by Rachel Kane
Then again, Mason had the most sadistic urge to watch the guy squirm. Make him pay for coming to a town where he wasn’t wanted, interfering with local history like that.
Or maybe you could stop being weird and just ask him what his intentions are.
Oh, that’s right. Act like he was rational, instead of a tensed-up ball of hormones.
“Thought about what you’re going to do with it?” he asked, his voice calm, not giving away a hint of what he felt.
Liam looked dejectedly down at his silverware. “Not yet. It’s too sudden. You know, forty-eight hours ago I never knew that Superbia even existed. I mean, I can’t keep it, I know that much.”
Mason froze. The worst possible answer. He imagined all those old trees mowed down, the walls ground into rubble, the asphalt trucks moving in to turn all of that natural beauty into flat, soulless commerce. A hungry black hole swallowing all the small businesses in town…like Alex’s bookstore. Like the Red Cat.
“You can’t mean that,” he said to Liam. “Getting a place like that, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
Liam groaned. “It’s so beautiful, but so old. I can’t get my head around all the repairs it might need. Mr. Edwards said you’ve had three hailstorms in the past few years. Three! What does that do to an ancient roof like that? What if there’s a leak? Oh god, what if there’s asbestos? And lead? And…and, I don’t know, cadmium in the water?”
The thing was, even Liam’s worry was attractive, the way his eyebrows rose and a little line appeared between them, like an exclamation mark showing his emotion. His eyes were wide, and he was staring down at the counter as though someone had just presented him the bill for all the repairs Cooper’s Folly might possibly need.
“I shouldn’t have asked,” Mason said, feeling a real pang of guilt.
“No, it’s not your fault. I’m just overwhelmed. It’s not every day someone gives you the keys to a house like that, with that much history…and that many problems.”
“Mason Lee, what are you doing to Mr. Cooper?” asked Renee, coming out with a steaming tray of fried chicken. “You ignore anything that man is telling you,” she said to Liam, setting out his plates and bowls.
“He’s fine,” said Liam. “I’m just finding that everything’s too big for me at the moment…it’s all kind of hard to swallow.”
The entire hamburger, encouraged by a sudden spasm in Mason’s hands as he tried to stifle a laugh, disgorged its contents straight down his shirt.
5
Liam
Renee Edwards would have made a fine emergency room nurse, because when she saw what happened to the contractor’s shirt, she flew into action. The rag she swept out of her apron could’ve been heavy bandages, for the speed and fury with which she pressed it against Mason, trying to catch the mess before it got on her floor.
“Mason Lee Tisdale, I swear to all that’s holy, I am gonna make you wear a bib in my restaurant!”
A blush broke out on Mason’s tanned and stubbled face, adding even more color to the situation than already offered by the purple onions and green jalapenos.
Liam was trying not to stare. He thought he’d done a pretty good job so far, although at least this accident gave him an excuse to look over at the man, as well as providing a distraction from all the bad news churning around him like a stormy asbestos-laden sea.
He’d noticed Mason sitting there, the moment he’d walked in. Yes, Renee attracted quite a bit of attention herself, with her big personality, big voice and big hair, but the eye couldn’t go very long without alighting again on Mason.
Liam didn’t have a type. If someone had pinned him down on the kind of man he liked, he would’ve said someone shy and sensitive, a little bookish, possibly someone whose wardrobe included sweater-vests and reading glasses. In other words, someone exactly like Richard.
Mason was nothing like that. His plaid shirt with its sleeves rolled up revealed heavy forearms leading to blunt, strong hands. There was a bruise on the nail of his right index finger, and all Liam could picture was an accident with a hammer, Mason wincing before putting his finger to his lips to suck on it, as though that would help the pain. The white T-shirt revealed by the open front of the plaid—that is, the T-shirt Renee was currently scrubbing at while Mason tried to fend her off—was unraveling at the neck, and had clearly seen better days.
