The Delicious Series: The First Volume

by Stella Starling

  He wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear and reached across his kitchen counter for the white canister he kept by the sink, using a finger to trace the word he’d written on it with a black sharpie. Someday. The promise of a better life; a future that didn’t include Kelsie anymore even though there’d been a time when he would have laid down his life for either her or Trevor. A time when he’d thought they felt the same.

  “Aren’t you going to ask how I’m doing?” Keslie asked impatiently, reminding him that he hadn’t responded.

  “Nope,” Mace said, pretty sure he wouldn’t have had the patience for that bullshit with her even at the best of times. “I’m just going to ask you to stop texting, Kels.”

  She sucked in an audible breath, then launched into him. “We were together for seven years, Mace! Ever since that shitty home over in North Tulsa, the one with the dogs. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Exactly,” he said with a humorless laugh. Seven years, and she’d had no loyalty at all.

  “You always took care of me, Mace,” she said, switching from anger to tears without pausing for breath. “I need you, baby. Trevor’s done something stupid.”

  “Again?” Mace asked without any inflection to his voice, not even remotely surprised.

  “Don’t be such an ass, Mace,” Kelsie snapped.

  He shook his head. He had no interest in fighting with her. Shouldn’t have bothered responding to her message at all. “I’ve gotta go, Kels.”

  “Wait! Mace…” She let out an audible breath, and it was easy to picture her twisting a strand of hair around her finger, the way she always did when she got upset. “Look, Trevor told me it was his fault that you were arrested,” she said, switching tactics again. “I… I didn’t know, Mace.”

  His hands tightened around the white ceramic container, his eyes burning into the word that used to give him hope. But when the fuck did “someday” actually arrive? Every time Mace woke up, it was just another “today” all over again.

  And this time, today felt like it had crushed him.

  He put down the canister and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Like you said, we’ve known each other since we were thirteen, Kelsie. Trevor shouldn’t have had to tell you that for you to know it.”

  “I—” she started to say.

  “Besides, does what Trevor told you even matter? I don’t remember you worrying about whether I was actually guilty or not at the time,” Mace went on, talking right over her. “Wasn’t it something more along the lines of you ‘couldn’t deal with my shit’?”

  “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry,” Kelsie said instantly, the tears coming back. “It was just… it was too much, Mace.”

  Yeah, it had been. Especially when the only two people he’d thought he could count on had let him go through it alone.

  Kelsie was still talking. “…Trevor and I have been living in Pryor, but I’ll be back in Tulsa next week, Mace. Can we—”

  “No,” he said, cutting her off.

  “Jesus, are you so damn perfect that you can’t forgive me for being stupid? Haven’t you ever made a mistake?”

  He clenched his teeth. Not a question he was in any position to answer at the moment. But if he wasn’t going to forgive himself for how he’d treated Danny, he for damn sure didn’t have forgiveness to spare for anyone else.

  “I’ve gotta go,” he said abruptly. It had been a mistake to call her. “Stop texting me, Kelsie. Please. Just… stop.”

  He hung up, ignoring her squawk of protest. Talking to her brought up memories, not all of them bad, but nothing he wanted to go back to. He was staring blindly at the white canister, and his lip twitched as he realized it had probably been intended as a cookie jar. Or maybe that’s just what he wanted to see. Cookies would always mean Danny to him now. Hell, his whole world was colored by thoughts of Danny now... but even though his words to Kelsie had been in another context, they applied to him, too.

  It was time to stop.

  Mace had wanted to hold onto friendship at the least, had wanted Danny to stay in his life in any way it was possible, but he’d ruined that. He popped the canister’s lid off, staring blindly down at the neatly folded wads of cash inside. Money he’d done whatever he had to for, obsessively saving for a better life, until tucking more dollars away had almost become an end in itself. The problem was that he’d never bothered to figure out what that better life would actually look like, and now that he finally had an idea, the money seemed pointless since it couldn’t get him what he really wanted.

