Love Conventions

by Morgan James

  They could. Remy found everything he needed as he hopped from one stall to another. He was so busy that he didn’t notice when Ash excused himself for a moment and snuck off to another stall.

  Once they were laden down with everything Remy needed to make “the best dinner you’ll have put in your mouth in ages,” they headed for home.

  They made their trip in reverse under the still-warm sun, and an hour later, Ash was sat at his bar and watching Remy at work.

  He’d offered to help, but Remy shook his head and shooed him away. “I’ll work faster this way,” he said glibly, then, somewhat ruefully, “Besides, you paid for this dinner, it’s the least I can do.”

  Embarrassed by the gratitude, Ash didn’t argue. He didn’t wish to draw attention to his more comfortable state, financially speaking. Years earlier, when Ash might have squandered his inheritance—a well-invested legal settlement from his father’s accident and the more modest life insurance from his maw’s fall to cancer—Langston made sure he couldn’t. Ash wasn’t rolling in dough these days—this condo had been expensive—but if he were careful, he’d be comfortable for the rest of his life. Which was awkward to tell to someone who probably had student debt and a pittance salary.

  So he kept his mouth shut, sat, and watched Remy at work: the captivating and competent way he managed the knife, deftly chopping, and the way he mixed the dressing and cooked the veggies and the fish.

  It was like watching a cooking show live. When Remy placed the meal in front of him, Ash lifted his brows and didn’t change that assessment. Remy had plated dinner as beautifully as any restaurant-grade chef. Ash narrowed his eyes. “Breakfast wasn’t like this,” he said softly, without thinking.

  Remy laughed. “No.” He settled next to Ash at the bar. “But it’s possible that tonight I picked some of my most practiced recipes.” He dimpled at Ash, impish.

  Ash looked down at his plate and cleared his throat. “Right. So you cheated.”

  “I didn’t cheat. I put my best foot forward. Now shut up and eat your dinner, you ingrate.”

  Ingrate? Ash mouthed softly, but with a shake of his head, he did as Remy ordered. Oh wow, it were even better than the omelet. Ash hummed in satisfaction and licked his lips. The fish was flaky and buttery on the tongue and counterpointed perfectly with the spicy, garlicky beans and the salty Caesar dressing.

  “I need to have you over more,” Ash said after a few more bites.

  Remy beamed and applied himself to his untouched food. They were quiet but for the sounds of cutlery on porcelain. Remy was probably as hungry as Ash and just as reluctant to waste energy talking.

  But once they’d each made a dent, it was easy to resume the conversation from before dinner.

  “I’m not saying I don’t like him,” Remy said again. “He’s perfectly fine, and it was great to hear a non-English accent. I’m just saying, I don’t like the Capaldi seasons as much as some of the earlier ones.”

  Ash tilted his head and hid a smile as he wondered if he should relax and concede the argument. He didn’t disagree, but he was having fun taunting Remy about disliking the “Scottish” Doctor. “It’s the accent, isn’ it?” he said, laying his own on thick. “It’s no’ for everyone. Ye ’hink it’s pish.”

  Remy snorted laughter and squawked about not having it in for the Scots while Ash did his best to keep a straight face.

  Ash considered the merits of giving in, but he was having too much fun. “I cannae ’hink another reason to dislike him.” He took a pull of his beer. “He’s as good a Doctor as the rest.”

  “It’s not him, it’s the stories,” Remy argued.

  “Name a rubbish one, then,” Ash challenged.

  Remy rolled his eyes. “Where to start? I won’t even mention the ‘Mr. Sandman’ episode”—Probably for the best, no rebuttal there, Ash thought as he finished his bottle—“but I’ve got three words for you: robot Robin Hood.”

  Ash snorted and beer jumped up his nose. He coughed and wheezed, and dabbed at his face with his napkin. Remy spluttered and clapped a hand to his mouth. It did little to muffle the sound of his laughter, and his eyes danced.

  When he finally regained his composure, Ash glared. “I thought you didn’t like it because it was ‘too dark and melodramatic.’ I wasn’t expecting you to attack the silliest one.”

  Remy shrugged, unrepentant. “That episode needs attacking.”

