by M. J. O'Shea
“Can I help?” Sawyer asked. “I’ve never gotten to give a good ass-whipping to anyone. Mostly, I just toss out the occasional drunk, and that’s not very fun.” He flicked a few punches into the air. Gray didn’t know how much help Sawyer would be in a real fight. Probably spend more time laughing than hitting.
“Who’s been drinking too much?” Gray asked him. “Would you like me to go speak with them?” He hated when things in town got disorderly. Gray didn’t like anything when he wasn’t in control of it.
“Don’t worry about it, bro. I know you like to get involved in everyone’s business, but it’s really not your responsibility to run the town. Leave that to the officials, you know? It’s my job to make ‘em go home and sleep it off. You can relax for once.” Sawyer reached across the shiny wooden bar and ruffled Gray’ hair. Gray wasn’t a huge fan of touching. Sawyer had one of the few free passes. The others were only given to his sisters. And Leo on occasion. “Leo’s late,” Sawyer said. It was almost as if he’d read Gray’s mind.
Gray rolled his eyes. “He’s probably taking the long way here so he can happen to walk across the square right when the bookstore is closing up.”
“Jake?” Sawyer asked.
“Jake,” Gray confirmed.
As much as Gray didn’t know the quiet bookshop owner personally, he’d also known for years that his oldest friend had the most ridiculous crush on him. It was too bad that Jake went to so much trouble to keep to himself. He and Leo would make a nice couple — if Jake was even interested in men. Gray hadn’t ever seen him with anyone at all now that he thought about it.
Sawyer disappeared to the kitchen and returned with a tray of dinners. He put Gray’s serving of macaroni and cheese with a tuna salad and sliced apples in front of him. It was Thursday. Gray always ordered the mac and cheese on Thursdays. Sawyer didn’t even have to ask.
“Looks amazing,” Gray said. His stomach growled. He’d been so irritated by Croft and his ineptitude earlier that he’d forgotten to eat. He dug into his dinner and pretended he wasn’t annoyed that Leo wasn’t there yet as planned.
“Sawyer! Hello.” That’s definitely not Leo. Gray looked up to the deep, throaty voice at the front door of the pub and oh. It was him. It had to be.
Arlo.
He was tall and willowy and somehow didn’t seem like a normal human — at least not like anyone Gray had ever met. He wore faded dark blue jeans tucked into bright green rain boots, a thin flowing t-shirt with a button up over it and a goddamn glittery headband of all things held back his head of black curls, like the kind Luna wore. And the way he smelled. Gray knew that smell — he’d been smelling it for days. He didn’t want to even contemplate how the hell it was possible. Gray found himself leaning closer as Arlo wound his way through the tables to the bar. He wanted to reach out and brush his thumb across Arlo’s pale creamy cheek, stare into his gold-brown eyes, tug on a licorice-black strand to see if it bounced back, suck on his pouty pink bottom lip—
No. What is wrong with you? It had to be the smell. There was no other explanation for it. Arlo had to have some power of some sort drawing him in. Then Gray realized he was honestly contemplating the possibility that the new guy in town might have magical powers and decided he wanted to strangle himself. Just like he’d thought the very first day. Arlo had to go.
He tried not to notice that Arlo was staring right back at him like he was starving and Gray was the most delicious of dinners.
“Hey, Arlo. Want a beer?” Sawyer grinned at the new guy and held up an empty glass. Just like always, he seemed to know that someone had been about to come in.
“I’d love one.” Arlo flopped his long body into Leo’s spot and grinned at Gray like he hadn’t done anything wrong, which clearly he had. Stool usurper. “Hi there. I’m Arlo. You have pretty eyes.” He looked a little love-drunk. Gray was currently trying to fight back that same sensation. Get rid of him…
“Leo usually sits there,” was the only thing Gray managed to say in return. He tried to hold his breath, keep his stupid body from leaning closer, closer, and closer again. He ended up white-knuckling the edge of the mahogany bar to keep himself from reaching out to touch. In that moment there was nothing he wanted more.
“I’m sure Leo won’t mind moving over.” Sawyer glared at Gray. Traitor. “What have you been up to today, Arlo?” Sawyer asked.
