Page 26 of Nine-Tenths

"Iwill, though," He chuckles, but it's a dry, cruel sound. "I do. Every time."

Whoa, now. Who told this kind, smart, hot man that he was a fuck up?

"You haven’t, though," I assure him. "Except for the part where we're burning the beans."

"And now we're burning the beans!" Dav throws his hands up into the air and rolls his eyes, distraught.

"Turn the crank, drama queen," I deadpan. "No, slower. They need to settle against the side a bit. Yeah. See? Crisis averted."

Dav gives one of those growling, self-deprecating scoffs.

I'm not used to being the one who reassures people. That's usually Hadi. And she's usually reassuringme. Still. I reach out, making sure he can see it coming this time. I pause with my palm just above his shoulder, giving him the space to pull back if he doesn't want me to touch him. He stays where he is, so I let it land.

"You haven't screwed anything up, Dav," I tell him again, earnestly. Those sunflower eyes search my face. I don't know what he's looking for, but I keep my expression as reassuring as possible.

He straightens, confidence restored. "Now what?" he asks.

I let him go. "Now you keep at that until your arm gets sore. We want the beans at about two hundred degrees. We'll do the light roast first."

"Light roast at two hundred degrees" Dav repeats determinedly, like he's memorizing for an exam. The muscles of his bicep press and release against the fabric bouquets, and that shit shouldnotbe allowed in public. It's obscene. "Is roasting time the only difference between light and dark?"

"Light roasts sort of taste like spring, and dark roasts like autumn."

Dav crinkles a grin at me. "A poet as well as a barista."

My mouth goes dry. "Uh, hardly. I just… like words. Like stories."

"I recall," he says meaningfully.

"Yeah, uh… It'll take about twenty minutes for the first crack." I wrench my brain back on topic. "Decant the beans right away so they don’t keep cooking."

"First crack?"

"They crack open when they're done, let out the CO2."

"Which is important because…?"

"No one wants carbonated coffee."

"Ah! No, I suppose not," he says with an almost-dimple.

"Then the beans cool for a day, over here." I show him the big metal bowls stacked on a wire rack in the corner. "And then they go out to the front whole. They go stale if you grind 'em more than ten minutes before using them."

"What an art," Dav says, appreciatively. "As delicate as wine-making."

"Pretty similar!" I laugh, insides fizzy with his flattery. "You even get better coffee if you aerate it." I mime pouring from high.

"Oh! I thought you were just being showy."

"I do like all the cute boys looking at me." I punctuate it with a flirty wink and then immediately regret it. "So, uh, call me when you hear the first crack, okay?"

"Yes," he murmurs, his own head lowered and his face made unreadable by the angle. I've made him uncomfortable.Fuck."And what will you be doing?"

"Restocking."

"Perhaps I ought to—your arm. That will be quite a lot of lifting."

I arch an eyebrow at him. "Oh, so you know where everything goes, eh?"

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