Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was 10am on a Tuesday morning, and the city longed for rain. The overcast sky seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something. Billy looked over the coffee machine at the customers- half had not looked at the weather forecast, and were out without raincoats or umbrellas. The others had come prepared, carrying their rain gear over their arms as it was too hot and humid right now for extra layers.
The place was beginning to slow. There was normally a lull at this time- the pre-work coffee drinkers having already been, the lunchtime lot not yet in.
Billy used this time to check the stocks- they were running low on peppermint tea. They glanced around to make sure there were no customers who needed them (needed? As if this place was A&E?) and then walked from behind the counter to the store cupboard by the kitchen.
They spotted the box of teas on the top shelf and rose on their toes to reach it.
Once they had what they needed, they glanced into the kitchen. The chef, Edward Little, looked like he might be crying but that was pretty normal.
In the past Billy would have asked if he was ok, but they had learnt that Edward will just say he’s fine. Billy was not paid enough to deal with him anyway.
With the box Billy returned back to the main room.
Henry Collins, the coffee roaster, was stood by the door talking to the owner, George Hodgson. Well, being talked at by George Hodgson. They had been getting Collins & Co. Big Bear Beans (‘its like a dream’) for years because it was ‘locally roasted’. Billy never really understood why it mattered how close a product was roasted when it was grown in Columbia. At least the packaging looked nice on the wall behind the bar- featuring a monochrome design of an old fashioned diver in a helmet. (‘Why not a bear?’ ‘Billy,’ Tom Jopson had said flatly, ‘he is the bear.’). It went with the theme of the rest of the place- faintly old fashioned, nautical. George hadn’t brought in an interior designer, he just brought back things from antique shops that he liked, as well as random things from ancient relatives' attics. All these vaguely historical oddities against blue and white striped wallpaper was to make it look ‘eclectic’, apparently.
The place itself, as the menus explained (in a paragraph Billy had tried to say was too long to be on the back page), was once the town house of George’s great great something something, who had been an explorer in the mid 1800s. In his time, the house would have stood in grand gardens, but it had since been absorbed into the city centre, and was now terraced on both sides by other businesses in far less grand buildings. George had bought it five years ago, and wanted to honour his ancestor by creating a ‘community space’, which was really a fancy way of saying that the upstairs was multi purpose. Most of the time it was just where they sat the people ordering brunch or lunch, but it did have a stage and on some evenings was rented out by various groups. Those meant Billy and Ned usually had to stay longer to rearrange the furniture.
As Billy walked back behind the bar, they could see there was a customer leant against the counter.
Billy walked passed, placed the tea box on the back service and turned to them, still watching Henry and George talk.
‘What can I get you?’ It was only when they didn't receive an immediate response, Billy looked up at the person in front of them.
It was a man, at first glance not particularly attractive or notable, aside from his short stature (Billy would have been taller than that at about 10 years old). He met Billy’s eyes and cocked his head, causing his copper hair to swing around his chin.
Billy felt their ‘customer smile’ falter a bit when their eyes met. Somehow looking at him like this made all his features, which were nothing on their own, come together in an intriguing way, like when all parts of an orchestra play together.
The man smirked, as if perceiving Billy’s thoughts. ‘What do you like?’ he asked.
‘What?’
He smiled, showing his teeth slightly. ‘What do you recommend?’
‘The most expensive item on the menu.’ Billy wasn’t sure why they said that. Made no odds to them how much money George made. ‘I like the iced chai.’
‘I’ll get that, then.’
Billy couldn't place his accent. They found it difficult to turn away and start on his drink. Billy pulled the chai mixed from under the counter, placed generous spoonfuls into a jug and turned to the coffee machine to get hot water. They could feel the man watching him.
‘What milk do you want?’
The man smirked again, his brow creasing slightly in confusion. ‘The… normal kind.’
Billy nodded. ‘You can sit down, I’ll bring it to you.’
‘I’m good.’ He had taken to leaning on the counter, watching Billy intently. Billy usually was precious about the counter- it was their defense against customers- the boundary between them and the public, a wall around their space. But somehow, they found themselves not minding this intrusion.
‘You sure? This will take a while.’
The man smirked, ‘Yeah.’
Billy added a spoon of sugar to the mix and went back to the till. ‘That’ll be £5.10.’
