Change of Address

by Jordan S. Brock

  So he cut through the living room to the front of the barn, shoved his feet into his sneakers, and let Kaylee out. She was too well trained to run away, and without her service dog vest, she was free to do as she liked. She promptly disappeared into the fog, and Michael knew she was rolling around on the wet grass.

  The morning was chilly and damp. The dark-blue sky was streaked with gray clouds. Rain later today? Maybe. Which meant he should make sure he had rain jackets for himself and Kaylee in his bag, a small towel, maybe an umbrella—and he’d need to bring Kaylee’s boots, because nobody liked muddy paws.

  “Kaylee! Better go now!” he yelled into the fog. Sometimes she got too distracted by grass to remember to visit a convenient tree, and he wanted to get into the shower, then change into actual clothes. If it wasn’t six o’clock yet, it would be once he got to town.

  Michael had no idea what time it was when he walked into Bagel End. All he knew was that it was after six, which was good enough. On the fog-obscured walk into town, he’d started to worry that he would end up lurking outside the shop like a bagel-obsessed stalker. His sense of time had been off since moving up north.

  As soon as Michael sent Kaylee through the door, the now-familiar smell of fresh bagels hit. The tension in his chest and shoulders eased.

  The bell brought Josh out of the kitchen at a fast walk. Michael went tense all over again until he saw Josh’s smile, bright enough to burn through the fog outside.

  “Morning, Michael,” Josh said when he made it to the near end of the counter, by the cash register. He leaned over and said, “Hi, Kaylee. Or should I not say hi to her?”

  Michael had snapped at people for distracting Kaylee when she was working, but not Josh. He shrugged and brought Kaylee over to the counter—too far away for Josh to actually touch her, but Michael pointed to Josh and told her, “Say hi,” anyway. She sat and looked up at Josh, mouth hanging open in a doggie grin.

  “She’s just gorgeous, isn’t she?” Josh said, shaking his head.

  Michael scratched at her ears, sneaking a couple of quick looks at Josh’s profile. Cute. Definitely cute. From his curved lips to his round cheeks to the faint crinkles around his eyes . . . and his curls, natural and a little messy, without a hint of product to make them crunchy or sticky to the touch.

  When the silence stretched on too long—at least three full seconds—Michael asked, “Am I early? The door was unlocked.”

  Josh laughed and pushed himself upright again to meet Michael’s eyes. “It’s six fifteen. You’re good.”

  That was a relief. Fifteen minutes after opening was respectable. “Good. Okay.”

  “You didn’t set an alarm this morning?” Josh put on a suspicious look, eyes narrowed, but his mouth was twitching. “Are you always up at this hour?”

  I was up two hours ago, Michael thought, though he didn’t say it. “Yeah, old habits and everything. It was barely starting to get light when I got out of bed.”

  “Same.” When Josh frowned, his nose crinkled up, and Michael had to look away or risk giving him another stupid grin. “I’ve been up for hours, but I have the excuse of making bagels. Speaking of which . . .” He gestured back to the kitchen. “Want to come back with me? Your breakfast will be a good twenty seconds fresher, and seconds count.”

  Michael’s heart skipped. There it was, his first hint that this might be more than just a friendly attempt at making him into a regular customer. There was interest in that offer, maybe even playful flirtation. But tempted as he was to say yes, he looked down at Kaylee and shook his head. “We can’t. She’s not allowed in a food-prep area.” And while he was positive that Kaylee would lie down on her blanket under a table and not move from her spot, he wasn’t ready to be away from her. Cute and friendly and, yeah, hot as Josh was, he was also a stranger.

  One who wasn’t about to let a little thing like health codes get in the way, judging by how his smile didn’t fade. “Then I’ll just have to bring it out nice and quick. Go sit down. You want coffee? Water?”

  This felt halfway like a date, halfway like a transaction, leaving Michael feeling awkward. He nodded, glancing a bit longingly at the coffeepot. “Coffee, yeah. Please. But you don’t have to do anything—”

  “Uh-uh,” Josh interrupted, pointing at him in warning before turning to fill a large Styrofoam cup with life-giving coffee. “Bubbe would claw out of her grave if I let someone go hungry, and going without caffeine counts.”

