Lacking any brighter ideas, he decamped to the coffee machine and added an extra scoop of ground beans to a brew that was already rocket fuel. He made Luis a mug of tea and took it back into the kitchen. Luis was in the fridge, and lingering made Paolo feel like a creep.
He dumped it on the side and fled.
The morning slipped away, lost to the daily grind of prepping the cafe for the day and then opening the doors. Breakfast came and went. Luis bussed tables and ran the dishwasher with the silence and efficiency he always did, and it was as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had changed between them, and perhaps it hadn’t. A drunken kiss proved nothing save the fact they were both queer as fuck and horny when they’d had a drink. Who knew? Maybe they’d fuck next time they shared a beer.
Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe Luis would disappear after his shift like he’d done every day until yesterday and Paolo would never get to lay hands on him again. Maybe—
Paolo’s phone rang, cutting off the irrational chain of maybes having a rave in his wine-pickled brain. Blinking, he pulled it from his back pocket, and his heart sank. It was Nonna’s nursing home. Shit.
He abandoned the omelette he’d been making for him and Luis to share, slipped through the kitchen, and out of the back door. “Hello?”
“Hello, Paolo, it’s Janine from Elm Lodge. I’m just calling to let you know your nonna’s hip is giving her quite a lot of pain today. The doctor’s been in and had a look at her, and he thinks it’s best she pops into hospital to have another X-ray.”
“Shit. How is she? Does she know what’s going on?”
“A little, I think. I asked her if she was happy to go with the paramedics when they arrive to fetch her, and she said yes.”
Paolo sighed. “She’d say yes to anything these days. Probably thinks you’re taking her to Brighton for fish and chips. How long is the transport going to be?”
“An hour or so. Would you like me to text you when it gets here? Or are you going to come in?”
“I’ll come in, but I need to close the cafe and get on the bus, so could you let me know if it shows up so I can go straight to the hospital?”
Janine agreed and hung up, leaving Paolo to stare at his phone and contemplate closing the cafe before the lucrative lunchtime rush. The thrill in his gut faded. Suddenly, his late-night encounter with Luis seemed a long time ago.
He pocketed his phone and went back inside. Luis was still at the dishwasher, but he was leaning on it, arms folded, waiting for Paolo. “What’s the matter?”
“I have to leave. My nonna’s being taken to hospital.”
“From the nursing home?”
“Yeah. She had a fall a week or so ago, and her hip isn’t healing.”
“Okay.” Luis wiped his hands on the apron Paolo had finally got round to giving him. “Do you have any open orders?”
“No. There’s some tables that have just sat down. I’ll go tell them they have to go.”
“Go? Why?”
“Because I have to close up.” Paolo started for the kitchen door.
Luis grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “You don’t have to close. I can cook until closing time.”
“What?”
“I can cook and take the money if you trust me not to rob you blind.”
“Why would you think that had even occurred to me?”
“Because you’re looking at me funny.”
“I—” Paolo shook his head to clear it. He felt like he was underwater. “Fuck, I really need to go.”
“Then go. I got this, I promise.”
Something clicked in Paolo’s brain. He nodded slowly and untied his apron. Luis disappeared and came back with Paolo’s coat and wallet. “Do you want me to lock up and go home or stay here until you get back?”
“Um, I don’t know. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“Want me to post the keys through your letterbox?”
“Yeah, actually, that would be great. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You want me to call you a taxi?”
“Nah, there’s a bus in a couple of minutes.” But Paolo didn’t move. His feet were welded to the floor, his heart transfixed by the man in front of him. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
Luis gripped Paolo’s shoulders. For a moment, Paolo thought he might shake him, but he didn’t. He wrapped his arms around Paolo and hugged him tight.
It felt like a lifetime had passed when he pulled back. “Go,” he whispered. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Thanks, Janine.”
Paolo shut the door on the heroic nurse and took a seat by Nonna’s bed. She was sleeping now, like she did most of the day, apparently unaffected by her grand day out to the local A&E, and Paolo was glad of it. Nothing was worse than seeing his beloved grandmother in pain, and fuck knew, he’d seen it enough over the last few years.
He slumped in his chair. Now he knew Nonna was okay—for now—his brain kept trying to take him back to fretting about Luis and the cafe, but his worries found no traction. It was as if his heart knew something the rest of him didn’t, and he couldn’t make himself move. He woke Nonna up for dinner a little while later, helped her eat, and filmed her weekly message for Toni. Maybe at the weekend he’d bring Toni for a visit. Sunday, if he didn’t spend it getting drunk and snogging Luis.
Like that’s happening again.
Paolo’s heart didn’t believe that either.
The nurses arrived to give Nonna a bath. Paolo took his cue and left. On the bus home, he sent the video message to Toni and left out the part about the hospital trip. The X-rays hadn’t revealed anything new.
He got off the bus at the wrong end of the high street. The walk back woke him up after the stuffy bus ride, and as he got closer to the cafe, he found himself jogging.
The front door was locked, but the lights were on.
It felt like a metaphor Paolo didn’t quite understand. Then he saw Luis, sat at the family table, slumped over a newspaper, and nothing else seemed to matter. He rapped on the door. Luis didn’t hear him. Paolo pulled out his phone and tapped out a message.
i’m here, let me in
Luis’s phone flashed with the incoming message. He glanced at it and blurred across the cafe, moving faster than his tall frame should’ve allowed.
He unlocked the front door and pulled Paolo inside. “How is she? Is she okay?”
“She is now. They gave her an injection to help the inflammation.” Paolo gazed around the cafe. It was spotless, cleaner than Paolo had ever left it in his entire life. The condiment bottles were full and wiped down, sugar packets topped up. Even the floor had been mopped and dried. “Wow. You went to town on this place. Was it that quiet?”
Luis shrugged. “The road was closed, remember? I left the order tickets by the till so you could match them up to the cash count. The card receipts are behind the twenties.”
“Match them up? You think I pay that much attention?”
“Maybe, after you’ve left an ex-con in charge of your family business.”
“Did you go to prison for stealing things?”
“Kind of.”