‘For one drink?’
Billy half shrugged. ‘Yeah.’
The man looked up at them through his eyelashes. Those had a coppery tint too. With a shiver Billy thought about the rest of him, whether other hair had a similar tone.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘It better be good.’
Billy opened the under counter fridge and got the milk. They added it to the mix and steamed it, hoping if they were blushing that it would be blamed on the heat. They knelt and got scooped ice from the freezer. They glanced up, and met the man’s eyes as he looked down on them.
He hadn’t been this observed making a drink since his test shift. And then it was pretty obvious that George had no idea what he was looking at. They stood, placing the cup with ice on the counter, and turned to get the rest of the drink. Once they poured it through the sieve and onto the ice, the man reached for it, but Billy swatted his hand away. The man raised and showed his palm in an apologetic gesture. Billy grabbed the cinnamon shaker and sprinkled the drink, before picking it up and passing it to the man, their fingers meeting as it went from one hand to another.
‘Oh, I forgot your straw.’
Billy grabbed it and plonked it into the drink.
‘Ta-da.’ they said slightly awkwardly. ‘Enjoy.’ they added as if that somehow erased the ‘ta-da’ from existence.
The man took a sip. He looked slightly puzzled and then took another.
‘Do you like it?’ Billy said, then cursed their neediness.
‘I… think so.’ he said, sipping again. Billy watched his pink lips on the straw then glanced away. ‘It reminds me of something.’
‘A non-iced chai latte?’
‘Well, yes, but also-’ he sipped again, frowning. ‘I think it's just christmas-y.’
Billy nodded. ‘Yeah, makes me think of that too.’

***************

‘I like your nails.’
Billy started, their hand jolting and ruining the image in the foam.
With irritation they looked up. Oh.
It was that guy, face surprising close, leaning on the counter. It was a few days since he had first come in. Billy saw a lot of costumers, a lot of them regulars, but a decent amount of new faces. They didn’t remember them all, but they remembered this one.
Billy purposely didn't let their frown soften.
‘Didn’t mean to make you mess up your. Foam.’ the man said, indicating delicately with his hands.
Billy sighed. ‘I’ll start over. You have to drink this one though.’
The man took it and sipped and frowned. ‘Almonds.’
‘Yeah. Decaf latte with almond syrup.’
‘I don’t like almonds.’
‘Tough. Drink up.’
Billy started the coffee again. Out of the corner of their eye they watched him dutifully drink, shaking his head occasionally. Billy felt themself smile slightly at his obedience.
‘Can I order what I want to drink now?’
Billy returned their focus to foaming the milk. ‘Only when you’ve finished.’
‘Do you do this to every customer? Or do you just like torturing me?’
‘I would tell you that you aren't special. But most people wouldn't have drunk that. Maybe try to be less torturable.’ Billy took the mug from him. ‘What do you want?’
‘To order?’
‘What else?’
‘You remember what you made me the last time I was in here?’
‘No.’ Billy lied.
‘Liar. One of those.’
‘Fine. But you have to sit down. I can't focus with you staring at me.’
‘Why not?’
‘Its creepy. Go. Shoo.’
Billy waited until he was gone to return the latte art. They only granted themselves a glance up to see where he had sat when they had finished.
He had sat in the armchair by one of the big windows so he had the clearest view of the coffee bar. He was leaning back, ankles crossed, blatantly staring at Billy. Billy glanced at the two over customers, both engrossed in their laptops, before glancing back at the man. His stare was plain and made Billy blush, and return their attention to the bar. They started on the iced latte, conscious of the gaze on them, even as they left the bar to give the lady her latte. She didn't even glance at it, or Billy, before taking a sip, smudging the foam swab into a beige blob.
Feeling a little deflated Billy returned to the bar and finished the iced latte for that man. Pausing by the pastry cabinet, they grabbed a brownie and a plate and took it to his table.
‘Do you not have a phone?’ Billy said, placing the plate and glass on his table.
‘Hmm?’
‘Most people would get out their phone. Or a book. Or something. They don’t just sit there.’
‘God forbid a man live in the moment. What’s this?’ he said, pointing at the brownie.
‘What does it look like?’
‘Did you hear me order or one-?’
‘Do you not like brownies? As well as almonds?’
‘No. I'm just confused by the freebie.’ he picked it up and took a bite.
