Page 58 of Nine-Tenths

It’s gotta be a cuss, based on the volume he says it at when he dives for the smoking pan.

Chapter Seventeen

The lineup is so long it's literally down the street.

"Yikes on bikes," I say.

People are selfieing in front of Beanevolence. As we approach, the mention alert on my phone becomes a near constant single note. I switch it to silent, and lordy, I do not want to see what kind of photos people take of us as Dav and I squeeze past the crowd to open.

Within an hour of flipping over the sign, Hadi has had to skim the till twice, Min-soo is relegated to just grinding beans and making fresh pots, I've burned my hand on the steaming wand, and we've stopped making baked goods because there’s literallynot enough timeto get into the back to mix dough.

We're slammed until all the out-of-towners who'd made the journey from all over Upper Canada to check out the business-of-the-week have made like a Hobbit, and have gone back again. By mid-afternoon, our espresso machine isoverheating. I didn't think that was possible.

The bean-roaster may be overheating, too; when I head into the kitchen—which is afurnace, why won't he open the back door, the paranoid bastard?—Dav's stripped down to just the tank-top.

Christ on a whole-wheat cracker, he looks tasty.

"Hey handsome," I say while he takes a moment to catch his breath. "You're sweaty."

"I never thought my abs could be sore fromfire," Dav admits.

"I'll kiss 'em better later," I promise and he sends me a sharp, cheerful leer. "What do you want for lunch? Min-soo's doing a run."

"I can—" he starts, wiping his sweaty forehead.

"Nuh-uh, Mr. Martyr. You're taking a break if I have to shove you outside myself."

"Are you accompanying me?" he asks, eyes dropping to my mouth. How can he say so much without saying anything at all?

"Nah, I can't abandon Hadi yet. But she's started looking at resumes."

"That's good." Dav regards the empty space in the corner pensively.

"You can still take up a table every morning." When I tug on the front of his tank top, Dav bends down and lets me have his mouth for a few long, beautiful minutes. Then I push him toward the back door. "Go cool off."

"I'll miss being in the kitchen," Dav admits as he cracks it. The breeze that churns in feels like a blessing, sweet as a kiss. Though Dav's kisses taste more like smoke and char lately, caramelized like a fine scotch.

"It won't stay busy forever. Eventually the novelty will wear off, the roaster will come in, and I'll be able to sneak you back here for other reasons."

"That sounds promising. If not hygienic." He leans against the doorjamb. I reach out to loop my fingers into his belt, slide my hand over the slinky tilt of his hips, lean up for—

"Colin!" Min-soo shouts from the other side of the kitchen door. "Order!"

"Roasted veggie sandwich with salad!" I shout back.

"How vulgar," Dav says, teasingly. He's genuinely annoyed—his manners aresoeasy to offend—but he doesn't actually care that much. He crosses the room, provides his order in normal tones, and slips a hundred dollar bill into Min-soo’s hand, insisting he pay even though Beanevolence is making more than enough scratch to buy our lunches in return for missing our breaks.

When Min-soo returns, we rotate through who sits out back to eat. I'm just coming back inside when a black woman with wild eyes and a massive grin slams herself against the side of the counter in a skidding slide.

"You cured my allergy," she says, breathlessly. "I drank your coffee and it cured my peanut allergy!" She dances in a gleeful circle, arms thrown wide. The scattering of patrons still in the café all turn to look at her, murmuring and, in one case, recording.

Oh,great. More Internet bullshit.

I'd already read a dozen posts from people claiming they slept better, and they felt healthier after partaking at Beanevolence. Which was a whole big pile of malarky because yeah, no, as much as coffee was touted as a miracle cure when it was first introduced to Europe a billion years ago, it's still just caffeine-laden bean-infused hot water.

"I did a study and everything." the woman says. Now that she's not thrashing around in a horrifying victory dance, I recognize her. She's one of the pharmacology grads interning at the drug mart around the corner. She’s their afternoon coffee-bitch. "I saw the rumors online and I thought, well, why not try?"

"By risking anaphylaxis?" I ask, horrified. While my food allergy is bad, at least it doesn't make mestop breathing.

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