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David had crossed between the café and what would soon become his new store hundreds of times since moving to Schitt’s Creek. Maybe a thousand even. But never before had there been a little man in a chartreuse vest standing watch on the corner.
Walking with purpose toward the café doors, David eyed him behind his sunglasses, trying not to visibly react when the man nodded politely.
“Morning,” he said, tracking David’s stride.
“Mm,” David mumbled, pressing his lips together in the semblance of a smile. Talking to strangers was not his forte at the best of times. At the crack of dawn when he needed caffeine, it was impossible.
By some miracle, Twyla whipped up his usual order in record time, handing it over with a bright smile. Taking a few careful sips while she counted his change, he felt his body immediately un-clench. There was so much to do to get the store off the ground there didn’t seem to be a moment when he didn’t feel wound up tight – tighter than usual. Negotiating with potential vendors was incredibly draining, even if he loved it at the same time. It was just…a lot.
With his wallet back in his pocket David made his way outside, mind firmly on his task list, lips firmly attached to the lid of his coffee. Outside, he barely spared a glance to his left before stepping off the curb.
“Woah, hey!” the be-vested man – David was making that a word, thankyousomuch – shouted, scurrying into the street ahead of David. He planted himself squarely in the middle of the intersection and held up a small stop sign on a stick.
David scowled involuntarily. What the fuck was happening?
“Have a nice day,” the man said as David passed him.
David didn’t say anything, the New Yorker in him instinctively ignoring the weird situation. As he unlocked the vacant General Store, David glanced back surreptitiously and caught the man walking back to the far corner, his tight Levis doing him all sorts of favors.
Hmm.
It took all morning to cart the abandoned junk from the inside of the store to the dumpster out back. David was sure he’d already hit his 10,000 steps goal by lunchtime when he finally took a break and grabbed a take away grilled cheese from the café. It was only as he was crossing back to his store that he realized the man from earlier was gone.
What a weird morning.
David called it a day a little after 4pm, desperately needing to shower off the dust clinging to him before he had dinner with his family. He walked back to the motel without incident and had forgotten about the whole thing by the time he went to bed that night.
David woke up feeling more out of sorts than usual. It was probably because it was a Tuesday. Tuesdays were somehow worse than Mondays in his humble opinion. But he had a job to do, so he peeled himself out of bed and got on with it.
Dayglo Man was standing on the corner again, but thankfully in conversation with Roland so David slipped into the café without incident and acquired his daily coffee ration. He tried to slip out of the café just as smoothly, but unfortunately, he heard the man and Roland exchange goodbyes just as David was stepping off the pavement.
“Good morning!” the man said cheerily, rushing out in front again.
“Is it?” David snarked almost involuntarily, his legal addictive stimulants still too hot to keep his mouth occupied.
“It is if you want it to be!” The man had to squint against the sun to keep watching David, and his smile was somehow even more blinding.
Ugh. This was going to be an issue. Chronically chipper people had no place in David’s morning routine.
On Wednesday, David took the opportunity to have a lie-in. His body was on the good side of sore from all the manual labor and the extra half-hour would do him some good, he rationalized.
He got a coffee and a muffin from the café and it didn’t occur to him until later that he hadn’t seen the annoying man.
But on Thursday, despite David’s late start again, the man was back. Leaning against one of the outside café chairs, to-go cup in hand, stop sign tucked under his arm, casually chatting with Twyla who seemed mid-wipe of the table.
“Morning, David!” Twyla beamed at him. “In for your usual?”
David clocked the man’s grin as it widened, solidly ignoring the little flutter in his chest. “Uh, yeah. Yes, please.” He beelined for the café door, holding it open politely for her and averting his eyes to anything else. It was his mission to obtain coffee and start his day. That was all.
Once that task was accomplished, he took a deep breath and set his sights on making it to his store unaccosted. Of course, the man was still standing outside. He had taken his vest off, holding it in the same hand as the little stop sign, and smiled warmly as David approached the street. He had no business having pecs and shoulders that strong. Like their previous encounters, he trod into the street a little ahead of David, but instead of turning back, he continued along with him to the other side.
