Pastry Heart

Sam Mills had never thought he'd enjoy making other people's coffee for a living. As a child he'd had all the usual fantasies about what job he would do when he was grown. Fireman. Police officer. Soldier. Anything with lots of action. Sam had then realised unusually early in life that he wasn't cut out for a high pressured, all powerful career at all, and as he'd blundered his way through his teenage years he'd found out he would rather spend his time drawing, reading, or doing anything else that wasn't loud, fast, or busy.

  Located in the small town of Evergreen, Maine, the coffee shop Sam worked in was called Dreams and Wishes and was owned by a reclusive, eccentric bohemian woman who was a living throwback to the psychedelic days of drugs and free love. It was an indie place but it did well, having been in business since the mid 1990s. The owner, Lana, while preferring to stay behind the scenes herself, had a knack for hiring likeable and competent staff. She also made sure there were plenty of events like open mic nights, poetry corners, and anything else that attracted the more creative and artistic of Evergreen's residents. The place might not be as busy as a Starbucks or a Dunkin' Doughnuts but it did well for what it was and Sam had socialized there almost daily with his friends while still in high school, before eventually getting a job behind the counter himself.

  Working part time as a barista had helped Sam get through college, and it continued to help him make ends meet in adulthood while he attempted to earn something, anything from his beloved art. One day his parents would recover from the moment Sam had told them he was going to art school as opposed to the law school they'd been nudging him to apply for. They'd recovered from the news he was gay pretty well, after all. What school he choose was surely nothing next to that.

  Glancing across to the corner to his left, Sam smiled at the sight of Jack sitting at his usual table. The other man was tapping away at his laptop at a steady pace, oblivious to his surroundings. He was wearing jeans and his old college sweater - his favourite ensemble whenever he could get away with dressing down - and his floppy ash blond hair was being particularly unruly today, desperate to escape from a half-hearted effort to slick it back. Jack had his glasses on, and was clearly writing for pleasure rather than business. When he wrote for business he wasn't nearly so relaxed. Then, the lines on his face went deeper, his eyes harder. Writing for pleasure, however, took years off Jack' face. Sam knew it was the same as how he himself was with his art. It was like how the musicians who came to the open mic nights were about their performing. Maybe it was how Lana felt about her business, during the rare times she dropped by to make sure everything was running smoothly and found that it was.

  Sam was really, really glad he hadn't gone to law school. Not least because he wouldn't have met Jack. Jack who was almost twice his age, Jack who was sophisticated and charming and understated. Jack who could look as good in jeans and a sweater as he did in a designer suit.

  Jack who was his husband.

  There were many days, like today, when Sam still couldn't quite believe he was married. The gold band around his ring finger felt so belonging there he often forgot he was wearing it, and the ceremony had only been six months ago. Sam still smiled when he thought of it and he couldn't imagine that changing. It had been small and quiet and surreal. Already most of that day blurred in Sam's head, mixed with soppy quotes about love and unity and a feeling of being so lucky. Sam could have sworn he wasn't that sappy before he'd met Jack. Maybe one too many of Lana's gooey chocolate chip cookies was turning him soft.

  As the last of the morning rush shuffled off to school/college/work/whatever, Sam got along with clearing the tables. There would be a lull until noon and Sam always appreciated the chance to go slower, quieter for a while. It kept him sane. He really couldn't imagine working at the Starbucks a few bus stops away, where busy was a constant thing day in, day out. Not ever in this life. He didn't know how Jack, who had gone to law school and become a fine lawyer just like his parents had wanted for Sam, handled the pressure of his job. Jack shouldn't be a lawyer. He should be a writer, because Sam had read Jack' stories and Jack was brilliant. Sam just wished Jack would believe Sam when he told him that.

  Jack wasn't as secure in his writing ability as Sam was with his art, and Sam hated that. He also hated the fact that Jack' parents had not supported their son. For all of Sam's parents grumbling about Sam choosing art school over law school, they had, ultimately, supported his right to do as he saw fit with his life. Jack hadn't been so fortunate, and Sam hated the self-doubt Jack' parents had installed in their child from likely the beginning. Sam had met them only a few times but he didn't like them. They were cold people and placed too much importance on money and social standing, and not enough on their son's emotional welfare. How Jack had managed to grow into the man he had, who was the complete and absolute opposite of either of his parents, Sam could only wonder.

  "Hey. Can I get a refill?" Jack asked, holding his mug out as Sam neared his table, a tray full of used and dirty cups in his hand.

