SWEET AND SOUR: UNWANTED MATE

CHAPTER 8

Daniel practically burst through the café door.

Nate looked up from the counter he was wiping.

"...Morning."

Daniel pointed at him immediately.

"No."

Nate blinked.

"No what?"

"No 'morning.' Start talking."

Nate frowned.

"What are you talking about?"

Daniel dropped his bag onto the nearest chair.

"Your uncle called me."

That got Nate's attention.

"He what?"

"Last night. Twice."

Nate winced.

Daniel narrowed his eyes.

"Exactly."

"It wasn't a big deal."

"Your uncle was looking for you."

"It got handled."

Daniel folded his arms.

"Nate."

"What?"

"What happened?"

Nate looked away.

Daniel groaned.

"There it is."

"There what is?"

"That thing you do."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you pretend you're fine when you're obviously not fine."

"I'm fine."

"You almost got murdered by your own face three weeks ago because you walked into a glass door while thinking too hard."

Nate stared at him.

Daniel stared back.

Neither moved.

Eventually Nate sighed.

"That happened once."

"Twice."

"Once."

"Twice."

Nate pointed the cleaning cloth at him.

"You're annoying."

Daniel grinned.

"Tell me what happened."

Nate kept wiping the counter.

Daniel waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Because after years of friendship, he knew Nate would eventually crack.

Sure enough...

"...I got chased."

Daniel blinked.

The grin disappeared.

"You what?"

Nate sighed.

"I got chased."

"By who?"

"Five idiots."

Daniel looked horrified.

"Five?"

"Yeah."

"Five actual people?"

"Last time I checked."

Daniel slapped both hands onto the counter.

"Nate!"

"What?"

"Why are you saying that so casually?"

"Because I'm alive."

"That's not the point!"

Nate laughed despite himself.

Daniel looked ready to strangle him.

Slowly, Nate explained.

The smokers.

The argument.

The shove.

The chase.

The alley.

By the time he finished, Daniel looked exhausted.

"So let me get this straight."

Nate already knew that tone.

"Don't."

"You saw five guys."

"Yes."

"And decided confronting them was smart."

Nate pointed a finger.

"I didn't say it was smart."

"Good. Because it wasn't."

Nate rolled his eyes.

Daniel shook his head.

"I swear one day you're going to get yourself kidnapped."

"That seems dramatic."

"You literally ran into an alley."

"Fair."

Daniel groaned.

Then paused.

"Wait."

Nate immediately knew.

"No."

Daniel pointed.

"Yes."

"No."

"The guy."

Nate sighed.

"The guy."

"The mysterious hero."

"Don't call him that."

"What am I supposed to call him?"

Nate opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Because honestly?

He didn't know.

Daniel immediately noticed.

His eyes widened.

"Oh, this is serious."

"It isn't."

"You don't even have a nickname for him."

Nate ignored him.

Daniel leaned closer.

"What happened?"

Nate hesitated.

Then answered.

"He helped."

"That's it?"

"He helped."

"Nate."

"He beat the hell out of them."

Daniel froze.

"What?"

"Pretty much."

"By himself?"

"Pretty much."

Daniel looked impressed.

Then suspicious.

Then impressed again.

"Okay, continue."

Nate told him about the alley.

About being saved.

About rushing home.

About arriving late.

About the dinner.

And finally...

About seeing the same man sitting across from him.

Daniel stared.

Silence.

Long silence.

Then:

"...That's awkward."

Nate pointed immediately.

"Exactly."

"Like really awkward."

"Thank you."

"Like universe-is-playing-a-joke awkward."

"THANK YOU."

Daniel started laughing.

Nate threw the cloth at him.

"This isn't funny."

"It absolutely is."

"It isn't."

"The man who saved you turned out to be your fiancé."

Nate dropped his forehead onto the counter.

Daniel laughed harder.

"Stop."

"I can't."

"Daniel."

"I'm trying."

"You aren't."