  Struggling not to laugh, Michael asked, “‘Bubbe’?”

  “Yiddish for my dad’s grandma.” Josh handed over the coffee with a grin, then headed for the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, “Four feet tall, three feet wide, a terror in the kitchen. Didn’t speak a word of English! Taught my dad everything he knows about cooking. Sit!”

  Unable to hold back, Michael laughed and called back, “Yes, sir!”

  For a breakfast bagel sandwich, Josh just had to fry or scramble an egg, add cheese, cook up some meat, and then assemble, but that was simple. Too simple? He wasn’t great at making exotic dinners—and the less said about his roasts or skill with a barbecue, the better—but he could do breakfasts. French toast, omelets, the perfect scramble, pancakes, feather-light crepes, quiches that didn’t collapse, even frittatas.

  But Michael was expecting a breakfast bagel sandwich. Josh couldn’t just surprise him, right?

  He could improvise, though. After all, half of running a restaurant—even a bagel place—was presentation. Okay, maybe a quarter.

  Josh rattled through the cupboards to find one of the small frying pans he used to use back when they’d had a gas burner cooktop instead of a flattop grill. He gave it a rinse, dried it, then set some butter to melting. He’d scramble the eggs in that, add some cheese and chopped scallions to make a quasi-omelet, then bring the eggs out so Michael could assemble the sandwich himself, or eat the eggs separately. And instead of toasting the bagel in the toaster, he’d use the flattop and fry it with butter. No way was Michael counting calories.

  Humming now that he had a plan, Josh got to cooking, glad for the two cups of coffee he’d had before he started chopping and frying. Bacon sizzled and butter hissed, and Josh’s stomach growled.

  The six-to-seven hour was all but dead. He’d finished the morning’s baking, and while there were things he could do, there were always things to be done. He was a manager and co-owner. Nothing was stopping him from having breakfast—though his food was about three minutes behind schedule, even if he went with something simple.

  Two more eggs hit the flattop, along with a sausage patty and another everything bagel. He flipped and scraped, then shoved his eggs and sausage over to the cooler side to cook slowly while he assembled Michael’s breakfast on a tray, the still-hot frying pan resting on a folded kitchen towel to keep it from melting the plastic. He added a napkin and plasticware, kind of wishing he and his dad had splurged on a bigger dishwasher to handle actual ceramics and silverware.

  Ah, well. If this morning went well, maybe Josh could suggest a proper restaurant for a date.

  Is this a date?

  He froze in the kitchen doorway, hoping to hell that he wasn’t reading too much into last night and this morning. Then he spotted the empty table in the corner by the front window. The one he was already thinking of as Michael’s table.

  Why wasn’t he there? Had he run off? Had he intentionally come in just to get Josh’s hopes up, knowing he’d crush them by walking out?

  No. No, he was nice. Maybe there’d been an emergency with his dog or—

  “Josh?”

  The scrape of a chair from a back table, right beside the counter pass-through door, startled Josh into nearly dropping the tray. Michael was standing there, his dog lying in a C shape around the center post of the table.

  Josh’s laugh bubbled with relief. “Hey. Need more coffee? Let me get you a refill. Here. I didn’t know if you’d want to put it together yourself, so—skillet.” He hooked a foot under the pass-through do
or and pulled it open, giving a twist to catch it behind his leg; navigating the store with his hands full had been one of the first things he’d mastered, back in elementary school, when he helped out on weekends.

  Michael intercepted him on the other side of the counter. He took the tray, and for a few breathless seconds, they had their hands an inch apart, eyes locked, standing so close that Josh could practically feel his body heat.

  “Thanks,” they both said at the same instant. Then they laughed, and Josh relinquished the tray.

  “Want me to get you that refill?” he offered, following Michael to the table. He was pleased to see the cup was half-empty already.

  “Please.” Michael’s hand shook as he put down the tray. Josh had to stop himself from reaching out to help. He’d tried that with his father once, during chemo, and had gotten his head bitten off.

  Did that tremor have to do with whatever Michael needed the service dog for? He didn’t seem to have difficulty walking, and Josh hadn’t seen him drive a car. Nothing was parked on the foggy street outside.

