In the Beat of a Wing {boyxboy}

Chapter Thirty-Two

~Thursday 28th March 2013~

"I'll see you later, Edee, don't stay here all night," Hailee called as she shrugged on her coat and slung her bag over her shoulder. Eden looked up from the booth he was cleaning, flashing Hailee a tired smile.

"I don't think Mal would let me, he's hell-bent on getting home so we can have dinner," Hailee laughed, waving goodbye to Eden and leaving through the front door.

Eden returned to scrubbing the table of the booth he was working on, counting down the ones he still had to clean. He put his headphone back in, humming along with the upbeat song he was listening to, swaying his hips a little. He didn't have his music as loud as he usually would, knowing Malcolm was in the back office looking over the inventory like he often did when he picked Eden up from work.

With it being pretty late at night, the darkness of the evening worked in their favour. For one, paparazzi usually didn't stay on the job so late, and if there were any sort of pictures they would be too low quality for anyone to make a serious accusation. Eden would love for Malcolm to drive him to work, or maybe come by a little earlier and have coffee, but he would simply have to wait.

As one song ended, Eden just about caught the little bell jingling, indicating someone had opened the front door. He sat up, pulling out his headphones, his eyes landing on the man lingering by the door, looking around the diner with a warm smile on his lips. He had a familiar look to Eden, but the boy wasn't sure what it was that he recognised.

The man had short salt and pepper hair that sat in a mop of loose curls atop his head. He was clean-shaven, with rich hazel eyes that were like two little pools of honey. He was casual-looking, like he should be wearing a sweater and some jeans, not a pretty expensive suit. Eden wondered if it cost the same and Malcolm's did, though he doubted anyone could top the costs his boyfriend was willing to spend on a nice suit.

"We're closed, sir, we open at eight tomorrow morning," Eden stood up from his place kneeling on the seat of the booth, wiping his damp hands on a dry rag that had been resting on the table, catching the attention of the man. His smile grew a little when his eyes trained on Eden, his hands not moving from the pockets of his slacks.

"Oh, I'm aware, I was just looking for Eden Moir, I heard he's the owner here," Eden frowned sceptically, stopping dead in his tracks, wishing he had just remained by the booth that was much further away from the man.

"Why are you looking for him?" Eden glanced toward the counter briefly, wondering if he could scramble over it quick enough to get to the back office if the man decided to pounce. It all depended on his speed really, if not, he hoped he had time to scream.

"Personal reasons. I had hoped I might catch him here tonight but don't worry about it. You wouldn't happen to have his number, would you?" Eden hesitated for a moment, before walking past the man and around the counter, dropping the rag he had into the bucket of soapy water in the corner.

"I don't think that's really my place to do so," Eden actually flinched when the man chuckled, having never felt so tense, not for a few weeks anyway.

"It's only his number, come on, please? I promise you I'm not some creep trying to hurt him," Eden remained silent, wiping down the counter, looking to the back office every so often, "OK, I understand I might come across as a little bizarre, appearing out of the blue late at night asking for a colleague's number but it's really important. Will you at least give him mine?" the man picked up one of the notepads stacked by the cash register and took a pen from his breast pocket, leaning on the counter whilst he scrawled down something on the paper.

"Edee? You ready to go, bunny?" Eden grimaced when Malcolm's voice rang out in the room, the man's eyes instantly snapping up to meet his. Instead of some sinister sneer appearing on the man's face, he simply chuckled briefly, righting his posture and tearing out the paper he had written on.