The Omega Nanny

by Penelope Peters

  Thomas frowned. “How many customers do you get who have an interest in Kieran?”

  “Ooo, possessive, aren’t we? Here’s your change,” said Tony. “Unless you want me to just drop it in the tip jar?”

  Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. If my tip does not meet your standards, then I’m a skinflint cheapskate who is out to take advantage of Kieran. If I overtip, however, I’m either showing off, wasteful with my money, or clearly trying to bribe you in order to get on your good side.”

  Tony nodded approvingly. “Oh, you’re good.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Thomas, and dropped all of his change into the tip jar. “You can tell Kieran we’re here, but only if it doesn’t disturb what he’s meant to be doing. We’re here for breakfast, not to bother him. Though my daughter would very much like to say hello before we leave, I don’t expect him to be able to sit and chat. I know he has work to do.”

  Behind Tony, Cameron gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

  “Sure thing, Mr. Moneybags,” said Tony cheerfully, handing him his receipt. “Oh, and look at this. You’re order number 69. How prophetic.”

  “Of course I am,” said Thomas, with a sigh, and went to find Connie and Jessie at the table in the corner. The previous occupants were just leaving, laden with coats and hats and laptop bags bulging with papers. The table itself was still covered in napkins and paper cups, which Connie was trying to clear.

  “They said it’s been like this all morning,” said Connie after the previous occupants left.

  “They could have cleaned up their mess,” said Thomas, eyeing the crumbs on the table.

  “I told them we would – they took forever to pile up their papers, and it’s not like our food’s going to come out in the next two minutes.”

  “Oh, here!” cried a pixie-thin girl from behind Thomas, and she darted in. Her bright pink hair was tied up in a metal clip and she wore a Coffee Pot apron over her black shirt and jeans. Sarah, said her nametag. Which meant her name was probably something like Georgia or Eloise. “Let me clear that for you, some people are the worst, so rude, not picking up after themselves, aren’t they?”

  “I did offer,” admitted Connie.

  “Wouldn’t have mattered; I know them. They’re regulars, they never clean up after themselves,” said Sarah, a bit disgustedly. She pulled a damp cloth from her pocket and quickly began to scrub the table down. “Never say hello, never call us by name, pretend they’ve only come in for the first time. And they can never make up their minds what they want when they reach the registers.”

  Thomas tried not to wince. “Well, Sarah, thank you so much for helping with the table.”

  “Ohhh-hhhh,” said Sarah, straightening up and giving Thomas an assessing look. “You can read. That’s handy. Have you read The Omega Mystique? Fascinating book, I could lend you a copy.”

  “Is it a mystery?” piped up Jessie. “Fa likes mysteries.”

  “Have you read Sherlock Holmes?” demanded Sarah. “There’s this great fan theory that he’s actually an omega in hiding – or do you think that omegas are incapable of thinking for themselves?”

  Thomas wondered when – or if – Connie was going to intercede, but a glance showed that Connie was watching with just as much interest as Jessie and Sarah.

  “I’m not sure I would agree with the theory, but I do agree with the sentiment,” said Thomas finally. “I mean, that omegas can think for themselves. Not that they can’t. Of course they can. Absolutely. Is our coffee ready yet?”

  “Can I have some crayons?” asked Jessie, interrupting.

  “Please,” said Connie automatically, eyes still on Thomas and Sarah.

  “Please,” added Jessie, and batted her eyelashes for effect.

  Sarah’s expression went from guarded to amused. Thomas couldn’t tell if she approved of his answer or not. “You bet, sweetie,” she said to Jessie, and pulled a handful of them out of her apron pocket. “I’ll just get you some paper.”

  Thomas collapsed in his chair once Sarah had disappeared. “Maybe we should find a new place for breakfast.”

  “No way,” said Connie, amused. “This is the best entertainment I’ve had all week.”

  Thomas snorted just as Cameron appeared at the table. She set down steaming cups in the center of the table. One ceramic cup was overflowing with whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, and a glistening, bright red cherry on top. One oversized ceramic teacup was gently steaming, releasing the soft and soothing scent of Lady Grey into the air, and there were two macaroon cookies nestled on the saucer next to it.

  And then there was a paper cup, filled to the brim with steaming hot, black coffee. No adornments. No additions. Just coffee.