‘Maybe I dropped it on the floor.’
‘The floors are pretty clean here. I'll take my chances,’ he bit it again.
‘Gross.’
‘You gave it to me?’
Billy returned to the bar. Now would be a good time to make an itinerary. Or clear out the fridge. Or to put some used glasses in the dumbwaiter to be raised to the kitchen and washed. They glanced back at the man. He was still looking. Billy licked their lips slightly. This place wasn’t likely to get busy for another hour, when the school pick up time started. They could potentially find somewhere private… like the walk-in, Edward was unlikely to need anything from there at this time-
The bell on the door rang as two women came in. Billy sighed, shaking their head slightly. It probably wasn’t viable while they were at work. If that guy wanted to be sucked off in the walk-in, he’d have to come in when Billy was closing.
Billy thought they should also probably learn his name before doing that.

**************

‘Oh, hello.’
‘Hi.’
They looked at each other.
‘You going to order?’
‘Depends on if you're going to make me drink anything first.’
‘Luckily I noticed you before you could ruin my latte art. So not today. What do you want?’
‘I googled ‘hardest drinks for baristas to make’ and it said this.’ He held up his phone.
Billy didn’t glance at it. ‘No.’
‘Huh?’
‘You can only have one customisation thing. Like a syrup or decaf or oat milk. I'm not doing several.’
‘But I want a-’ he turned his phone to look at it.
‘You’re having macchiato. Name?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Your name. For the drink.’
‘I don’t want a takeout.’
‘You can have it in. I still need your name.’
‘Why?’ he smirked.
‘New policy. What is it? Or I'll just write ‘dick head’.’
‘Cornelius.’
‘No, your real name.’
‘Why? It's not a legal form.’
‘Ok, at least a believable one. Why would you be called Cornelius?’
He shrugged. ‘It's not like I chose it. Can I sit down now?’
Billy started on the coffee machine. ‘Yes.’
The man, Corneilus, didn’t leave though. He folded his arms on the counter and leaned at the cake display. ‘You make these?’
Billy took a moment to answer, they were rather distracted by the way his stance emphasised the muscles on his lithe arms. ‘Personally? No. George, the owner does.’
‘You just drop them on the floor.’
‘Mhm. You said it wasn’t an issue.’
‘I doubt most customers think that way.’
‘I don’t give most customers floor brownies.’
‘I don’t know. You seem the petty type. You ever spit in people's drinks?’
‘No. But I might start.’ They passed Cornelius his drink. ‘And I'm not petty.’
‘Hmmm. Irritable?’
‘I’m not.’
‘You’re irritated right now.’
‘Because you’re irritating. That’ll be £3.60.’ Corneilus passed him it in exact cash. ‘Sit down before I decide to spit it in and charge you extra.’
Corneilus obeyed this time, swaggering to what had become his usual spot. What would he do if someone was already sat there? Maybe Billy should set it up to see what happened.
Billy made themselves some jobs for the next few minutes, then grabbed the cloth and table spray, and made their way towards his table.
He watched but said nothing.
Aware of the woman sitting on a table nearby, Billy cleared their throat. ‘Is your drink good?’
‘Well it's not what I wanted to order.’ said Corneilus half shrugging.
‘I didn’t ask that.’ Billy half-hissed.
‘Other than that it's good. I wish I knew your name so I could tell your boss about it.’
Corneilus talking to George about them was a horrific image. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘If you wore your name tag then I wouldn't need to ask you for it. And yeah, I know you're meant to wear one, because the guy on the coffee machine yesterday did.’
‘Which guy?’
‘I don’t know, I didn’t care to read it. He had one though. Why don’t you wear yours?’ he shifted the way he was sitting, moving from leaning back with his legs stretched out to planting his feet flat and leaning his elbows on his knees. ‘Want to hear my theory?’
‘Not desperately.’
‘I think it's so people can’t report you to your boss for spitting in their drinks.’
‘I don’t-’ Billy glanced at the other customer who seemed too invested in her laptop to care about their conversation. ‘I do not spit- wait, you came in yesterday? I don’t work Mondays.’
‘Yeah, I discovered that. The guy-’
‘Describe him.’
‘Idk. Some guy. Shorter than you-’
‘Did he have creepy eyes?’
