Black Velvet (64) (Patreon)

(Warnings for: secondhand embarrassment.  NSFW talk from Tobias (sort of) and poor communication.  Please remember these guys are young adults and a little stupid with romance.)

(this is a big chapter of pure development)

—

Ms. Martin is leaving work early for one of her dog shows, but this time, she's a placeholder instead of just an audience member.  This has her much more excited this morning than I've seen her in months.

In fact.  It's irritating.  She's too excited to deal with before dawn because I am running on lack of sleep and two hot chocolates and still haven't been able to talk to Tobias.

Thanks to her.

Ms. Martin has also decided to wear the brightest shade of yellow imaginable, paired herself right up with her dog's yellow bowtie, and is actively burning my retinas out.  While wearing her dastardly villain assemble, she sent a reluctant Tobias on an impromptu 24-hour gas station run.

For chocolate.  Chocolate she forgot to order.

For her bakery.

And there went the talk I've been so desperate for.

I try not to look too full of disappointment or outward disdain, but my nose is wrinkled as I stare, miffed at my boss and her meddling.  I blink ever-so-slowly as she informs me of the rules and regulations of a freaking dog show.

Which shows — she had time to get the chocolate herself!

She's entered in one of her Pomeranians, Bambi, who was almost put down last year for biting the hotdog man outside the courthouse.  Bambi is on her second strike with Animal Care and Control.

And now, she might be a Jameson canine superstar.

I exhale.  This freaking town.

I nod along from the front of the bakery, eying the dog as it stares up at me with suspicion because I so don't want to end up with nine stitches like poor Mr. Roberto.

Ms. Martin leaves, finally, and when she tries to pat my shoulders on her way out as thanks for being early, Bambi barks at me in the highest pitch imaginable.  I nearly knock the table over with how fast I slide right up against it — a very sad and undeniable attempt at shielding my posterior.

"Jesus,"  I whisper.  "How is she in a dog show?"

This slight bit of an off morning isn't as anxiety-inducing as it is after I make my way back to my workstation, drying off my hands after washing them at the sink, because now Tobias should be back.

Does that mean we can talk?

Who talks first?

Me?  But I brought it up last.  If I bring it up again, does it make me pathetic?  What if he's hoping I'll forget that I asked to talk — and that's why he took Ms. Martin up on a solo-grocery run?

Shit!

I feel my nerves rising five minutes before the clock hits four, as I hear the back door of The Sweet Spot chime open. Tobias rustles in with his jacket and keys.   There's the sound of him depositing bags of chocolates onto the wire shelving fixtures and then him washing his hands and yikes.

Relationships are no joke.

Except this isn't a relationship yet — is it?

I'm stuck wondering if I say hello, or ask him how he is; how Huxley is, if we're going to talk about us, or if maybe he's forgotten a conversation that took place two hours ago as an early onslaught of soap opera induced amnesia —

so I keep my head down.

It's just all strange and new to me, because Tobias has seen me half-naked in a very compromising position, and that's more than anyone except maybe my parents at birth.

That denotes a level of intimacy... Right?

I can see his shadow.  I hear the steady step of his shoes against the tiled floor.  I turn my head a bit as he makes his way behind me, try for a smile that doesn't border on awkward, even though I desperately want to question him.

But I don't.

Why don't I?

It's not like me to be shy.

Tobias' dark eyes graze over me, just for a moment, and I wonder if the day ahead of us will be tense with unsaid words or thoughts. But maybe not, not with the way he lifts an arm to string his hand through my hair, tucks a curl behind my ear.  My stomach flips,

"Are those your apples?"  He asks.  His voice is quiet as his hand drops back to his side.  It feels all too much like a casual gesture, so easy between us, "back by the coats?"

I nod dumbly.  I watch him as he pulls the strings of his black apron behind him with sturdy hands, loops them quickly, and sighs.  He gives me a stern look as he finishes, bracing his hands on the table,

"Glad to see you eating something other than pop-tarts,"  He raises his brow like he's lecturing me, but no wait, he's actually lecturing me, "You should do that more often."

"What?"

"And drink more than hot chocolate.  You'll get sick."

My heart pounds a little quicker, and I want to push it down, push the swell in my belly that says he's talking to me, casually; it's normal, and it's simple, and it sounds a lot like he cares just a bit.

That subtle change is — is everything.

"I don't always...."  I should say something snarky back or perhaps petulantly defend my terrible eating habits, but I smile instead and cut my sentence short, roll another piece of dough out.  "Okay.  I'll eat better."

Tobias pauses, looks a bit off guard by it, and then his lips tilt the slightest as he chuckles.

"That was easy."

It is.  And — it isn't.

