Chapter Five

One Year Ago

Early March

CHANNON

Channon hated this time of year but add an unseasonal heatwave, the shows coming to town, college students deep in exam mode, and he was inundated with customers on a sweltering day when all he wanted to do was run. Between having to fork out more money for extra ingredients and more gas to get the truck to and from the busiest sites, this was easily the most stressful season except holidays.

Halloween had people flocking to the truck for pumpkin-spiced lattes, decorated cookies and devil’s chocolate cake. Valentine’s was red and glittery cookies, slices of cake big enough for couples to share and hanging around the college campus for the doe-eyed couples. Easter was fun, because chocolate eggs, nests made from corn flakes and multi-coloured drinks flew off the shelf. The only one he truly enjoyed was Christmas, seeing the wonder in the kids, watching Vihaan kids experience the snow and decorations for the first time. Their innocent joy as they gorged on the variety of cakes, chicken sandwiches, stuffed turkey casseroles, cinnamon coffees, the gingerbread biscuits and candy canes. Vihaan didn’t have holidays like Dnara, and it always made Channon happy to be part of their first experience with the season. Channon was always prepared for the holidays, but somehow summer had him chasing his tail every day from the end of May to the beginning of August. Every year he was caught off guard.

“Um, hello.”

Channon turned from cleaning the coffee machine, surprised to see a man in a suit, more rumpled than the businessmen craving a coffee hit. “Hi. What can I get you?”

The man used his middle finger to push black-rimmed glasses over his Roman nose. “Um, your menu says you do caramel doughnuts,” he said, pointing to the sign on the right of the counter.

“Sure.”

“I was here at Christmas when you did an amazing cinnamon coffee but―” The man paused, obviously nervous and adjusted the pile of folders in his arm. “―I don’t see it on your menu. Did you stop doing them?”

Channon smiled at the frazzled, nervous man, curious about the scent wafting off him. It was similar to clewood but distinct enough not to be the native Vihaan plant, perhaps closer to the tarvuy bulbs commonly grown next to clewood to keep predators away. “I only do them at Christmas.”

“Ah.” The man nibbled at his bottom lip, eyes roving the drinks board. “Do you do anything similar?”

Finding the man’s nerves oddly charming and attractive, Channon raised a finger to ask him to wait and backed into the truck. He was sure there was a tub of cinnamon powder in the cupboard, as it hadn’t been as popular last Christmas and he’d over-ordered. He found the tub in the bottom cupboard, half empty but plenty for a few orders, and returned to the counter to set the tub down. “You’re in luck. I have half a tub left. You still want one?”

The man beamed in delight. “Can I take two, please?” he asked, digging into his jacket pocket, which made the files on his arm slide awkwardly.

“Put your files on the counter.”

“Thank you.” The man flashed another smile as he laid them onto the counter, then dug into two pockets before one hand emerged with various coins. He counted out what was needed then added extra.

Channon tried not to smile at what must be a tip. He kept a jar on the counter for anyone who wanted to add a tip. “Are you here for term time?” he asked, guessing he was a college professor who lived in the city but had an apartment in the village for school terms.

“No, I live in Harmony Village,” he said with a vague smile. “I work in Chalmerton.”

Channon frowned, confused because Chalmerton was desolate, crowded with abandoned houses, run-down businesses and factories no one wanted anything to do with. Four intersected streets overrun by drug users, dealers and hookers was not what he expected. This guy did not belong there. “What do you do there?” Channon asked, sliding two take-away cups of cinnamon coffee across the counter, next to the bagged doughnut.

“I run a hospital. For people like us.”

Channon blanched at the term ‘like us’, too often slurred by drunken assholes in bars who thought being with a guy meant he was gay. Channon had been bisexual his entire life, but for some men it was an us/them situation, and he wasn’t willing to have that conversation again, especially not with a stranger. “Like us?” he asked, trying to sound curious rather than offended, in case he’d somehow misunderstood the implication.