  Smiling, Ash shook his head and stood. He gathered up their dinner plates and set them by the dishwasher—he’d clean the kitchen later, after Remy had gone—and tossed his bottle into the to-return bin. Then he opened the fridge.

  “Ah,” Remy sighed knowingly. “I get to see, at last, what you bought so sneakily? And what you tried to hide in the fridge before I saw the box, even though I had to go searching in the fridge for ingredients several times and totally read everything I could on the packaging?”

  Ash flushed to have been caught so, but still managed to snort. “You’re so ridiculous.”

  “Yup.” Remy smiled innocently. “Now show me me prezzie.”

  Ash shuddered. “No accents.” He pointed a menacing finger.

  “I make no promises!”

  Ash blew out an exaggerated sigh. He got two forks from the cutlery drawer and debated the merits of plates but decided it would be easier to eat as is.

  Then he presented Remy with the treat—a seven-layer cake, each one a color of the rainbow and framed by white icing: Pride Cake.

  “Ooh, yay,” said Remy. “You didn’t.”

  Ash shrugged. “I saw you eyeing it. And I thought we deserved something for dessert.” He handed over one of the forks.

  “We have to share?” Remy cast Ash a long, suspicious look and then surveyed the treat as though creating a battle plan.

  “Well, I only bought the one. It’s rather large.” And even though it was Ash’s cheat day, they’d already had plenty of carbs and sugar.

  Remy attacked first, using the side of the fork to cut off a rather sizable bite of purple and blue.

  Ash rolled his eyes and took a smaller bite of red. It seemed Remy was determined to take the lion’s share. Not that Ash objected. He liked cake fine—he was Scottish after all—but he thought maybe he wouldn’t derive nearly as much enjoyment from this treat as he would get from watching Remy eat it. He had closed his eyes and sighed over the first bite, and when he took another, he moaned in delight. Then his eyes fluttered open, and he gave such a warm look that Ash felt it down to his toes. He wanted to look away and mutter, “Welcome,” even though Remy hadn’t thanked him.

  “This cake is good.”

  Ash nodded, mouth dry.

  Remy happily took another bite. “Damn. Tell me there’s somewhere closer where I can buy this on the regular. No! That’s probably a bad idea. I don’t need to eat this every day. I’d get fat.”

  Ash eyed his slim frame. He suspected Remy was the type who wouldn’t ever get fat, not even on a diet of cake and more cake. Not like Ash, who was thick through and liable to get thicker if he didn’t take care.

  He lifted his gaze and it locked with Remy’s. Remy lifted an eyebrow and smirked as if to ask, Like what you see?

  Ash stared back, his own eyebrows lifted in response. He could hardly believe he was—

  He ducked his head and forced himself to take another bite. Remy had worked his way through the blue and was making inroads into the green.

  “So…. Ah’m no’ to tell if the bakery has more locations? Because—”

  “No.” Remy held up a hand. “I’m sure I’ll cave soon enough and look it up and then be disappointed about the results—either because of more or less cake in my future—but until then, I will spend a few weeks in obliviousness.” He sighed gustily.

  Ash shook his head. “Eat your cake.” Then he maybe regretted it when Remy took an extra-large bite.

  Alright, he didn’t regret it, not when Remy sighed with pleasure. No way Ash could ever regret making him happy.
/>   Chapter Six

  “YOU really like him, don’t you?” Etta said one evening. She’d been watching silently as Ash did the washing up.

  “What?”

  Etta shook her head. “Remy. You really like him. You’ve been smiling nonstop since… well, last weekend.”

  “Have I?” Ash asked. After their Saturday trip, they met again on Sunday for one of the promised cooking lessons and hid inside during an unending May rain. Ash had much enjoyed watching Remy’s biceps in the gray light as he kneaded the from-scratch pasta dough.

  “And there was last night,” Etta added.

  When leaving costume after work, Ash had run into an extra-bubbly Remy, beaming and excited because Janet liked his werewolf ideas so much she’d had a script written. Ash and Remy had gone out for dinner, eating too much sushi and giggling over beers. Ash hadn’t floated home until almost midnight.