His hair was a couple of months past the deadline for a trip to the barber, and his stubble didn’t have the manicured lines that the boys from the city had, with their geometrically perfect grooming.
Yet there was something to him, something that Liam couldn’t look away from. Maybe it was that helpless expression that he was giving Liam now, that please make Renee stop mothering me look. Liam couldn’t help it, he laughed at the sight.
“You,” he said, “are a mess.”
“Keenly observed, stranger.” Mason waved Renee away. “See, this wouldn’t have happened if I’d taken my burger home like I asked.”
His voice was intelligent, too, more than one would have expected from a local handyman. When he had asked Liam about his plans for Superbia Springs, and Liam had had his mini-freak-out, he’d noted a kindness, a sympathy, but also an interest, as though the house were a puzzle to be solved.
Or, and hear me out, Liam thought, maybe the fact that you haven’t had a date in forever is influencing your impression, and this is just a random redneck you’ve run into at a diner, and you should finish your food and get back to your motel before you do something to embarrass yourself.
Not that he would. The few times he’d brought up a dating app—usually at Judah and Noah’s insistence—he’d marveled at how hard it was to vet any of the men whose glistening six-packs graced the screen. Where did they work? What did they read? How trustworthy were they, and how many secrets did they hide? You would never be able to figure that out from the apps, which only listed vital statistics, health status, and drug habits. None of the stuff that mattered.
Renee hurried away with her rag and the remains of Mason’s dinner, still tutting at the disaster he’d made of himself.
“For my next trick,” Mason said, pulling out his wallet, “I’ll be balancing a milkshake on my head.”
Now that his food was here, Liam found that he’d lost his appetite. Too much had happened today, there was too much on his mind. “If you’re still hungry after all that, you could have my chicken,” he said.
“What? And have Renee accuse me of stealing your food? Nah, I’m just going to go home and throw this shirt into the wash.” He tossed a ten onto the counter and stood up, clearly intending to get away.
No, that’s fine, really, go on, thought Liam. I’ll just humiliate myself if you stick around. How did one even talk to men these days? Probably one didn’t. Nobody talked, they only texted or apped at each other. Besides, he’d never hear the end of it from Judah and Noah, if he showed this guy the slightest interest.
Also, this wasn’t his territory, and he didn’t know the signals. The guy could be straight. Probably was. Probably had a thousand girlfriends.
“Listen, one thing before you go,” he said. “Does this town have a bar or something? Some place to get a beer?”
Mason studied him for a second. Liam thought, Please don’t take that the wrong way, I’m not asking you out! But if you wanted to keep standing there for a little while, so I could affix you to my memory for later…
“Yeah, two bars. Depends on your mood. Are you feeling fancy, or are you feeling rough?”
Liam laughed ruefully. “Well, I’m feeling rough after today, but not rough enough to need a bar-fight.”
What was going on behind Mason’s eyes? There was clearly thought there, intelligence, interest. Maybe it was just that they didn’t get many strangers in town, and so he was studying Liam like a scientific specimen, a new bug he’d found in someone’s crawlspace.
“You want Toady’s, then. Nice and quiet, upscale. My friend runs it.”
“Sounds perfect. After the day I’ve had… Well. Anyway. Sorry about your shirt.”
Yet instead of leaving, Mason stood there nearby.
God, tell me I’m not giving off a signal, Liam thought. As much as he wished Mason would stick around to give him someone to talk to (and look at), Liam hoped he wasn’t emitting desperate loneliness at Mason, glowing with the radiation of an unwanted celibacy.
I’m not desperate and I’m not lonely, he told himself. I’m a busy professional and a single father, and there isn’t time in my life for dalliances with local contractors, no matter how well I can see the outline of his chest thanks to his newly-wet T-shirt.
“Listen,” Mason said finally. “You’re worried about the house, right?”
“Very.”