“Hope you have a good one, David,” the man said, walking backwards a few paces along the Moira’s Rose’s Garden to flash another blinding smile and salute casually with his hand-held sign.
Dumbstruck, David could only gape back at him, standing totally still on the corner until the man turned back around and kept walking. His jeans were a different brand today. But still mid-range. And still…complimentary to his physique. Ahem.
It was only as David was laying down to bed that night, mentally reviewing the day, that he realized the man now knew his name – thank you so much, Twyla. And David still had no idea who the guy was, or why he was on the corner every morning.
He went to sleep thinking of his to-do list – which wasn’t unusual – and then woke up rock hard in his pajama pants, the smack of a stop sign-like paddle to his ass echoing through his sleep-fogged brain. Visions of flexing forearms jolting him further awake.
So. Okay. Interesting.
With Alexis already out and on her way to school, David leisurely took care of himself in the shower. It was just stress relief. That was all. His body’s natural reaction to the increase in activity and mental drain.
He decidedly didn’t hurry through his morning routine. Decidedly only put on his favorite cologne for himself. Decidedly wore his favorite leather jacket because it was chillier than usual. Decidedly held his chin high as he strode to the café because he was a motherfucking boss.
The man was right where he always seemed to be, vest on, sign in-hand, keeping watch or whatever. He turned as David’s footsteps on the pavement alerted him to his presence, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t thoroughly enjoy the man’s reaction. David knew what he looked like. He looked like sex on legs. And this was a test. A test that the man epically failed. …Or passed, depending on your perspective.
The man had frozen, mid-smile, hand halfway to a wave as he took it all in. His mouth hung open a little, and his faint eyebrows went up in the middle, and he said…nothing. Absolutely silent for once.
“Morning,” David smirked, before opening the café door.
Twyla was preoccupied with getting someone’s order right, so David had a few more minutes to preen and silently enjoy the man’s reaction. It wasn’t everyday he got ogled so overtly in this town. Coffee acquired, he once again pushed his way back through the door and into the open air, ready to strut like he was walking in Paris Fashion Week.
The man whirled around to face him as the sound of the door caught his attention. He swallowed visibly and straightened his shoulders, twirled the little sign in his palm like a nervous tick.
David slowed a short distance from the curb. “You know there’s already a stop sign, right there, right?” he asked, tipping his chin up in the indicated direction. When the man turned to look at the aforementioned sign, David took the opportunity to get out ahead, attempt to cross the street like a normal adult.
He made it three paces before the man was scrambling after him.
“You really don’t need to do this,” David said with a side-eye.
The man smirked like the Cheshire cat. “But how will I know you’ve made it safely across the road, David?”
His brain not able to come up with a witty comeback, David just scowled and kept walking.
“Have a good day!” the man called after him.
Okay, well that’s not how this was supposed to go. David kicked himself all morning for not having a retort.
He was cleaning the inside of the front windows in the mid-afternoon when he caught sight of a flash of yellow. The man was back on the corner for some strange reason. David couldn’t help but watch him stand across the street. He watched as the man checked his phone and paced a little, and then looked up and David was caught. Hastily, David started wiping down the same pane he had been working on for at least five minutes. The man waved at him, and David abandoned the job in favor of something else in the backroom for an hour or so. Thankfully, the man had gone when David eventually called it a day.
The weekend passed by unremarkably. He got crossfaded with Stevie in Room 4, and yelled at Alexis about her mess, and sketched out some more display ideas for the store.
On Monday, he was able to borrow the Lincoln to finally transport some furniture into the store. He had acquired two chairs from the motel storage – amazingly not terrible pieces – and bought some boring-but-sturdy stainless steel shelving units for the stock room. He managed to fit it all in the car and transfer it safely by the late morning. The store still looked barren but at least there was something in there that was his – even if he did have to fight with each shelving unit to get them assembled properly.
Tuesday came surprisingly quickly. David blinked and suddenly it was a new day and he had to scramble to get ready for his morning appointment. Things were coming together, he reminded himself. Slow and steady wins the race. He was smart, and capable, and this business was a good path to venture down – his meddling parents be damned!