  He took a breath, letting it out slowly. There had been plenty of things in life that he’d wanted and couldn’t have. Losing Danny didn’t have to wreck him. He could even take it as a positive. At least now he knew he didn’t want to be alone. He could find someone else. Someone available. Someone—

  Fuck.

  He swept the cookie jar off the counter, not even flinching when it shattered and spilled his empty dreams all over the floor. Who was he trying to kid? He didn’t fucking want someone else.

  He wanted Danny.

  9

  Danny

  Danny had woken up without an alarm, which was stupid since sleeping in was one of his true loves in life and Saturday was one of his days off. And even stupider was that despite having tossed and turned all night, for some reason he’d woken up while it was still early enough that people other than him would agree it was still technically “morning.” Early morning, even.

  The only other person he could imagine actually being awake so early on the weekend was Gavin, so dragging himself into the bakery was really the only thing that made sense.

  “Oh my God, what’s wrong?” Gavin asked, looking up when the little bell above the door of Delicious announced Danny’s arrival.

  Jeremy, the nerdy-cute guy who owned the bookstore a few doors down, was leaning against the counter, sipping a latte. He raised an eyebrow too, sending a pointed glance at the clock on the wall and then feigning shock.

  What. Ever.

  “Why do you automatically assume something’s wrong?” Danny asked defensively, not sure he really wanted to get into it. “Maybe I just needed a coffee.”

  “Before noon?” Gavin asked incredulously. “And sweetie, no offense, but you never leave your house with your hair looking like that.”

  Oh, God. He hadn’t even thought about it, and whether it was due to lack of sleep or other things, his oversight in the personal grooming department hit him hard. He blinked, trying to ignore the hot prick of tears behind his eyes, and headed for the espresso machine so that he didn’t have to look at his friends.

  “Your frog did not turn out to be a prince, I take it,” Gavin said, coming up behind him and squeezing his shoulder.

  Danny shook his head, carefully measuring out the milk, and thankfully Gav got the hint and left him alone to drown his misery in caffeine.

  “You want to hear about frogs? Lord, I managed to catch myself a real toad,” Jeremy said. “Have you met the hot UPS driver yet?”

  Danny rolled his eyes, wrapping his hands around the warm cup of mocha love he’d managed to brew and turning back to face the other men. “Tad? God. Don’t get me started.”

  “You, too?” Jeremy asked, looking faintly ill.

  Danny didn’t blame him. “Nuh-uh,” he said. “I haven’t gone there, but I hear you’re not the only one. Sorry, honey.”

  “You should have warned me,” Jeremy said, sighing. “Although I know it’s my own damn fault. I have horrible taste in men.”

  “Me, too,” Danny said, wishing he could actually believe it. God, even though Mace had run out on him twice now, he couldn’t seem to stop trying to rewrite the ending in his head.

  Jeremy looked at the clock again, frowning. “I’ve got to go open the store, but maybe we can all get a drink later this week? Share our horror stories.”

  “I wish I had a horror story,” Gavin said, showing his dimples. “But I’m married to Del
icious. Even a bad date would be an improvement for my love life at this point.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Jeremy said with a wink as he left. “See you later.”

  As soon as the door closed behind the bookstore owner, Gavin turned on Danny. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  Danny took a sip of his coffee, shaking his head but then opening his mouth anyway. God, he was pathetic. “Turns out he’s straight,” he said, then felt a full-body flush roll through him as he was assaulted with memories of the night before. “Well, straight-ish,” he amended, feeling just as miserable as when he’d woken up.

  Gavin frowned. “You mean the kind of straight that likes to stick his tongue down your throat and then pretend it never happened?”

  Danny nodded, making a valiant effort not to remember that tongue. Or those lips. Or, God, the way Mace had suddenly gone from zero-to-sixty, pressing him into the wall with that hard body and those hot hands and his oh-so-very-happy-to-see-him cock.

  Mace’s touch had seemed to promise that behind his veneer of ever-present self-restraint, he’d been feeling everything Danny had. That Mace wanted, needed, craved him, too. That he just might turn out to be every single thing Danny had ever hoped for.