  Distracted, Josh took the Styrofoam cup behind the counter, only to catch the smell of burning dough from the kitchen. He swore, abandoned the cup, and ran into the kitchen, where he spotted smoke curling up from under his bagel. He flipped the bagel halves, revealing charred dough. Another flip sent the burnt former bagel over to the side to cool so it wouldn’t scorch through the trash bag.

  He did a quick count of the remaining everything bagels, verifying that he wouldn’t be cutting into Michael’s baker’s dozen. He wouldn’t, but there was no time for toasting. And shit! He’d forgotten Michael’s coffee.

  He took one of the bagels with him and dropped it into the automatic slicer on the way to the coffeepot. What the hell was wrong with him? He could keep a dozen orders straight in his head without writing a single note, but two breakfasts—one of them his!—had him completely scatterbrained.

  No, not the breakfasts. Michael. Hot Tourist Guy, who was actually Hot Nice Tourist Guy, who was actually showing an interest in Josh.

  Okay. Deep breath, Josh told himself, pausing for a few critical, calming seconds. Well, not so calming. Not while Michael was waiting for his coffee refill. Josh went back out to the coffeepot, where he dumped the old cup and poured Michael a fresh one.

  He brought it over to the table, saying, “Sorry. I was making myself breakfast. House rules: you can burn your own food, but not a customer’s. Or a guest’s.” He put down the coffee with a smile.

  “You haven’t eaten?” Michael glanced from Josh to the tray and back. “Do you want . . .” He pointed at the opposite seat.

  Yes! Trying not to grin in triumph, Josh said, “Sure. Thank you. Let me just go rescue my eggs. And should I put up that extra bacon for Kaylee now or later? You said you don’t feed her in restaurants, right?”

  “Yeah. I mean, no. But you should eat before you get busy. Kaylee can wait. We’re actually not . . .” A curious expression crossed Michael’s face. When Josh just looked at him, Michael shook his head and said, “Go, get your food. We have time.”

  “Okay. Be right back.” Josh let some of his happiness show in his smile as he added, “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Okay, nothing caught fire,” Josh said as he settled across the table from Michael. He’d been in a rush to get back, so he hadn’t bothered putting his sandwich together. He started now, both to have something to do with his hands and so he wouldn’t stare at Michael like a lovestruck teenager.

  Michael laughed quietly. “Was that a possibility?” he asked, picking up his coffee cup.

  “Not usually, no, but mornings kind of suck.” Josh hadn’t ripped the soft insides out of his bagel to make room for the eggs, sausage, and cheese, so he had to crush the sandwich under his palm to make it manageable. It was habit, the type of thing he did whenever he had lunch at the shop instead of going out, and only when he actually lifted the sandwich did he realize how it looked. Here he was, stuffing his face as if he didn’t already have enough padding around his middle, sitting across from a skinny, hot, well-muscled, really hot guy who probably usually lived on wheatgrass and flaxseed smoothies.

  Then the voice of reason asserted itself, reminding Josh that Michael also ate bagel sandwiches for breakfast and pizza for dinner. Josh took his first bite, feeling better about the whole thing, even if his bagel wasn’t properly toasted.

  Michael sipped his coffee, closing his eyes for a moment. The sight of his long, dark lashes made Josh forget his self-consciousness, especially when Michael’s eyes opened again. “For a guy who thinks mornings suck, you’re pretty awake.”

  Josh made a show of looking over his shoulder at the deserted shop and the foggy, empty sidewalk beyond the window. Then, lowering his voice, he admitted, “The first pot I make, at 4 a.m.? I’ve got a stash of beans hidden in the office. Double the normal caffeine. It tastes disgusting, even with those flavored syrups, but it sure as hell wakes you up.”

  “Sounds like rocket fuel. And you drink that stuff every day?” Michael shook his head. “That could kill you.”

  Was it time for some awkward truths? No, too soon. Josh temporized, swallowing a huge bite of his bagel before saying, “My dad usually opens. Most days, I come in for the eleven to closing shift, unless he needs a day off or goes down to see his relatives in Brooklyn.”

  Thank God, Michael didn’t latch on to Josh’s unusual recent behavior. “Brooklyn, huh? I don’t hear an accent . . .”

