Single dad Arthit has always known Kongpob, a regular at his cafe, as a player. The latter brings in different partners every month and Arthit swears he'll stay away from him for good. However, life seems to have a different plan for him when Puimek...
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The sound of beans being poured onto the weight fills up the quiet cafe. Arthit puts down the bag of coffee beans and stares at his right hand, the image of Puimek's tiny fingers laced with his replaying like an old tape on his palm, right before his eyes.
The father could still feel the warmth of her hands, the regrets that he's had when he finally let go of her, pushing her past the preschool gate and the little waves that she's given him in the morning — waves that said 'see you later'.
Maybe he could've done just a little bit more for her.
Maybe I shouldn't have let go of her hand—
But—
Arthit lets out a shaky breath, willing himself to calm down.
"Why does he look... constipated?" asks Bright, whispering into Tutah's ear, a few feet away. They've both been watching the barista like a hawk since he came in and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that his mind is preoccupied with unpleasant thoughts. The first thing that has triggered their observation is the fact that Arthit, who's always been careful in handling the coffee machine, forgot to dump the leftover grounds in the portafilter before making the next cup of caffeine for their morning crowd.
The patisserie chef taps a finger to his chin and hums, "I wonder if Kongpob did something to him."
"Impossible," snips Bright, narrowing his eyes at the mention of his junior's name. "He went back to that brat's house to do the laundry during lunch break. I don't think it's got anything to do with Kongpob."
Tutah produces a non-committal noise in the back of his throat.
"He's not acting like himself," continues the boss. "He's done three mistakes so far."
"Well... at least he's only making mistakes when something's bothering him. Unlike you," says the chef with thick sarcasm and he dodges in time before Bright manages to strike the back of his head in annoyance. The taller man bares his teeth like a threatening puppy at the other and glowers when he's being ignored. "Oh right."
Tutah moves closer to Arthit who's still deep in his own thoughts. "Arthit," he calls out. "Isn't it about time for you to fetch Puimek?"
The barista who's midway frothing almond milk mindlessly freezes and spins around to look at the pair, his eyes dancing between the two men who's studying him intently. He wets his lips nervously.
"I—" begins Arthit with a small voice. How am I supposed to tell them?
There's no need to fetch Puimek anymore from now on.
