by M. J. O'Shea
“Sawyer always has the best par—” And he felt it. Smelled it. Knew it. Arlo was there. Gray’s head flipped toward the front door of the pub where Arlo had come in carrying a huge pink box. He was flanked by Jake, gorgeous shy Jake. Gray felt a bitter rush of jealousy tear through him.
What the hell? Gray didn’t know what he was more surprised by — the fact that Jake was there at all, that he was there with Arlo, or the fact that Gray hated it with every fiber of his being.
“Arlo!” Sawyer crowed.
Arlo stood in the doorway looking bashful and sweet. “I brought Jake. And the cake.”
“Sweet!” Sawyer held out his hand. “Jake. Nice to see you, man. I have a friend who might be even happier to see you.”
Sawyer shook Jake’s hand, kissed Arlo on the cheek and cackled before he skipped off, back to his dark haired tourist girl. Arlo and Jake made their way over to where Gray and Leo were holding up the bar.
“Leo. You know Jake, right? Can you grab a drink for him while I set the cake up?”
Arlo gave Leo a significant look that Leo might not have understood, but Gray most certainly did. Oh. Oh. Jake was at the party for Leo, not Arlo. Gray felt relief, sweet and thick, flood through him and he got a little annoyed with himself. Then he noticed Arlo, and he wasn’t sure if he even cared anymore. Arlo had stripped off his jacket, and was over setting his beautiful cake up on the table. He had on his big goofy combat boots and this sheer lavender button up with black flowers. His hair was down, and his jeans were so tight on his ass that Gray didn’t think he’d be able to fit a single finger between the denim and Arlo’s skin. But he wanted to. Damn, he wanted to. Gray let himself inhale, long and deep. Arlo looked up, startled.
Gray got another drink for himself and downed it.
The night got darker after that. Sweeter, somehow. Gray was convinced it was Arlo’s presence, or maybe it was a wild sort of moon. He drank and danced and laughed, but all along Gray felt Arlo there, laughing and dancing and drinking as well, always close, but not too close. Not close enough.
By the time the cake was lit for Sawyer to blow out his candles, Gray’s entire body was vibrating with whatever energy had thrummed through him since he’d left his house that night. The pub sang off-key and loud, and Sawyer blew his candles out. Then Carrie cut the cake, something fruity with thick vanilla cream and white spongy cake, and plates were passed around. One was pressed into Gray hands, and before he knew it, he’d taken a bite. Then two. Then three.
The cake swirled through him, frosting and fruit and cream, but also shimmering shuddering sweetness that had nothing to do with sugar and everything to do with arousal pooling heavy and low in his belly. Gray licked the last of the crumbs off of his fingers and wound his way to the makeshift dance floor. It was crowded with bodies, sweaty and sticky, bopping to the same thumping beat.
He danced and whirled and rolled his hips until he smelled it. Felt it. Arlo. Instead of running, Gray let himself do what he’d wanted to do for weeks. He backed up, closer, closer, until his back was nudged right up against Arlo’s warm chest. He tipped his head back onto Arlo’s shoulder and inhaled.
“You smell good,” he murmured.
“So do you,” Arlo breathed into his ear. He wrapped a long arm around Gray’s waist and pulled him closer.
Yes. Gray’s body shivered and then set, like it was finally in the place where it had wanted to be for so long. Like they fit together. Gray rolled his hips and Arlo ground against him. The beat of the song thunked in his chest, and he covered Arlo’s hand on his belly with his own, twined their fingers together and squeezed.
“You drive me crazy.” Arlo nuzzled his neck.
Gray groaned into the touch and tipped his head back. “You drive me crazy, too. Wanted this,” he said. “Needed this.”
Gray was too love-drunk off of cake and booze and Arlo’s heady scent to really think about what he was doing. He was living in the darkness, in the press of bodies and heat and Arlo’s smell. He bit his bottom lip when Arlo’s hand snuck under his shirt to feel his naked skin, he opened his neck up to give Arlo room when he started nuzzling along Gray’s jawline.
And then Gray did it.