  “I don’t go there very much, but Dad grew up there.” Josh almost mentioned his mom, but he didn’t want to wreck the happy mood. “He goes back every few months to see his sister and their kids. They have a deli too, so I think they have bake-offs after hours. He always comes back with refinements to his recipes.”

  Michael’s smile turned wistful, then vanished. “That must be nice.” He picked up his sandwich and took a bite.

  What? Josh wondered. The family connection? Michael had said he was staying here alone . . . Where was the rest of his family? The Baldwins.

  Before he could be tempted to ask about the governor, he said, “In fact, I’m going to be working on a new recipe myself in the next few days. Maybe you could help with the taste tests? It’s your fault.”

  “Huh?” Michael blinked and swallowed. “My fault?”

  Josh grinned. “You introduced me to Kaylee. I’ve seen these crunchy bagel treats for dogs. I was going to start experimenting, maybe make some flavored ones, see which ones she likes best. Then we can start a whole new product line.”

  “Oh.” A hint of color showed on Michael’s cheeks as he leaned back, looking under the table. Kaylee hadn’t moved, except for her tail, which was thumping against Josh’s leg. “Okay, yeah. She doesn’t have any food allergies. Some dogs are allergic to wheat or other stuff.”

  “Good to know.” Josh eyed the bagel counter, with its wire baskets full of today’s and yesterday’s baking. “Wonder if I can make bagels with oat flour. I think that’s one of the gluten-free substitutes. Think they’d taste okay?”

  “For us or for them?” Michael sat back up and picked up his coffee. “You wouldn’t believe what she used to eat as a puppy.”

  Josh laughed. “More for them than for us. Though I was also thinking of doing bagel chips. Kind of like pretzels, only with bagels instead.”

  “Those sound good. If you need a taste tester, I’ll”—Michael hesitated, looking past Josh, smile vanishing—“volunteer.”

  Josh turned back just as the bell rang and a customer walked in. Candace something, a teacher at the elementary school, usually in twice a week around seven. “Be right back,” he told Michael, snatching one last sip of coffee before he headed around the counter with a wave for Candace. She didn’t usually have a complicated order—bagel, cream cheese, coffee—but her arrival signaled the start of the morning rush, which also meant whoever was on the schedule for mornings would be in soon. Hopefully very soon, so Josh would have a chance to get back to Mich
ael and their maybe-date.

  “We should go,” Michael muttered to Kaylee, though she caught the inflection in his voice and didn’t move from where she’d sprawled. She must have picked up on his relaxed mood, because her only reaction to approaching customers was to lift her head. Most of them didn’t even notice her.

  The shop wasn’t crowded, but business was brisk, with a handful of customers at the counter at any given time. Josh’s staff seemed efficient, dispensing bagels and coffee and the occasional deli order without delay, and they knew most customers by name. Josh trusted them enough to sneak back to the table whenever there was a free moment, so he could take a bite of his surely cold sandwich or offer Michael a refill of coffee.

  “You really don’t have to,” Michael said the fifth time Josh asked. “This is— I mean, you’re working.”

  “It’s okay,” Josh assured him. “This should taper off around seven thirty, then pick up again around ten to eight. Unless you had something to do? You don’t have to sit around here waiting—”

  “No,” Michael cut in, all but gripping the table to keep from getting thrown out, which was ridiculous. But the thought of going back to the empty, lonely barn filled him with dread, and it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do. At all. Ever. “I was thinking . . . When do you get off work?”

  “Technically, any time after the lunch rush, but I usually end up staying late. If you tell me you have an idea that’s more exciting than doing inventory, I’ll—” Color tinted Josh’s cheeks and ears. “I’ll be grateful.”

  Not what he was going to say, Michael thought, struggling not to grin—or blush, for that matter. Josh was interested. He had to be interested. Michael’s first foray into civilian dating that didn’t involve a gay nightclub was, so far, a success.

  So far. Since the morning rush started, he’d been racking his brain to think of what else he and Josh could do. Hartsbridge Island was full of tourist attractions—Birchwhite House, a handful of old churches, the museum, the marina, and so on—but Josh lived here. He had to have seen everything. And while Michael knew of some nice places on the mainland, he didn’t think he could handle another extended drive, even as a passenger. Not after yesterday.