—

Tobias and I are on some sort of roll.  Pun not intended.  We have way too much bread to make for the shop over, a shop that offered Ms. Martin free Christmas decor for enough bread samples to last the week.

So it's mostly silent, and we've skipped our break in favor of an extra batch of white chocolate Marciano cherry bread.

So, around noon, Shelby slips in, like a Jameson-residing angel.  She's smiling, slides a coffee in Tobias' direction because she's decided she's accepted working with him two days a week, regardless of the rumors about him.

Maybe this is her idea of giving him a chance.

She bumps up close to me, then leans on her elbows,

"Brought you a hot chocolate, my darlin' boy,"  She winks audaciously, sways her hip into me as she plants the container down under my flour-covered arms. "It's time for a break.  And... it's nice and warm, just for you."

"Hey, wow, someone's super cheerful today,"  I pick off dried raspberry from my arm and then thank her with a nod as I try to scoot the drink out of my work area with my elbow, "but this is probably a health code violation."

Shelby sighs, rolls her eyes and moves the drink onto the lowest shelf.

"... I just wanted to talk to you about something extra special, you know."

I blush.

"Like... What?"

I wouldn't say I like the way that she's looking at me, and I have a gut feeling to shove her out of the workspace right at the moment that Tobias' head tilts a bit, like now he's listening.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

I feel the flush creep further up my face as she stares at me, unblinkingly, innocent grin still in place.  I don't respond, keep opening my mouth like I will, but,

I hesitate.

"Although unbelievable at best, I think it would be adorable if you did,"  Shelby continues.  She smiles at me, but there's a small playfulness in her eyes, a wicked tilt to her lips; she leans closer, places her lips close enough to my ear to whisper — but doesn't whisper at all,

"Since I heard Mrs. Wallace saw a hickey on the back of your neck a couple of weeks ago."

My hand leaves the dough, slaps over my neck abruptly.   Health-code violation.  It probably leaves a cloud of flour in its wake.  Shelby is howling with laughter, and Tobias is smirking from where he stands.

"So it was true?!"  She howls, pressing manicured fingers between my shoulder blades, "oh my god.  Wow.  You have to tell me.  Who?"

I inhale, eyes shifting to Tobias quickly and then away,

"Ah.  No one! I mean.  It was probably a rash!"

"Oh, a rash!" Shelby is nodding along but shares a look with Tobias like, can you believe this guy. Tobias is now staring me down, as unhelpful as ever.  He twists a rag between his hands as his eyes roam my hand-covered neck.  "It's not like you to mess around with girls.  That's your brother's job!"

"That's because I haven't!"  I swallow, "I haven't messed around with — any..."

Girls?

Crap.

"Oliver, come on, who was it? Was it Charlie-Anne?"  Shelby wraps her lips in a silent ooh, like she's excited as I shake my head.  "Annalise?"

I shake my head again, heart thumping,

"What! It wasn't?"  She huffs.  "Wow.  I can not see you dating anyone, oh my God.  I mean.  You don't even use social media!  This is just crazy."

"You can't?"  I'm sputtering, red, and can feel my fingernails digging in behind my ears. Does that mean — Tobias can't see me dating anyone either?

"Of course not!"

What if — what if he can't see me dating him?

Oh my God.  I didn't even think of that.

"It was me," Tobias cuts in, suddenly, and my brain short-circuits in its own self-doubt.  "I gave him the hickey."

He slips past us as he makes his way to wash his hands, but this only has Shelby laughing harder, shaking her head as she crosses her arms.

"Oh, the mystery." She simpers, "Fine! I see how it is, don't tell me.  I should take that hot chocolate back."

The woman crosses her arms, acts off-put as she turns to slip back out into the front.

"Little Oliver Abernathy is dating someone.  What a riot!"

I wait until she's out of earshot to turn back to Tobias in horror, gaping at him as he washes his hands like it's no big deal, asshole.

"What, Oliver?" He says. It actually sounds like he's sighing as he wipes his hands on a paper towel.  I can see his ever-present smirk, though, wrinkle my nose as I glare daggers into his face.

"I'm undateable!  I mean — no!  You gave me a hickey?"  I yelp, then cover my mouth — shooting a panicked glance back to where Shelby once was, "what are you, an octopus?"  I'm grumbling, much quieter, about how apparently I'm a dating leper, then let my hands fall a bit so I can speak clearly.

"... really?  A hickey?"

Tobias raises his eyebrows and shrugs,

"Yep." He actually pops the fucking 'p' like it's the most simple thing in the world,   "Weird.  Guess I didn't notice."

How did I not notice?

Well, I guess I can't see the backside of my neck.

