Proofed

By A.Y. Caluen

A neighbors-to-lovers M/M romance novella.

 

For nine years, bookshop owner Dominic has been getting his coffee across the street. For nine years, café owner Louie has been wondering if he'll ever risk making a move.

 

Then weeks go by with no Dominic. Is it a sign of trouble for the bookshop (and the neighborhood), or only for the man himself? Louie doesn't quite dare ask the booksellers; he and Dominic haven't been that kind of friends. The relief when Dominic comes back is overpowering. So much so that Louie finally makes his move.

 

Dominic expected the story of his life to pick up where it left off. He didn't expect the next chapter to include Louie. But from a touch to a kiss to a best-ever date, their story unfolds with a new surprise on every page. A new thrill, and a new chance.

 

Adult situations, themes, and language; 27000 words and a happy ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexandra Caluen
• Release date: Oct 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215596296

A.Y. Caluen

A.Y. Caluen lives in a small purple house with her husband, a bottle of Laphroaig, a lot of books, and nine pairs of ballroom shoes. She is the author of over fifty contemporary romance novels and novellas featuring creative, diverse characters.

Book preview

Chapter 1

February 2015

Louie glanced up from the espresso machine when the door opened, smiling at the pretty hippie from across the street. Bon jour ma belle! Ça va?

Everything’s good, Louie, said Marigold, studying the case of fresh bread. God, this smells great. She looked up. Dominic’s going to be back at the end of the week, finally. We need to celebrate over there.

He’s coming back. Finally. With – he hoped – only his usual here-to-serve expression, Louie said, A box for you?

Yes please. I mean, it’s only the three of us but everybody’s going to be in today.

He suggested the new Ingénue breakfast sandwich. Canadian bacon and cheddar omelette on maple pain perdu with a touch of lingonberry jam.

Oh Jesus Louie. Yes, three of those, please. And three of the chocolate bread puddings. Giant latte for me. Merci.

De rien. He put the order together, mind racing. Marigold’s manager had been away for two months; if she knew why, she hadn’t mentioned it. All the booksellers would be glad to have Dominic back. It was none of Louie’s business, really, but he was glad too.

The presence of Wordsmith across the street was one reason Louie chose this location for Café Pistache. He didn’t actually meet the bookstore owner until his own grand opening. That meeting set the tone: Dominic walking in, smiling at Louie, and saying Welcome to the neighborhood. Reaching across the service bar to shake Louie’s hand. He was wearing a sky-blue collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up that day. Oatmeal-colored jeans, rainbow-print canvas loafers, a smile like the sun, a crop of wavy sandy-brown hair.

Louie wanted to get his hands in that hair. Instead he said something nice about the Pride display at the bookstore and insisted on sending over a lunchbox of brioche rolls (with cheese, tomato, and his mustard-and-sweet-onion aioli) for the shop staff. You’ll be busy today, he said, offering a smile of his own.

Thanks, Louie. Dominic asked if he could post the bookstore’s event calendar on Louie’s bulletin board; Louie said of course he could; they shook hands again. And that was that. Now, almost nine years later, good neighbors all this time, that was still that. One of these days Louie was going to have to make a move. Maybe there would be an opening when Dominic came in again. If he hasn’t been on his honeymoon, Louie thought darkly. But surely not. If that were the reason the man was gone so long, Marigold would surely have said so. Mind on your work, boy. He turned to serve the next customer.

***

Dominic walked through the silent bookshop, looked through the glass door at the café across the street, and almost cried. It seemed like forever since he’d been here. The longest two months of his life.

Being at the house alone for one more hour was simply intolerable that morning. He’d left before dawn to make the drive in, needing the comfort of this place. His place. Phone already in hand, he sent a text. Hi Marigold, decided to come in today. Already here so I can open. Come in whenever and we’ll catch up.

The first week of ‘alone’ he was too numb to really feel it. His mother’s illness had been so unexpected, so swift, so relentless. Over so soon. There was nobody else, which meant he was the one to be with her, oversee her care, attend to all the arrangements. He was only forty. He’d thought he had more time before he needed to know how to organize his parent’s death. He’d only been inside a hospital once before.

But it was over, and he needed to be back in his own familiar space. Needed to reassure himself that Wordsmith, at least, was thriving. It had been in his life longer than anything else, aside from the woman now lost. At least they’d had those last weeks of intense togetherness, to say all the things they wouldn’t have a chance to say again. He was glad they’d remained close. Glad he had nothing to regret. They’d laughed together, even those last few days.

The shop was tidy. Pleasing tabletop displays, well-swept floor, no visible dust. The familiar smell of old and new books mingled with a whiff of incense. Marigold burned sandalwood, but only after the shop was closed, changing the open-hours classical music channel to world pop for an energy boost at closing. Dominic let himself think about that. He’d forgotten the sensual pleasures of his profession. In the past two months, he’d forgotten to play music, to notice the way things smelled. He’d forgotten Marigold’s multicolored hair, her bright smile, and the tattoo on her arm. The ‘om’ symbol, rendered like the scales of a snake in rainbow colors. Forgotten what it was like to really taste his food.

But there across the street was Café Pistache. The craving for a café au lait, with maybe a fresh brioche ... on the other hand, he wasn’t at all sure he could eat. Louie will be glad to see you. The thought percolated up through that new layer of ashen dullness. Not even his staff knew exactly why he’d needed to take a leave of absence. When his assistant manager came in, he’d tell her. Hand her the cash bonus he’d decided on while going through his mother’s records. Notifying friends, paying bills, closing accounts. The house would be listed that weekend. Stop thinking about it.

It wasn’t the house he grew up in, but she lived there for ten years. Stop. Go. Talk to Louie. He went through the street door, locking it behind him. Walking straight across the street because there was no traffic to speak of at this hour, no need to go down to the corner to cross.

The café was already open. Louie opened at six. His two little tables, each with a pair of cabaret chairs, were set up under the awning. A stem of lavender, from the container plant on the far side of the door, in a bud vase on each table. Lacy white curtain hanging from a brass rod across the bottom third of the window, so people sitting at the matching pair of tables inside wouldn’t be eye to eye with those seated on the sidewalk. Dominic pushed the door open and went inside.

***

Dominic! Mon Dieu, where have you been? Louie wasn’t actually French, but he came from New Orleans and he knew his customers liked it when he broke out le patois. He wiped his hands on a tea towel, smiling, watching his neighbor come in. Smile fading as he took in the state of Dominic. What happened, mon ami. It must have been such bad news. Was he ill? What was it? They weren’t close enough friends for him to expect Dominic to speak of private things. All these years of smiles, impersonal greetings, and what might have been one-sided interest.

Dominic’s face twitched as if he were trying to smile. Louie said, Café au lait? Receiving a silent nod, he turned to the espresso machine to steam the milk. Have you eaten? A sound, not quite a word, as if Dominic were choking on it. You need to eat, my friend. He looked thin. Unshaven, with his hair overgrown and drab, as if in a few weeks it had begun to gray. Louie tried to mask his concern, only because he didn’t know if it would be welcome.

Then Dominic’s hand shook as he accepted his change. The coins missed the tip jar and spilled onto the counter. Louie shot around the service bar, wrapped his arm around Dominic’s waist, and steered him to the end of the long banquette. His peripheral vision showed their progress in the mirrored wall, like a scene in a movie. Only two other people were in the café at this hour. They both looked up to see what was happening, then returned to their breakfasts and their phones. Minding their own business, in the way of city people.

Louie misunderstood that when he moved here. He