  "Of course." Sam held out the tray for Jack to put the cup on and leaned down for a kiss. Because businness was quiet, Sam lingered long after Jack had pulled away. He hovered at Jack' shoulder like a hummingbird and peered at the laptop screen. "This a new one, or...?"

  "It's The Blood On the Ivy again. If there's any story I can actually sell, this is it. It just needs some more fine tuning."

  "The Blood On the Ivy? Still? Jack, you've been working on that since before I even met you. Surely it's as right as it can be by now?"

  "It's a hundred thousand words of...I don't even know what," sighed Jack, removing his glasses and setting them down before rubbing at his eyes. He had spent the bulk of the three day weekend he'd been blessed with writing and the lack of sleep was starting to show. "It was much easier to pull all nighters when I was your age. I miss college."

  "You hated college," Sam replied casually.

  "I did," Jack readily agreed. "But at least I was young."

  "Surely I make you feel young?" teased Sam, ruffling Jack' hair in the way he knew Jack hated.

  "You make me feel like I have a puppy. A bouncy - "

  "Adorable?"

  "- I was going to say a bouncy, in need of discipline puppy. They should have obedience classes for people like you."

  Sam chuckled and ruffled Jack's hair one more time just because he could. Jack could get his own back later, that was if his husband actually chose to join Sam in their martial bed for once and not stay up writing for the third night in a row. Sam felt confident enough that Jack would be there. Jack had work the next day, and Jack was the model of a responsible adult.

  "You know you love me," said Sam, as he moved onto the next table to clear it, and the next, and the next.

  Work was the same every day but Sam liked the routine. It gave him the sort of stablity Jack respected in people. Without the job at Dreams and Wishes Sam would be just another guy with an art degree and not much to do with it. Working a steady job made him feel at least somewhat respectable. In a way he resented it and wished he could go full on hipster and live in an attic or something, like something out of a play. This wasn't a play though. Poverty in the real world wasn't as appealing as other artists who Sam knew liked to pretend it was.

  "Anyway," Sam went on. "If you want to talk about discipline, why don't you just hand over your story already and let me try proofreading it for you? You've said yourself I'm a decent enough editor, and maybe then you can stop stalling and send the damn thing to some publishers like you know you've been desperate to do."

  Sam didn't mean to lecture, but if there was one thing that irritated him about Jack it was Jack's insecurities. Jack doubted himself too much and equally doubted it when anyone else showed they believed in him. It was one of the few things he and S
am had gotten into a few serious arguments over. Sam pushed because Jack wouldn't push himself, and sometimes Sam got a little overzealous about it but he always meant well. He supposed Jack wasn't used to having someone fight in his corner in a serious way, and that thought genuinely angered Sam, because Jack was amazing and more people should have been able to see that in Jack's forty plus years of life.

  Jack paused, then smiled softly.

  "Okay," he agreed. "Why the hell not."

  It was the best thing Sam knew when Jack smiled. Even the hint of a smile would light Jack's whole face and lift a decade or more from his eyes, icy blues with the depth of an ocean. Sam had always wished he had blue eyes, finding them more expressive than his own brown ones. He'd voiced that to Jack one night as they'd been winding down on the couch in front of the TV, Sam half-asleep and rambling nonsense as he tended to do when drifting off. Jack had dismissed Sam's silly talk, saying no eyes were deeper than Sam's browns, that Sam had the colours of the earth about him. Sam had liked that, and Jack's lyrical way of talking in those moments. There really was no doubt about it that Jack was a writer through and through when it came to how he could weave beautiful words together as naturally as other people could breathe.

  "Great," Sam grinned, satisfied that something might be in motion and that if he was as right about Jack's talent as Sam knew he was, it could be something big. "Except right now I have to get this place cleaned up. Are you sure you want to use your entire day off work up here?"

  "Even if it hadn't just started raining, yes," said Jack, smiling back.

  Sam looked toward the window and saw that rain was indeed falling outside. It was a steady trickle, but the sky had clouded over and the clouds were turning black. Sam made a mental note to put the cafe's heaters on when he was done cleaning and got to work, moving around a place that was more familiar to him than his own house. Somehow, Sam knew he belonged at Dreams and Wishes and not least because he'd met Jack there. It just felt like home, always had. Jack was the icing on the cake.

  Throwing one more smile at his husband as Jack went back to tapping away on his laptop, Sam was glad his life hadn't taken a different turn. He was exactly where he was supposed to be, rain or shine.