Page 18 of Quit Playing Games with My Heart

That didn’t mean I was out of the woods, though, as I discovered as soon as the conversation resumed.

“Do you have any plans to head back to Pittsburgh to visit your family before the end of summer?” Sam asked, settling into his chair and watching me like he thought I was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Um, no,” I said, squirming a little.

Sam frowned slightly. “You don’t go back to visit that often,” he observed.

“I don’t,” I said, spreading my hands on the soft tablecloth and staring at my nails for a second to delay answering him. “I don’t have the best relationship with my hometown.”

Sam’s face pinched for a second, like he was trying to figure that out. “But you get along okay with your family, right?”

“I get along okay,” I repeated, looking up at him. “My family isn’t like your family, though. They’re not as…accepting.”

“Of you being gay?” he asked flat out.

I shrugged, trying to pretend I wasn’t uncomfortable. “They don’t love it, but they accept it. It’s more like they don’t—” I paused, uncertain what to say without saying too much. I bit my lip, then said, “Both of my parents are teachers. Not just teachers, they’re university professors.” Things might have been easier if they were elementary school teachers used to dealing with learning challenges, but I hadn’t been so lucky.

“And they don’t like that you’re working as a barista?” Sam guessed.

“Something like that,” I said, reaching for my drink.

“No wonder you and Diccon are best friends,” Sam said, his manner easy and accepting. “He gets hung up on the fact that he never finished college and that he chose to work for the family business instead.”

“Yeah, we do have that in common,” I said, trying to mirror Sam’s ease. “Although in Diccon’s case, he actually got his associate’s degree, whereas I⁠—”

I stopped in sudden panic. I’d definitely said too much already. I needed a way to back out of the conversation before Sam started asking questions and I had to admit to the humiliation that still stung so hard, years later, that I couldn’t even think about institutes of higher learning without feeling sick to my stomach.

“I didn’t realize you were in college at all,” Sam said.

I swallowed thickly. “I, um, I was for about a millisecond, but it wasn’t for me.” Which was putting it mildly. And then, before Sam could ask more questions, I rocketed on to, “All of Pittsburgh wasn’t for me, but I love Glenside. I thought I’d maybe work over here for a few months and then find something else to do, but Common Grounds is such a great environment that I knew I had to stay.”

“I’m glad you did,” Sam said, raising his glass to me with a warm grin. “You’re practically part of the family now.”

Shivers of delight squiggled their way through me. There might have been a lot of things in my life that I didn’t like or that I was ashamed of, but being part of the Common Grounds family wasn’t one of them. Knowing that counted for a lot in Sam’s eyes made everything else feel that much better.

Our conversation was paused for a second as Emanuel brought our food and asked if we needed anything else. I sent him a grateful smile at his offer and he winked at me. I hoped Sam didn’t think the man was trying to flirt with me, but he seemed mostly amused.

Luckily for me, as we started eating, the conversation shifted away from me and around to Sam. “I really hope you don’t hold how long it took me to ask you out against me,” he said with a look that was somehow both hot and sheepish. “It’s just that we were all pretty traumatized by the Matt and Melissa incident.”

“What exactly happened there?” I asked, eager to listen to any story Sam wanted to tell.

Sam huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes as he chewed his ribs. “The two of them were young and impulsive,” he said. “They were both students at Arcadia University, and both into theater.”

“Oh my gosh, theater people,” I laughed, already guessing where the story was going.

“Right,” Sam said, his mouth twitching into a wry grin that made me want to kiss him. “Which meant they were loud about falling in love. They practically gushed all over each other, which wasn’t great for work. They would sneak off into the back to make out when things got slow, which inevitably meant the service was terrible. I lived in constant fear that someone would walk in on them going at it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“And then they broke up,” Sam went on. “They did that just as loudly. Lots of glares and passive-aggressive behavior. And then came the public fights.”

“Really? Ugh.”

“Yeah. Firing them was hard,” Sam went on with a wince. “I hate firing people. But it had to be done.”

“Sounds like it.”

“I wrote the rule discouraging employee dating right after that and really drilled it home to people. Of course, anyone who was around during the Matt and Melissa episode was scarred for life and thought it was necessary.” He paused, glanced down for a second, then looked up at me with a look that had my blood rushing to all the right places at the wrong time. “That was then. Things have changed a lot. I don’t think we’ll have those kinds of problems.”