Page 62 of Damián

“What?! I have a nephew.”

“You’ve liked bairns’ films since way before your nephew was born. Remember when you went off your head for five days because Kocoum died ‘over a lassie’?”

“Ah, Finni. So great seeing you, but I think your other customers need you now.” I shoo him away with my hands, and the culero laughs.

“Finni, would you mind sitting down with us? I would love to know how you make the pastries this flaky without burning them.”

“Oh, nae. I shouldn’t intrude,” Finnian says, while sitting down next to Zara. “But since you’re extremely insistent… I’ll oblige.”

“Extremely insistent?” I raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Go eat your croissant. I’m not here to talk to you.” He shoos me back with his hand, and I laugh. “So, Oliver, tell us about yourself.”

And just like that, Finnian stays for another hour, asking questions, laughing, teaching Ollie how he makes his flaky things, talking about how we all met, and making plans to come back for another pie, before finally returning to the counter to help Lena with a client’s order.

We then spend another thirty minutes in the booth. During all that time, I keep my arm draped across the back of the seat, and my fingers idly playing with the soft hair at the nape of Oliver’s neck. I talk with Zara, I steal bites of Oliver’s pie, and completely enjoy this Friday afternoon.

“Oh, crap, I have to get back to work,” Zara says, checking her phone. She slides out of the booth, grabbing her purse. “Damián, it was really nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Ollie, walk me to the subway?”

“Yeah, of course,” Oliver says, and turns to me. “It’s a block away from here, want to come?”

“You go, nene.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very,” I lean in and kiss his cheek. “You haven’t seen her in weeks. Walk her to the metro, and catch up. I’ll pay the bill and wait for you outside.”

“Thank you.” Oliver leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

I watch them walk out, my chest tightening as the bell chimes and the door swings shut behind them.

I let out a long breath, grab the empty dishes, and carry them over to the counter.

Finnian is standing by the register, wiping down the espresso machine. He looks up as I approach, tapping a few buttons on the screen to pull up my tab.

“Dami, for the millionth time, you don’t need to clean your table.” He glares at me as I put the dishes in a tray where there are other dirty dishes.

“Can’t leave them there; my mamá would kill me if I forget my manners,” I tell him as I pass him my credit card.

“Please… Ana María is a sweetheart,” he says, as he swipes my credit card. “An’ he is magnificent, Dami.”

“He definitely is something.”

“It’s incredible, though…”

“What is?” I ask.

“Seeing you like this with someone.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve seen me with many men and women.” I frown, taking my card back from him. “You even put that stupid ‘no hooking up with regulars’ rule because of me. Well, and Björn… mostly Björn.”

“Aye, I’ve seen you flirt an’ snogging with many people, but I’ve never seen—” Finnian points to our now-empty table. “—that.”

“Yes, you have.”