by M. J. O'Shea
“Let’s go!” McKenna called out. Gray loved his sister.
She wound elbows with Sofia and led the charge out the door of The Tilted Shamrock towards the town square. Gray felt himself walking between Sofia and McKenna and Jake and Leo, who’d threaded their hands together and were walking with quiet smiles.
Gray felt a momentary pang. He wanted what they had, and he’d never had it. Not with Caroline for sure. Gray couldn’t imagine wanting to hold her hand like that and give her shy smiles. Not even when they were adolescents and new to each other romantically. A picture popped into Gray’s head. Arlo. Arlo next to him, an arm slung over his shoulder, a kiss smacked on his cheek with a characteristic Arlo giggle. The moment felt so good it hurt. And it hadn’t even happened yet.
Ever. It can’t happen ever.
Gray was who he was. And he was not the guy who could fall for a strange boy floating through town. He was not going to stuff his face with Arlo’s intoxicating pastries and kiss until dawn. Just because every cell in his body, every breath, every thought was Arlo didn’t mean he had to give in. He already had once, for a few fleeting moments. Look where that had gotten him.
The town square looked beautiful, strung up with lights that glowed in the darkness. The bonfire was in the middle of the square, surrounded by barriers. There were booths of apples and cider, jams, wool sweaters, and homemade crafts. It was filled with people laughing and talking, lining up for treats.
Gray barely noticed any of it.
The moment he walked into the square, he felt Arlo’s presence. It was like there was a magnet lodged in Gray’s skin that drew him closer, closer until he saw Arlo’s dark glossy curls poking above the crowd.
Kiss him, touch him…
Arlo laughed, and Gray’s knees quaked. He made an excuse to Sawyer, who looked at him knowingly and stumbled towards Arlo’s stand where he’d piled shining towers of pastries — apple, cinnamon, cranberry, chocolate, pumpkin — all the scents of autumn. His fans were crowded around, passing him money for little paper bags filled with Arlo’s treats.
Arlo turned and said something to the woman next to him. Must be his mom. She looked like him – dark haired and gorgeous. Gentle. Happy. Gray wanted to be near her too. She must’ve had whatever it was that Arlo had that drew Gray in.
“Can I help you, sweetheart?” She said to him finally. Gray had no idea how long he’d been standing there staring.
“Um. Sure.” It was far too late to back out. “I don’t know what I want.”
Arlo’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice. “Gray…” he murmured. He looked shell-shocked. Gray stared right back.
“I should’ve known it was you,” Arlo’s mom said with a knowing smile. “In that case, I recommend the apple spice cake. Perfect with a cup of Earl Grey.” She gestured at the little drink stand they had off to the side with carafes of coffee and tea. Gray followed her gesture with his eyes.
“How do you do that?” he whispered. “Know exactly what I like.”
Arlo’s mom shrugged casually. “I’m Emmaline, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.” Gray got another knowing smile, and a slice of cake in a white bag with the cafe logo stamped on it. He passed over a five dazedly. Arlo stared for a few more moments before he seemed to remember he had a line and went back to helping his customers. He still looked up at Gray every few seconds. The air was ripe with tension, stringing out between them ready to snap. They’d barely said a word, but the atmosphere was so full.
“Try it,” Emmaline told him. “Arlo baked that fresh right before we came out here.”
Gray didn’t know how to say no to the beautiful woman who was smiling so softly at him, so he pulled the square of moist, dense cake from the bag. It didn’t have frosting on it, but the scent of apples and cinnamon was strong and heady. Gray opened his mouth and bit into the cake. It was heaven. He closed his eyes and let the flavors rush over his tongue. The taste made him shiver even though he was suddenly a bit hot. Through the apple and spice, vanilla, and chewy, soft cake came the taste of kisses, the feeling of a gentle touch on the bare skin of his back, a nose running down his spine and a sucking bite right on the dimple at the bottom. Gray swallowed hard. He wanted. He wanted all of it.
“How?” he choked out. “How do you do it?”
“Did you like the cake?” Emmaline asked. She gave him a wide-eyed innocent stare.