‘Huh?’
‘Like a possessed doll?’
‘I don't think-’
‘Tommy then. What did Tommy say?’
‘A lot. About his five-a-side team.’
‘No. About me.’
‘What makes you think we talked about you?’
Billy rolled their eyes. They moved like they were going to leave.
‘Ok, fine. I asked where the mardy barista was. He said something like oh it's Monday, Buffy’s not in-’
‘Billy.’
‘Oh yeah, Billy. That was it. Yeah he said you didn’t do Mondays. And that you were single.’
‘Unprompted?’
‘No. I asked,’ he sipped his drink. ‘Although I didn't need to. Clear as day.’
‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘You know, your very obvious sexual frustration.’
‘My-?’
‘If you were being dicked down regularly, you wouldn’t be like this.’
Billy didn’t respond, they just turned on their heel and returned to the bar. Next time that man and his stupid name came in he would be getting spit in his drink.

Chapter Text

The next time Cornelius came in, Billy blanked him. Billy had mastered the blank, unresponsive gaze when dealing with troublesome customers, but it was slightly harder to maintain it when faced with those big, bright eyes. He ordered a decaffeinated cappuccino but Billy used caffeinated coffee while charging him the extra 20p. And Billy didn’t put a heart in the foam even though they had just mastered it.
Cornelius had tried to start a conversation but Billy had ignored him. It would have been easier if there were other customers queued up, but Cornelius had waited outside until it was clear so he could stride up to the counter uninterrupted.
He had retreated to his normal table, his gaze on Billy again but this time it had a more interrogative quality. Billy turned away, focused on the chalkboards on the wall behind the bar. One was new and had ‘fancy a stronger latte? * Flatte *’ written in it. Billy frowned, then rubbed it out with their sleeve. If George asked, Billy would just say it fell and got smudged . Billy replaced -what ever that was- with a simple smiley face. They were not in the mood to deal with flattes. Or Cornelius.
They could feel him still looking at them. Without turning around Billy went into the staff only area. This consisted of a corridor with lockers, one side leading to the small kitchen (there was a larger kitchen for more substantial cooking upstairs). Billy went for the other door, which opened into the storage area and the walk in, which Billy entered, slowly inhaling the cool air.
It was probably a good thing that Cornelius had pissed them off. There wasn’t really room to get on your knees in here.
Not that Billy had many other options. Living at home with several siblings meant that they couldn’t really do hookups. The last few times involved Billy going to dingy student accommodation, which provided an impressively unerotic atmosphere.
At least if they hooked up with someone here, there would be a forbidden element to it. That’s sexy, even if it is in a walk-in stocked with smoked salmon, and George’s jazz and bossa nova playlist playing in the background. Ok, Billy thought, if I am going to give head in here, I should change music first.

‘Billy?’
‘Yes, Tommy?’
‘If a guy had the flu and you gave him head, would you catch it?’
Billy put the plate they were washing up down to turn to him. ‘What?’
‘You know, because it's contagious.’ Tommy said, still looking at the cutlery they were drying.
‘Well, for starters, I doubt you'd want to be sucked off if you had the flu. You'd just want to sleep.’
‘Ok, not the flu but like a cold.’
‘Is this something you did or-’
‘No, no, it's just hypothetical. You know, in case it was relevant to the future.’
Tom Jopson appeared with another tray full of plates. Outside the kitchen you could hear the final few members of the party leaving. ‘Tommy, do not have any form of sexual contact with someone who’s ill. We are understaffed.’
‘I mean,’ Billy said, resuming their washing up. ‘I guess if you only had contact with his dick, you might-’
‘He could very easily have cold germs on his dick.’ Tom said, unloading the tray. ‘From coughing on it. Or touching it without washing his hands. Especially if he’s Tommy’s usual type.’
Tommy looked at them both meekly through his thick eyebrows. ‘So if he had just showered?’
Billy and Tom looked at each.
‘I guess.’ said Billy.
‘Depends where the shower is. Not those ones at the sports hall your 5-a-side team uses.’
‘Those showers are fine. And I'm not taking judgement from someone who spends half their life on gross nightclubs.’
‘For work.’ Tom snapped. ‘I’m not giving random men blowjobs in gross bathrooms. I'm focused.’
‘Yeah, on pressing all those buttons.’