David paused to take a breath before entering Ray’s house/office/business headquarters. A camera flash and Ray’s exuberant directions startling him and then annoying him instantly.
“Yeah, we had an appointment this morning,” David tried to catch his attention.
“Ah,” Ray finally paused his photoshoot to address David. “Remind me, are you here for a photo series, or travel planning, or our newest service, closet organization?”
“Um.” What the fuck? “I’m here to file my incorporation papers for my business.” How was that task not remotely related to any of the things Ray mentioned?
“Oh, that’s right. Patrick!” Ray called toward the kitchen.
David wasn’t prepared to see the man from the corner saunter out. No vest, no sign, just a bright smile of recognition and a very warm handshake. Ray left them to it and David felt his throat close up. Who the fuck was this guy and why was he literally everywhere?
“David Rose,” the man – apparently Patrick – said, like he was tasting each syllable. “You bought the General Store.”
“Leased,” David quickly corrected. “Leased the General Store.”
“That’s a big deal.”
“Is it?” Yes, of course it was. Why was David questioning himself?
“Yeah, it’s pretty big.” Patrick grinned and gestured to the uncomfortable looking chairs in front of the desk. “You wanna have a seat?”
David didn’t. But he sat anyway.
Patrick started to go over the paperwork and all of David’s confidence and knowledge inexplicably left his brain. He should have picked a name already. And he should have rehearsed his elevator pitch. He knew all this. Why wasn’t it coming out right?!
Ugh! Stupid Patrick with his stupid smile and his stupid eyes and his stupidly hot arms!
“Look, take this, it’s my card,” Patrick said like a dismissal. “I feel like you will need it.”
“You know what?” David said, his hackles going up. “I think I’m good. So. Thank you for this.” He started to leave as quickly as possible, ignoring as Patrick called a goodbye after him. David turned right at the end of Ray’s path, needing to go seek out a friendly ear in Stevie – even if he knew it likely meant getting roped into doing more manual labor.
He would blame her later for getting him high. He would blame himself for not hiding his phone. When Stevie had to go back to checking in guests, David meandered back to his store to wallow. He replayed her pep talk in his mind a few times and felt his confidence coming back steadily. He could do this. He could make this successful. Cute men in ugly vests could walk into traffic!
Or. Well, no. That seemed harsh. Plus, Patrick sort of did that regularly. Not that there was traffic in Schitt’s Creek.
What was he saying?
Oh, right, the paperwork.
“Hi David, it’s Patrick,” he babbled when the voicemail connected. Oh, fuck it.
David sat for a while, sobering up slowly. It was a nice space. Nicer now that it was clean. His space. All his own.
He returned to his incorporation form a little while later, realizing how his pen had wandered across the pages while his brain had been cloudy. Fuck. He was going to need new ones. And the only place to get them was guaranteed to have a smug man to deal with.
Resigned to his task, David peeked out the front windows before heading out, making sure said-smug man wasn’t right there. He wasn’t. It was safe. But a little coffee would go a long way, so David detoured to the café for something to clear his head some more. However, before he could reach out to push the door open, Patrick was stepping out, two paper cups in hand, a messenger bag slung across his sturdy frame, the vest and handle of his little sign poking out of the front pocket.
“David!” he said brightly. “I was just coming to see if you were in your store. Uh, this is for you.” He handed David one of the cups, which he accepted automatically. It felt like the perfect temperature, and smelled just as it should.
“Twyla said it was your usual. I hope that’s okay.”
“Uh. Um. Yeah.” David faltered, taking a careful sip to ground himself. He should thank the man, but his tongue felt like it was made of lead suddenly.
“So. Um. Can I see the store? Or…?” Patrick trailed off, hopeful look able to melt the coldest glacier.
“I, uh, I guess.” David turned back around, steeling himself with a deep breath.
“Op!” Patrick scrambled a few steps and sort of struggled to get his little stop sign out of his bag with one hand, holding it up as they crossed the street together.