Gray was not interested. Not in the slightest little bit. He didn’t inhale either. Nope. There was only so long Gray could hold his breath, though, and when he finally inhaled before he ended up passing out, there it was. The smell. More like vanilla buttercream and pastries up close, but still complex and intriguing. Addictive. It went straight to his head until he felt dizzy and like he wanted to giggle of all ridiculous things. Gray let go of the bar and dug his blunt fingernails into his palms.
“I just finished getting the kitchen up and ready to bake. Even got my license application approved and stamped off.” Arlo grinned at Sawyer. “Another day or two and my cafe will be open.”
He looked so pleased with himself, but casual at the same time, like he had no idea his presence was making Gray’s carefully built neat world crumble around his toes one dusty brick at a time. Gray decided to have a long talk with whoever had approved that cafe’s license without going through him. He certainly would’ve found some reason to stall the damn thing, or shut it down altogether. He wouldn’t have even minded buying a building he didn’t need if it somehow helped his cause.
“You know, people come to the pub if they want to eat,” Gray said. “I doubt you’ll have any customers.”
Sawyer glared at him again.
Arlo turned the power of his sweet breathless grin on Gray. Gray wasn’t having it. No way did his belly do a tiny little pirouette at that smile. “I won’t be competing with the pub.” He actually giggled into his pint. “Unless Sawyer decides to start selling pastries and chocolates instead of beer, burgers, and meat pies.”
Gray could actually see the lust dawn on Sawyer’s face at Arlo’s words — another person he’d be having a long talk with.
“Pastries,” Sawyer breathed. The way he said it, Gray would’ve thought he was talking about his dream girl. Come to think of it, he probably was.
“Of course. I’ll have to have a tasting party before I open. I’ll be sure to invite both of you.”
Fantastic. Gray would have to come up with an excuse not to go. There was just something inherently wrong with anyone who could make Gray feel the way he felt around Arlo. Something unnatural about anyone who smelled like all of Gray’s favorite scents woven together.
Arlo’s presence still made him want to do things. Reckless things like lean over and nuzzle his nose into the soft pale skin of Arlo’s neck, lick and touch and inhale over and over, chase that delicious smell until it was the only thing in his world. He caught himself fantasizing about it for the second time in only a few minutes. Gray leaned away from Arlo, in the hopes that it would help his rebellious body calm down. It didn’t. He shoved the rest of his dinner in his face as fast as he could, and made some excuse about why he had to leave. Arlo’s plush lips drooped into a sad little pout when Gray said he was off to home.
For the love of… Jesus.. I can’t handle this.
Gray shoved back his stool and ran for the door. He didn’t care if he looked like a giant lunatic to the other people in the pub. He had to escape from Arlo and his impossible cologne — whatever it was that made Gray want to let all of his carefully kept control fly out the window. It wasn’t acceptable. Not in the slightest.
Gray. Gray. It was him, and it had taken less than a moment before he’d even heard Gray’s voice for it to hit him. After that, Arlo was a goner. It was like, hell, like his entire interior had melted out his fingers in a long sigh. He’d just wanted to lean over and wrap the gorgeous prickly little creature in his arms and sing to him until he smiled, touch him and kiss him, and wake up in his bed. Arlo couldn’t imagine how beautiful Gray woul
d be if he let himself smile. His whole body felt Gray. Not just when they were next to each other in Sawyer’s pub, but from the moment he’d gotten into town. That undeniable draw that he’d felt from even miles away. It was Gray.
He should’ve known how he’d react when they were finally in a room together. Arlo felt like he was going to shiver out of his skin.
Gray was the voice in the dream, the presence he felt on the edge of his consciousness, the person who’d drawn Arlo all the way across the country. He’d never been more sure of anything in his life.
Arlo thought that he should probably go to bed, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t sleep when his body was thrumming with GrayGrayGray so he decided to bake, to pour everything he was feeling into his food.