"Oh my God," I whisper, turn to stare at the proofing dough, "What if my mom saw... Did you think about that?"  I know my face is red, quite possibly my ears and neck two.  Tobias just reaches for the baker's scale, plops it down in front of him with a clang,

"She didn't notice or she would've cornered you.  Maybe if you didn't stretch out the collars of all your shirts, it wouldn't show."  He teases.  "It's gone now."

He slices off a piece of dough, rolls it out with the bottom of his palm.  I cross my arms, now completely covered in flour,

"What does that even mean?"

"You know what I mean,"  He motions towards the loose collar of my work shirt, like every shirt I own, "you stretch them out.  Looks good, though."

"It's a habit."  I bite back, grab my hot chocolate off the counter and send him a look like I think he's the craziest man alive (to keep from tugging at my shirt,)

"Anyway.  Now I'm going to have Nic-grade rumors.  Sex rumors!  I'm like the weirdest person anyone knows here, okay," I flap my arm to the side like that, thoroughly demonstrates my lack of sexy, "I can't have sex rumors.  I should have like, not sexually active stamped on my forehead, and,"

"Not sexually active,"  Tobias lifts his brows, grin rising on his face, "then what would you call what we did?"  His dark eyes slide to mine, and I swallow, feel my thumbnail sink into the opening of my drink when I grab for it.

"This is embarrassing.  People are going to be talking about how much I shouldn't be dating, just like Shelby — and I'm going to get a complex,"

"It was an accident."  Tobias looks a bit more contrite, his head tilting as he steps closer.  "It was.  Really.  Okay?  Sorry."

He does sound sorry.

"You...?"  I groan, turn to my workstation, away from him, "just be more careful.  I have sensitive skin."  I babble, can feel him closer behind me.  His thumb rolls over my neck, I can feel his chest up against my back and the top of my head,

"Exactly.  Sensitive. Would you be happier if I said I got a little carried away." He leans over my shoulder, delivers a flick to where his mark once was, "because you really seem to like teeth?"

Tobias is laughing as my ears heat, and I spin around in the small space he's granted, glaring at the dark-haired man through my mortification,

"I do not,"  my voice cracks a bit, watch his head tilt to the side as his amusement grows, "you don't know.  I don't.  Nope."  I raise my hands to his chest, turn my face to the side because I can't bear to look at his smug face, try to push him from my space,

"Your curls are sensitive too,"  He pushes forward, his eyes darkening when my back hits the table, his hands sliding smoothly over the metal table behind me like a cage, "especially if I tug them.  Isn't that different?"

"Your neck, your curls," his thumbs press against the sides of my waist, "I guess I could've just kissed you... But you seem to like everything a little rough..."

I don't know how I go from being absolutely embarrassed to feeling like my stomach is about to flip out of my body, but Tobias manages to stir up a lot of mood-whiplash I've never felt before,

"Tobias.  Jesus!  Shh.  Shut your evil mouth."  I try to move my hips, and they only succeed in sliding against his leg, "we're at work.  With a very nosy and hell-bent Shelby, who doesn't need to think I'm dating a dominatrix."

"Yeah, yeah,"  Tobias has an air to his tone like he's teasing, but there's an underlying heat, "whoops."

With that, he pushes back, grabs another piece of dough to slice,

I feel myself flustered for way too long, hands trembling where they reach for the mixing bowl.  Then I turn a bit, watch Tobias' from the corner of my eye,

"Um.  So.  You know," My voice is quieter, less brave like I hoped it would seem, "well — do you think I'm dateable?"

I hear Tobias' metal scraper clang against the table before I notice that he's dropped it.  He glances over at me, his gaze a little startled,

"Ah."  He nods a bit, turns to let his back rest against the baker table, rolls the sectioned mixture in his hands,

"... Did you want me to ask you out?"

He drops the ball of dough onto a greased pan, turns away from me as he does so — shoulders flexing as he weighs another piece,

"What?  I mean — What does that mean?"  I huff, now absolutely irritated.  My chest feels sort of heavy like this.  Am I really — is there a reason people don't...?

"Why the heck wouldn't I want you to ask me out?"

Tobias' flinches a little, glancing back towards me, almost shy,

"It's not like everyone dates."   He inhales.  "Some people just — hang out.  They mess around and that's all they want —"

"Some people aren't me.  We kissed."  I continue, with another huff, "More than once!  And like — all I've wanted to do is talk to you.  Maybe about this — and.  Kissing.  Well... That's important.  It's important to me and,"

Tobias snatches my arm.  I try very hard not to notice how filthy it is in comparison to his, or how fast it whips me into his space.  I glance up, startled, my motor mouth sliced right in half with the raw determination present in his features,

"Will you go out with me?"

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