“Why don’t I meet you at Toady’s? Call it a free consultation. I’ll talk you through some of the stuff you might run into, and how you’d go about fixing it. Don’t worry, I’m not going to try to talk you into anything—” Again that blush colored his cheeks.
“That sounds perfect,” Liam said, marveling at that blush. Mason didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would give him a hard sell, trying to force his services on him. (Although he wouldn’t mind if Mason forced some kind of service on him.) Might be nice to have a neutral opinion about the house, before papers were signed and everything became depressingly official.
Superbia turned out to be the kind of town you could walk through at night and hardly see another soul. Liam couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a nighttime walk back home. No, that wasn’t true. He could remember it.
He had been the one pushing the stroller, while Richard had been next to him. Roo, back then so tiny he could hardly believe it, had been dozing off, which they were grateful for; back then, the slightest interruption to her sleep schedule would have her complaining grumpily for hours.
All night, Richard had seemed off somehow. Normally animated in conversation, able to hold forth for hours on the subjects he loved, tonight he had been unwilling to talk much, offering cursory answers to Liam’s questions about his day. Liam hadn’t wanted to pry too much; they’d both been so busy since Roo came into their lives, he wanted to give Richard room for his own private thoughts.
Still, at a certain point, he expected his husband to say something. “Want to go through the park?” Liam had asked. “It’s nice this time of year.”
Richard shook his head. “No thanks. Let’s just get home.”
“Busy day?”
“Yeah, just… Just tired.”
Just tired.
Those words would haunt Liam in the months to come. They would keep him up at night, make him question himself over and over, interrogating his memory, a detective whose case was his own husband’s life. What clue had he missed? What symptom—
But Superbia felt different than home. The streets were so quiet, broad and open. The businesses were shutting down for the night, leaving a few last lights on as though to guide your way home. Once the sun had gone down, the air had chilled, and Liam thought about going back to get a jacket, but decided he liked the feeling of the clean cool breeze on his bare skin, making little goosebumps stand up.
Toady’s, for all that its name suggested some dark and dismal place in the swamp, was actually on the bottom floor of a quaint three-story building whose brickwork suggested past glories, its windows ornately bordered, looking warm and comfortable and welcoming. He opened the door, and was greeted by muted music, polished wood and brass, all the light ambient and indirect. A few early arrivals glanced his way, and the bartender nodded at him.
“What’ll you have?”
“I’m looking for someone, actually—”
“Aren’t we all.”
“Do you know Mason?”
Suddenly the bartender’s face brightened. “I know Mason, but how do you know Mason?”
There was definitely something in his expression, something expectant, as though Mason’s befriending a stranger was big news in this town. Given the size of Superbia, maybe it was big news.
“I was supposed to meet him here—”
Fortunately at that moment, the door opened again, and the bartender looked past him with a downright predatory look. “Why, Mason, we were just talking about you.”
Mason had certainly cleaned up, and not just that messy T-shirt. His hair was combed, one stray curl unwilling to stay in place, dropping over his brow. He’d traded the plaid shirt for a forest-green button-down. Hadn’t done anything about that stubble, though. “The scariest sentence you ever hear in Superbia is we were just talking about you,” he told Liam. “Toby, why don’t you set us up with a couple of those witbiers you keep telling me about. Oh, that is, if that’s okay with you, Liam?”
“Liam,” said the bartender, as though tasting each syllable individually. “So that’s your name, stranger. You all right with witbier? Don’t let Mason fool you, normally he’s a PBR man.”
“As long as it’s cold and has alcohol in it, I’m all for it,” Liam said.
He looked into his glass, and took another taste. There were oranges and spice, possibly cardamom, mingling unexpectedly on his tongue. He had another sip. “I really like this.”
“Don’t believe Toby,” said Mason, after a long swallow of his own. “He tries to make me sound like the bottom rung on the evolutionary ladder.”
“Small towns must breed enemies,” Liam said.
