Paolo glanced up and winced. “Sorry. I said, I’ve done your jobs so you can do mine. I meant it when I said I didn’t want you stuck on the dishwasher if you didn’t have to be.”
“You want me to, like, cook and shit?”
“If you can cook without the shit, that would be great. But yeah. If you’re happy to do it?”
Luis chewed his bottom lip. Cooking for a few hours yesterday afternoon had gone well because he’d recognised most customers and had been able to guess their orders when he’d missed what they’d said. A busy breakfast service was something else. Luis could fry eggs till the cows came home, but what good was that if no one had asked for them in the first place?
Paolo rose from the table and was in Luis’s face before he heard him coming. “What are you worried about?”
“I’m not worried.”
“Liar.”
“Yeah.”
“So what is it?”
Luis turned his gaze to the floor. He’d mopped it twice yesterday and dried it by hand with paper towels. Was it clean enough? Did Paolo think he hadn’t mopped it at all?
Paolo nudged him. Luis forced himself to meet his searching stare and not shrug him off. “I don’t like taking orders. I miss things, then they walk away before I can ask them what it was. And I don’t know what it was that I missed, so I look like a damn fool anyway.”
“If you knew what you’d missed, you wouldn’t have missed it, so that makes no sense.”
“It does when you’re me. I’m never sure if I’ve really missed something or I’m being paranoid.”
“Oh.” Paolo nodded slowly. “I’ve never thought about it like that. How about you cook, and I’ll do the peopling?”
“What about the dishes?”
“I’ll do them too.”
“Why?”
“Because spending six days a week washing dishes isn’t going to help you get a better job when the time comes. You need more tangible experience you can sell to another employer.”
“I don’t want another employer.”
“Because you like washing dishes? Or you like your dick in my mouth?”
Luis blinked. “Um, both? Neither? I don’t know. I just have no plans to get another job, unless this is you letting me go.”
Paolo laughed. “I’m not letting you go. I just think it’s better for you to do more while you’re here than wash dishes all day, but I’m not going to make you cook if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t mind. I like cooking.”
“Now he tells me.” Paolo rolled his eyes and returned to his accounts.
Luis left him to it and approached the grill. Lighting it was simple enough. He put the egg pans on to heat and filled the bread baskets for the toaster. Paolo had already brought out the sliced mushrooms and seasoned tomatoes. Luis checked the bacon and sausages he’d stashed in the front fridges last night and prepped the black pudding. I’m ready . . . I think?
Who the hell knew?
Luis poured coffee and took it to Paolo. “You usually make the tea.”
“So where’s yours?”
“Haven’t made it yet.”
“Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.”
Luis walked back to the grill, sensing Paolo’s gaze on him. The urge to go back and kiss him was so strong he nearly tripped over his own feet, but a glance at the clock stopped him. It was opening time.
Paolo unlocked the door. The usual queue of builders from the site up the road was waiting, and they flowed into the cafe like a river of dust and hard hats. Orders came in thick and fast. Luis deciphered Paolo’s scruffy handwriting and ploughed through them. From time to time, Paolo peered over his shoulder, but he said nothing, just took the food and delivered it. At least, Luis presumed he did. He was too busy to turn round.
It was after ten when the orders slowed enough to remind him what else Paolo did every morning. He cooked up two plates of leftover sausages and scrambled eggs and took them to the table.
Paolo was at the dishwasher, swearing at a stuck tray.
Luis reached around him and freed it. “That one’s broken. It catches on the runners.”
“Why didn’t you chuck it away?”
“It doesn’t belong to me.”
Paolo muttered something Luis didn’t mind missing. He pointed to the kitchen door. “Breakfast is ready.”
Luis didn’t wait for Paolo to respond. He retreated to the front and took the seat that left him facing the cafe entrance so he could watch for new customers coming in. He didn’t hear Paolo coming, but it didn’t matter because Paolo had stopped coming up behind him without warning. A soft hand on his back, a kicked chair. Something. Anything. Luis didn’t have the heart to tell him the hairs standing up on the back of his neck always let him know Paolo was close.
Paolo brushed a hand over Luis’s shoulder and slipped into his seat. Irritation clouded his handsome face, but Luis had learned not to take it personally. Everything annoyed Paolo—people, the weather, the radio. His near permanent scowl was part of his charm. Only his come-face came close.
Flustered, Luis tried not to think about it, but even grilling sixteen packs of bacon and thirty-eight sausages hadn’t kept Paolo’s naked self out of his thoughts. Not that Luis was complaining. Paolo’s bed had proved a pleasant place to be.
Maybe too pleasant.
Luis wasn’t looking forward to returning to his own.
Paolo kicked him under the table. “Tired?”
“Hmm?”
“Tired,” Paolo repeated, a little louder. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Passed out, more like. It was a trip.”
Paolo smirked. “Good. And I’m sorry about what I said earlier about you liking your dick in my mouth. What happened last night isn’t relevant to your job here, so don’t ever worry about that.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Are you going to tell me where you learned to cook for thirty people at a time?”
“You know where I learned.”
“I’m not a mind reader.”
“Nah, but you’re clever, so I think you can figure out it’s not something I picked up on the road.”
Paolo’s frown deepened, then cleared as comprehension dawned. “You cooked in prison?”
“In the canteen. You asked me if I had a job, remember? But I never got round to answering you.”
Paolo sat back in his seat. He hadn’t touched his breakfast, but then, neither had Luis. Who needed food when he had Paolo?
“Wow,” Paolo said. “That makes sense. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. What kind of stuff did you cook?”
“Nothing you’d want to eat. Most of it was packaged slop, but I did some courses a few years ago where we learned to cook other stuff, and I knew how to fry eggs before I went down. My mum wasn’t much of a mum.”
“Neither was mine. And my nonna was always working. If I wanted a hot dinner, I had to come here.”
You were lucky. But Luis didn’t say it. Paolo was rich in things Luis had never had, but that didn’t make his life easy. And, he still looked annoyed.
Luis nudged him with his knee. “Why are you pissed off?”