  But it had been a false promise, one that Mace had suddenly ripped away, like a Band-Aid.

  “What do we need to do?” Gavin asked, handing Danny a scone. “Castrate him?”

  Danny laughed despite himself, taking the pastry and feeling a burst of gratitude for Gavin. He really did love the man. Gav always had his back, no questions asked.

  “I don’t think we need to go quite that far,” he said, biting into blueberry heaven.

  “I disagree,” Gavin said loyally. “If this guy hurt you—” He paused, frowning. “We are talking emotional pain only, right? Not to make light of it.”

  Danny nodded. “Only my bruised and battered heart,” he said, even though the organ in question felt like it might have taken more damage than that. Admitting it would sound pathetic, though. But as for Gavin’s concerns? Mace would never hurt him. Not physically. Danny didn’t even need to question it. He’d never felt anything but safe around Mace, not even when Mace had been tossing him around in that much-too-erotic version of a self-defense lesson.

  But... God, this other kind of pain was almost worse. Especially because he still couldn’t seem to get it through to his heart any kind of happy ending with Mace just wasn’t going to happen for him.

  The little bell at the door announced another customer, and when Gavin squeezed his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look before turning away to help them, Danny sighed. When he’d woken up that morning, his first thought had been of Mace. And not, “Oh, God, what an asshole,” like it should have been, but more along the lines of the giddy little surge of anticipation he’d felt each and every day since he’d met the man. A happy moment of wondering when he’d see him next that had sprung up unbidden just before the memory of the night before had surfaced and brought reality crashing back down on him.

  This isn’t right, Mace had said, which pretty much killed any possibility of it ever working out between them.

  Danny had no idea whether Mace’s denial stemmed from him feeling too straight, or feeling that Danny was too gay, but no matter how badly Danny wanted him, he wasn’t going to put up with either one. He’d never really been in the closet—was constitutionally incapable of not being him, no matter how difficult it had occasionally made his life—and Mace wouldn’t be the first man he’d walked away from because of it.

  There was no denying that Mace would be the hardest to put behind him, though.

  Danny sipped his mocha, thinking of all the men who’d told him they “couldn’t” with him. Even if he’d dealt with it before, it had been infinitely harder this time. He’d fooled himself into seeing everything he’d ever dreamed of in Mace, and naively, he really, really hadn’t expected the man to disappoint him. But Mace was full of surprises. It had hurt, and the hurt had instantly morphed into anger… but then Mace had left, and all Danny’s anger had left with him. No matter how much he’d tried to hold onto it, once the door had closed behind Mace, Danny had just wanted to curl up and die.

  Or maybe scream.

  Or worse—infinitely worse—follow after him and beg him to change his mind.

  “You know what? I’m over it,” Danny lied as Gavin’s customer left, tired of feeling torn up inside. Of believing in fairy tales. Of waiting around for a prince when someday never seemed to come. Just… tired.

  “You sure, sweetie?” Gavin asked, looking concerned.

  “Absolutely,” Danny said, wondering if he’d be able to convince himself. He straightened his shoulders, trying. “And I’m stating for the record that I’m done giving guys who can’t want me for me the time of day.”

  Gavin grinned. “Preach it, princess.”

  Princesses got what they wanted, and Danny would, too. Or if not what he actually wanted, at least he could get proactive about moving on. “I’m going to… to… shit. I don’t know what I’m going to do, Gav, but I’m going to do something,” he said, because wouldn’t it be better to channel all his hurt into action? He set down his mug, pushing it away. “Something other than sit around and wallow in misery, I mean.”

  “I fully support that,” Gavin said, because Gavin was the best. “Fuck wallowing, Danny. He doesn’t deserve it. This guy shouldn’t be allowed to hurt you. You should be pissed off.”