Gray didn’t know what to do other than nod. “Y-yes. It’s delicious. I, um, have to go.”
He stumbled away from the booth, away from the square into the darkness just on the outskirts of the main festival he stood there for a long time, chasing away the feeling that he’d gotten from Arlo’s cake. He was dizzy and empty and waiting to be kissed. But he was scared at the same time. Scared of everything he wanted.
Gray stood in the dark and watched his friends and the townspeople he’d known all of his life celebrate. They danced to the band on the stage, laughed, and drank hard cider. He didn’t know how to go back and become part of them.
Gray was startled when a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind. Arlo. He’d been out of it, or he would’ve known Arlo was there far before Arlo had a chance to touch him.
“Hi um, Arlo. Hi. What are you doing here?”
“You’ve been avoiding me all week.”
Gray thought about lying, but there’d be no reason. “I know. After the kiss,” Gray bit his lip. “I didn’t know what to say to you. I haven’t done that before. I never...”
“Why do you keep pretending you don’t want this?” Arlo whispered urgently. He turned Gray around and looked at him with those intense golden eyes of his. Arlo ran his hands up Gray’s arms and cupped his jaw. His hands were warm and dry. Gray wanted them everywhere.
“What are you talking about?” Gray voice was hoarse. He could barely make himself lie.
“From that first minute in the pub… I swear. I think of you every day. I dream of you at night. My skin aches to touch yours; it hurts to breathe when I can’t kiss you. I’m not in this alone,” Arlo said. He looked confused and desperate. Exactly the way Gray had been feeling for weeks. “I know you’re feeling it too.”
“Arlo. I can’t.”
“Why?” Arlo was only centimeters away from Gray, lips, huge gold eyes, long eyelashes, the sweep of his breath. It was so tempting. Right there for Gray to take and touch and taste.
“I —” Fuck “I just can’t.”
Arlo leaned forward just that tiny bit and brushed their lips together. It was a sweet kiss, barely a moment in time. And then it was over. “Yes you can. I’ll be waiting.”
The day after the bonfire dawned cloudy and turbulent. Fitting, Arlo thought. It matched his mood. Last time he checked, his moods couldn’t affect the weather, though. At least he hadn’t managed to do it before. Just the thought of that kind of power scared the hell out of him — he’d stick to baking, thanks.
He hadn’t gotten anywhere with Gray the night before, unless a scared look and a stolen kiss counted. Arlo didn’t think they counted. Even worse. His mother and Sofia were leaving in a couple of hours. As much as it had been strange to see his sister and mom in Baxter Hollow at first, he’d gotten used to their presence the past few days, how their perfume and clothes filled his little apartment, and their laughter made even the quietest hours at his cafe cheerful.
Thunderheads rolled over Baxter Hollow as Arlo got ready for work. Didn’t look like the weather was going to clear for the day. Arlo’s mom and sister packed their bags, and walked to the bakery with him for breakfast. He was sad to see them go, felt like the dark clouds were some sort of a sign that they should stay and help him untangle the mess he’d made of his heart since he’d arrived in town.
“There’s something in the air today,” his mother murmured. She looked up at the sky and shivered. Arlo had learned long ago not to ignore his mother’s feelings when it came to things like that.
“Bad?” He asked.
Emmaline shook
her head. “No, uneasy. There’s a change coming. I don’t know what. You know it’s never specific like that.”
Arlo tried to feel it, whatever his mother sensed in the air, but he didn’t. All he could feel was Gray, out there somewhere driving Arlo insane, day after day.
“I wish you two didn’t have to leave,” Arlo said. He never forgot about them on the road, but his life was separate from home, from family. Now that they’d been in his space and made a place for themselves in it, he realized how much he missed them. How much he always missed them when they weren’t around, even if it wasn’t in the forefront of his mind.
“I know baby. Come see us soon, okay?” Emmaline ruffled his hair. “Christmas is still a long way away.”
“I know.” Arlo echoed. He figured he should make it home more often. It was always so good to be there, to be encompassed by his family’s warmth, by the place he’d spent so many years growing and learning, but at the same time the itch came back so quickly. He never stayed long. Arlo wondered what was wrong with him.