  He’d found Etta on the couch, sleepily watching TV. She denied waiting up for him, but he burned with guilt all the same. She only hummed when he told her where he’d been, but obviously she had more to say now she wasn’t half-asleep.

  “He’s a friend,” Ash pointed out.

  Etta grunted. “Yes, but…. You really like him. I’ve never seen you like this before.” Her head was tilted and she sounded off.

  Ash scratched at the side of his nose and pondered her words. “What do you mean, ‘like this’?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I mean it’s obvious you’re into him.”

  Ash flushed warm, then cold. “Obvious?” he croaked.

  “Well, to me.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure anyone else would notice. No one else knows you well enough.”

  Ash planted a hand on the counter and breathed deeply. He didn’t… It was one thing to tell his brother, and another entirely for his friends, acquaintances, coworkers to guess.

  He didn’t want to lose his everything like Sam. A guest star in an early series of Restraint, he had told. The TV roles had dried up and soon he’d been forced to move back to New York, relegated to the stage, unable to move beyond it, to be a “movie star.”

  “You’re not going to be telling him, then,” Etta guessed.

  Ash thought about telling Remy that he… liked him. His heart thumped and butterflies filled his stomach. Then reality reasserted. He swallowed and shook his head. No.

  “Right.”

  They stood in silence, and Ash did his best to catch his breath.

  “You know I’ll support you.” Etta swallowed. “And if you ever need me to move out—”

  “What? No. Of course not.” About a year after she moved in, after too much to drink one night, she confessed that all her life she’d thought herself broken for not wanting a happily ever after and had only recently learned she wasn’t alone. That night, he made a vow.

  “Etta, you will always have a home with me. I’d never kick you out.” He swallowed. “And if I ever had a… boyfriend”—though why break an almost-thirty-year streak now?—“they’d know moving in with me meant moving in with you.”

  She frowned. “Don’t be silly. You’d want your own space.”

  “Have I ever wanted it before?”

  She shook her head. “But he—”

  “Then he’s not worth having.”

  “Okay,” Etta said softly, doubtfully. He wished he could convince her, but nothing short of moving someone else in would prove it.

  Which wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon, even if Etta side-eyed him a few nights later as he got ready to meet Remy for dinner. He ignored it and left with a quiet goodbye.

  “CUT!” the director called, and Ash and Michael relaxed out of their staring contest. Michael clapped him on the back and moved off to find his coffee, and Ash ambled over to his director’s chair, where Etta was lounging with her phone, one leg hooked over the arm.

  “Enjoying the show?”

  Etta shrugged. “It’s still boring to watch you film,” she said glibly. She’d been excited the first time but was no longer impressed by the slow, repetitious process.

  Ash rolled his eyes. “Well, you didn’t have to come today.”

  She narrowed hers. “And let you have all the fun? As if.” She turned back to her phone and tapped at the screen like Ash didn’t know she was playing Candy Crush. Ash’s lips quirked in a fond smile, still grateful their friendship hadn’t changed any since their talk the week before, even if she still cast Remy suspicious looks every time she caught sight of him.

  “How much longer, anyway?” Etta drawled.

  “Next scene, I think,” Ash said. Etta hummed as if she didn’t care.

  He grabbed his water and took a deep gulp. Hamish was furious with Niall in this scene, and all the talking had left Ash parched. He was sure he’d already done more talking as Hamish than he’d done in six years as Zvi.

  He was putting the bottle back when Remy came tumbling onto the set. “Hi. How’s it going so far? Have I missed it?”

  “Hello. Good. No.” Ash smiled. They’d seen each other the day before, but that didn’t stop the happy bubbly feeling in his stomach.

  Remy visibly perked up at the last two words and looked around. He swung his arms together, knocked his hands, and swung them apart. “Yay! I didn’t want to miss any of it.”

  “Etta neither.”

  “Oh, Etta, hi! You don’t usually come down to set, do you?” Remy asked apologetically. Ash bit his lip against a laugh.

  “No, I don’t. I drive him to work a lot, but no point in sticking around. They’ve got security here.” She shrugged. Their bodyguard/client relationship might not be typical, but it worked for them.

