Hearts Repaired

by Caraway Carter

She glanced across the room to where he’d been staring. “Lost in thoughts of Thomas Drake?”

  “Who’s Thomas Drake?”

  “That man you were lost in.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of him—he’s a little out of my league.” I shouldn’t be thinking of men I can’t get or deserve to get or…

  “Either way, can you brew a coffee for him? Four glasses of wine is a little too much, even for him.”

  “It’s been five.”

  “But you weren’t thinking about him?” She patted his shoulder.

  “I was thinking that wine isn’t what he should drink now.” Brodie opened a drawer, scooped a couple spoons of dark, oily beans into a hand grinder and began the process of cracking them and breaking them down.

  “Why don’t you use an electric grinder?”

  “Because I want to choose how chunky or fine I want the beans to be.” Brodie nodded in Drake’s direction. “He needs a cup of brew from the press.” He turned the handle a few more times and then pulled out the drawer to reveal a coarse grind. Moving the silver pot closer to him, he flipped the switch on the small stove top to boil a small pan of water.

  Vanessa stood and watched him.

  “The process, the order… It’s a ritual I love.”

  “But all the work that goes into one cup of coffee? Isn’t it all too much?”

  “Yes.” Brodie pointed out each item around him as he spoke. “One of the first things you should do is heat the cups and glass press, just simply by rinsing them with hot water.” He measured the grounds and shook them into the press. “You have to do this from a height, but you have to be careful to not be too high or you have grounds all over the place.” He poured the hot water over the dark, cracked pile. “When you begin pouring, you move in a circle over the press—see how the water is rising slowly to the top?”

  Brodie’s arm dangled above as the water flowed over the coffee, and then the darkening began. He slid in the teak spoon, sluicing through the water and coffee. Like the first time he’d had sex, he propelled the wood around, teased the edges, gathered momentum and speed, and pulled out.

  “That’s mesmerizing,” Vanessa said.

  “It is. It’s like a dance, like a spiritual feeling, a sense of order and oneness with the drink. It’s one of my favorite brews.” Brodie looked up at Vanessa as he poured, their eyes watching the way the water danced and bubbled. “You see the dance?”

  She nodded her head, sighing. “It is beautiful, the way the grounds rise up to move around in the whirlpool, as though they are welcoming the change that will occur.” She looked around to see if anyone overheard her, a blush rising in her face.

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes. You do get it Vanessa.” He smiled, and it took a moment before they parted and went about their duties.

  He left the concoction while he cleaned up, with one eye on the clock, and started a latte for a walk-up. A short time later, he placed the lid with the plunger on top. With the press in the palm of his hand, he lowered the mechanism in slow-motion, pulled the cup close, and poured, stopping to add a small amount of heavy cream before he topped the cup with the coffee.

  He finished the latte and handed it to the customer, took her money and as she walked away, he shouted across the room, “Tommy, your coffee is ready.”

  ***

  His lips trailed down my neck, the mustache and beard softer than I’d expected. The tip of his tongue brushed a circle every other kiss, and as my eyelids fluttered open, I heard a thick gravel voice say,

  “Tommy, your coffee is ready.”

  Those lips pulled away from Thomas’s skin. Glass in hand, he sauntered to the bar. The stem slipped between his middle and ring finger, the last dribbles of red dripping onto his pant leg. He approached Vanessa and the bear of a man at the counter. Most nights he and Vanessa exchanged a volley of humorous insults, but tonight his eyes weren’t focused on her, they were on Brodie. He flipped the glass over, and Vanessa grabbed it in the nick of time.

  “I didn’t order coffee.”

  “Right, Thomas. Brodie and I decided it was time.” Vanessa pointed at the older guy handing him the coffee.

  “It wasn’t so much that you didn’t order the coffee but that you looked like you needed to order the coffee, and that’s why I made the coffee for you.” The man cocked his head and added, “Tommy.”

  “My name is Thomas.”

  “Right, well...Tommy, my name is Brodie, and I’m not one for formal names. Haven’t you ever had a nickname?”

  Perhaps he’s not everything I made him out to be. Without my wine goggles on, and up close, he’s my dad—an asshole who makes a joke out of everything I do. His beard is a little too wild, and… hell, what was I thinking? He’s not my type at all. “No, no one has ever called me anything other than Thomas.” Except that asshole who had a hand in getting Mom pregnant.

  “Well, maybe now’s the time. You don’t look much like a Tom, so I figure, deep down inside you is Tommy just trying to come out.”

  Thomas burst into laughter. “Hell, I came out twenty-five years ago. I’m as out as they get.”

  Brodie turned and handed Vanessa a delicate glass mug. When he looked up, Thomas thought he grinned. “Hmm, I’d say that makes you about thirty-nine?”