“Vihaans.” The man blinked, a finger pressing against the bridge of his glasses. “I have a hospital for Vihaans and run a clinic there. If you ever need medical help,” he said, pausing as he rummaged in his pockets to remove a business card he slid onto the counter. “You’re welcome to call or leave a message. I’m more than happy to come to your truck, say for a burn or something you don’t have…um, time?…to treat.”

The meaningful pause and raised eyebrow suggested he was making a genuine offer, discretely acknowledging how quickly Vihaans healed. He wouldn’t know that Channon could shift to his kalou to accelerate the healing even further. He’d expect him to give the wound time, as even weeks could give a grave injury time to fully heal.

“I appreciate that.” Channon took the card, reading the name: Doctor Waylan Robell. He glanced up and nodded to Waylan as he gathered his order.

“I’m happy to help anyone but especially Vihaans.” Waylan bobbed his head in goodbye and walked away. He took three steps, to clear space for a queue that wasn’t there, and sipped his coffee, shoulders visibly deflating as another smile emerged.

What an odd man.

Channon glanced at the card and the location of the hospital. He might stop by tomorrow, maybe with the offer of another cinnamon coffee.

*

Present Day

 

CHANNON HAD BEEN so naïve and unaware of what awaited him. The next time Waylan approached from across the street he’d had his order ready before he reached the front of the queue. By the third visit, he’d started craving the five minutes he would spend at the counter, talking about his day, asking how Channon’s work was and whether he’d expanded the business because he’d changed his route.

He could never have admitted that he added Chalmerton to his route or Waylan would know he’d grown attached to someone who was barely a friend. He already stocked cinnamon coffee all year round but never added it to the menu until Christmas because he always wanted to have enough for Waylan.

They didn’t talk about their personal lives until recently, though he didn’t remember it being a conscious decision, naturally trusting and opening up to each other after so much time as acquaintances. Progressing to more was only natural and Channon couldn’t have justified the feeling in his gut back then. Sitting with Waylan, having coffee in a relaxed atmosphere, for the first time not confined to the truck counter, he could no longer deny the obvious.

“I’m honestly surprised because I would have expected Eli to have found his second nature by now. I’m hoping it’s because he’s only fifteen. He has time,” Waylan said though Channon wasn’t sure who Eli was.

“I know a kalou born in Dnara to pure Vihaan parents, and he didn’t find his second nature until he was seventeen,” Channon explained, hoping that eased his mind. Waylan was clearly worried about Eli―a nephew, cousin, patient or work colleague, perhaps one of their children―but he didn’t need to be. “I know you’re the doctor, but around the holidays, while their parents wait for their triple chocolate chai tea with whipped cream and cinnamon stick, the kids talk.”

Waylan’s eyes crinkled with delight.

“The usual argument is between siblings about who can run faster or shifted quicker,” he continued, wondering if Waylan could charm the kids as he did his patients. Channon was always flustered and never knew what to say.

“The eldest usually wins that argument,” Waylan remarked, clearly familiar with the fight. “I hear the same from the kids at the clinic. The eldest is always the strongest, fastest and found their kalou quicker. Except, if you ask the parents, the real answer is the youngest. They learn by watching the older siblings.”

“I wouldn’t know. I only overhear snippets. I’m not around kids much.”

Waylan groaned dramatically. “You’re lucky!” he said, clearly teasing from the way his eyes crinkled with laughter. “Honestly, they’re easier than the parents. Kids trust you implicitly and will always do what you tell them as a doctor, but adults will second-guess you all the time. Half honestly do know their children better, but the other half are scared, paranoid and worried, often with good reason.”

“I bet you put them at ease.”

A blush climbed Waylan’s neck and cheeks. “Thank you.”

Channon cleared his throat, realising that sounded like some corny pick-up he’d rehearsed. Did it sound like he was flirting? Was he flirting? He wasn’t sure or if it mattered but even if he’d wanted to, the flash of red that suddenly appeared in Waylan’s eyes would have been the final straw. No kalou could deny what that meant.

The mate bond. The sign of having finally found his fated mate.