"No, I'm not."

After a while Daniel finally calmed down.

Then his expression softened.

"You've been thinking about him."

Nate immediately answered.

"No."

"Liar."

"No."

"Nate."

"It's complicated."

"There it is."

Nate sighed.

Because Daniel always did this.

Always dug until he found the truth.

The annoying thing was that he was usually right.

"It's weird," Nate admitted.

Daniel nodded.

"Yeah."

"I don't know him."

"Yeah."

"But somehow I keep running into him."

Daniel snorted.

"Sounds like a romance novel."

Nate looked offended.

"I hate romance novels."

"No you don't."

"I do."

"You cried reading one last year."

"I had allergies."

"You cried for three chapters."

"I was sick."

Daniel laughed again.

Nate threw another napkin.

And for the first time since the dinner, the pressure in his chest eased a little.

Just enough to breathe.

The rest of the shift passed normally.

Or at least it tried to.

Customers came and went.

Coffee was served.

Orders were taken.

Life moved.

Yet every now and then, Nate would catch himself drifting.

Not because he wanted to.

His brain was simply being annoying.

Every time he remembered the alley.

Every time he remembered the dinner.

Every time he remembered those grey eyes looking directly at him.

"You're doing it again."

Nate looked up.

Daniel was holding a tray.

"What?"

"Drifting."

"I'm working."

"You just handed table six the wrong order."

Nate looked down.

The tray wasn't even his.

"...Fine."

Daniel shook his head.

"You've got it bad."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I don't."

"You do."

"Daniel."

"I'm just saying."

Nate threw a sugar packet at him.

Hours later, when Nate finally got home, he regretted answering his phone.

He knew it the second Richard spoke.

"You have his number now."

Nate nearly dropped the spoon in his hand.

"My what?"

"His number."

Richard sounded completely serious.

Like this was normal.

Like people exchanged phone numbers through family negotiations every day.

Nate rubbed his forehead.

"No."

Richard paused.

"No?"

"No."

"You don't have a choice."

"That's becoming your favorite sentence."

"It should become your favorite thing to hear."

Nate ended the call before Richard could continue.

Immediately.

Without guilt.

Without regret.

His phone vibrated seconds later.

A message.

Richard: This is Derrick Blackwood's personal number.

Nate stared.

Then deleted it.

Five seconds later he restored it.

Then deleted it again.

Then restored it again.

His eye twitched.

"Why am I like this?"

Across the city, Derrick was having a similar problem.

His phone sat on the desk untouched.

Damian noticed immediately.

"You've looked at that screen six times."

Derrick didn't look up.

"No I haven't."

"You have."

A pause.

Then Damian added,

"You could simply send a message."

Derrick finally looked at him.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because that's how phones work."

Derrick stared.

Damian stared back.

Neither moved.

Eventually Derrick returned to his paperwork.

Five minutes later Damian spoke again.

"You are staring at the phone."

"I am not."

"You are."

"I'm working."

"You've been reading the same page for ten minutes."

Silence.

Damian wisely decided not to push further.

Mostly because he enjoyed being employed.

That evening Nate lay on his bed.

Phone in hand.

Still staring.

Still thinking.

Still annoyed.

Finally he opened the contact.

Derrick Blackwood.

No profile picture.

Of course.

That felt exactly like something Derrick would do.

Nate rolled his eyes.

Then before he could stop himself, he typed:

Are you always this annoying?

He froze.

Looked at the message.

Looked again.

Then accidentally hit send.

The room went silent.

Nate sat up immediately.

"Oh no."

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

Then disappeared.

Nate considered throwing the phone into traffic.

Finally a reply arrived.

Derrick: We've exchanged exactly three sentences.

Nate stared.

Then laughed despite himself.

A second message appeared.

Derrick: How have you already decided I'm annoying?

Nate looked at the screen.

For the first time since all this started...

he smiled.

Just a little.

Then immediately stopped smiling because he refused to enjoy this.