Pumpkin Spice and Chill: A Sunshine/Grumpy MM Romance, page 1
Pumpkin Spice and Chill
A Sunshine/Grumpy MM Romance
F.A. RAY
Copyright © 2023 by F.A. Ray
KDP ISBN: 9798863098067
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this work are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
About the Author
Chai Love You A Latte
Other Books by F.A. Ray
Chapter One
Albert
I SPREAD MY LEATHER-BOUND notebook open on my knees. Tiny figures march down the page, neat row after neat row telling the story of the past month, perhaps the story of my entire life. Indeed, what am I better suited to than this?
The Boyfriend Café launched in September. My best friend Rhett came to me with a desperate idea, a wild plan to open a café in my basement that would cater to the broken hearts of City University of Montridge. Tea and a shoulder to cry on. That’s what the Boyfriend Café offers, and apparently it works. In our first month, we’ve had such a steady stream of customers that we’ve built up a hefty waitlist.
I say “we,” but really, it’s “they,” Rhett and the others who work at the café. I am simply here to provide the space, keep the books and organize customers. I provide these services free of charge; unlike Rhett, I hardly need the money. And if Rhett won’t accept my help directly, I can at least offer the skills drilled into me across a lifetime to the café.
Which is what I intend to do now. It is why my notebook sits spread open on my knees as I recline in my customary spot in a lone corner of the basement.
It is just about the last quiet space left in this basement. Rhett has completely transformed the rest of it, laying down soft carpets over the hard concrete, hanging fairy lights in rows across the ceiling, arranging small tables with tablecloths and candles cupped in glass. I contributed a few screens to fence off a private area for the staff of the café, but the plants, the tablecloths, the ambiance — all of that was Rhett.
I cannot help but admire it.
I may have the money and time to casually volunteer my services, but Rhett started this place out of need. He has worked diligently to turn it into a success. He even recruited Mal, Trent and Gabriel to work alongside him as servers and bring in more customers.
Tonight, that hard work stands on display as the Boyfriend Café bustles. All four servers sit with customers, chatting, brewing tea, laughing, commiserating. It is a skill I do not possess. Were any of these forlorn college students to come to me with their troubles, I would be at a loss. But Rhett and the others ensure even the most heartbroken customers leave soothed and smiling.
Tea cups empty. Chairs scrape over the floor. Customers hug their servers before leaving. Suddenly, the constant hum of chatter and activity dulls to a hush.
The guys loosen their ties and unbutton their vests. The standard “uniform” around here is semi-formal, to maintain the atmosphere, but it isn’t about formality so much as charm. A young man in a crisp white button up and pressed vest has a certain allure. Nevermind that nearly all of those young men are queer.
Rhett drags a chair over near me and flops into it. His blond hair is mussed after a long night, his blue eyes glassy with exhaustion.
For best friends, we could not be much more different. He is bright and charming, an excellent personality for a server at an establishment such as this. Even his appearance is bright, between the eyes and the hair. Meanwhile, my eyes and hair are dark, tidy, controlled. Contained. Even Mal could not tease my short hair into the sort of swoops he and Rhett don upon their heads.
But our differences have never mattered. Indeed, they are more complimentary than divisive, and moments such as this prove why. I could not do Rhett’s job. I could not be charming, could not smile on command and listen to people’s problems all night. But what I have in my lap — the notebook full of numbers, the logistics, the shuffling of customers — that I can happily provide.
“God, I’m exhausted,” Rhett says.
Mal nods agreement. Gabriel has pulled his chair over as close as he can get it to Trent’s to doze against his shoulder. Trent is apparently our one non-queer member of this crew, but to look at him and Gabriel, you might not believe it.
“I will not keep you long,” I say. “I just want to discuss the past month briefly while we may.”
No one argues. Tired as they are, they listen as I go through the numbers, describing our expenses, our revenue, our ever-increasing waitlist.
“We could easily afford a baker,” I say. “If we charged appropriately for baked goods, you would see no decrease in your revenue, either.”
Rhett rubs at his eyes. “God, I have no idea when I’m going to find a baker. I just don’t have time for it.”
“I understand,” I say. “Allow me.”
Rhett is shaking his head before I even finish. “No way. You already do way more than you should have to. You don’t even get paid.”
“I’ve no need of the money.”
“It’s not about that. It’s about fairness, okay? I can’t have you doing everything you’re already doing and finding us a baker for free. I’ll do it. Maybe Spencer can help.”