  Exactly as Thomas liked it. He didn’t trust it for a minute.

  “Just made the cookies this morning,” Cameron said to Connie. “New recipe, tell me what you think, and be honest.”

  “Will do,” said Connie, pleased, and pulled her cup closer.

  “I made yours first, sweetie,” Cameron said to Jessie. “It should be cool enough to drink now, but be careful with the cup. Extra whipped cream.”

  “Ooo,” said Jessie, eagerly reaching for her hot cocoa. “And a cherry.”

  Cameron fixed a steely gaze on Thomas. “Well. Drink up.”

  Thomas eyed the cup of coffee before taking a careful sip.

  It was so hot, he didn’t notice the flavor – not at first. And it did taste like coffee – or at least, he thought it tasted like coffee, once the feeling returned to his taste buds.

  Or rather… it tasted like coffee smelled, which wasn’t the same thing at all. Rich, deep, dark, and incredibly luscious. The flavor wrapped itself around his tongue, straight down into his bloodstream. He could feel the warmth of it down to his toes, the way his blood sang with it.

  It was better than sex.

  Cameron’s arms were crossed as she stared him down, clearly waiting for his assessment. He needed to give it to her, and considering her near-family status according to Kieran, possibly phrased in a way that wasn’t nearly so explicit.

  He also needed to swallow the coffee without burning every inch of his throat. That would mean not tasting the coffee anymore. Thomas wasn’t sure which prospect was worse.

  The conflict must have shown on his face, because Cameron gave a brisk nod. “Excellent,” she pronounced, and went back to the bar.

  Thomas swallowed, already mourning the loss of his larynx, and quickly took another sip. He could see Connie eyeing him above her tea.

  “I think that was approval?” she asked. “Or a test. Maybe a test.”

  Thomas didn’t care. He just kept drinking the coffee.

  “Paper,” announced Sarah, returning with a stack, on top of which was a cookie. Jessie’s eyes gleamed and she reached out for it. “Pancakes are up in a jiff.”

  Thomas swallowed the second mouthful of coffee. “Which is why the cookie can wait,” he said, and picked up the cookie before Jessie could touch it.

  “Awww,” complained Jessie, and looked up at Sarah as if hoping for a second opinion.

  “Don’t worry about it, sweetie,” Sarah consoled her. “Someday you’ll grow up and you can steal his cookies instead.”

  “I didn’t steal her cookie—”

  “Here,” said Sarah, and she slammed a thick book down on the table in front of him. The Omega Mystique. “Bedtime reading. Unless you’re working on the Omega Sutra?”

  Connie almost snorted tea through her nose.

  Thomas would have glared at Sarah, except she whirled back towards the bar.

  “Do we even own a copy of the Omega Sutra?” asked Connie innocently.

  “I’m not telling if we do,” snapped Thomas, and took another mouthful of coffee. Jessie was already hard at work drawing out a picture with what easily could have been every crayon in the coffee shop. Thomas watched her for a moment, before he realized she was drawing the coffee shop itself. He had no doubt it
would probably hang in a place of honor behind the bar before they even left their table.

  He was just taking another sip of his coffee when he felt the change. A bit like a warm draft of air, somewhere behind him, or as if the noise filling the shop had become just a bit more muffled.

  Thomas tensed, every nerve waiting, anticipating, eager.

  “Breakfast!” announced Kieran cheerfully, and Thomas swallowed the coffee, his body so warm that he barely even felt the coffee’s heat anymore.

  Kieran’s cheeks were rosy; his hair was messy, as if he hadn’t had a chance to brush it that morning. He set out the plates full of food in front of them, and Thomas watched his arms – thin and strong and lightly brushed with blonde hairs.

  “Oh, I didn’t hear our number called,” said Connie, surprised. Usually one had to fetch an order from the bar, instead of having it delivered to the table.

  “Didn’t call it,” answered Kieran, a faint blush rising to his cheeks, and Thomas wondered exactly for whose benefit their order number really was. “I wanted to say hello, anyway. Hiya, squirt,” Kieran added to Jessie, tapping her on the nose as he wiped away the whipped cream coating it.

  “Can I have another cherry for my hot cocoa?” asked Jessie.

