Luca Chessman has been longing for love his entire life. The only problem is-he can't seem to find a guy that likes him the same way.
With his family cafe, Chessman's, struggling to keep afloat and no help from the bank, he's slowly accepting the d...
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All morning I've been on the phone to my lawyer and my accountant. Luca and Hazel haven't given me the go-ahead just yet, but a part of me believes that they're going to accept my help.
Some might think giving away a loan like that could break the bank but after my time as the CEO of my own company and selling it on into the industry, it's safe to say I made a big buck from years and years of hard work.
I don't know how much they need exactly but I presume it won't be a crazy amount to pay off their mortgage for a few months, along with enough money to re-decorate and brainstorm new ideas to bring in even more customers than before.
At around four o'clock I head to Chessman's, a little later than usual. When I step inside the shop is mostly empty apart from a man and a woman who are finishing up their coffees in the corner of the room.
My eyes flicker over the rest of the empty cafe and frown. We really need to do something about this, make it thrive before it crashes and burns–and I don't give up easily. I always keep trying until I have to think through a new plan.
But a part of me is telling me that I can do this, that we can do this.
It feels right and I want to see the success of this cafe flourish.
Luca is tampering around with one of the coffee machines, as the bell rings above my head, he glances over his shoulder. Within a fraction of a second, no doubt he's still sceptical about the thief that worked his way in here a few weeks ago.
His blue eyes soften when they land on mine and when they do, I notice how dark the circles are under his eyes. Considering his complexion looks flush from working on the machine, his eyes look lifeless.
Somehow he still flashes me a heart warming smile as I make my way towards the counter. "Hi, Declan." He says cheerily, eyes glittering gently and I don't know how he does it.
It's obvious he's exhausted, fretting about the business and yet he still gives one hundred and ten percent. Not once have I heard him sound bored or drained, he always puts on a front and pushes his real emotions to the back of his mind.
The true definition of a trooper.
"Hi, how are you?"
He blinks at my question and wipes the back of his wrist against his forehead. "Yeah..." he exhales slowly. "I'm okay. I'm just trying to fix this machine, I attempted watching a YouTube video but I didn't fully understand. Now I think I've fucked it."
I step closer to the counter and press my hand to the cool top. "What's wrong with it?" I ask.
"It's leaking," he says, placing one hand on his hip and turning back to the contraption. "We can't afford to get it fixed right now because these things cost a fortune, so it's tutorials instead."
