Page 60 of Cream & Sugar
He tuts. “Boo. You’re no fun.”
Freddie laughs and for a moment I’m lost in the sound, the soft lilt of his voice drawing me in. Is it possible he’s getting more attractive by the day? My poor heart races. I’ve been staring too long. One of us should look away.Ishould look away.
But I don’t.
“Can I ask you something, Shaun?”
“Sure,” I say.
Freddie leans closer. “Do you take all your employees out for breakfast?”
“This isresearch,” I clarify.
“Riiight,” Freddie drawls, shooting me a knowing smile. “Okay then. Do you take all your employees out for research?”
I blink. “Only the woefully ignorant ones.”
Freddie mimes being shot in the heart and we chuckle. “Wow! Consider me told.”
The pink-haired barista appears out of nowhere with our coffees and sets them down on the table. As they leave, Freddie stares at his latte with thinly veiled scepticism.
“It’s a one-shot vanilla latte, about as mild as you can get,” I reassure him. “It’s what teenagers drink when they want to seem cool. Think of it like a gateway drug.”
Freddie nods and, slowly, lifts the cup to his mouth and takes the tiniest of sips.
“Well?” I ask as he swallows.
“Huh.” Freddie smacks his lips. “That’s not bad, actually.” He takes another sip. “Yeah, I don’t hate that. Tastes kinda like an ice-cream cone.”
He’s making an effort, so I resist the urge to berate him for equating the flavour of this artfully crafted mix of top-quality ingredients to something I often see children feed to seagulls.
“I used to drink these at uni when I wanted to fit in with the cool kids,” I admit.
Freddie narrows his eyes. “Wait, so you didn’t always like coffee?”
“Well, not when I was achild. But when I left home, I jumped on the bandwagon and never got off.” I take a sip of my macchiato. It’s divine. The milk is silky smooth, the espresso rich like cocoa. “Ithought learning to like coffee was something everyone did when they left home. A rite of passage.”
Freddie shrugs. “Guess I never made it that far.”
I cock my head. “You didn’t go to college?”
“Nope.”
“Oh. I thought maybe music or something?”
Freddie shakes his head. “Self-taught, mostly. My mum taught me to sing, back when she was still around.”
His gaze drops, his smile growing sad.
“I see. Is she…?” I probe.
“Yeah. Cancer. A little while ago now. I helped look after her towards the end. We both did, Rory and I. He was the grown-up, but I chipped in where I could.”
My heart aches for him. I count myself lucky to have never lost anyone close. From the way he’s talking, I’m guessing he was a teenager when she died. Suddenly my problems seem incredibly pedestrian. I can’t imagine losing my mum at all, never mind at such a young age.
“I’m so sorry, Freddie. We can talk about something else.”
He looks up, his eyes glassy. “I don’t mind. I try to remember her as much as I can. Illness aside, I don’t have a single bad memory of her. She was awesome. Like seriously awesome. I had the coolest mum in the world. Even when she, you know, started to fade or whatever,” his voice catches but his smile only broadens, “she never stopped being a rad mum.”