The clouds built all day, slowly gathering until they were a huge menacing navy blue mass hovering in the sky. Something about Arlo had always loved storms, the more violent the better. He’d cuddle into wherever he lived and stare out the window at the rain and wind. Sometimes he even liked to go out in them and let the lightning and thunder get into his blood. He thought maybe they belonged there.
By the time the cafe closed, the rain was pouring down, splashing against the streets and sidewalks. Arlo glanced down at Clementine, who’d curled herself into a tiny white ball in her bed in the corner of his kitchen and was fast asleep.
”You’re not going to like the walk home, girl,” he murmured.
At least he had his long coat with him. He could bundle her up inside of it and hope that she was smart enough to stay there. Arlo had to clean up still, and start the prep for the next morning. It wasn’t the easiest job. He wondered if he needed an assistant. Then he wondered when he’d started thinking about staying long enough to have one. Probably the moment he laid eyes on Gray. Arlo had already been in Baxter Hollow longer than he’d stayed in most of the places he ever stopped. And the thought of leaving hadn’t crossed his mind once. Even when he thought about it, probed and tested the idea, it didn’t appeal to him.
Arlo worked quickly, beating eggs, butter and sugar together, creaming vanilla and mascarpone for frosting, rolling out colored fondant and gum paste decorations. He was nearly manic in it, affected by the building storm and his weeks of frustration. He worked his energy out in the kitchen until everything was done — rolled into neat balls of plastic-wrapped dough, frosting separated into containers he’d be able to open in the morning. Still, Arlo felt it, lust and want and frustration thrummed through his veins.
He didn’t know if he was going to stand it much longer before he stormed into Gray’s townhouse and forced him to admit what was between them. Patience had never been one of Arlo’s strong suits, and Gray was testing every last drop of it.
Still, he cleaned up, got his coat and scarf, and his kitten who didn’t appreciate being woken from her nap then forced his café’s front door open against the building wind. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe a storm of a completely different sort was on the horizon. All he had to do was wait.
Gray hated storms. They didn’t blow through Baxter Hollow very often, but when they did he typically spent the time hiding from them, sat in his sitting room with tea and an uncharacteristic book trying to ignore the world around him. He wasn’t lucky enough that night to have made it home before the storm hit.
He’d spent the morning helping the volunteers clean up from the bonfire, and the afternoon at Baxter House since Luna had required his presence at a tea she was throwing. It had been excruciating to sit there with a gaggle of school-aged girls and think of Arlo’s lips on his, the way his breath fanned out over Gray’s face, the way Gray wanted nothing more than to kiss him again. And again.
But Gray had endured — the tea party and his unwelcome desires. He’d driven back to Baxter Hollow and straight to the Tilted Shamrock to drown his irritation in a few beers and some friendly chatter with Sawyer. Problem was, the pub was loud and cozy, and he hadn’t noticed the storm brewing until it was far too late. Which was why he was currently out in the rain swearing and trying to get the cover he’d tied onto his car off so he could drive home.
The rain pounded at him. His fingers were freezing and wet. Gray tried to breathe deeply and be calm, but a clap of thunder had him shuddering and pulling at the cover again. The damn thing wouldn’t come off. Gray needed it to come off. All of a sudden he felt a little wavy, like maybe he had more than a few beers to drink. His heart sped up, and he saw little black spots in his vision. Gray blinked furiously to try and quell the panic. It didn’t help.
What’s wrong with you?
Gray wanted to get home. He needed to get home. All he could think about was that night when he was little. How he’d slipped on the wet grass and nearly fallen into the swollen river where he would’ve drowned. His heart raced, and his hands grew slick with sweat along with the pounding rain. Gray sank down to the ground next to his car and covered his face with his hands.
His fingers started to tingle, an uncomfortable, numb warmth spread across his chest. It got tighter and tighter. His chest started to hurt, like every beat of his heart pushed out on his ribs. Gray could barely breathe. And then he smelled it — warm vanilla, Earl Grey tea, home…
“Gray, are you okay?” Arlo. Of course, it was Arlo.
Gray choked on a breath that felt like he was pulling it in through layers of thick wool. “F-fine,” he wheezed out.