“Perhaps,” I offer mildly.
I don’t add that I’m glad he has Spencer for support. They did not have the smoothest of starts, but now that they’ve worked through things, Spencer is proving himself a worthy and devoted companion. Rhett seems happier, and I have no doubt Spencer truly will help him with a task like this. If Rhett won’t accept my support, I’m relieved he will at least lean on his boyfriend.
“Very well,” I say. “Let’s move on, shall we? We are well into October, and people are already thinking about Halloween. We ought to as well.”
Mal immediately perks up, all his exhaustion abruptly forgotten. His huge swoop of bleached silver hair bounces as he sits up straighter.
“Yes. Please,” he says. “I have so many ideas. You are all dressing up, even you, Albert.”
I don’t bother pointing out that I am not a server and no one will much care whether I dress for the occasion or not. It’s a moot point with Mal. He has been trying to dress us all, even myself, from the moment the Boyfriend Café opened. He succeeded once, for a special “Prep School Night” in which everyone wore tweed blazers. The theme night was a hit, and Mal got to strut his skills as a fashion student.
“Please do not go beyond your means for this,” I say. Knowing Mal, he would spend all his wages on fabric. “We can pay for some amount of materials for you. Judging by the success of our previous theme night, a Halloween event should more than cover the cost.”
Mal isn’t listening. He clasps his hands, eyes darting around as he apparently imagines us all in various costumes. “Rhett should be a cat. No, a vampire. No, a bird. Wait, Gabriel is the bird. Small and sweet. Or maybe me? I certainly have the plumage.” He laughs, patting at his elaborately styled hair.
I let him ramble on. Everyone else looks too tired to stop him.
“The first order of business,” I say when Mal has petered out, “is choosing a date for a potential Halloween event. We do not want to conflict with the parties that will be taking place all over campus.”
“What if we swapped our usual Saturday for a Thursday?” Mal says. “That way we don’t conflict with the parties — and maybe we can actually go out for once ourselves.”
“That’s a good idea,” Rhett says. “Spencer mentioned some party on campus he wants to go to. I was going to try not to work that Saturday anyway. What about you two?”
“Mmm,” Gabriel says, nestled against Trent’s shoulder.
“That will work fine for us,” Trent translates.
They are
That is part of the beauty of this place, however. In some ways, all of us are unconventional choices, a haphazard group of (mostly) queer men learning how to do this as we go along.
“What if we had spooky drinks?” Rhett says. “Or at least fall-themed ones? A lot more cinnamon. Maybe even a pumpkin spice tea.”
“Love that,” Mal says. “Oh, I wish we had apple cider donuts to go with it.”
“We might be able to buy some,” Rhett says. “There’s a place down the road from here, isn’t there?”
“There should be,” I say. “But failing that, there are plenty down south.”
North Jersey has its share of quaint farms gearing up for apple and pumpkin picking, but the true “garden” portion of the Garden State lies farther south. I don’t mention to Rhett that I will happily drive there and get the donuts myself if necessary, sure he will refuse.
In any case, I jot down the suggestion, as well as a few other things as the guys (mostly Mal and Rhett) toss ideas around. Tidy notes fill my notebook alongside the lists of numbers, but my writing jolts a slip of paper free.
I rush to stow the paper back between the pages of my notebook. I should have taken it out, but it still needs to be … dealt with.
I suppress a grimace. That is not a task to handle in front of the guys who work the café. I will settle the matter on my own, hopefully without any of them ever knowing.
“Albert?”
I find Rhett watching me, concern etched in a thin line between his brows.
I shake off my worries, aiming for a neutral expression. Fortunately, no one truly expects a smile from me most of the time, but Rhett has known me long enough and well enough to see through my careful blankness.
“That is all,” I say. “You all ought to get back to campus and rest.”
Trent, Gabriel and Mal need no further convincing, but Rhett hesitates, lingering until the others have left.
“Hey, is everything alright?” Rhett says. His eyes flicker to my notebook, now tucked under my arm, and I have to school my tone into neutrality.
“Yes,” I say.
“Albert.”
“I assure you, there is nothing to worry about.”
Rhett narrows his eyes at me, but just then Spencer, his boyfriend, appears at the top of the stairs.
“Hey, babe, ready to go?”
Rhett hesitates a beat, but exhaustion and the promise of comfort win out. “Yeah, I’m coming.” He looks a me a moment longer. “Don’t think I’ll forget about this, Albert. You’re hiding something. I know you way too well.”
