Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Six months. Long enough that the regulars from Sullivan's know to come here for coffee and a muffin after last call, that Beth brings bread for both of us now instead of just me ("Hm, he's not so bad," she declared after finding out we were dating), that Nana's vintage Fender hangs on Tom's wall because she would've wanted it there, in a place where people could see it and remember. Long enough that when I wake up, the first thing I think isn't where am I, but where is he.
William Shakespurr is curled up in the reading nook by the window, the one I built specifically for him after he moved himself in three months ago. He's got a new collar now—royal blue with a tag that says "Property of The Nook" on one side and Tom's phone number on the other, because Tom insisted if the cat was going to claim my business, he should at least have emergency contact information. The fact that Tom became the cat's emergency contact is still pretty damn funny to me.
They have a fragile relationship, and William now only hisses at Tom if he doesn't get a treat. Baby steps.
Brewce Wayne hums as I pull shots for my own morning fuel. The thing breaks down every other week, but the coffee it makes is worth the maintenance.
Tom's handwriting is scrawled on the inventory sheet taped to the counter—his addition to my system after he caught me forgetting to order oat milk twice in one month. His mug sits beside the register, actually a beer mug I gifted him that says, "TWAT" in big, bold letters. He 'punished' me later that day by fucking me on the counter.
The door opens with a chime. I don't look up from the espresso machine, but I know it's him. I can always sense his presence from a mile away. Am I obsessed? Yeah, and it's really bad.
"Your coffee machine is leaking again."
"Good morning to you too."
"Good morning. Your coffee machine is leaking."
"It's not leaking, it's—" I glance at the espresso machine. There's a small puddle underneath it. "Oookay, it's leaking."
Tom moves behind my counter, crouching down to examine the machine. "I told you before—"
"That it was bigger than yours and I was compensating for something?"
"I was going to say unnecessarily complicated, but yeah, that too." He looks up at me, smirking. "You want me to fix it or you want to keep being defensive?"
"Can I do both?"
"Probably."
"And for the record, stop referring to it as IT. His name is Brewce Wayne. I told you this several times already."
He pulls the drip tray out and dumps the water in the sink behind the counter. His hair is still messy from sleep, and my God, I have never seen anyone close to how hot he is.
"Jason's bringing the baby by today," Tom says, not looking at me.
"Sarah texted me last night. Said Emma's finally sleeping through the night."
"Good for Emma." Tom slots the drip tray back into place and stands. "Jason looks like hell."
"He also looks happy."
"He looks tired, like he hasn't slept in a year."
"Please. I look tired, like I haven't slept in a year, and I don't have a baby."
"Fair point."
The door opens again, and speak of the devil. Jason comes through first with a massive diaper bag, looking exactly as tired as Tom described, followed by Sarah carrying four-month-old Emma in a wrap against her chest. Sarah heads straight for me while Jason makes a beeline for Tom.
"You're here early," Sarah says, adjusting Emma's tiny hat.
"Which I'm glad I was. Espresso machine was leaking."
"So Tom rushed over to fix it?"
"He's very dedicated to coffee machine maintenance. Also, I never say no to free labor."
Sarah grins. "I'm sure that's what it is."
Jason's voice carries from where he's leaning against the bookshelf talking to Tom. "Told you months ago, man. Didn't I tell you?"
"You tell me a lot of things," Tom says.
"Yeah, but I was right about this one. Sarah, wasn't I right?"
"You're always right, honey." Sarah doesn't look at him when she says it, too busy making faces at Emma. "Especially when you're wrong."
"She smiled at me this morning," Jason says, pride radiating from every word.
Tom shrugs. "Probably gas."
"Fuck off, that was a real smile."
Sarah rolls her eyes. "Language!"
Emma chooses that moment to let out a wail that echoes through The Nook. William Shakespurr lifts his head from the window seat, gives the baby a withering look, and goes back to sleep. He is still unimpressed 90% of the time, even though he's the reason our Instagram has twenty thousand followers.
"Here." Sarah shifts Emma toward Tom before he can protest. "Hold her while I steal Tate's coffee."
Tom takes the baby with the same expression he wore when I told him to trim William's nails for the first time—pure panic. But his hands are steady, supporting Emma's head, and after a second, he relaxes. Just slightly.