Luis worked as he’d done the day before, a machine of silence and efficiency. From time to time, Paolo found himself watching him, tracking his every move and the expressions on his lovely face as he made them.
He was cute as hell when he was concentrating, all frowns and dimples. Quiet, though. Too quiet. He spoke to no one, not even Paolo, unless Paolo asked him a direct question, and even that was a stretch. Half of Paolo’s efforts to communicate went unanswered, and after a while, he stopped bothering. Another day he might’ve persisted, but fatigue erased his patience.
Not that he’d had much to begin with, especially on a day like today when his existence seemed wired to annoy him. The gas grill’s flickering pilot light, the leaking milk container, and the dripping tap in the kitchen. By the time a full basket of bread slipped out of Paolo’s hand, he was done.
Sliced loaves covered the floor. Paolo swore loud enough for every table in the cafe to pause and stare, and it took every ounce of self-restraint not to hurl the empty basket at them.
He dropped to the floor to clean up the mess.
Luis was already there. He gathered the loaves in ten seconds flat, loaded them into the basket and wordlessly handed it over.
Paolo took it and straightened up, but by the time he got there, Luis had already vanished back into the kitchen. Paolo’s gaze flickered between the open door and the full breadbasket in his hand. Did that even happen?
Without the still-staring customers, he might’ve believed it hadn’t.
Confused, he took the bread to the grill and finished up the orders lined up on the pass. The breakfast rush was starting to fade. He delivered the final plates of fried eggs, black pudding, and grilled tomatoes, and returned to the grill to take a breather. He cleaned down with shaky hands. The half dozen mugs of coffee in his belly were threatening to mutiny, and he needed to eat.
More bacon found its way to the grill. For him alone, he might’ve left it at that. Slapped it between two slices of buttered bread and called it a day. But Luis hadn’t eaten either, and after the splatted eggs of the previous day, Paolo felt like he owed him a decent plate of food.
He added sausages to the grill, the slim, Italian kind that were chilli hot and cooked fast. More eggs. One day he’d sit down and try and count how many he’d fried in his lifetime, but today wasn’t that day. He made toast, topped it with leftover tomatoes, and carried the loaded plates to the family table.
Then he braced himself and stepped into the kitchen.
Luis was at the sink, face creased into that damn adorable frown, piecing the broken tap back together with tools Paolo hadn’t known existed. He didn’t seem to notice Paolo in the doorway. He screwed the final part on and twisted the tap to life. Water gushed into the sink. Luis nodded to himself and turned it off again.
No drip.
For the first time in months, no fucking drip. Paolo started forward, checked himself, and changed direction so Luis saw him coming. “You fixed it.”
A tiny smile danced across Luis’s full lips. “I tried. I wasn’t sure it would work.”
“Well, thank you. That piece of shit has been broken for months. Actually, maybe years. It all blurs together after a while.”
“I know.” Luis wiped his hands. “Um, I don’t want to be a ball ache, but do you have a spare apron anywhere I could use? Wet jeans do my head in.”
“Didn’t I give you one?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Damn. Sorry. I’ve got one at home for you, but I forgot to bring it. Last night was a thing. Can you get by today?”
Luis nodded. “I can get by forever. I just wondered if you had one lying around.”
“You don’t have to get by forever. I’ll sort it for you.”
“Okay.”
Luis turned back to the sink and Paolo to the kitchen door. Then he remembered why he’d sought Luis out in the first place. “Hey, I’ve got some breakfast for you out front if you want it?”
No reply.
Paolo frowned. It made sense that Luis would ignore him when he was busy at the dishwasher or if whatever Paolo had said didn’t require a response, but their conversation had ended recently enough that even Luis hadn’t had time to check out. He tried again. “Luis. You want breakfast, mate?”
Still nothing. Cautious, Paolo stepped back into the space he’d occupied a moment ago and waved his hands.
Luis looked up. “Yeah?”
Paolo pointed out front. “I made breakfast. Come find me when you’re ready.”
He left Luis to the sink and tracked back out front to wait for him, mind whirring. For days, he’d assumed Luis’s silence was deliberate. Never once had he considered the possibility that Luis couldn’t—
“Wow. Thanks. What’s on the tomatoes?”
“Oregano.” Paolo watched—ogled—as Luis slid into his seat, folding his long legs beneath the table. Their knees were a hairsbreadth apart, and Paolo’s skin tingled, nerve ends jangling. God, this is insane. “Toni was always trying to sneak Italiano into the fry-ups that paid the bills.”
“What about these?” Luis pointed to the sausages.
“Yeah. Those too. They’re pretty poky, though. Sorry, I should’ve asked you if you liked spicy things.”
“I think so. It’s been a while. Inside, the closest thing to flavour is the Pot Noodles you buy from the canteen.”
“How does that work?”
“Pot Noodles?”
“No, buying things. You can work for extra money, right? Did you have a job?”
Luis picked up a fork. “That’s a lot of questions.”
“Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”
“It’s okay. They warn you before you come out that random people will ask weird questions. I don’t mind.”
Random people? Paolo couldn’t imagine anyone approaching Luis in the street. Or does he mean me? Either way, the phrase sat awkwardly in the place Luis had carved out for himself in Paolo’s tired mind. Food. I need food. Maybe then I’ll stop being a weirdo. He gestured for Luis to start eating and dug into his own plateful, clearing half of it before he looked up again.
Luis’s plate was empty. Shit. Did I not give him enough? Or maybe that was how they ate in prison, quick-sharp, before someone else took it. Or maybe—
Fuck’s sake. Stop ruminating over shit you know nothing about.
Paolo finished his breakfast and got up to fetch tea and coffee. When he got back, Luis was leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out, head tipped back. His eyes were closed. Paolo placed two steaming mugs on the table and nudged his foot. “Tea’s up.”
Luis roused himself. “Thanks. Didn’t hear you coming.”
“That happen often?”
“What? That you sneak up on me? It’s only been two days, mate.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Luis sipped his tea and shot Paolo a quizzical glance over his mug. The rational human fighting for survival in Paolo screamed at him to mind his own business, but the nosy old woman in him couldn’t stop. “You don’t hear me a lot. Probably not a bad thing most of the time when I’m shouting about burnt toast and the football, but I’m wondering if there’s something I need to know.”