He turned and brushed his lips against Arlo’s, then opened them, slipped his tongue into Arlo’s mouth for a taste, for a kiss, a real kiss. His first in years. The kiss exploded over him, in shivers, and groans and rightness. It clapped like lightning, like a storm, then unraveled into flickering pictures of decades of happiness with Arlo by his side. It tore Gray out of his dark, hot, moment.
What the hell did I do? No, no, no. I can’t do this. I can’t be this. I won’t.
Gray pulled away, gave Arlo one horrified look, and took off running out of the pub.
When Gray woke up his head ached and his mouth felt like he’d swallowed a whole package of sandpaper. Moldy sandpaper. He was on the sofa in his living room, for some reason. Must not have made it up to his bed.
“Fuck.” He staggered to his feet and tried to ignore how dizzy he felt. He needed to get a huge amount of grease in his system and fast. Then he thought about Sawyer’s pub, had flashes of what he’d done the night before and nearly threw up right on his living room floor. Gray made it into his kitchen, only to open the fridge and find...nothing. Not a single damn thing.
Maybe Sawyer and Leo didn’t see anything last night. If Gray remembered correctly, Sawyer had spent half the night suction cupped to his new tourist girl or else talking everyone’s ear off about how she was ‘touring the small towns of New England as part of her master’s thesis. Leo, well, honestly Gray didn’t know what had happened to Leo. Last time he saw his oldest friend he’d been sharing shy looks with Jake over a beer. So maybe he was in the clear. Maybe nobody had seen what he’d almost done. What he’d done. There was no almost about it.
Arlo.
Gray hadn’t looked back when he ran out of the pub, away from Arlo who he wanted so desperately. Who he wanted nothing to do with. Arlo probably hated him. Maybe it was easier that way. He couldn’t have his friends hating him too. Gray fished around in his pocket for his phone. Maybe it was time to see what, if any, damage he’d done. His phone was nearly dead, but the light was blinking to show there were messages. Gray cringed and unlocked his phone. Time to rip the bandage off.
There was a string of texts from Sawyer.
Where are you, man?… Graaayyyyyyyyyy we’re doing shots come back!…Baxie? :(
One rather disappointed and drunk-spelled one from Leo.
Sawyer’s rllly worried about u. u culd’ve calleddd. Be safe.
And then two from a number that wasn’t in Gray phone.
Sawyer gave me your number I hope you made it home safe xoxo and Oh. This is Arlo <3.
Gray’s pulse thunked hard and spun out behind his ribs quick and staccato. Arlo. ArloArloArlo. He’d been in Gray’s thoughts nearly every minute of every day since he’d moved to town and he still was. Enchanting, hypnotizing him somehow. Gray could’ve even sworn as hung over and wretched as he felt, he could still smell Arlo floating on the air. And he wanted to get closer. Gray gritted his teeth.
No. Absolutely not.
“I’m with Caroline. I’m not gay. I love Caroline.”
Gray squeezed his eyes shut and tried to picture it like he had for years – he and Caroline in the big house with children and his sisters surrounding them, the traditional, happy family that he’d never really had growing up. He’d wanted it so badly for so long. His commitment to that vision had never wavered until Arlo came bulldozing his way through it with a beautiful smile and that smell from heaven.
“I’m with Caroline,” he said one more time. His voice sounded scratchy and weird in the stillness of his house, like it wasn’t coming from him, but someone standing on the outside of him, trying to push him back into the neat little mold he’d been in for years.
Gray went into his room and changed into dark jeans and a sweater. He brushed his teeth, wet his hair down an
d neatened it with a comb, put on a thin scarf and slipped on a pair of shoes. It was time to face the music. He decided he’d rather deal with Sawyer in person than on the phone. Quite possibly Leo. And maybe even Arlo. Gray was determined to pretend the kiss hadn’t happened, the dancing either. He was back to himself. Back on track. No more of whatever that was.
He left his phone charging on the bedside table and jogged downstairs. When he got to the bottom and had to grip the handrail for a few dizzy moments, he realized how much that probably wasn’t the best idea. But he shook it off and left for the Tilted Shamrock.
Sawyer wasn’t behind the bar. He was sitting at one of the corner booths, nursing a huge cup of coffee and looking very much worse for the wear.
