understood the sentiment Vik didn’t put a voice to and then they were staring at each other. Christmas carols playing overhead, the bell over the entrance that jingled whenever someone opened the door, and the steady drone of customers’ voices…they all fell away.
There wasn’t a moment since he’d kicked Temple out of his house and life that Vik hadn’t wished to recall that mistake. There’d been no opportunity. No sightings of Temple after that day. When he went to Temple’s cabin out by Lake Hadley, it’d been empty. Later he learned Temple had sold it. Vik never got to apologize and now that Temple stood in front of him, the words crammed into his throat and refused to budge.
“Hey boss,” Ginger called out. “You got a sec?”
Vik glanced back at her, ignoring the way she and the others stared at him and Temple, and held up a finger. “One minute.”
“Wait…” Temple lifted an eyebrow and glanced around. “This is you?”
There was wonder in his voice but not surprise. “Yeah. I opened it a year ago.” Pride filled him at that statement. It’d taken so much time to find himself after Henry’s death. So much wallowing and doubting himself before he just opened his eyes one day, stared across the pillow at the empty spot where Henry used to be, and decided he’d get up and wash his face.
One small step led to bigger ones until he found the courage to quit his job at a company that sucked out of him whatever life he had remaining.
Temple smiled and Vik couldn’t stop staring at it. He didn’t recall ever seeing the other man smile in the five years he’d known him. “Your dream, right? Henry always said—” He stopped himself as if he’d uttered the wrong thing.