Chapter Text
Chapter 1 Part 1: Gathering
Rain hammered the High Street, streaking the bakery window with silver. Inside, the ovens breathed out heat and the air smelled of butter and yeast.
Nick slid the last tray of pastries into the display case. His eight-hour shift at Sai’s Restaurant had been full of heat, flour, and the clatter of baking tins, but it was almost over. Thankfully, he had proofed the dough before the rain began; the bread would have ballooned too fast in that humidity.
Movement outside caught his eye. A man stood in the doorway’s shadow, hair dripping, curls plastered to his forehead. His coat was soaked through.
Nick pushed the door open.
‘Come on, you’ll drown out there.’
‘Sorry to bother you,’ the man said, a little rushed, ‘but I was meant to meet a Darcy Jones. Tara hired me. I’m the new waiter and… sorry, I’m a bit early.’
Nick smiled, the kind that landed softly but stayed.
‘First things first. Hi, I’m Nick.’
The man’s eyes flicked up, then down.
‘Ch… Ch… Charlie.’
‘You must be freezing. Get out of those wet things and dry them by the ovens. It should be fine as long as you’re not wearing anything that’ll shrink. Uniforms are in the staff room, on the shelf. Darcy won’t be early, trust me. I knew them in primary school. Always in detention for being late to form.’
Charlie’s laugh was small, but real.
While he changed, Nick put the kettle on. Twenty minutes later, ten minutes to opening, Darcy breezed in, shaking off rain like it was a personal insult.
‘This weather is homophobic.’
‘Coffee’s ready,’ Nick said. ‘New hire’s in the back.’
‘What’s she like? All I know is their name’s Charlie.’
Nick grinned but kept quiet.
‘What’s so funny, Nicky?’
‘Don’t call me Nicky. You’ll see.’
Right on cue, Charlie appeared, hair towel-dried, uniform hanging on him loose but neat.
‘You must be Darcy. Nice to meet you. Right, it’s eight minutes to opening. Who’s on the till, who’s on tables? I’ve done table service, not the till.’
Nick shrugged into his coat.
‘I’m off. See you tomorrow. Give Tara my love.’
‘Text me when you’re back.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘I’m telling her you said that.’
The bell above the door jingled. A young man wandered in wearing ladybird-print overalls, nose buried in The Song of Achilles.
‘Oh, hello. You must be new. Pot of Earl Grey with honey and cream, and the cheese Danish Nick bakes every morning just for me. I’m Isaac. Aro/ace. I own the Old & New Bookery next door.’
Books and aro/ace. Charlie exhaled inwardly. Hopefully this job would not come with sidelong flirtations.
‘I’m Charlie. I’ll get that for you.’
In the kitchen, the samovar’s brass glinted in the warm light. Charlie reached for the teapot.
‘Anything for me?’ a voice asked.
Chef Connor appeared like a conjuring trick.
‘Do I need to do anything to the Danish?’
‘Nope. Still warm. Plate it with a paper doily. The honey dispenser’s on the samovar. Honey pots and dippers in the drawer to your right.’
Charlie nodded, delivered Isaac’s order, and slid the slip to Darcy.
The bell rang again. A tall Asian bloke and an even taller Black woman strolled in, rain-slicked coats placed gently on the rack.
Charlie thought briefly that the weather might be toying with him.
‘DARCY!’
‘Elle, I’m right here,’ Darcy said dryly. ‘You’re near Isaac, in the new guy’s section. His name’s Charlie. Be nice, Tao — he’s only been here an hour.’
Charlie approached.
‘Can I get you started?’
‘Two coffees, French toast, and Elle, what will you have?’
‘Egg bhurji,’ she decided.
Back in the kitchen, Charlie checked the ticket.
‘Chef, order up. French toast and… egg bhurji? What’s that?’
‘Scrambled eggs with peppers, onions, garlic, and Indian spices,’ Connor said. ‘For Elle?’
‘Yeah.’
‘She’s rinsing you. Don’t take it to heart.’
Charlie grinned, headed back out, and spotted a line forming. He moved quickly, set menus down, filled water glasses, and smiled, feeling more confident than he was.
