Page 6 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
“Come on boy, let’s get you a pup cup.” Peanut’s tail wagged hard at the mention of the promised treat.
Arlo and Peanut settled into a corner table in one of the many coffee shops that had sprung up in the Creek. It was busy, with locals and visitors, families and groups of friends, and those on their own with headphones glued to their heads as they tapped away at laptops.
“Hey, Arlo?”
Arlo looked up and over at the counter, his order — and Peanut’s — held up by a smiling barista. Instructing Peanut to behave, Arlo made his way across. The guy’s smile widened as his gaze traveled down Arlo’s body. Arlo bit back on his groan.
The barista, whose name was Mike or Mick, Arlo could never quite remember, had made his interest clear, but Arlo always sidestepped the light flirting. The guy was good looking, tall like he himself was, but his too solid, too gym honed frame wasn’t one that pressed his buttons. Not that he was on the lookout to have any buttons pressed.
Arlo smiled, keeping it bland and polite, hoping Mike or Mick took the hint. He should have tried to get a table at CC’s, which was the best coffee shop in town and where the staff didn’t try to hit on him, but as he’d passed by, there had been a line of people waiting for tables.
Mike or Mick held his black coffee and Peanut’s pup cup just out of reach.
“Saw you at Randy’s last night. Didn’t think that’d be your kind of place.”
“It’s not. But I was meeting a friend, and it’s where he wanted to go.” Arlo shrugged.
“Hank? You go way back, don’t you? All the way to high school? If I’d escaped to New York, not sure I’d be buying a one-way ticket back to the Creek.”
Arlo nodded, but added nothing. Even though the town had grown over the years he’d been away, at its heart it was still a small community, a place where everybody knew everybody else and all the lines connecting them. The anonymity of the city didn’t exist in Collier’s Creek, and he’d do well to remember that.
“Hear you got a pitcher of beer thrown over you by that British guy who works in Bibi’s. He’s cute, but seriously weird. He’s been in here a few times. Jeez, that accent.” Mike or Mick laughed and jerked his head towards his co-workers; he leaned forward as though settling down for a long chat. “They love it. One of the girls got him to read out the specials board, but I can’t understand half of what he’s saying. It’s got to be phoney because who speaks like that?”
“Let me get my order, please.”
Mike or Mick’s eyes widened at the snap in Arlo’s voice, and he handed over the order, which Arlo accepted with a tight smile.
Back at the table, as Peanut buried his snout in his creamy treat, Arlo’s mind wandered back to Lucian. He smiled, he just couldn’t help it. There was just something about the guy that brought out the sunshine — even when he’d doused him in beer, or cat’s piss. Arlo chuckled under his breath.
Lucian Arbuthot Blaxston. He pulled out his cell and started to key in the name before his fingers fell still. What the fuck was he doing? He stuffed it back into the side pocket of his jeans.
The guy was cute, just as Mike or Mick had said — no argument there — his awkwardness part of his appeal. He took a quick gulp of coffee, wincing at the burn in his throat. He wasn’t interested in anybody appealing to him, and certainly not a floppy-haired young Englishman with a snub nose scattered with a light dusting of freckles, wide pillowy lips, and deep blue eyes flecked with silver. Not that he’d been deliberately noticing Lucian’s long-lashed eyes, of course, but they were impossible not to, even though the guy wore the ugliest — and wonkiest — glasses Arlo had ever seen.
Yes, Lucian Arbuthnot Blaxston was a cute guy who’d washed up, somehow, in a Wyoming town that was nothing more than a speck on the map. Whatever reason had brought him to the Creek, he’d soon move on, or return home.
Arlo downed the last of his coffee and, pulling away the cardboard cup that had gotten wedged on Peanut’s stubby snout, he left the coffee shop, telling himself he had no reason to spend any time thinking about an awkward young Englishman who was as out of place in this town as he was.
CHAPTERSIX
Mid-Monday morning, the town was quiet as Arlo led Peanut around the town square. He’d stopped several times to look through windows at goods he had no interest in, all the time throwing glances toward the flower store. There’d been no sign of either Bibi or Lucian, or indeed customers. Maybe the place was closed on a Monday? There’d be no harm in checking. As he made his way over, the details of the window display came into full focus.
“Wow.”
It was beautiful. Late summer flowers, intermingled with vibrant greenery in a colorful rainbow that reminded Arlo of a French Impressionist painting, exhibited the artist’s deliberate touch in its seemingly unstructured appearance. He hadn’t before seen anything so eye catching in the window, but then he’d never taken the time to look.
A movement in the store’s interior caught his eye. The young English guy with the craziest name, a quirky smile, and a filter-free mouth was wrapping up a bunch of flowers for a customer. The woman left the shop, and Lucian stepped over to the window and frowned at the display, oblivious to everything else. He moved one small pot of bright flowers, swapping it with another. The frown disappeared as he nodded his approval. He looked up, his eyes growing wide as he met Arlo’s. A smile broke out on his face, as bright as the sunny, summery flowers.
Arlo’s hand tightened on Peanut’s leash, as a wave of unfamiliar uncertainty engulfed him. He could nod and move on, a friendly gesture to somebody he knew in passing. It was what he should do, but his legs had other ideas as they kept him rooted to the spot.
Lucian ducked out of view and a second later the door opened and he came out, the smile on his face making the already warm day move up another notch on the thermometer.
“Hello again. This display’s been bugging me. There was something not quite right, but then it came to me, and a tiny tweak to the composition has made all the difference. You can see that, can’t you?”
Lucian was looking up at him, his face eager, his deep blue eyes pure puppy dog, waiting for Arlo to agree.
“I…” Arlo wrenched his gaze from Lucian’s to the window display. The change was subtle, but it had made all the difference. “It has. There’s more balance. There’s a symmetry that wasn’t there before.”
Lucian’s eyes widened further. “You noticed that? Most people wouldn’t. They’d know it was better than before, but not why.” He laughed. “I’m guessing you’re not a floral artist, but you must be another kind. A painter, perhaps?”