He’d gotten some rudimentary supplies that afternoon when he’d finished with his ovens. It was as good a time as any to test his rather antique equipment. Arlo floated down Maine Street and across the square, just beyond the bookstore to where his little cafe was. It still smelled a bit like paint, but everything was dry, so he cracked the front door open and turned on all the lights and the ovens. Arlo flipped his stereo on, the one he couldn’t imagine baking without, and got to work.
Gray, Gray, Gray. Gray was neat and orderly on top, desperately controlled, but swirling underneath, vanilla and cream in places and bitter black tea in others, he was fresh like the spring and warm and crisp like burning leaves in the autumn.
Arlo started cooking a crème pâtissière, tossing in vanilla beans and butter, whisked sugar and eggs and finely ground powder of tea leaves until the cream was bubbling thick and smooth in his pot. He leaned over and smelled and yes that was Gray — at least almost. The only thing missing was buttery choux pastry with a crackly shell and tender interior. That was the easy part. By dawn, he had a plate full of pastries piped full with the vanilla and black tea flavored custard to give to Sawyer. He also had his first menu item.
Arlo’s shop opened on a cool Saturday morning. Sometime during the night he’d pulled down the paper and put out a sign that read ‘Moonpie Cafe’. The inside of the cafe wasn’t like anything Gray had ever seen — swirls of colors and bright painted stars, multicolored tables and chairs, piles of cakes and chocolates, pastries, cookies, and even a bubbling pot of hot cocoa were all visible through the glass. The smells that came floating out from the door every time it opened made Gray shiver. It was his smell. His Arlo smell, drifting out and across the main square. But it was so much more at the same time, caramel and chocolate, cinnamon and whipped cream. Gray had to clench his teeth and hold his breath when he passed to keep himself from going in.
It was obvious nobody else managed the same amount of control. By the day, the crowds in the cafe grew. Gray had seen Sawyer walking out with a box of pastries and a bag of gleaming chocolates. Children ran through the square, scented with vanilla and with little rings of cream around their lips. They lined up in the morning noses squished to the window and watched Arlo put out his daily offerings. On nice days, Arlo put his tables outside, and customers would sit there sipping tea and nibbling on sinful smelling treats. It was torture.
Gray resisted.
“Dude, you’ve gotta try this,” Leo said to Gray one evening a couple of weeks later when they met in the pub for dinner. Leo had a paper plate groaning with thick brownies studded with tiny flecks of crushed peppermint sticks and roasted marshmallows. Gray couldn’t help but remember that’s what Leo had smelled that first night.
“No, thank you. I’d like to still fit into my pants by Christmas.” Gray refused to take a bite of the gooey mint-chocolaty brownie, even though he could nearly taste the burst of peppermint and sticky marshmallow in his mouth just by looking at it.
Leo rolled his eyes. “Arlo said he thought I’d like these brownies and he was so right. Sawyer. You’ve gotta try this it’s the best thing I’ve ever had.”
“I love those,” Sawyer said. But he took a chunk and popped it in his mouth anyway, groaned when he swallowed. “So fucking good. Not as good as the pineapple cream cupcakes, though. I swear I’ve eaten ten this week.”
The two chattered about desserts and the upcoming football season while Gray sat contemplating everything that had gone wrong in his life lately.
“Don’t you guys think there’s something off about Arlo?” Gray finally asked just as the door to the pub creaked open. Sawyer made a face and did this horrified little gasp thing. Gray turned, and Arlo was standing there in the doorway of the pub with another box of treats.
“Um, these were extras after closing. I—I just wanted to see if you wanted them, Sawyer. I’ll, um, go upstairs.”
“Arlo. Come sit down. Don’t mind Gray, he’s just being a bitch. He had a bad day.”
“There are vanilla cupcakes with vanilla rosewater frosting in there. They might make your day better,” Arlo said. His voice was soft, like always, but there was something different about it. Sad. Tentative.
Gray was conflicted. Part of him felt horrible and wanted to pull Arlo in close for a big hug and kiss the top of his dark, fragrant curls. Another part of him zinged with a tiny shot of vindication. Good. Maybe if he thinks he’s not welcome, he’ll leave. He’d only been in town for three weeks or so, but he seemed to have everyone under his spell.
