Page 1 of Animal Instincts
ONE
Joss peeked around the door and sighed in relief. Good, no sign of Charles. If he was quick, he could get away with it. At almost 9.40am it was the fourth time he’d been late this month, which wouldn’t be so bad if the month hadn’t only been a week old.
All he needed to do was make a dash for the door markedStaff Only, dump his backpack, then slip behind the counter and he’d be home and dry. Joss shot across the café, all his focus on his goal. His palm hit the door, it swung open, he was—
“Joss. I’m delighted you can join us this morning.” Charles’ upper class drawl, so different from the broad West Country accent of the surrounding area, stopped Joss dead in his tracks.
“I, er…”
Joss winced, and squeezed his eyes closed for a second. Had that strangled croak really come from him?
Joss turned to face Charles, whose well-groomed brows arched in question. Charles didn’t seem to be angry, or even irritated; instead he appeared resigned to Joss’ habitual tardiness, as though it were expected, which somehow seemed worse.
“I’m really sorry, Charles, but Bingo threw up—”
“Bingo?”
“My dog. He ate too much of Gran’s slipper. Again. It upset his tummy, and erm…” Joss stumbled into silence.
“What am I going to do with you, Joss?”
“Not sack me, I hope.”
Oh no…Did that count as giving lip to the boss?
“That’s exactly what I should be doing. But…” Charles’ gaze swept around the café, and Joss tracked its course.
Declan, the senior barista and supervisor, was laughing with a customer as he made their drink. A few of the tables were taken, their occupants chatting over lattes and croissants under the low, wonky ceiling of the old whitewashed building.
“Come here.” Charles ushered Joss into one of the many little nooks, giving them a measure of privacy.
They were out of earshot of everyone, but Charles lowered his voice anyway.
“Joss, I’m not going to dismiss you, even though I’ve good reason to. You’re popular with the customers, and that’s important, but you need to be popularon time.”
Joss’ shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, I really am.”
Charles’ sigh was long and loud. “Maybe I should adjust your hours? If you start at nine-thirty rather than nine o’clock, and take half hour for lunch instead of an hour, perhaps that would help? We could see how that goes. After all, you don’t seem to have any trouble getting here for nine-thirty. Usually.”
Joss glanced up through the fall of his dark blond fringe. A tiny smile tugged at the edges of Charles’ lips, and some of the tension leeched from Joss’ muscles. He was being thrown an undeserved lifeline, and he had no intention of letting go.
“Thank—thank you,” Joss stuttered out. “I really appreciate it. I promise—”
Charles flicked his hand, as though he were flicking away a smudge of dust from his dark, sharply tailored and no doubt wildly expensive suit.
“Just get yourself behind the counter.”
Charles looked at his watch, and a wide grin spread across his face. Joss didn’t have to wait more than a second to find out why.
“Love Writing will be starting at ten o’clock. You’ll be looking after them this morning. Think of it as your penance.” Charles’ grin widened, giving his finely drawn features a foxy look. “We’ll start your change in hours from tomorrow. Look sharp, Joss, Love’s Harbour’s very own resident literary lovies are already arriving.”
* * *
“I’m not sure keeping my job is a good thing, not if I have to deal with that lot in there.” Joss nodded towards the semi-private side room at the far side of the café.
The Community Room, as Charles insisted on calling it, was available for hire at a nominal charge by the many groups which had sprung up in Love’s Harbour over the last four or five years, a period which coincided with an influx of newcomers leaving their city lives behind as they sought a new life on the south Devonshire coast. Although why anybody would really want to leave an exciting life in London, or Manchester, or even Bristol or Exeter, much closer to hand, for the former fishing village, Joss had no idea. If he could leave, if he could find his break that would free him from the community where he’d been born and raised, he’d grab it with both hands and run as fast as he could. Not that he hadn’t been trying, but the opportunity he so desperately needed always seemed just out of his grasp.
“Charles let you off lightly, and you know it,” Declan said quietly, as he pulled a bottle of caramel syrup from the shelf. “Verylightly. So don’t grouse about the lovies.”
