steps into what constituted his kitchen—a tiny breakfast bar, a fridge, a hob, and solitary cupboard. The washing machine was in the bathroom, keeping the shower cubicle company. It was the most space he’d had all to himself in as long as he could remember, and it somehow managed to be both awesome and horrible at the same time.
The charity had furnished the kitchen with a kettle, a toaster, and enough crockery and cutlery for one miserable person. All he needed was food, but the forty-six pounds he’d tucked in the cupboard last night felt too precious to spend. You need to go back to the job centre and sign on. True facts, but after yesterday, he’d rather starve. Or at least hold out a little longer.
He took a shower without looking over his shoulder. The gas-powered hot water lasted fifteen minutes before it started to give out. Skin flushed from the heat, he dressed in the same jeans, and another thin T-shirt. He’d planned on staying home until businesses started to open, but with nothing for company, save his own thoughts, agitation swept over him. Lack of routine made his skin crawl, the quiet, the freedom. I gotta get out of here.
Luis left the bedsit. Outside it was cold and barely light, but enough people were up and about to make the world seem real.
He paced the pavements, tracking past the park, the petrol station, and towards the cash-and-carry store at the end of the road. The fresh air felt amazing against his bare skin, and he almost didn’t notice the biting cold.
Almost. Man, it’s fucking freezing.
“Still no coat, eh?”
Luis jumped and swung his gaze sideways. For the second time in twenty-four hours, the man from Toni’s had walked up on him, this time from the exit door of the cash-and-carry. Jesus, what are the chances?
Not that it mattered. Despite the dude being glorious to look at, he was the last person on earth Luis wanted to see.
One of them, at least.
Luis turned away and kept walking, figuring the bloke was already bored with whatever conversation he’d been trying to start, but found his path blocked by six foot of scowling Italian. “Fuckin-A, mate. What do you want?”
“What do I want?” The man raised his hands as if considering putting them on Luis—let him try—then seemed to change his mind. “I thought it was you who wanted a job?”
Luis shrugged, his stance as non-combative as he could bear. He’d learnt to be painfully neutral in prison, pleasant enough to be liked, quiet enough to stay under the radar. With no Moss Farm boys on the wing, it had worked, but out here where his face was known, looking weak was a risk. His hands itched to push the man away, a warning, and the only one he’d get.
He balled them into fists and shoved them in his pockets. “Yeah, well. It was you who told me it didn’t exist, so why are you up in my face again?”
The man glanced over his shoulder. “I spoke to my granddad. He seems to think we need the help enough to put up with whatever trouble you bring to our door.”
“I already told you I don’t run with the Moss Farm boys anymore.”
“When did you get out?”
“Yesterday.”
“What are you doing roaming the streets at five in the morning?”
“What do you care?”
It was the other man’s turn to shrug. “I don’t care if you’re just out for a morning stroll, but if you’re on your way home from something dodgy, this conversation’s over.”
“I didn’t ask you for this conversation.” Luis kept his voice low, swallowing the frustration expanding in his chest. How was this even his life? He’d dreamt about cafe dude, but not like this. Never once had he imagined him becoming so fucking annoying. “If you don’t want to have it anymore, let me pass.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying? Because as much as I’ve got nowhere else to be, I haven’t got time for this.”
“Do you have time to work today?”
Luis glanced up sharply. “What?”
“Work. As in, work for me. Today. I’m snowed under and could do with the help if you’re up for a trial shift.”
The sun broke through the clouds behind the train line, grey streaked with a golden glow. Tension bled from Luis’s shoulders. “What’s your name?”
“Why does that matter?”
“I want to know if you’re serious.”
“How does knowing my name help you with that?”
“You know mine.”
“That’s not my fault.”
Luis couldn’t deny it. But stubbornness flowed