Chapter 1

A quiet summer afternoon at a small, stylish café near the edge of a picturesque Nordic town.

The patio is bathed in golden light, the sun softened by linen parasols swaying lazily in the breeze. The sound of wind in the trees and the clink of cutlery adds a dreamy background to the moment.

Linda sat with one leg tucked beneath her on the woven bench, her sexy sundress catching the light every time she shifted. The soft cotton fabric, pale and floral, followed the gentle slope of her hip and gathered lightly at her waist.

Her lustrous silver-toned golden hair was pulled up in an elegant age defying messy updo, with some strands threatening to come undone from the rest of the bun, creating a dreamy titillating effect.

Her skin, sun-kissed and smooth, glowed against the warm tones of the fabric. Her bare shoulders hinted at strength beneath elegance—shoulders that had carried love, children, desire, and years of pleasure with the grace of a woman who knew herself intimately.

Across from her, Jon leaned back with his cortado in hand. His sandy-blond hair had gone more silver in recent years, but the effect was striking, not fading. He was broad-shouldered and lean, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the sun-brushed skin of his chest. His body, like hers, carried the legacy of years well lived—fit, sculpted by time and intention, and still full of hunger.

They were both sixty-five, but to anyone passing by, they looked younger—maybe early-fifties at most. More than that, they radiated something harder to define: vitality, ease, sensuality.

“He’s beautiful,” Linda said suddenly, her voice soft but excited. Her gaze was fixed just beyond Jon’s shoulder.

Jon turned slightly in his chair. The boy—young man, really—was balancing a tray of drinks, weaving gracefully between tables. Compact. Slim. Maybe five feet tall. There was a shy smile playing on his lips as he nodded politely to an older couple he passed.

“He is,” Jon agreed. “Delicate.”

“And polite,” Linda added. “He thanked me twice for my order. And he looked at me like I was...” She chuckled and shook her head. “Like I was Venus rising out of the foam.”

“You are Venus rising out of the foam,” Jon said with a smirk, taking a slow sip of his cortado. “He has good taste.”

Linda tilted her head, watching Tommy disappear back inside. Linda leaned in, her lips close to his ear. “You know who he reminds me of?”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t say it.”

She chuckled softly. “Benny. It’s the eyes.”

Benny was their grandson. He was probably a couple of years older than the boy they were watching so lustfully.

Jon groaned and laughed at once. “God, I was trying not to think that.”

“I know, I know. It’s awful,” she said, covering her face for a moment, muffling her giggles. “But it’s just the sweetness.”

Jon smiled, a little sheepish. “That same glow. That same ... innocence.”

They were quiet for a beat. Then Linda burst out laughing again, shaking her head. “Okay, okay. We’re terrible people.”

“No, we’re not,” Jon said, placing his hand on top of hers. “We just love deeply. And some part of us finds echoes of that love in unexpected places.”

She exhaled slowly, then chuckled wickedly. “Yeah. That’s all it is.”

“And besides,” Jon added with a wry grin, “I doubt Benny would be as good at being a barista. He’s a lazy-ass spoiled boy.”

Linda laughed again, full-throated this time. “Oh God, let’s never speak of this again.”

“Agreed,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “But I’m glad we did.”

Jon looked into his cup, swirling the coffee slightly, thoughtful. “I wonder if he likes men.”

“Who? benny?” Linda asked, surprised.

“No, this pretty boy here,” Jon said with an exaggerated eye roll.

“He was totally checking you out,” Linda said, smiling devilishly.

“He was,” Jon responded quietly.

Linda raised an eyebrow. “You noticed that too?”

“Noticed?” Jon laughed gently. “No. I hoped.”

Linda leaned closer, her voice dropping slightly. “I think he’s curious. Or at least open. The way he moves. The way he watches us.”

Jon’s eyes sparkled. “He watches you.”

Linda shrugged playfully. “You think I didn’t notice? Poor thing nearly tripped when I crossed my legs.”

They both laughed, the sound low and rich between them.

Jon rested his arm on the table, fingers tapping thoughtfully. “You think he’d come home with us? Even just to talk?”

“Talk, taste wine, swim naked under the moon,” Linda said, almost dreamily. “He’s the type who would understand. Or want to understand. He has that hunger, that ... longing. You can see it in his eyes.”

“I can’t see anything from this far,” Jon responded earnestly.

Linda broke into hysterical laughter. Jon joined her a few seconds later.

Jon looked at her with a growing smile. “You want to invite him?”

“He looks a bit too young, even for pervs like us!”

“He must be at least eighteen to work here.”

“Oh, well then what are we waiting for? Let’s jump into bed with him and fuck him until he turns twenty-one, then we’ll take him out for a drink or two,” Linda said, laughing lightheartedly.

“Party pooper,” Jon said and pinched the back of Linda’s arm playfully.

“I want to open the door,” she said more seriously. “Let him decide if he wants to walk through it.”

Jon reached across the table and brushed her hand. “Together, then.”

She nodded, and just then, they both heard the soft creak of the café door opening again.

Tommy was on his way back, a new tray of cortados balanced in one hand, sunlight catching in his eyes as he scanned the patio.

Jon and Linda exchanged one last glance—smiling, knowing.

The invitation hadn’t been spoken yet.

But it was already in the air.

Tommy stepped forward, tray in hand, the breeze teasing his blond curls as the door swung closed behind him.

He wore black slacks and a slim white shirt, sleeves rolled just above his elbows, collar slightly askew from the summer heat. The uniform clung lightly to his petite frame, outlining his narrow shoulders and the hint of his chest beneath the thin fabric. He looked every bit the innocent boy—a boy caught in a grown-up world—but there was something in the way he moved. Careful. Deliberate. Watchful.

His cheeks were flushed. From the heat. From nerves. From Linda’s eyes tracing his every step.

He reached their table, lowering the tray with practiced grace. “Um—two more ... cortados,” he said. “Like you asked. I mean, ordered. You, uh, ordered them.” He blinked, then gave a mortified little laugh. “Sorry.”

Linda smiled up at him, eyes warm, amused. “You’re fine, sweetheart. It’s hot. I’m melting too.”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, setting the cups down. “It’s ... hot.”

Jon chuckled. “We don’t mind the heat.”

Tommy glanced at him and then away—too fast. But not before Jon saw it: the flash of curiosity, interest, maybe something even deeper. A little flicker of recognition. Of attraction.

He leaned back casually, giving Tommy a better look at him without making it obvious. “We were just saying how much we like this place,” he said. “Feels different from the others. Quieter.”

“Yeah?” Tommy asked. “I mean, we try. I mean, they try. I mostly just, uh, bring things. The drinks. The food. I bring the ... stuff.”