“It is nothing that concerns you,” I say.
Rhett looks unconvinced, but he doesn’t push. He leaves tucked under Spencer’s arm, and I let out a relieved breath when I’m alone in the basement.
I open my notebook, fingering that slip of paper nestled between the pages.
It has come to our attention
illegal business or club off-campus
violation of City University of Montridge policies on student conduct
thorough investigation
we will have no choice but to shut down any such operation
possible expulsion
The letter returns to me in clips and fragments. I wince at each one, but I wasn’t lying to Rhett. This isn’t something he needs to concern himself with it. I will deal with the university. If they want to investigate my home off-campus and search for what they deem an “illegal business or club,” I will let them in. I will even show them the basement. They cannot prove this is anything but a private space I’ve designed for my own amusement.
And if they do want to press the issue, I have the resources to push back just as hard.
They will not take the Boyfriend Café away from us. Of that, I am absolutely sure.
Chapter Two
David
I BUNDLE MY TEXTBOOKS in my arms and shuffle out of class. Next week’s reading already weighs on my mind. Plus, I have that assignment for my Formal Logic class that I’ve been putting off. That stuff makes my head hurt, but I have to find a way to get through it so I can tackle some of the mountain of reading ahead of me.
Is it seriously barely October?
My second year at City University of Montridge has barely begun and I’m already drowning in assignments. But this is nothing compared to how hard law school will be. Getting my philosophy degree is just the first step. If I can’t even do this, how will I ever move on to grad school?
I startle as someone flings their arm around my neck.
“Geeze, chill, it’s just me.”
I relax as I recognize Quinn, my best friend here, her long red ponytail bouncing as she keeps pace with me. She had to get on her tip toes to fling her arm around me like that, and I’m not even particularly tall. She stretches again, this time to muss my already messy mop of wavy brown hair.
“You’re looking even more mousy than usual,” Quinn says. “Head in the books?”
“I don’t really have much choice. This semester is killing me.”
“Already? It’s not even Halloween. Hey, speaking of Halloween, what are you doing?”
“Studying, probably.”
Quinn rolls her brown eyes dramatically. “That is amazingly lame.”
“It’s also amazingly true.”
“Look,” she says, pulling out her phone.
Somehow, Quinn effortlessly navigates her phone as we walk, swiping and typing as other students rush by on their way to class. I should be one of those students, but it seems like Quinn is going to make my walk from the humanities building to the library a lot more interesting than it should be.
The whole campus is gearing up for fall, the sky sleeting into gray, the trees edging toward their brilliant final hues before the leaves fall and scatter over the pathways winding through campus like the freckles scattered across my cheeks. It’s a perfect time of year to live in the Northeast. Well, except for the fact that I’ll barely experience any of it, more likely staying cooped up in my dorm room studying. I try to relax and enjoy my brief walk to the library while Quinn taps at her phone. It’s likely to be the most daylight I see before my stomach interrupts my studying to force me to the cafeteria later.
“There!” Quinn says.
She turns her phone to me. I squint at what seems to be some kind of text exchange on social media.
“Sorry, what is this?”
“The Boyfriend Café, duh,” Quinn says.
All I see is what looks like a stream of messages back and forth between several people.
“I don’t get it,” I say.
“Halloween? Hello? Keep up, David.” Quinn snaps her fingers as she speaks, but I’m still completely lost.
“What does this—” I wave at her phone “—have to do with Halloween?”
“They’re having some kind of party.”
“Who?”
“The Boyfriend Café. God, David, I love you, but you can be so dense.”
My head is still back in Professor Wilson’s lecture on materialism. I have no earthly idea what she’s talking about.
“Okay, I need you to back all the way up,” I say. “I’m about three conversations behind you here. What the hell is a Boyfriend Café, and why do I care that they’re throwing a Halloween party?”
Quinn’s sigh is gustier than a Nor’easter. I have somehow failed not only her, but all of humanity.
“I don’t understand how you haven’t heard about the café,” she says. “Everyone’s been talking about it all year. Oh right. Because you’re a freaking shut-in.”
“I’m a student. And I’m trying to study.”
She rolls her eyes. “Boring. Anyway, it’s this, like, tea shop or something. But you don’t really go there for the tea. You go there because a hot guy sits with you for an hour and listens to you complain while you drink tea.”