“You’re not fine.” Arlo stuck out his hand. “C’mon upstairs. You need to get dry.”
“I’ll make it home.” At least he was starting to breathe again. Gray felt the panic slowly start to subside. He didn’t know if it was Arlo’s smell, his presence, or just him. Gray felt simultaneously better and worse than ever.
As much as Gray hated storms, the thought of weathering this one in Arlo’s apartment, with Arlo right there in small quarters, was even more terrifying. The sky cracked with a flash of lightning, and he flinched.
Arlo came and put his arm around Gray’s shoulders. “Come inside. At least for a few minutes. I’ll make you tea and you get can out of those wet clothes.”
Gray didn’t know why he followed him. That was a lie. He knew exactly why he did it. Because he wanted to. He let Arlo lead him to the side door of the pub and up a narrow dark set of stairs, and he waited patiently while Arlo unlocked the door and unbuttoned his coat. A small, disgruntled kitten was inside of his coat. Arlo kissed it on the head and put it on his sofa.
“Welcome to my apartment,” Arlo said. He looked shy all of a sudden. “Come… come in.”
“Thank you for saving me, Arlo,” Gray said stiffly.
He could’ve handled himself. He could’ve. He huddled on Arlo’s tiny sofa and stared at the mostly blank wall. Arlo didn’t have any decorations, anything to make the small apartment seem like home. A month ago that would’ve made Gray happy, but the thought of Baxter Hollow being a temporary stop for Arlo made something inside of Gray thump uncomfortably.
It was a little sad, too. His shop was so bright and cheery. The thought of that colorful, happy person, Arlo living in a somewhat pathetic, saggy apartment with a rented sofa and no pieces of home, made Gray want to bring color and life and happiness into it for him. Gray pinched his thigh and tried to make himself stop thinking about it.
“Of course,” Arlo said softly. “You looked so scared.”
“I wasn’t scared. It was just a little rainstorm. We have them all the time.” Well, that’s a lie. Gray had never been so happy in his life to see anyone than a wet gangly boy he’d spent too much time avoiding.
“I know,” Arlo said gently. “I just didn’t want to leave you out there. I’m glad I came along.”
Gray’s car was still parked
behind Sawyer’s pub, outside in the rain. Gray was used to keeping it in his garage, wiping it down with soft cloths. He needed to get it home. Even more, he needed to get away from Arlo before he did something stupid, like crawl on top of Arlo and kiss him until neither one of them could breathe.
“I’ve, um, got to get my car home before it gets flooded.”
Arlo put a warm hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get you some tea. Your car will be fine until the morning.”
“I don’t usually get it wet.”
Arlo gave him a look. “This is Maine.”
It did sound rather ridiculous when he put it that way. “I know,” Gray mumbled. He felt his excuses and inhibitions roll off his skin with the slowly evaporating rain.
Arlo stood. “Your car will be fine. Sit tight. I’ll bring you some tea. What kind would you like?”
“Earl Grey, if you have it.” Gray sank back against the faded sofa cushions. Some tiny part of him knew he’d given up on escaping from Arlo’s tantalizing presence. Like he even wanted to, which he didn’t really, it was just… impossible. The whole flat smelled like him, like Arlo had seeped into the cracks. Gray inhaled and shivered. He had no will to go.
Arlo stuck his head around the small corner into the kitchen area. “Of course I have Earl Grey,” he drawled with a grin. “How could I not?”
Of course. Gray bit his lip to keep from smiling in return. Or screaming. He wasn’t sure which.
Ten minutes later, Gray was cuddling a huge mug of tea that Arlo, the psychic bastard, had made to perfection. He’d also been bullied out of his wet clothes and into one of Arlo’s fuzzy sweaters that smelled infuriatingly good, and a pair of pajama pants that he swore had never been worn. It was a completely unhinging experience, being utterly surrounded by Arlo’s smell in every possible way, so close to his voice, enveloped by fabric that had touched his skin. Arlo had sat down next to him on the tiny sofa with a mug of his own. His damp black curls were starting to dry, and he looked painfully young and sweet.