Tom glared with his pale eyes. He was protective about the art of DJing.
Edward walked into the kitchen, wiping his forehead with a tea towel. He indicated to the washing up. ‘Can I help?’
‘Yes, actually.’ said Billy, passing Tommy a plate to dry. ‘Could you catch a cold off a guy by giving him head?’
Ned’s big brown eyes blinked at them. ‘Yes. If he sneezed on you.’ he said eventually.
‘Exactly, Tommy,’ said Tom, ‘You’re going to get sneezed on and call in sick and then we won't have enough people for that concert on Tuesday.’
Some singer from somewhere really random like Iceland or something was performing on Tuesday.
‘Obviously, I’m not going to let Sol- I mean-’
‘Wait, Sol? The guy from your football club?’ Billy asked. ‘Why are you suddenly sucking him off?’
‘Well,’ Tom said before Tommy could answer. ‘He had to step up from just staring at him and giving him free drinks at some point.’
‘Like I’ve said before,’ Tommy’s voice was raised, ‘I don't give him free drinks. I give him the friends and family discount.’
‘And as I’ve said before,’ replied Tom, ‘that's for relatives and boyfriends and long term friends. It's not a just a guy-you-want-to-fuck-you discount.’
(This policy had to be made clear when last year there was a construction crew over the road and everyone's use of the discount became a financial issue.)
‘Make him your boyfriend and you can use the discount.’ Tom said, who had moved so he was standing next to Tommy and was stacking the clean crockery on his tray.
‘Well, obviously that's the plan.’
‘After sucking him off.’ remarked Billy. ‘When he's sick.’
‘Well tomorrow it's our match against Drumfield and when we win-’
‘How are you so sure you're going to win if one fifth of your team is sick?’
‘Drumfield is crap.’
‘So why does he deserve a blowjob then?’
‘Because it will be our fiftieth match playing together.’
‘Ohhhhh.’ said Billy. ‘So this is something all the players get when they've done fifty matches? I get it.’
‘No-’ Tommy thrust the plate he was holding in Tom’s hands with some aggression. ‘I’m only going to suck Sol off, not all of them.’
‘I don't think Mr Churchgroup would let you, anyway.’
As well as being on Tommy’s football team, John Irving was a deeply religious man who looked like he fronted a Christian rock group but he actually just ran a small church group that used the upstairs on Wednesday afternoons.
Despite being no one's boyfriend he got the friends and family discount. (‘He's not like those builders,’ complained Tommy, ‘they needed those iced coffees to prevent heatstroke. He's just talking about Jesus.’)
George strode into the kitchen, bright smile a mile wide. ‘Great job tonight, fellas… and Billy.’
Billy nodded and returned their attention to the washing up.

Despite the rather sexy dream Billy had about him, they were still determined to ignore Cornelius next time he came in.
He didn't show up on Saturday, giving Billy a weird twisting feeling in their gut at the thought he might never show up again.
But there he was on Sunday, framed by the big front windows, walking from across the street, causing a wave of emotion through Billy’s entire body. Billy had time to neutralise their expression, but they felt it soften as they watched him. Something was wrong.
Instead of swagging over to the bar he threw himself down on the sofa in his usual spot, and stared, not at Billy, but at nothing at all.
Billy put down the cappuccino they were half way through making and immediately started on a tea.
When they had it, they moved from behind the bar and slowly over to his table. Even when they were right next to it he didn't respond.
‘You look awful.’ Billy said, after looking at him for a few moments.
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re sick.’
‘I’m not-’
‘It wasn't a question. Drink this. Lemon and ginger tea with honey.’
‘I don't like ginger.’
‘Ironic.’
He must have been sick, thought Billy. Normally he’d have some response to that.
‘Can’t I have some coffee?’ he said, his big blue eyes meeting Billy’s imploringly.
Billy shook his head. ‘After you’ve drunk this. When the kitchen is open I’ll get Ned to make chicken soup for you.’
‘Is that on the menu?’
‘You’re always asking for off menu things. Why stop now?’
‘Its one thing to inconvenience you. It's another to do that to the sad man in the kitchen.’
‘It's fine. Don't worry about him. That's just how his face looks.’
Cornelius sniffed. ‘Have you been ill, Billy?’
‘No, not recently.’