  “Right,” Danny agreed. And Mace had pissed him off. Danny just needed to tap into that again instead of drowning in all the pathetic, painful feelings that had swamped him when Mace had rejected him, so he said it louder—and wasn’t getting loud exactly what Mace had told him to do?—because maybe if he said it like he really believed it, he could wear his righteous anger like armor and the rejection wouldn’t hurt as much. “Right, Gavin. That’s exactly it. I’m mad as hell. I’m pissed the fuck off.”

  And it worked, because pissed off felt much better than hurt.

  Pissed off, Danny could do something about.

  The butterflies in Danny’s stomach felt like they were going to burst right out of him, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves as he stood in the hall outside what he assumed was Mace’s door. There were only two apartments above Hot Leaves, and from the street, Danny had noticed that one had glittering pink curtains. He approved. Still, he assumed the other one—the one where he’d seen the shadowy silhouette of some sort of plant in the window—was probably Mace’s. And he’d already knocked, so there was no going back now, right? Except it had been just long enough with no answer that whatever mad he’d been holding onto had evaporated, making way for a whole bunch of nervous-and-awkward in its place.

  He nibbled on his lip, trying to decide if he should knock again or just leave. Probably leave. Whatever bravado he’d ingested with his blueberry scone seemed to have deserted him, but before he could convince his feet to move, the door opened.

  Danny caught his breath, nerves morphing into something else altogether.

  Mace looked like he’d just woken up, all soft-eyed and shirtless and sexy as sin. Danny wanted to run his hands over all that skin, to lick his way down the sharp “V” that disappeared into the waistband of Mace’s sweatpants, to climb up the man, wrap himself around him and never let go.

  “Danny,” Mace said, his voice still scratchy with sleep.

  Something flashed across his face too fast for Danny to make sense of it, and then he switched into Mace-mode. Zero expression.

  Seriously? The man’s tongue had been in his mouth less than twelve hours ago. Maybe Mace closing himself off as per usual was good, though, right? If Mace shut down, it would help bring back the pissed off and drown out the hurt.

  “Do you know why I’m here?” Danny demanded, hoping his voice sounded as angry as he wanted to feel. Did feel. He did.

  Mace clenched his jaw, then nodded once, jerkily. “I probably do,” he said,
hesitating for a moment and then stepping aside. “Come in.”

  Danny quelled his little ripple of excitement at the invitation, doing his best not to accidentally-on-purpose brush up against Mace as he stormed past.

  Fail.

  Okay, then. He needed to figure out what the next step in his pissed-off-plan was... but before he could, the sight that greeted him once he entered Mace’s apartment brought him up short. For one thing, the floor of the small open-concept kitchen off to the side was strewn with wads of cash and broken crockery, but his curiosity about that was completely overridden by what filled the rest of the Mace’s home.

  It had been obvious from the street that there couldn’t be much square footage in the tiny apartments over the tea store, and the hallway had been just run-down enough to make Danny assume that he’d be walking into some sort of Spartan, poorly decorated, straight-guy-esque space, the kind with boring white walls and an ugly couch with no throw pillows.

  Instead, he’d walked into a garden.

  The walls were white, and the couch was definitely dull, but—and Danny could honestly say he’d never imagined himself having a thought like this—those things didn’t matter. He felt like he’d just stepped through the looking glass. The tiny place was a lush oasis, filled to brimming without feeling crowded. Gorgeous pots adorned every surface, more hanging from the ceiling, and others literally attached to the walls with some kind of ingenious method that Danny itched to get a look at. And it wasn’t random. There was a flow to the colors and the shapes and the—God—the utterly intoxicating scents, a thousand varieties of sweet perfume. Danny refused to believe it was accidental.

  Mace’s home was living art, and Danny was enchanted.

  He walked into the room, his original intent forgotten for a moment as he was irresistibly pulled toward the abundance of unexpected beauty. He let his fingers drift across delicate stems and feathery leaves and graceful petals in a hundred different shades of fabulous, finally stopping in front of the one he’d seen through the window. Its leaves were a dark, glossy green, the deep red flowers made of too many petals to count, nesting inside each other in a circular pattern that his fingers itched to recreate in sugar mold.