‘Table three’s up, Charlie,’ Darcy called.
Charlie set the plates down carefully.
‘French toast for Tao, egg bhurji for Elle. Anything else?’
‘No, we’re good,’ Elle said. ‘But send Darcy over.’
‘Sure, but briefly. We’re slammed and I still need till training.’
By lunchtime, the air smelled of food lovingly prepared. Tara appeared with Sai, the owner, and his husband, Christian.
‘Break time, Charlie,’ Tara said.
‘Hey,’ Sai added, ‘we’re throwing a pub do Friday for your first week at Kirke’s.’
Charlie smiled, but the thought lingered: what would they think if they knew?
Two years in hospital. After starving himself down to 8.7 stone. OCD and anorexia had closed his world to a pinhole. Family scattered. Parents divorced. His mother, Jane, had been made a ward of the Court of Protection and had become mentally and emotionally broken within months. His father, Julio, had gone to Spain to care for his parents and had never returned. His sister, Tori, was somewhere across the world with her on-paper husband, Michael, a speed skating coach. Last he had heard, they were in San Francisco, living on Lombard Street with an ice skater named Victor. And Ollie was in the care of a family in Lakenheath until he turned eighteen in a year.
Charlie often wondered what people would think if they knew why he was starting over in Herne Bay.
At home, in front of his mirror with his shirt off, the weight training had rebuilt him to a solid twelve stone — a body that finally felt like it belonged to him. He traced the curving lines of new muscle and sighed. Now, if only he could find a proper boyfriend.
He came in early to work the rest of the week, which was a bonus because he got to see more of Baker Nick.
Tuesday: lemon poppy seed cake.
‘My sister would love this. She’s obsessed with lemon.’
‘Is she in town?’ Nick asked.
Charlie’s eyes dropped; he breathed in slowly.
‘America. Following her on-paper husband Michael, a speed skating coach. Haven’t seen her in years, except on FaceTime. They’re in San Francisco.’
Wednesday: double chocolate raspberry scones.
Thursday: a birthday-cake-flavoured kringle for Isaac.
Friday: no Nick.
Charlie unlocked the café alone. Tara had given him the keys, thanks to Darcy’s notorious lateness. By two o’clock, the day felt like it was crawling.
‘So, Chuck, how was your first week?’
‘Darcy, my non-binary lesbian friend. My name is Charlie. Not Chuck. Only my sister calls me Charles, and only when she’s angry.’
‘Anyone hit on you yet?’
‘No, thankfully.’
Please don’t ask.
Please don’t ask.
Please don’t ask.
‘So what was so bad you moved to, of all places, Herne Bay? If it weren’t for Tara, I’d have left years ago.’
Darcy had never had a filter. The little devil on Charlie’s shoulder said, just tell them. Unfortunately, the angel agreed.
‘All right. I spent the last two years at Daffodil Recovery Centre. Anorexia and OCD. I applied here to start over. I don’t do relationships because I’ve never had one and don’t know where to even begin.’
A bell chimed as a customer collected an order, cutting the air like scissors.
After they left, Darcy lingered near the counter.
‘Hey… sorry. First week and I’m already meddling. I’m sorry.’
She walked away, eyes fixed on the floor.
Chapter 1Part 2: Mixing
Ugh. Not a single thing I own looks good enough, Nick groaned at the mirror. There was no denying it anymore. He liked Charlie.
‘Elle, can you come over? I need outfit help.’
‘Of course. You cannot call Darcy; besides, she is probably already three sheets to the wind.’
True to her word, Elle was rifling through Nick’s wardrobe in no time.
‘So, who’s got my favourite bisexual disaster spiralling?’
‘You’ve already met him.’
‘Wait… who? The only new person around is — no. You are not in love with him after less than a week, Nick!’
‘Have you heard him giggle? Seen him smile? Dimples, Elle. Dimples. And he plays the drums.’
‘I was never this bad with Tao,’ Elle muttered, tossing clothes onto the bed.
‘No, but he was.’
‘All right. Celebratory work event at a gay pub. Black trousers, black waistcoat, silver sheer shirt over that, and the silver-studded belt. Do you want face highlighter? If not, then go impress your man.’