“Thank you, but I think I’ll be happy with my roast,” Gray said. He was glad he didn’t have to open the office the next day. He’d rather stay in his house and get some cleaning done. Or hide. Which was what he’d really be doing. He only hoped his house was far enough away from the bakery that he’d be able to escape the scent of baking pastry smells. Not likely.
After that evening in the pub, it seemed like Gray ran into Arlo every time he turned around, like his skin had become some sort of Arlo magnet, drawn to the scent of tea and buttercream and wild dark hair.
“Morning, Gray,” Arlo said one day when they’d bumped into each other at the Sunday farmers market. Gray let out a strangled yelp at Arlo using his name. Instead, he forced a polite smile and made fists with his hands to keep from reaching up to cup Arlo’s peachy cheek.
“How’s your day been, Gray?” Arlo asked another afternoon, when Gray walked briskly by his shop just as he happened to be closing up for the day. He’d given Arlo another curt nod and hadn’t answered.
“Gray! Look who’s here to visit me,” Arlo had said, just a few hours ago. Gray had stopped, and sitting there on bright purple metal chairs were his sisters. They had frosting and crumbs on their faces, and huge happy smiles. Even Fallon was giggling and giving Arlo moony eyes, and Fallon was categorically against laughter ever since her princess of the night phase had started. No. Absolutely not. Gray felt his control slipping, the neat, orderly boundaries he’d set so many years ago and refused to break. He absolutely hated it.
“I don’t want you going in there anymore,” he said to McKenna. Gray had his phone cradled on his shoulder and was busily drying his teacups and hanging them on the row of pegs that were attached to his kitchen wall. His wall was painted a pale mannerly yellow — unlike the wild riot of colors and swirls in the café that seemed to somehow glitter.
"Please,” McKenna said. “Last time I checked it was just a bakery, not a den of iniquity.”
“I don’t like him. I don’t think he’s trustworthy.”
McKenna snorted. “Arlo can pillage me like a pirate and carry me off to sea as long as he brings a box full of those salted caramel cookie bars along with him.”
“McKenna.”
“Lighten up, G. Arlo’s a sweet guy, and pretty hot if you ask me. And he makes unbelievable pastries. There’s nothing wrong with him or his shop. You just need to find someone and get laid. Maybe then you’ll be in a better mood.”
“Caroline is still in New York. Her contract has been extended.”
A great gusty sigh came from the other end of the line. “When are you going to admit she’s never coming home and you need to move on?” McKenna asked. Her voice was a lot gentler than
it had been. “Has she even called you lately? E-mailed? Sent an owl?”
Caroline had been Gray’s girlfriend through most of high school and college — mostly since her family had been the right sort of well off to mix with Gray’s. She’d moved to New York with him when he reluctantly went off to Columbia, but got a modeling contract instead of a degree. He’d been waiting for her to return from New York since he got home from school. She hadn’t called lately, hadn’t returned his messages either. They hadn’t spoken in months.
“She’ll come back. She can’t stay in New York forever.”
McKenna sighed. “Fine. Just don’t take your frustrations and, like, self-inflicted sense of responsibility out on Arlo. He’s done nothing wrong. I think he actually has a crush on you. He’s asked about you every time I’ve been in.”
Gray nearly choked on his tea.
McKenna had promised. She was the only one who knew, who’d seen him let go of his orderly life and his perfect future with Caroline for just one dangerous, careless moment. She’d walked in on Gray back when he’d first gotten home from college, with his arms around a boy from the local community college’s football team.
They were happily making out, and Gray had never felt anything so amazing. McKenna had gasped and then giggled. Gray had freaked out and made her promise not to say a word to anyone. I’m not gay, Mack. I just… drank too much, he’d said. I’m not judging you, bro, she’d answered. Just glad you actually seemed happy for once.
“I thought we weren’t talking about that ever again,” Gray said. His tone was acidic. He felt bad talking to his sister that way.
“I only said that it seemed like Arlo liked you. I didn’t say a single word about it going both ways.” Gray heard the smirk in his sister’s voice. He decided to hang up before the conversation spiraled any further out of his control.