“Oh, no, just the opposite. Toby and his brother Alex are my two best friends. They just like giving me a hard time. Constantly. Forever. If you asked them, they’d probably say I did the same to them. What are friends for, if not to constantly mess around in your business?”
“I know the feeling,” said Liam, thinking of Judah and Noah back home. What would they think about this trip to the bar?
Pick him up, Judah would say.
Do it, Noah would agree. Nothing like a one-night-stand with a cute stranger you’ll never see again.
Just thinking about it made him squirm uncomfortably in his seat. How would you even approach something like that? This wasn’t that kind of bar, not a pick-up joint. He had no idea what the language of small towns was, how you navigated finding out who was gay and who wasn’t, who was interested and who wasn’t.
Honestly, it made him miss home. Roo made things simple. No dating, not when there were diapers to change and stroller-walks to take and bedtime stories to read.
He felt that familiar pang he got whenever he was away from Roo, wondering what she was doing right now (hopefully sleeping!), wondering whether she was clutching her blanket in her left hand the way she always did while she slept, her stuffed hippo close beside her. Hoping Judah wasn’t letting her chew on the edge of the coffee table; ever since she’d started pulling herself up, she’d been a one-girl Hansel and Gretel show, treating the furniture like it was made of gingerbread.
“So, tell me how much work this place will take,” he said, to take his mind off that pain of missing her. “I feel like I’m in shock already, but I can’t make a decision without the facts. I’ve got a kid, you know? I can’t spend every dime I have fixing up a house I didn’t ask for.”
That elicited a look of surprise. “A kid? You?” said Mason.
“What, don’t I look like a dad?”
“What does your…wife?…think about all this?”
Oh.
Well, there it was. The moment of truth. At least, if you met a guy on an app, you didn’t have to have the whole clumsy self-outing part of the conversation. Did being in a small town make a difference? This was the South. Should he lie and say his wife was back home…and existed? Or just blurt out the truth, with all its entanglements and complications and sorrows?
He ran his thumb over the rim of the beer glass. “I’m…single. My…ahem…my husband is no longer with us.”
Give Mason this, his first reaction was subtle, just the slightest widening of the eyes at this casual admission. Liam waited patiently for him to clo
se himself off, the way people did when they had to face the existence of a gay dad. A suddenly politeness, a crispness in the one, an eagerness to get away.
Instead, Mason nodded. His whole body visibly relaxed, and curiosity replaced surprise. “Wait, you’re gay, but you’ve got a kid? Did you adopt?”
He said it so openly and blatantly that Liam glanced around, anxious about being overheard, but nobody at the bar seemed to have heard, or if they had heard, to care.
“We had a surrogate,” said Liam. “It was simultaneously the most complicated process I’ve ever been through…but also one of the purest? The mom, Sam, she’s great, we loved her, I still talk to her all the time, and she made it so easy for us—”
He hadn’t expected to talk about this.
Hadn’t expected to suddenly choke on his own words.
He smiled even though his throat closed off, that polite smile you give someone when you simply cannot say one more word, and need a minute to compose yourself, and feel utterly humiliated that you have gotten yourself into this emotional state in front of a total stranger.
Instead of backing off and giving him space, Mason reached over the table and grabbed Liam’s hand. “Dude, it’s all right. I didn’t mean to get on a bad topic. Forget I asked. We can skip all the autobiography. Or I can bore you with mine, if you like.”
His hand was so warm. This wasn’t any kind of romantic hand-holding, it was the supportive grip you give someone when they almost trip and fall, and yet Liam felt all the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up at the touch.
Calm down, he told himself. Richard, I promise, I’m not thinking of doing anything with this guy. I’m not thinking of how that hand might feel on my cheek, or brushing against my chest, or—
Another swallow of the cold, cold beer steadied him. “By all means,” he said to Mason. “Tell me what it’s like here in Superbia, because I don’t understand anything about it. Why do you have a mansion? I mean, I know why, Mr. Edwards told me the whole story, but…”
