Page 2 of Not That Ridiculous

I’d smiled at him.

That was it. That was my tell.

I was well-known in Chipping Fairford for my general lack of smiles, but I’d recklessly gone ahead and smiled at Kevin.

I could even pinpoint the exact day Adam had caught me at it.

Kevin had bounced in for his usual morning coffee, and proceeded to take his usual ridiculous amount of time to thoroughly inspect the pastry case. He gave it his full attention, every single day, even though the selection only changed on a seasonal basis.

After he completed his inspection, Kevin turned to me and said, “I’ll have two apple Danishes and a chocolate muffin, please, Charlie.”

I don’t remember what I said back. Probably nothing. I’m not a man for chitchat.

I do remember passing him the bag, because his fingers brushed mine and because I was fascinated with Kevin’s hands. They were big, long-fingered, and artistic. They were also always a little beaten-up—a scrape here, a bruise there.

“Have a good one,” he said cheerfully, and bounced out the door.

I smiled after him, looked up into Adam’s hazel eyes, and saw that heknew.

He didn’t say anything that day. I hoped he’d never say anything at all.

This was Adam, though. So he did.

And, because this was Adam, before he said anything, he let me think I’d got away with it.

A few days later, he sauntered into the coffee shop and ordered himself an Americano, a cappuccino, and a chocolate brownie to have in.

I recognised the order. The Americano was for him. The rest was for his husband, Ray, who liked a cappuccino with a double dusting of my own-blend, high-quality cocoa bean powder on top, and would do anything for a brownie.

I filled the portafilter with freshly ground beans and clipped it into the group head. While the coffee was doing its thing, I poked through the basket of brownies with the serving tongs to find the largest one, and dropped it onto a white china plate.

I steamed the milk and finished the drinks, set the cups on a tray alongside the brownie, and moved to the till. Adam paid with a casual wave of his Apple Watch in the general vicinity of the card reader, picked up the tray, and headed over to an empty table by the window.

He gave me just long enough to relax before he paused and turned back with a gleam in his eye. “Kevin Wallis, huh?”

That was it. He didn’t say anything else.

He tossed that rock into my pond of calm, and he walked off.

I wiped down the counter, ran a load of cups through the dishwasher and banged about a bit to get my irritation out. By the time Ray came in juggling a wet umbrella and his laptop bag, I’d brushed it off.

Adam Blake could think what he liked.

He could throw around implications all day long.

I was confirming nothing. Ihadconfirmed nothing.

He was full of shit, it wasn’t true, and—oh, crap.

Kevin was here.

He came in with his insufferable boss, Craig Henderson. The fact that Kevin had worked with Craig for going on five years now and his power tools had never once slipped and injured the man was testament to how sweet-natured Kevin was.

Craig was an attention ho, plain and simple. Since I liked attention about as much as I liked going to the dentist, I fundamentally didn’t get what his whole existence was about. I didn’t like him and he was more than aware of it, which was why he always sent Kevin up to order.

Kevin wasn’t what you’d call a handsome lad. He had an open, honest face with a strong jawline and high, flat cheekbones. When he was younger, he’d had a round babyface, and he’d been somewhat stockier. He’d changed a lot in the last couple of years. He had some serious heft to him still, but his looks had refined and that heft was now stretched out over a significantly taller frame.

He was over six feet, giving him at least three inches on me, and he was built like a brick shithouse.

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