  “Eat your pancakes first,” said Kieran, and absentmindedly stuck his whipped-creamed finger in his mouth to suck it off.

  Thomas watched the finger, damp and faintly shining with saliva, as Kieran pulled it out of his mouth. He was sure Kieran didn’t mean to draw out the finger slowly, or that the way he closed his eyes as he did it was intentional. Nor was there an actual pop as the finger pulled down on his lower lip, before the lip curled back up into a slow, seductive smile.

  Thomas blinked, and Kieran swam into focus again, smiling down at Jessie as he wiped his whipped-cream-laden finger on his apron. Thomas pulled his gaze away to stare at the coffee cup, wondering where the hell that particular fantasy had sprung from. Caffeine wasn’t a hallucinogen, was it? Or maybe Cameron had slipped him something?

  Ever the active imagination, Bear, said Felicity fondly. Which was either richly ironic or just plain ridiculous, having the memory of one’s dead mate commenting on imagined flirtation in public.

  Kieran wouldn’t have done that anyway. Not in public.

  And definitely not when Connie was asking him about his plans for the following weekend.

  “Oh, sure,” said Kieran, sounding a bit surprised. “I mean, my two weeks’ notice is officially up next Friday, so Cameron can’t actually keep me on past that, unless I agree.”

  “What?” asked Thomas, feeling a bit stupid, still thinking about Kieran’s fingers, which were now leaning casually on the back of Jessie’s chair.

  Connie rolled his eyes. “I wanted to know if Kieran can help out next Saturday. You know, the marriage? With Jessie?”

  “And I can,” said Kieran cheerfully. “Next Saturday, I’m all yours.”

  Thomas swallowed hard, and reached for his coffee again so he wouldn’t be tempted to see if Kieran was looking at him when he said it.

  “Oh, good,” he heard Connie say, as if she was capable of being oblivious to innuendo. “Tell Cameron these cookies are delicious.”

  “Kieran!” came a shout from behind the bar.

  “Oops, gotta go, it’s ridiculous amounts of busy here today,” said Kieran, and disappeared back into the crowd.

  Thomas had never before been aware how tremendously hard the chairs at The Coffee Pot were. He could feel every single nerve in his groin, the way his skin was rubbing up against his clothes. Thomas shifted in his seat, and reached for the maple bacon scone that Kieran had brought him.

  It was warm. It wasn’t usually served warm. But this scone – just faintly warm, as if it’d been just coming out of the oven when Thomas ordered it. The glaze was still dripping, thick and creamy and running down his fingers, sticky-sweet. Thomas could smell the scone, too – the crisp saltiness of the bacon, the sweetness of the maple, the rich bready scent that made his mouth water.

  Thomas took a bite. It melted in his mouth, even better than the coffee, and Thomas had never thought such a thing could ever be possible. The glaze stuck to his upper lip, and he had to work to lick it all off.

  “Extra napkins,” announced Sarah. Thomas thought it was Sarah, at least; his eyes were still closed as he savored the scone, and he wasn’t going to open them short of a nuclear blast. “Oh. I see. Enjoying the scone?”

  There was something about Sarah’s voice; a bit like she was amused, possibly like she was seeing exactly how much Thomas was enjoying the scone, and wanted to make sure Thomas knew it.

  He opened his eyes, and caught the smirk on her face. Yup, she knew.

  “Extremely,” he said, drawing out the word, just to see her smirk deepen. “Did you make it?”

  “Nope,” said Sarah. “We’ve got a bunch of barefoot omegas chained up in the kitchen downstairs to do all our baking for us.”

  There were a thousand ways to respond; somehow, Sarah’s hand on her hip and the way she was still assessing him with every glance gave Thomas the impression that just about all of them might result in his wearing the coffee, instead of drinking it.

  Then again…

  “I’ll join the revolution if you bring me another,” said Thomas, and Sarah rolled her eyes. She might have responded, but Jessie tugged on her sleeve.

  “I have a picture for you,” she announced, and handed it to Sarah. It was the bar – or at least, Thomas thought it was the bar, given the straight brown line that intersected the paper. There were four stick figures behind it, each wearing a rectangle-apron, and with scribbled hair in various colors not found in nature.

