Page 27 of Not That Ridiculous

I did, however, expect Kevin to freak out about it after the fact.

I was pretty indignant to discover that, out of the two of us, I was definitely the one freaking out.

By Monday morning, despite my valiant attempts at repressing everything, I couldn’t pretend to myself anymore.

I was a mess.

I got to the coffee shop a full hour early, took the chairs down off the tables and had everything set up so far in advance of opening time and my first customer that I had, predictably, an hour to kill and nothing to do.

After a few agitated laps of the main shop, pausing now and then to realign already straight chairs and dust already spotless tabletops, I flung off to the kitchen where I rummaged around in the fridge, took out a carton of milk, and fired up the La Marzocco to make a few practice lattes.

I didn’t do it at the coffee shop all that often. Considering the price of a pint of milk these days and the fact I enjoyed the artistic pursuit but not the taste, I didn’t do it at home all that often, either. But I needed something to distract me. In about two hours, Kevin was going to walk through that door and I was worried, okay?

I plugged the grinder in and poured my first load of beans into the hopper. I started it up and sniffed the air appreciatively as the rich roast was pulverised.

Perfection.

The thing I worried about most was that Kevin would be angry.

In my experience, people tended to not like things—or other people—who challenged their core beliefs. While I didn’t have any insight into Kevin’s core beliefs, until his lips had hit mine, he’d at least presented as a man who was into women, not other men.

And all right, I had no reason to think he was a homophobe. He was friends with Jasper, he knew Adam, he clearly liked and respected Ray. And me. He was nice to me. He was sweet to me, and friendly, and then…well. More than friendly.

He was…

I sighed, filled the portafilter basket with coffee and clipped it into the group head. I set a couple of shot glasses ready on the drip tray.

He was lovely.

That really was the word for Kevin. Lovely. A sweetheart. A nice guy. A good guy.

But he could still be an angry guy. He could blame me for the kiss, even though he was the one who’d kissed me.

I still didn’t know why he’d done it. I’d gone over and over it in my mind. I wanted to say that it had come out of nowhere, but in retrospect, it hadn’t.

There had been a few flashes of possibility at the gym. That focused look. A handful of innocent-seeming comments that, when I looked back, landed a little differently. His hands on me, the way he stood close. The way he’d driven me home, opened my car door, escorted me up the drive, wheedled his way inside.

I’d thought it at the time—it was almost as if we were on a date.

Had Kevin been doing it on purpose? Or had he been as surprised by it as I was?

The parting kiss on the doorstep had felt instinctive. Natural. He hadn’t shuffled about, looked awkward, and then gone for it. It had been easy.

The first kiss, anyway. The second kiss was definitely deliberate.

I shoved the metal jug of milk under the steam wand and gave it a good blast.

Would it be worse to have him be angry at me? Or would it be worse to have him be embarrassed and awkward?

Ugh.

I didn’t want him to be any of those things. I’d never seen him anything but steady in my life.

I took down a large white cup, set it on the counter, and made a latte. Concentrating, I topped it off with a layer of foam and drew a big, simple heart on the surface.

I stared at it.

Kevin’s emotions, I told myself firmly, wereKevin’semotions. I couldn’t control them or manage them.

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