“Hey, man,” Gray said softly. He slid into the booth across from Sawyer. Gray smelled eggs and sausages cooking in the kitchen. He couldn’t decide if it smelled like absolute heaven or if he was going to vomit. He probably should eat quite a lot of both. “What happened to your girl from last night?”
“She’s on her way to Vermont to see the leaves or something. What happened to you last night? Had all of us wandering the streets looking for you, asshole.” Sawyer smirked at him to let him know he wasn’t really in that much trouble.
“Sorry. I had a bit too much and decided to walk myself home.”
Sawyer gave him a long, pensive look. “You don’t have to lie. You don’t have to freak out either unless you want to for, like, personal reasons.”
Gray gulped. Hard. “What do you mean?” He tried to look innocent, but he was pretty damn sure Sawyer wasn’t going to buy a second of it.
“We all saw you and Arlo, man. All of us. You guys looked happy together. Then the next time I looked up you were gone, and Arlo looked like someone had murdered his mom.”
“Where, um, is he? Arlo.” Gray choked on his name, like his body had been both dying to say it and dreading it at the same time.
“Cafe. He told me he wanted to work on a new pastry recipe.” Sawyer glared at Gray for a second. “I think he likes to bake when he’s upset.”
“Bu— “
“No, Baxie. You gotta tell me now what your issue with him is. I love him to death, Leo likes him, Jake likes him when he can be compelled to say more than a few words at a time about anyone. What’s your fucking problem?”
Gray didn’t know how to say it without, well, saying it. Arlo disrupted everything he thought about himself. Arlo made him want to be someone totally different than he thought he should be. Arlo was a wild card in his neat and orderly little life, and he hadn’t even done anything. How could Gray admit that one boy, who’d moved to town only a few weeks ago, had the capability to turn everything he hoped he’d become inside out and upside down?
Sawyer, perceptive Sawyer, gave him a sympathetic look. “Is it because you like him? You’re attracted to him? You really don’t have to pretend you’re not. I’ve always known you were into guys too.”
“No— wait, what?” How the hell could Sawyer know that? McKenna swore that she’d keep it secret and Gray hadn’t breathed a word.
“I suppose I shouldn’t say know cause it’s your truth to tell or not tell, but I suspected. It’s totally cool, man. I mean Leo is obviously going to be okay with it. I just want to be here for you. I think Arlo just wants to make out with you some more, and maybe have lots of sex and babies, so I’m pretty sure he’s down with you wanting the D.” Sawyer cracked a smirk. “You totally want the D don’t you?”
Gray thought he might choke. “I’m with Caroline. I’ve been with her for nearly half of my life.” Didn’t stop him from having a flashing vision of Arlo naked and writhing on his bed.
Sawyer gave him another sympathetic look. Gray knew what that look was. That was the You pathetic loser, she left you look. He was right. Caroline was long gone, and Gray knew it just as much as everyone else. He was just having a hard time letting go of the catalog perfect life he’d pictured with her for so many years – the one his little lonely teenaged heart wanted more than anything. That part was more important to him than Caroline herself.
I’m such an asshole.
Arlo’s stereo was blaring in the background, loud and a little angry as Arlo slammed a bag full of nuts rather violently. He couldn’t take his frustrations out of the pastry itself, or it would get tough, and nobody liked tough pastry. So he took it out on a baggie of nuts with his rolling pin. Which felt pretty good if he were honest.
He was trying not to think of the night before, although it was nearly impossible. Arlo remembered how soft Gray’s lips were, how his plush round ass felt cradled between Arlo’s thighs, how he smelled like heaven and tasted even better. It had been one of the best hours of Arlo’s life so far. Just the ending part made him want to scream.
Gray wanted it. I know he did.
He could pretend he hadn’t been just as turned on as Arlo but it wouldn’t work. Arlo could feel it. He could taste it. It was almost like he was Sofia when it came to Gray. Everything Gray felt came blasting at him full force. Arlo knew Gray wanted him. He knew Gray was scared. It was frustrating as hell.
Clementine mewed from where she was lounging in the corner on a pillow. Arlo had felt bad leaving the kitten at home all day, even though she seemed rather content to sleep in the sun at his apartment most days. Maybe he was lonely. Either way, it had resulted in a tiny fluffy ball of white and orange staring at him. It was probably almost time for her lunch.
