L'Horoscope amoureux, Tome 0.6 : Spring

Fresh flowers. The loamy scent of soil. The morning sun haloing porcelain buckets of red, cream, and lavender roses. Barely-opened tulips. Two felt birds in love, perched on a branch.

None of it worked its usual calming magic.

Flynn Reilly misted buckets of chrysanthemums, catching his frown in the glass. Across the street, the rustic coffee joint bustled. Two beefy tables with wrought-iron stools perched under brick-arched windows. A colorful chalkboard promised rich, aromatic espresso.

The café was open.

His frown deepened.

Blurring movement to his left startled him. The bell jingled as Cute Caspian and his best-friend-and-lover-of-three-years Eli waltzed through the door. They erupted in greetings and questions about which flower had that most beautiful scent.

Absently he arranged a small birthday bouquet, pricking himself on a thorn despite his gloves. The café kept tugging at his concentration.

“What are you staring at?” Caspian asked, following Flynn’s next wayward gaze.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Caspian and Eli exchanged looks.

“Seriously. Nothing. Jack didn’t come home last night. Didn’t open this morning. He always opens.”

“Jack from Jacked Up Coffee, Jack?”

Of course. Who else?

Caspian’s eyes glazed as if he was reminiscing about their high school years. “Don’t you hate him?”

“I have . . . ambivalent feels for him,” Flynn said, shrugging. “Hate is far too passionate.”

Movement outside snapped his attention toward the café. Just a mother pushing a stroller.

Eli rocked a brow. “Ambivalent, eh? That’s why you know he didn’t come home?”

Flynn tied a tight knot around the bouquet. “It’s not my fault he lives above his shop. I miss—”

“Him?”

“—ignoring him while tending my tomatoes. It’s become an evening tradition.”

Caspian and Eli shared another silent conversation. “Well, you know, the broad shoulders, the height, the chiseled features—”

Flynn scoffed.

Eli laughed. “Come on, Jack’s handsome.” He darted a glance to Caspian. “But he has absolutely nothing on you, Cas.”

Caspian wrapped him into an amused hug, one arm around his shoulders. A soft kiss to his cheek.

Ridiculous. Jack resembled the toad he was. Might as well have been green and slimy for all Flynn cared.

Besides, he was straight.

“He’s charming, too,” Caspian added. “Makes the best coffee around. I’m surprised you two aren’t closer. You usually like everyone, and so does he.” He frowned, turning to his boyfriend. “Do you remember what happened there?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure they used to be friends.”

“Was it the trashcan incident?”

“No, that was Jack Jenkins, not Jack Ashford. The pot stashed in his car?”

Flynn snapped paper around their bouquet. “I’m right here, guys.” He paused. “It was neither of those things.”

Caspian smiled. “I suspect teasing isn’t allowed.”

Flynn grumbled. “It . . . disturbs the flowers.”

“Is that right?”

Flynn narrowed his eyes and Caspian laughed.