@futurefold
Eight hours was a normal shift, but it allowed too much time for doubt to settle in. Especially in the early morning hours after midnight, when Jesse had little else to do but refill ketchup bottles and sit alone in his thoughts. There was a reason he worked the hours he did, a reason why he didn’t keep any close friends or make any real attempt at relationships. Things felt easier, safer, when no one knew who he was.
At least a half dozen times he found himself pulling out his phone, determined to tell David to forget about it, he was too tired, they’d meet up some other time. Something vague and nondescript that he never had to follow through on. It felt like the safe, smart thing to do, and a thousand times harder than it should’ve been.
He sends him the diner’s address instead, and tries not to dwell on it anymore.
It’s a failed endeavor from the start, but four o’clock comes and strips away the option of backing out. He makes coffee instead, says goodbye to the morning shift when they come in the back, and settles himself to wait by the counter. Even if the harsh liquid does little to settle those nerves in his stomach, memory constantly wanting to replay the curve of David’s lips when he smiled, how smoothly mio caro had rolled off his tongue.
“Hey.” He straightens when the door chimes, turning slightly to grab the two insulated cups before offering one out. French vanilla seemed safe, though it seemed pathetic that for as long as he’s been here it’s still a fight with the cappuccino machine every time.
“Took a guess on how sweet you like it.”