‘Hmm. I was just wondering if I caught something off you when you spat in my drink.’
‘When I-?’ Billy put their tray down with some force. ‘Cornelius, I have not spat in your drink.’
‘If you did and you were ill, it would make me ill.’
‘Yeah, it would. But that's irrelevant. Because I didn’t. So it must be another barista in another place that you piss off.’ They nudged the tea to him. ‘Drink up. I’ll be back with your coffee.’
Tommy was coming down the stairs with a tray of dishes.
Billy held their arms out to him, taking the tray from him. ‘Tommy, go tell Ned to put on a pot of chicken soup.’
‘Nooo, Billy.’ he said, whining slightly. ‘If you want something off-menu you ask him.’
‘Look you can tell him it's for me, and I'll let you have some to take for Sal.’
‘... Sol. What would Sal be short for?’
‘Salamander or something. I don't know. Just-’ they indicated with their shoulder.
Tommy sighed, but obeyed.
Another honey and lemon later, Billy finally brought him a coffee. When coming back from his table, Billy saw that Tom had emerged from upstairs. He was behind the bar with Tommy, and had him by the shoulders and was turning him to face Billy and Cornelius.
‘Look how snotty and miserable that guy looks. That, Tommy, is how you’d be right now if Sol had let you at his dick.’
‘Let you?’ Billy asked, joining them. ‘Did he reject you?’
‘No, no, I didn’t get a chance to offer.’ Tommy sighed. ‘He seemed… distracted.’
‘Did you lose the match?’
‘’Course not.’
‘He probably just wasn't in the mood. I'm sure it’ll work at your 100th match. Or you could just wait 19 matches and-’
The door bell rang as three young women came in. Billy moved back to the coffee machine and started on the iced chais they always ordered. Tommy disappeared back upstairs with a tray of used cups.
While making the drinks, Billy’s eyes drifted back to Cornelius. He still looked, well, bad, but he was looking slightly less pale. What was wrong with him, and why had he come here? Surely, he would have been better off staying in bed. He could have ordered chicken soup from somewhere.
Bringing the girls their drinks gave them an excuse to move closer to his table. They complimented Billy's skirt and they gave them a little curtsy. Their eyes were still on Cornelius. It was odd watching him without him watching them back.
Tommy came down the stairs with soup, one piping in a bowl another in a take away container.
Billy strode towards him and took the soup towards Cornelius.
‘Eat this.’
Cornelius blinked up at him. ‘Hmm?’
‘Soup. Eat. Then go home to sleep.’
‘Can’t.’ he said, sniffing. Neighbours are doing building work. It's really loud.’
Billy paused. Well, their parents' home wasn’t far away. And no one would be in. In fact no one would be home until quite late.
‘One moment.’
Billy went up the stairs. ‘Tommy?’
Tommy was in the upstairs kitchen with Ned, stacking the dishwasher.
‘Tommy can I have your afternoon off?’
‘Billy-’
‘I’ll do two of your shifts. No, three.’
‘But I have plans!’
‘Really?’
‘Well, there's this game I bought on Steam and-’
‘Come on, Tommy.’
Tommy looked at them through his eyebrows. ‘What do you want the afternoon for?’
‘You know that sick guy downstairs?’
‘Yeah, Sol’s roommate.’
‘Yeah… wait what?’
‘Yeah. They live together.’
‘Your Sol?’
‘How many Sol’s-’
‘Doesn’t matter. He needs somewhere to sleep and-’
Tommy put down the glass he was holding and looked at Billy with disbelief. ‘You want my afternoon off so you can shag Sol’s roommate.’
‘No-’
‘After all that lecturing about how I’d catch something off Sol.’
‘I think you’ll find I said it would be fine if he had showered. Anyway, I'm not going to shag him. I'm going to let him sleep in my bed.’
‘Tom’s going to be so mad. You're going to get sick and we’re going to be understaffed on Tuesday and-’
‘I’m not going to get sick. I'll let him sleep in my bed, yes, alone, and then I’ll change the sheets and it’ll be fine.’
Tommy resumed his stacking. ‘I don’t know. Doesn't seem like a good idea.’
‘He’s sick Tommy, it's not like he's going to rob us. Besides, I’ll be in the house with him. If you give me the afternoon off.’
Tommy bit his lip, then nodded.