Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Owen

L ike most millennials, a ringing phone was my worst nightmare.

Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t let it go to voicemail then Google the number. Not with this phone, anyway. When this one rang, it meant someone needed help. So not only was I going to have to deal with speaking to another person when all I wanted to do was slump on the sofa and watch sitcoms, I was going to have to leave my cosy warm house and go to work.

All with an impending storm rolling in.

On Christmas Eve.

Needless to say, my tone when I answered was gruff. “Owen.”

“Umm…no, it’s not Owen.”

The timid voice was familiar. Could it be? “No, I meant you’ve reached Owen.”

It sounded like the caller pulled the phone away from his ear, cursing. “Of fucking course he wasn’t calling you Owen. Honestly, what is wrong with you?!”

A grin broke out across my face. Oh yes, that was very familiar.

“Sorry,” he said when he finally brought the phone back to his face. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d heard everything he’d said. I knew from my morning visits that it took very little for me to make Rory uncomfortable.

Much to my dismay.

“How can I help, Rory? Is everything okay?” I was already heading for the door, grabbing my work boots.

There was a long pause. “Did I say it was me?”

I put him on speaker so I could use both hands. “Nope, but I know your voice.”

“You do? I didn’t think you paid that much attention.”

I huffed, glad he couldn’t see me. Not paying attention to Rory was the opposite of the problem I had. “Rory, what’s wrong?”

“Oh,” he said distractedly, like he’d forgotten his reason for calling. “I have a flood in my kitchen. I think a pipe’s burst but I don’t know where it is.”

“Have you turned off the stopcock?”

He was silent for so long that I checked to see if the call had disconnected. “Rory? You there?”

Rory cleared his throat. “Umm…yeah.”

“So… the stopcock?”

“See, you’ve said it again, and I can’t decide if I’m hearing things or not.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to hold in my laughter. “It’s the tap that turns off your main water supply.”

“Why the fuck is it called a stopcock? It makes it sound like someone has taken their flaccid penis and inserted it into…” Rory’s voice trailed off for a beat before he started babbling. “Shit, I can’t believe I said that. Can you please forget about it?”

I finished lacing one boot up and switched to the other. “Got it—no thinking about flaccid penises around Rory.”

Again, I usually had the opposite problem around Rory.

There was a noise like he was knocking his head against a wall. I winced. Shit. I should’ve kept my trap shut. I’d learned long ago how uncomfortable I made the shy barista.

I hated it .

“Sorry, Rory.” I aimed for a more professional tone. “Lots of people don’t know that’s what it’s called. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. Do you know where it is?”

“I think so.” His voice was muffled, like he had this hand covering his face. “I think it’s under the kitchen sink.”

“That’s the most common place.” I grabbed my keys and opened the front door. “Have a look, and if you can see it, twist it to the opposite position from what it’s in now.”

“Okay.” Rory sighed. “I’ll try and find it. I guess I can cope without water until Boxing Day. I’ve got a few bottles in the fridge and a full Brita filter. Do you have time to fit me in then? Can’t say I’ll be smelling very good, but I’ll manage.”

My brows shot up. “Rory, I’m literally getting in my van now. I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes. Assuming you give me your address, that is. I know you’re up on the mountain, but not where.”

“Oh,” Rory squeaked before clearing his throat. “Um…it’s two Wren’s View.”

“Perfect.” I closed the van door, grateful to be out of the biting wind. “I’ll be there in a few.”

All my annoyance at having to head out into the cold winter’s night had evaporated at the sound of Rory’s voice. Finally, after all this time, I was going to have a chance to chat with him outside of work.

Well, outside of his work. I was very much on the clock…metaphorically, anyway. Even if I couldn’t get an entire sentence out of Rory, there was no way I’d be charging him for this call-out.

I could still remember the first time I saw him. Some guys I’d been on a job with had insisted we stop by the local coffee chain one morning before work. Not being a coffee drinker, I hadn’t been bothered. I wasn’t even sure what had possessed me to go inside.

But, fuck, was I glad I had.

The scent of coffee and sugar rushed over me as I stepped into the busy cafe. With few other options in the rural town, it looked like everyone and their mums had decided this was where they were getting their caffeine fix today.