  Thomas was sobering up. He didn’t come here to be made fun of by his dad, even if looking at the man made his insides roil with desire. Part of the reason he remained leaning against the bar, taking sips from his coffee, was the fact that he’d gotten hard just hearing the guy call him Tommy.

  He fumbled his cell phone up on the counter and thumbed through his contacts, past the Toms, Dicks, and even a Harry or two, before finally landing on Lawrence. Pushing the button, he drunk-typed a message.

  Law… I’m sobering up. Stop by and remind me why I thought sleeping with Kyle was a smart thing to do? He leaned on the bar, his hand wrapped around the hot coffee. “Brodie? What kind of name is Brodie?”

  “It’s Scottish and has its origins in the Pictish and Scottish tongues.”

  With a devilish smirk, Thomas quipped, “I’d like a little Scottish tongue.”

  Brodie’s laugh was broad and loud; it was huge like his presence. “Now, finish that one up, and I’ll get you another, Tommy. If you need some alcohol, I’ll create a little favorite of mine. And it doesn’t have any of that sissy whipped cream. You want one?”

  “I might like the sissy whip cream because it’s cream…” Why am I flirting? Was that flirting? Why am I flirting with a man the same age as my dad? Questions … more and more. His phone dinged. “Sure, get me two. I’ve got a friend dropping by.”

  Brodie’s expression changed from one of interest to one of loss. “Just finish that one, and I’ll have Vanessa bring over the next.” Brodie turned his back, and Thomas carried the cup to the oversized blue sofa, taking a spot in the corner where he’d get a perfect view of the muscles under Brodie’s white shirt, but could keep an eye out for Lawrence coming in the door.

  And what a sexy muscular back Brodie had. The back and shoulders made up for the lackluster front of him. The apron covered what hid behind the jeans he wore, but a man who worked hard and had such strong muscles… Thomas was confident the pants held a package he’d enjoy opening.

  Everything fell into place; Lawrence walked in, and Vanessa met him with a cup. “For you, my friend.”

  Lawrence took the cup and walked with her towards the couch. “What’s this?”

  “Brodie made it special for us. It has alcohol, and it’s not a sissy drink.” Thomas reached up for the cup from Vanessa.

  “What’s in it? I thought you liked sissy—I mean, wasn’t that what you saw in Nick?”

  Vanessa smiled and walked away.

  “I know. I thought I wanted that. Have you met Brodie?”

  “Who’s Brodie?”

  Thomas lifted the cup to his lips, sniffed, and sipped. A smile brightened his face, and he pointed to the tanned arms under the
white dress shirt at the counter. “Brodie is the new barista. I think I’m in love.”

  “He looks to be in his late forties, early fifties.”

  “Ahh, come on. You thought Curtis was in his twenties. You seriously need glasses.”

  “OK, now… Leave Curtis out of this.”

  They both laughed.

  “Only one way to find out.” Lawrence sipped the coffee. “Holy shit, this is strong.”

  “Are you willing to embarrass yourself? It doesn’t matter, he’s not my type, and I’m not his. He calls me Tommy.” Didn’t do anything to me when I said it.

  “Tommy?” Didn’t do anything to me when Lawrence said it.

  “Right. I corrected, but he went on and called me it a couple of times.”

  Lawrence had a good laugh at that. “So, a Daddy is interested in you? Did you tell him you weren’t anyone’s son?”

  “No. I wondered why I felt so strange… Why it felt good.” Thomas took another sip. “Nope, not a sissy drink.”

  “What happened? I thought you were with Nick.”

  “Yeah, Nick was two months ago. I met Kyle at a city luncheon—he’d been invited by vlogger I know.”

  “Are you dating youths now?”

  Thomas laughed. “No, he’s a recent graduate of the USC School of Architecture.”

  “Thomas, you’re losing me. You were with Nick for the longest I’ve known you to date, something like three months.”

  “I know. He got needy. He didn’t like the things I liked.”

  “We saw you at the opera, the theater, and that museum thing…”

  “I meant in bed. He wanted to top, he wanted to take charge. I told him ‘you’re a child; you aren’t the one taking charge.’”

  “Well, he was certainly the youngest you’ve dated. He was what, twenty-three?”

  “Yes, but like the others, he was just there for a recommendation to FIDM so he could get into the design program he wanted. When I said no to that, he left. Or rather, I kicked him out.”

  “And where did Kyle come in?”

  “I was working on some blueprints at BB’s Bite. He stumbled into my table, which knocked my beer over, and he grabbed it before it spilled and destroyed my plans.”

  “And that turned into another relationship?”

