This is a story about new beginnings.
I was twenty-one, and after graduating early from a faraway university, I'd moved home and taken a job at a coffee shop. In my time off, I was writing as much as I could: $20 here and there for freelance work on church newsletters, product descriptions, whatever people needed. The coffee shop had a neglected Facebook page that the owners asked me to bring back to life.
At home, I was alone most of the time. My dad was a jack of all trades in our small town, so from day to day he worked as a carpenter, a plumber, or even tech support, but his "real" job was as an electrician. He did whatever people needed around town, and mostly made cash for the side jobs. My mom died when I was twelve, and I think being busy helped him keep going.
About once a week, we managed to be in the same place at the same time long enough to eat pizza and catch up. Dad was proud of me for putting together a beginner's version of his multi-gig hustle - in a small town, that's how a lot of people have always worked, not a millennial trend. We compared stories about clients trying to weasel out of paying, and he treated me like an equal even though my bills were for $20 or $40 and his were for $500 or $1,000.
That September, Dad told me my cousin James was going to stay with us for a while. James was 28, and the wheels had come off his life in the last month. He'd been back in school, married for a few years, and living in a cute little house with his wife when she told him she'd met someone else and wanted him to leave. He'd stopped going to class and retreated into himself.
I loved James, who'd been the cool older cousin all my life and was nice to me even when he could have been mean and distant. I wore a locket that had belonged to my mom, and on the same chain I had a flattened penny from when James showed me how to put coins on the train tracks. James had been there for me after she died. I felt really bad about what he'd been through now, and Dad and I had plenty of room.
Right away, it was nice to have another person in the house. James was looking for a job, and sometimes he'd come to the coffee shop to post up and work on applications on his laptop. He stuck to times when I was working so he could walk outside to smoke without having to put all his stuff away. One day, I left the counter for a minute to use the restroom, and when I came back, James was bussing empty cups from a table. The last customers had left them, and we were alone in the shop.
"Oh my gosh, James, you don't have to do that," I said. But he was wearing earbuds and didn't hear me approach. I put one hand on his shoulder and reached out the other one to take the cups. James smelled just faintly of cigarettes, hidden under Altoids and what I assumed was his deodorant, like the ocean and fresh mint and lime. He turned to me and, as he pulled out one earbud, I felt a low vibrational beep pass between us. Whoa, what was that?
The moment passed, and we closed the shop together and walked home.
• • •
After that, James started to help with things during my shifts. Working at the coffee shop could be surprisingly hard on my feet and my joints, and his small gestures meant a lot to me. One day, an unfamiliar customer was watching James pick up some table trash when James looked up at me and smiled.
"Your boyfriend is so sweet to help you out," the customer said, and I blushed.
"He's not, uh, thank you," I stammered. "You're right, he's really sweet." James, once again in his earbuds, was oblivious.
Over the days and weeks, the color returned to James' face and he began to look like himself again after such a grim time in his life. He spent shifts at the shop with me, applying for jobs or playing games or working on whatever projects he might have had. At home, he was always cooking or tinkering with something - my do-it-all handyman dad had plenty of broken gadgets and furniture in need of repair or fresh paint.
And then James got a job. He'd been a welder before, and he found a good union position at a plant outside of town. I was so happy for him, and we celebrated with Dad over a splashy dinner of grilled shrimp and lobster. But that Monday, when James left for work and I walked to the coffee shop alone, I found I missed him. This is fine, I can do my job by myself, I thought. He was never going to stay there, that was never what was going to happen, and why do I care so much? This is silly, I told myself.
James was scheduled for regular day shifts, and I worked mornings or evenings that varied from week to week. Early one afternoon, I came home from work, took a shower, and fell into bed for a heavy nap. When I drifted toward waking, there was an unfamiliar weight next to me and what felt like a hand resting on my side.
"Hey sleepy," James said. He was sitting on the edge of my bed, and his hand on my waist felt electrified.
Outside, the sky was dark. "Wow, what time is it? I've been asleep forever," I said, with fake casual lightness even I could hear was not convincing.
"Move over," James said, and I scooted away from him on the bed. He lay next to me, over the blankets, and brushed hair away from my face.
"My hair must look awful, I fell asleep right after I washed it," I said.
"You look beautiful," he lied, and his hand gently squeezed my side. "I just got home from work, and I picked up stuff to make dinner, but honestly it's a lot nicer here with you."
"James, we shouldn't - I mean, it's . . . " I trailed off. It's what? We shouldn't what?
As my thoughts raced, James angled toward me, caught my eyes with his, and smiled that beautiful smile. I must have smiled back, because I was still smiling when he kissed me. At first, our mouths were closed, and I gently pulled away.
"My breath must be awful," I said. "All that coffee and then a nap?"
James fumbled in his pocket and pulled out an Altoid, which he held up to my lips. I opened my mouth to receive it, and as he placed it on my tongue, I heard a small groan from deep in his throat. I closed my mouth around his fingertip and gently bit down on it.
