Page 5 of Playing For Keeps

Then, almost a boon on Facebook, a bright reprieve from feeling like he was drowning, falling behind—that coffee shop, the one he usually went to on the way home, posted their new featured dessert. Decadent, the description was enough to get him back on his feet even without the picture, which looked positively sinful. It could be something he did tonight: a quick pop over to Capitol Cafe for dinner, a mere precursor to that dessert. Sebastian would do his best to savor it, and this would be what made his Friday more… something. Just more than the sad space he took up right now.

Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, he slipped his shoes back on, wallet in the back pocket of his chinos, phone in the front. He walked it by memory, the ten minutes it took enough time for him to soak up the night around him.

The sun started slipping down in the sky earlier and earlier these days. The air was still humid, but the temperature dipped in degrees with the sun. A few stars glimmered in the sky, not as badly obscured by light pollution as New York City on the few instances he’d gone there for trips and interviews. It seemed so separate from Ohio, especially the small town he grew up in with its narrow-mindedness and the disconnect that seemed to exist there. That became more apparent the further he moved from home. D.C. was a little stuffier, a little more polished, a little more like him. A little lonelier?

The thought was shoved aside, bitterness leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Better this way. Less chance to get screwed over this way.

So, he found himself among townhomes and apartment buildings, restaurants and bars tucked between very official looking buildings, as much of a melting pot as the people filling the city. The warm glow of the cafe spilled out onto the sidewalk outside, people coming in and out, some sitting in the window immersed in their own lives.

Sebastian stepped inside the cafe and took a deep breath, the aroma of butter and baked goods—cheese, garlic, and other spices mixing together in the most delicious way. As usual, the line to the counter was decently long, so he parked himself behind a growing line of people.

People sat grouped around the main tables, conversing animatedly, boxes spread out around them. Board games. He’d noticed them a few times when he happened to stop by on the right day. Part of him was jealous of their laughter and camaraderie; the more significant side scoffed internally. How silly, he thought, such a waste of time. Mere steps up from comics and action figures at best, childish at worst. Sebastian no longer had time for games.

He tapped his foot impatiently, digging his phone from his pocket in nervous habit, waiting for emails that weren’t coming. Fighting the agitation built up in his chest left an ache behind his sternum. Logically, he knew it was a stress response; his inability to be ‘still’ was a product of the environment he found himself in daily. Sebastian could have justified it any which way, but on a soul-deep level, he was harried, frayed at the edges, and had little patience as a result.

Two women stood in front of him in line, one yapping her head off about her family drama, dark hair bobbing around her chin as her gestures punctuated what she was saying. So animated, so loud. Her friend interjected at all the correct times, but something was off.

She was on the shorter side, generously proportioned, but her T-shirt accentuated rather than concealed the soft curves of her body. Her dark blonde hair tumbled down her shoulders and back in spirals and waves. Watching her, paying attention to the exchange with her friend finally shut off the “work brain” that followed him everywhere. This stranger and her soft “oh wow”s and “seriously”s gave him a tiny bit of amusement to set his frustration at bay.

He saw something of himself in the exchange. There were multiple conversations at work where he’d done the same.

And when she stepped back, trying to find relief from the press of bodies in line, she collided with him. Her body was warm, her skin and hair carrying the tiniest hint of lemon sage which reminded him of the bubble bath he’d bought on a whim and never used—an indulgence he couldn’t afford when all his time went to more important matters. Slowing down was not an option. Slowing down meant he had to deal with stuff.

She looked up at him through lashes dark with mascara. Freckles on her nose and cheekbones were unimpeded by other makeup, and her dark eyes widened as she offered up an apology. Her friend blinked up at him as well behind dark-rimmed glasses she pressed up onto her nose before the women engaged in some weird mute communication he could only guess at. The blonde seemed a little stiff, tense, though he supposed the same could be said about him.

So he didn’t try. He focused his attention back to the task at hand: choosing a good dinner, ordering a sandwich and that croissant he’d seen on their business page, and maybe a hot drink to finish it all off. Sebastian’s eyes roved over the chalkboard above the counter where this week’s offerings were carefully displayed through a mix of calligraphy and cute drawings. By the time he’d settled on what he wanted, the line had made significant progress. The dark-haired woman was at the register, and her friend—her gorgeous, indulgent-smelling friend—stood right in front of him.

The baristas called them forward almost simultaneously. Both registers were happily unoccupied. Sebastian tried to ignore the warmth of the blonde’s voice as she placed her order, like the honey he couldn’t wait to enjoy as part of the croissant. She ordered his pastry, and his stomach did a stupid little jump at the thought that she liked the same thing he did.

So when he tried to place his order—a coffee, a Monte Cristo sandwich with a side of blackberry maple reduction, the brightness of the sweet dip perfect to offset the smoky ham and spicy mustard—and that honey lemon curd twice-baked croissant… only to be informed they’d sold the last one, it was incredibly hard not to lose his shit.

This was the whole reason he’d come here. The one goal he’d set for himself tonight. The one thing he’d been looking forward to within the monotony threatening to pull him under even on a good night. The barista gestured to the side, to the woman and the wax paper bag holding what he wanted.

Sebastian watched her pay for the pastry, her eyes flickering over to him when she heard his barista talking about her order. He ignored the warm brown eyes, her open expression one of curiosity. He dismissed the stutter in his chest when she looked at him, really looked. It was more than a passing glance. She paid attention. She made eye contact in a city where most people just glossed over his face. He ignored the voice telling him to mind his own damn business.

Instead, he opened his big, dumb mouth.

“That’s my pastry.”

The words were overly loud, even in the din of so many people talking, his tone too dark given the innocuousness of the statement. She shook her head in confusion, lifting the bag as if to say “no, clearly it’s not,” but no words left her mouth.

“Your total is fourteen-sixty-eight.” The barista drew his attention back to her and the lit-up display of the card reader. She handed him a numbered placard to keep at his table for them to bring out his order.

“I’m not done with you,” he said to the pastry thief, turning to shove his card into the receptacle, glaring at it until it beeped for him to remove it. “No receipt, thank you,” he said to the barista before he turned to the offending party.

She stood in her silly ‘Connect Four’ shirt, a dumbfounded expression on her face, as if she couldn’t believe he’d even opened his mouth in the first place. Logically, she’d gotten it split seconds before him, and the pastry was hers. Rationally, it was a dick move to berate her for taking it and unloading his stress onto her.

But Sebastian felt neither of those things. Instead, he was poised on the edge of breaking. All he had to hold himself together was the tiny ember flickering in his chest along with all the fucking heartburn.

“How much for the pastry? I’ll pay you for it.” His voice was firm, business mode activated.

Her stunned expression gave way to ire, slowly building but there, nonetheless.

“Excuse me, you are way out of line,” she scoffed, walking away from him and the registers.

Sebastian followed her out of the way, his hand reaching before he could think about it, a gentle grip on her forearm. She stopped suddenly, the look on her face impossible to read, and he tried to ignore the lick of energy that shot up his arm at the contact.

“Seriously, I’ll pay.” Sebastian pressed, not willing to let this go, not willing to fail when he felt so fragile.

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