Just then, the door behind the counter opened, and everything around me seemed to fade away. The man who emerged was beautiful. Far too beautiful to exist in a place as mundane as this. His dark hair lay in curls against his neck, a dimple flashing in his cheek. He was laughing at something his colleague had said, replying in a teasing tone as he donned his apron. Did his eyes always sparkle like that? Or only when he laughed?

Suddenly I was desperate to find out.

Although I’d come out as bisexual a few years before, I hadn’t dated many men. Life in rural Wales didn’t offer a lot of options on that front. My experience in that arena had been limited to hook-ups and short-lived romances whenever I happened to be in Cardiff or Bristol.

Please don’t let him be straight , I begged silently. Just for once, let me have this .

Not that it’d matter when I couldn’t seem to get my feet moving.

He stepped up to the counter, and that was when he spotted me. His eyes widened before they swept over me. Head to toe. Back again.

There was no missing the spark of heat in his eyes.

The knowledge that I might have a shot hit me like a blast…in turn making my nerves jangle. Could I make conversation without fucking up?

I moved towards the counter on autopilot, like this man was a tractor beam, pulling me in. It wasn’t until I drew close and saw his lips parting and eyes darting uncertainly that I realised I was staring. Well, gawking, if I was being honest. I flushed and forced myself to stare at the counter. Talk about making a wrong impression.

He asked me for my order and I panicked. I didn’t drink coffee or eat much junk food. What the fuck was I supposed to order?

Not wanting to drag it out any longer and embarrass myself further, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind — my mum’s coffee order. “Vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin, please. ”

Unfortunately, my nerves had the words coming out in a jumble that even I struggled to hear.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Fuck, even his voice was beautiful.

I took a steadying breath and forced myself to speak slower. “A vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin, please.”

“What size latte?”

I had no idea. It wasn’t like I was going to drink it. “Small, please.”

As he twisted to get a cup, I risked a glance upwards, just long enough to glimpse the name on his badge.

Rory.

His hand was trembling slightly as he placed my order before me. I frowned. Had I made him uncomfortable?

I curled in on myself instinctively. I was a bigger guy and covered in tattoos. Everything about me screamed intimidating, and I knew that. I knew it and I hated it.

I was a lover, not a fighter.

It was a blow to realise I’d somehow fucked it up with this cute barista before it could really begin.

I’d scurried out of there, keeping my gaze fixed to the floor. The whole day though, I couldn’t shake the image of him from my mind.

The next morning, I stepped back inside the coffee shop and placed the same order.

Five days a week for eighteen months, I’d bought a vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin that I knew I wouldn’t consume. It wasn’t like it went to waste though. Paul, a homeless bloke who often frequented the doorway beside the coffee shop, was always happy to take them off my hands. It made me feel a little less weird about the whole situation. I wasn’t buying stuff I didn’t need just to get a glimpse of Rory, I was helping Paul have some sustenance.

Yeah, even to my ears it sounded flimsy.

Still, it was a shamefully long time to be hung up on someone and make zero progress. It wasn’t that I hadn’t tried. There’d been a few visits where I’d managed to extract a few words from Rory. The problem was that whenever that happened, it had an unfortunate effect on him. He’d inevitably drop whatever he was holding, turning scarlet and stammering until I was too scared to say anything else.

A few months ago, Rory had tripped behind the counter, falling flat on his face. Without even thinking about what I was doing, I’d hustled around to pick him up and dust him off. With his trembling body in my hands, the words I’d been struggling to form had tumbled out of me like water.

I’d asked him to dinner.

And he’d said no.

He’d been polite about it, but it had been obvious he was mortified by my attentions. From then on, I’d kept conversation to a minimum. Rory’s answer had been clear—he wasn’t interested.

But now, sitting in my van, I couldn’t help my excitement over seeing him outside of his workplace. Sure, I’d glimpsed him around the village occasionally, but he always scurried away in the opposite direction.

Keep it cool, Owen. Don’t scare the guy even more than you already have.

I turned the key. The engine sputtered, and nothing more. Frowning, I tried again. More sputters.

Please don’t let this be an omen.

On the third attempt, the engine caught. Revving it a few times, I sighed in relief before pulling off my drive.

Time for my date with a leaky pipe and a few hours in Rory’s company.

I whistled cheerily, my mood not even dampened by the ominous clouds overhead. Merry Christmas to me indeed.