David stopped dead when they reached the other side and sighed. “Why are you always doing that?” he asked, not yet sober enough to hold his tongue anymore.
“I...I’m a crossing guard, David.” Patrick’s brow furrowed slightly with suspicion, which was not…unattractive.
“I don’t know what that means.” David felt his grimace deepen as Patrick’s face softened. That wasn’t allowed. He was in control here. Had the upper hand.
“Ah,” Patrick grinned fully. Also not allowed. “That explains the voicemail then.”
David swallowed hard, not actually ready for the answer to his follow up, “What…uh, what voicemail?”
“I forget what number it was of the eight you left me this afternoon. But it was something about the indecency of my vest and sign – you said paddle, but I assume you meant sign.”
A vague recollection of his previous rambling came back to David. Oh, fuck. Definitely should have hidden his phone from himself. His honest stream of consciousness was tough to dam up at the best of times. While high, it was impossible. And tended to be hornier.
“Ah. Um. You still didn’t answer what…why you guard the thing with the sign thing.”
“Well, Ray used to do it, but his closet organization business needed more attention so the school board asked me, and I said sure. I help make sure Anya Taylor and Martin Smith cross Main Street safely on their way to and from school.”
“Okay…but I’m not either of those people.”
“Children, David. They are children,” Patrick smirked. It was like he only had one setting. Cute and smug.
“Fine, sure. But I’m a fully grown man.” Why did he feel like he needed to clarify that?
“Yeah, you are.”
“Okay, so why do you always guard the road when I…” David trailed off, his brain able to make a few more connections as the fuzzy fog from the weed cleared even more. Patrick’s very loud eyes looked up at him full of hope and, “Oh…uh. Okay. So. Th…uh, thank you for…that.”
“Hey, you’re not the only adult I do it for.” Patrick looked around the empty storefront awkwardly. “Mrs. Tannenbaum goes to the café every Wednesday at 3pm for tea, and she’s like, 80 or something. So…I do it for her too. But. Um, yeah. You’re welcome.”
David nodded dumbly, not sure what else to do or say. Patrick had meant to be genuinely nice. And flirty. And David was an absolute idiot.
“Uh,” Patrick continued, seemingly squaring his shoulders in determination. “The good thing about all your voicemails is that I was able to piece together a little bit more about your business. And I filled in the form for you.”
“You did?!” David nearly shouted.
“Yeah, it’s why I was hoping to find you. I have them in my…” Patrick trailed off holding up the cup and sign in each hand, looking down at his bag helplessly.
With a barely contained eyeroll, David took pity on him and led him inside the empty store.
“This is a great space, David.” Patrick looked around appreciatively for a second before setting his cup on the counter and re-stowing his sign in his bag.
“Uh, thanks. It’s not…obviously there’s still a lot…um, to do.”
“Sure, yeah. Of course.” Patrick’s usual stunning smile was back, plastered to his face almost permanently apparently. He held David’s gaze for an extra, unnecessary beat before digging a folder out of his bag and handing it over.
And there it was. His paperwork. All filled in, in Patrick’s neat-ish writing. All of David’s nebulous thoughts and ideas miraculously assembled in a coherent manner before him.
“Just need your signature on page two,” Patrick said gently, handing David a pen.
David hesitated only a moment to make sure the pen was clicked open, and affixed his signature with maybe an extra flourish. Patrick accepted the folder back and stowed it away safely in his bag.
“Congratulations,” he said warmly, holding out his hand which David shook quickly, dropping it before the touch could linger and distract him. “It's a good idea, your business. Very inventive. And I like the name. 'Rose Apothecary.' It's just pretentious enough.”
“Mm. Thanks. Would we call that pretentious...or timeless?”
“Sure. I…uh, guess I’ll leave you to it then.” Patrick picked up his cup and turned toward the door, pausing only briefly halfway in and out. “And for the record, I do have experience wielding a paddle. But you’ll have to buy me dinner first if you want to find out just how indecently.” And then he winked. And exited. And David’s soul left his body.
Fuck!