  “Ooo,” said Sarah, holding it up. “This is gorgeous. How much are you charging?”

  “Another cherry,” said Jessie. “And a cookie.”

  “Done,” said Sarah, and Thomas could have sworn she kicked his chair for good measure as she left.

  “I wonder how many drawings it would take to get more macaroons,” mused Connie.

  “You like them?” asked Cameron, appearing at Thomas’s elbow. She picked up Thomas’s half-empty cup of coffee, sniffed it derisively, and then plonked down another paper cup, full to the brim, in front of him.

  “They’re amazing,” Connie assured her. “Do you cater? I’m getting married next week, I’d love to hand these out to the guests.”

  “I’m sure they don’t cater,” Thomas began.

  “Drink your coffee,” Cameron interrupted him, and then turned to Connie. “We might be able to work something out.”

  Thomas gave up and reached for the new cup. It smelled a bit different than the old one. He took a cautious sip.

  “That’d be wonderful! Should I call you?”

  Coffee, yes. But something more than coffee – there were notes of chocolate, adding a richer, deeper sort of flavor. Something else, too – brighter, almost sharp like pepper, but with more of a spicy kick to it….

  “How many do you need?” Cameron asked.

  “Eight dozen?”

  “I’d have to look at my schedule – I’m going to be a bit short-staffed this week, and I try not to overwork my employees.”

  Thomas swallowed the delicious mouthful and frowned, not entirely sure if Cameron was making a direct comment at him or not. “Is this about Kieran working for me the last week? He said he could, I didn’t know he was still here—”

  Neither woman seemed to be paying him any attention. “Oh, absolutely,” said Connie. “Only if you can.”

  Cameron gave a sharp nod, glared once more at Thomas for good measure, and went back behind the bar.

  “Two cookies, in a pretty bag with ribbons,” mused Connie. “That’d make a nice favor, don’t you think?”

  “Is this a marriage or a party?” wondered Thomas.

  “Both,” said Connie. “She seems nice, doesn’t she?”

  “Maybe,” said Thomas, and took another sip of the coffee. It wasn’
t as good as the first cup, but it was still a thousand times improved on his regular brew.

  “Payment for services rendered,” announced Sarah, depositing a bowl of cherries in front of Jessie, as well as a paper pastry bag that clearly held a cookie. Jessie descended on the bowl of cherries as if she had not just devoured a plate of pancakes and nearly all of her hot cocoa. “If you’re done, I can clear for you.”

  “We can do it,” said Thomas firmly, remembering the earlier rant. “That is, I will do it. With my alpha hands. Which belong to me.”

  “Riiiiiight,” said Sarah, and she almost sounded as if she was humoring him. “Do you even know where they go?”

  Thomas fixed his gaze on her, stood up, and deftly picked up the empty plates to carry them to the bins kept by the trash cans by the main door.

  He was just about to turn and smile triumphantly back at Sarah – and wonder when the hell he had decided that one-upping a barista at the local coffee shop had become his main goal of the morning – when Kieran appeared at his elbow.

  “Sally, stop bothering them,” he scolded the girl, who rolled her eyes.

  “Does anyone wear the right names on their tags here?” wondered Thomas.

  “Nope,” said Sally/Sarah cheerfully, leaning on the back of Jessie’s hair. “Easier to deal with the octopuses that way.”

  Jessie looked up from her next work of art. “Octopuses live in the ocean, not coffee shops.”

  “Different kind of octopus, sweetie,” Sally/Sarah told her. “Ooo, that one’s lovely, will it be for sale, too?”

  “For the right price,” said Jessie, going back to her work, and clearly thinking of additional cherries and cookies.

  “I think we have enough cherries to make it worth your while,” Sally/Sarah promised her.

  “Don’t you have work to do?” asked Kieran, desperately, and Sally/Sarah laughed at him.

  “Fine, I’ll let you be alooooone,” said Sally/Sarah, and headed back to the bar. “Tables next to the wall need clearing.”

  Kieran looked over and groaned. He glanced at Thomas. “You really don’t have to do it. I can sweep it up after you’re gone.”

  “It’s fine,” said Thomas. He could see Cameron glaring at him from behind the bar – no doubt Sally/Sarah would be watching as well. “Save you the trouble.”