Arlo put his rolling pin down once his bag of pecans was ground to perfect sized crumbles. Then he started working on the shortbread. He didn’t want it to be ordinary, he wanted the dough to be sweet with a tang, crumbly and rich with a bit of bite. Arlo added orange and lemon zest to the basic buttery vanilla dough. And he thought about Gray. He mixed in bits of dried cranberry and crumbled pecan, and he remembered their kiss, how slick and sexy Gray’s tongue felt sliding against his.
Arlo pressed his dough into a square baking pan and nearly groaned when he remembered Gray’ smooth skin. By the time the bars were cooled and he was pouring on a citrus glaze Arlo was about to leave his kitchen and track Gray down so he could have just one more kiss.
He was screwed.
Baxter Hollow wasn’t really the place for locked doors, but Arlo was still surprised when he heard the bell over his front door clang.
“I’m closed,” he called out.
“That’s what the sign says, you dickhead. Get out here and say hello.” The voice was acerbic, mocking, and very familiar.
Arlo froze in his spot. Then he peeked his head around the kitchen doorjamb.
Standing right in the middle of his empty cafe were two women, dark haired and pretty, curvy and fair. One had her hair piled in a messy curly bun, had on a black leather jacket, leggings, and clunky black boots. The other had the same dark curls but wore a long skirt with a white button-down tied at her waist. Arlo felt a smile bubbling up from the pit of his belly.
“Sofia? Mom? What are you doing here?”
Arlo’s mom and sister rarely came to any of the towns Arlo lived in, and never without warning. They usually waited for him to visit them at home, which he did rather regularly in between stops. It was quite a shock to see them standing in his little shop, like two worlds clashing together.
“Your friend at the pub said you were here working. Dark haired boy? Super friendly?” Sofia rubbed her nose and then sneezed. “What on earth have you been doing in here?
Arlo blushed. Sofia, well, she’d always been rather susceptible to Arlo’s highs and lows, especially in baked goods form. She hadn’t even tasted the cranberry bars yet, and he knew exactly what he was feeling — all the lust and frustration he’d been trying not to feel all morning. Futile, really.
“Those look delicious, darling.” His mom reached out and picked a slice of cranberry bar off of the counter and took a deep bite. She blushed, Arlo wanted to sink into the floor, and Sofia let out a loud barking giggle. “Oh,” his mother said with a so
ft smile. “Well, then. Who is he?”
Yes. His family was definitely in town.
There wasn’t really a word for what their specific talents were, although his mom liked to call them kitchen witches to the great horror of Auntie Brigitte. Frankie’s mom had always been a bit of a snob. A huge snob to be honest. She didn’t really approve of witches who broke the mold or didn’t quite live up to her expectation of it.
Him, his mom, Sofia – none of them were what you’d call...normal in the grand scheme of magic folk. Frankie seemed to be one of them.
They were special in a rather unremarkable way as far as powers went.
Arlo was good at reflecting emotion, making other people feel things, just like Frankie was. Sofia quite the opposite was far more perceptive than most and could absorb emotions, tell what others were feeling before they’d even worked it out themselves. His mom had a rather unpredictable combination of the two. And they all were very, very good in the kitchen but not all that incredible at anything else. Emmaline said it came from her grandmother on her mom’s side— Arlo, Sofia, and Frankie’s great grandmother. She’d died years before Arlo was born.
The thing that set them the most apart was how much they cared about emotions, especially the emotions of non-magic humans. Witches, especially the strong ones like most of the Vallerands, were usually all about power. Prestige. The wealth they could accumulate by manipulating others. Arlo hated all of that. He just wanted to make people happy.
Arlo made tea and led his mom and sister to one of the painted tables out in the main cafe. They all sat with tea and definitely no more of the porno cranberry bars, which he’d probably have to throw in the garbage, and stared at each other for a long moment.
“So...it’s nice to see you two,” Arlo started. He was so used to seeing them at home, in the cozy cottage he’d grown up in. It was really quite jarring to see them in this world, in a place where they only existed on the other side of his phone. “What made you decide to visit?”