  “That makes sense. And I don’t blame you for wanting to be here today.” He bounced on his toes. “To be honest, I kind of came up with the plot just for this.”

  Ash laughed, unsurprised, and even Etta cracked an amused smile. Remy grinned at them, unrepentant.

  A commotion started by the door, and a couple of women walked in. One pulled a wagon with built-up sides.

  “Yes!” Remy said and squirmed, clearly curbing the impulse to dash across the room.

  Ash bit his lip. “Come on.” He gestured to the new arrivals. “They’ll want to make sure I’m comfortable with them.”

  “Yeah?” Remy asked, wide-eyed, and Ash nodded.

  When Ash, Remy, and Etta approached the women, who had a bit of a crowd growing around them, Ash could hear whining and yips. Once close enough, he peered into the wagon and found four malamute puppies.

  “Oh my God. They are so freaking cute,” Remy nearly squealed.

  Etta made a soft cooing noise.

  Ash introduced himself and his two friends to the ladies. The older one, who had dark curly hair, introduced herself as Rhea and, with a wave to the young blonde with round-framed glasses, added, “This is my assistant, Charlie.” Then she turned to the puppies. “And these are Akela, Raksha, Grey, and Leela.”

  One of the puppies was stood on his hind legs and trying to climb the side, one sat in the corner, watching them all, and the other two moved about, crashing into each other and the first two.

  “You should say hello,” Rhea said to Ash. He leaned forward and held out his hand. The one on his hind legs stretched for a sniff—then overextended and fell.

  Ash and Etta snorted laughter, and Remy squeed.

  Chuckling, Rhea reached down, collected the puppy, and after a quick inspection, handed him over to Ash. “You’ll probably be working with Raksha a lot. She’s the bravest of the bunch.”

  The gray-and-white puppy squirmed in his arms, climbed his chest, and licked his chin.

  “Hello,” Ash murmured and stroked her ears. She wriggled some more. “Yer a guid wee pup, aren’t you? A terrifying beastie if evah Ah saw one,” he continued in an undertone.

  Ash heard the sound of a fake shutter and looked up to see Etta smirking behind her phone. She snapped another photo. Ash scowled at her, then glanced at Remy.

  His hands were claspe
d together and held high over his chest, his expression one of pure rapture. “So cute,” he sighed with delight.

  Ash’s stomach flipped. His skin prickled.

  Rhea laughed. “You can hold one too, if you’d like.”

  “Really?” Remy turned his shining heart-eyes to her. Ash looked down at his puppy to hide… whatever it was he felt. Disappointment?

  “Of course. Here. Akela’s super chill.” She picked up the one sat in the corner and handed him over to Remy. He was slightly larger than his sister, with similar gray-and-white markings and a tubbier belly.

  Remy cooed at him, rubbed his ears, scratched his chin, and murmured nonsense like “Who’s the cutest ickle puppy? Who’s the most adorable in the whole world? That’s right. You are.”

  Etta’s camera shutter went off again, and Ash wondered if he could get a copy of that picture without Etta taking the piss. Probably not, but it would be worth it.

  “I’m so dog deprived,” Remy said in a more normal tone but still cuddling the pup close to his chest. “I started dog-walking for cash when I was a kid, so always got doggy playtime, yes I did”—this was said to Akela—“until I moved out here. Maybe I should start up again.” He gave a sardonic smile. “Help pay the rent.”

  Rhea laughed. “You should take my card. I might be able to help with that. In fact I’m sure I could.”

  Remy beamed at her.

  Ash had never before felt so foolish for not owning a dog.

  Five minutes later Michael found them each with a puppy in hand and claimed the last one, saying haughtily, “But I’m the actor. I’m the one who needs to bond with them, not you.” He snuggled Grey close and winked at them.

  “Any excuse to be the center of attention or to touch, right?” Ash snarked. He’d been the subject of many hugs, grabs, pokes, shakes, and fist-bumps over the past few weeks. Michael and Jasmine were in fierce competition for most tactile castmate.

  Michael glared at him, but considering he had his nose buried in puppy fur, it wasn’t very threatening.

  That set the tone for the afternoon. Ash and Michael had to curb their desire to simply cuddle the fluffy pups each time the director called action.