  “Not at first. He apologized and reminded me of the city luncheon, then asked what I was doing. I invited him to sit down, and I went over the plans I had for the Daniels project. He saved them, I figured I’d show him what they were for.”

  “And that led to you having a relationship?”

  “I’m setting it up, old man. Do you want me to explain it in detail or just say it lasted for six weeks and then it was over?”

  “Oh, go on, wallow in the misery of your past.” Lawrence smiled.

  “Thank you. A couple of hours went by, talking about buildings and sports. Kyle loves to surf, and he invited me to watch him practice.”

  “Wait, you went to a surfing thing?”

  Thomas shook his head ‘no.’ “I explained that I didn’t have all that much time. He took that to mean I was dying, and lots of laughter later, he walked with me back to my loft. As we rode up the elevator, I pushed the buttons for each of the floors where I’d designed a home.”

  “You took him to your loft?”

  “That’s the story I’m going with. I’m sticking to it.”

  “You seem to be getting over him quite quickly.”

  “It was six weeks of fun, Lawrence. I never did catch his surfing, but he surfed the bed for a good time.”

  “So why is he gone and left you brokenhearted and in lust with a man twice his age, maybe more?”

  “The answer to the second question is far more difficult than the answer to the first. Kyle got clingy. He wanted a relationship. You know me—I’m not a relationship kind of guy. I told him to go back home to his mommy. I had to kick him out.”

  “You gave him a key?”

  “He did have a key, which he gave me back at lunch the other day. However, I’m having Rick change the locks in a couple days. I’m going to be celibate for the unforeseeable future.”

  “I can’t imagine you being a priest.”

  “I’m just so sick of guys wanting to stay. The worst part is I’m nearly finished with the Daniels project. I’ve got nothing to focus on.”

  Lawrence followed to where Thomas was staring. “So, you thought you’d focus on the sexy, hunky barista?”

  Thomas grinned, glancing at Brodie, and sighed.

  Brodie leaned back against the counter and shouted across the room. “What do you think of the coffee, Tommy?”

  It happened again, like a shudder in his foundation. “It’s great,” he squeaked, like he was fourteen and only just discovering he liked boys.

  “Jeez, that man has you wrapped around something,” Lawrence muttered.

  “I don’t understand it, Law. He has to be about my dad’s age. Definitely not my type.”

  Chuckling, Lawrence grabbed a pillow off the couch and tossed it into Thomas’s lap. “You might want to cover up.”

  Thomas rested the coffee cup on top of it. “Oh…shit. He’s walking this way. What do I do?”

  “You’re asking me? I woke up in bed with Curtis because of this place.”

  “If I could be so lucky…”

  Brodie walked over to the two of them. Thomas noticed the frame of the man move across the floor. Imperfect structure with some flaws, like the things that happen to a building over time. Like a bulldozer pushing the dirt away, Brodie strode to the wooden chair and straddled it. They were eye level.

  “I’d like to introduce myself. I’m Brodie James, I’m the owner of this place.”

  “I thought Ethan owned the Brass Lamp,” Lawrence said.

  “Well, he does, but I bought out the coffee bar portion.”

  “I wondered about that.” Thomas couldn’t think of anything else to say. He glanced from those lips, down that beard, to the hair tufting out of the starched white shirt. He frowned when the visual tour was impeded by the chair and then grinned at the thick thighs spread out to the sides as his mind invented what existed behind that chair back.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lawrence glance between them. He could have left them just staring at each other; instead, he took another sip of his drink and coughed. “Could I possibly get another coffee?”

  “Sure.” Brodie nodded and rose, putting pressure on the chair as though he might fall over. “I’ll get right on it.” He turned without looking back and asked, “Tommy, do you need some coffee so you can drive home?”

  “I’m almost finished. Maybe in a minute?” He didn’t want to remove the pillow for fear he’d reveal his growing hardness.

  * * *

  Look for Hearts Redesigned in March 2021.

  About the Author

  Caraway Carter has worn numerous hats. He’s been a furniture salesman, a dresser, a costumer, an actor/waiter, a rabble-rouser, a poet and most recently a writer. He loves words and stringing them together, he loves sex and sexy men, and he writes relationship fiction that reminds you–it’s never too late for love. And he has lived his tagline. He married his husband on Halloween, at the age of forty-nine, and they are the loving parents of an adorable cat named Molly.

  * * *

  www.carawaycarter.com

  Also by Caraway Carter

  7 With 1 Blow

  Aftershock

  In His Arms

  PS

  The Eighth Night

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  Professions of Love

  Hearts Repaired Book 1

  Hearts Redesigned Book 2

  Hearts Reframed Book 3

  Hearts Revised Book 4