“It’s important to you,” he finished.
I nodded. “It is.”
“I noticed the cleaning products are organic,” he added. Then he read the bottom of the menu board. “And the coffee is sustainably sourced.”
I smiled. “That was the biggest hurdle.”
He met my gaze and held it. “I’m proud of you.”
His words—those words—meant the world to me. “Thank you.”
He took his cup and sipped the dark liquid. His eyes shot to mine. “Oh Bry, this is good.”
I grinned at him. “I know, right?”
He hummed as he took another sip. “I’m going to need this all the time, you know that, right?”
I laughed. “Deal.” We drank our coffees and I told him about the menu of kaya toast and pandan cakes and kueh, apam balik, youtiao. “Basically, it’s glorified Singaporean street food with a twenty-first-century twist.”
“Can’t wait to try them. When I was in Vietnam, I had a fried bread thing with pandan custard, and I’m not saying I died and went to heaven, but I died and went to heaven.”
I laughed again. “I’ll have to see if I can get it for you.”
“I would marry you,” he replied, then stopped. His eyes went wide, horrified. A rich blush crept up his neck to his cheeks. “No. I mean, I wouldn’t. Not that I ever wouldn’t, because I probably would, and Christ, I can’t believe I said that to you just now and yet here I am still talking.” He swallowed hard and picked up the bucket of soapy water and a dishcloth. “I’m going to scrub things until my fingers bleed, so that’s nice.”
I burst out laughing. “Right. Fried toast and pandan custard is where it’s at. Got it.”
He shot me an embarrassed glare over his shoulder but began scrubbing down everything. And I do mean everything. Chairs, tables, walls, counters, fridges, cupboards. He figured out how the dishwasher worked, he mopped the floor, and we cleaned windows.
We got so much done. What would have taken me all day and most of the night only took us a handful of hours. By mid-afternoon, we were almost done.
My phone had beeped pretty much non-stop, message after message, and I had a few missed calls. I checked it intermittently but there was nothing that couldn’t wait. I spent most of the day up ladders, cleaning with him and organising stock and running tests through the point-of-sale computer system.
But when it rang just after three, I just happened to catch the screen. Dad. I grabbed the phone. “Hey,” I answered.
“Bryson,” he said, not sounding too pleased. “I messaged and phoned. I was starting to wonder if I should phone the police.”
Dramatic much? “Sorry, been busy at the store. Are you in town? I thought you were in Melbourne.”
“I got in this morning. You weren’t at home.”
“Ah, no, I wasn’t . . .”
“So, you’re at your store right now?”
“Yes. Michael and I have been cleaning all day. We’re almost done though.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Dad?”
“Well, you’re about to get your wish.”
“My what?”
“You wanted me to meet him and see your store, did you not?”
“Uh, yes?”
“Then open the door.”
Oh god . . .
I disconnected the call and shot Michael a wild look. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered as I walked to the door. “I’d have liked to give you fair warning, but he didn’t give me any.”
He tipped the bucket of dirty water down the sink. “Who didn’t?”
I pointed to the door and front windows, which were still covered to the outside world. “My dad.”
His eyes almost popped out of his head, and I didn’t mean to laugh but his expression was funny. I unlocked the door and opened it. My father was standing back, wearing suit pants, a light sweater under his blazer, which was casual for him. He was inspecting the front windows.
“The covers come down tomorrow,” I said. “And the opening-soon signs go up.” I stood aside. “Come in.”
My father walked inside, just a few steps, and stopped. Michael was walking out from behind the counter, wiping his hands on a tea towel. I quickly locked the door and zipped into the space between them.
“Dad, this is Michael Piersen. Michael, this is James Schroeder, my dad.”
Michael smiled and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir. You’ll have to excuse the pruned hands; they’ve been in water all day.”
They shook hands and my dad nodded. “He put you to work, huh?”
Michael’s smile was pure relief. “It was my idea to help.”
Dad gave a tight smile, then looked around the store. “Not what I expected. Aren’t all coffee houses dark?”
“This isn’t an ordinary coffee shop,” I replied, not entirely sure where my father was going with this.
He made a face and nodded. “I like it.”
I tried not to grin like a fool. “Thank you. Can I make you a kopi?”
He seemed to consider it for a second. “No thank you.”
“A tea, then? I have tea as well.”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t need anything,” he replied. “Just thought I should come take a look.” He walked around, inspecting the service counter, the storeroom. “So the big grand opening is close, right?”
“Yes, Friday.” I shoved my hands in my pockets so I didn’t fidget. “I have staff induction this week, final stock orders, and the last of the marketing to sort out.” Then I thought of something I probably should have considered before now. “Will you be in town on Friday?”
My dad gave me a smile. “I can be.”
My smile was instantaneous. “It would mean a lot. I’ll be busy and I’m not sure how much I’ll see of you, but it’d be nice to have you here.”
He gave the smallest of nods, then looked to Michael. “Well, it was nice to meet you,” he said, then turned back to me. “But I do have to get going. Will you be home for dinner?”
“Uh . . .”
“If you have plans,” he began.
“No, dinner sounds good.”
“I’ll order some Japanese for seven, then.”
“Sounds good.”
“Michael? Will you be joining us?”
He stared and shot me a please-help glance, and finding me as shocked as him, he went on his own. “Uh. Thank you, but I will need to get home and get ready for the working week. But thank you. Next time, perhaps.”
He left and I locked the door behind him before turning to face Michael. His expression probably matched mine. Somewhat bewildered yet smiling.
“Well, shit,” he breathed. “I just met your dad.” He looked down at himself and it was pretty clear we’d spent the day cleaning. “I’m a freaking mess.”
I went to him and pulled him in for a hug. “At least you weren’t waving a tiny pair of Speedos in the air like I was when I met your dad.”
He laughed. “Your dad’s kinda hot.”
I pulled back, horrified. “He’s what?”