by Cara Dee
No one did, but I was eager to find out more about their dynamic. So far, I was hooked on the family feel of it all.
Camden continued moaning in agony at his merciless fate of having chores while we finished up preparing breakfast. I was in charge of the toaster that August brought out from a cupboard, and Camden was told to bring out some blankets to the patio.
Maybe their Southern asses couldn’t handle anything below sixty-five, I didn’t know.
It was jeans and T-shirt weather for me.
Knowing we’d be filmed at some point today, I’d picked one of my Initiative tees in hopes that I’d be able to post a snippet or at least a link to footage on my Instagram. If nothing else, there should be a few photos I could upload.
A few minutes later, the three of us brought our food outside and sat down at the table closest to the doors. There were still some napkins and glasses left in the seating area by the grill from last night, and I was just glad I’d spent the evening with Camden instead. August had hosted a little pity party for himself earlier this morning about two participants who hadn’t been able to stop asking questions.
I sighed contentedly and stuck a piece of bacon into my mouth as I watched the King-Adair couple across from me. August was sweet, helping Camden cut his bacon and buttered toast into smaller pieces.
“I have a couple hoodies in the entryway if you want to borrow one, darlin’,” August told me.
I snorted softly and took a sip of my coffee. While he had gotten started on the eggs earlier, I’d brought in my instruments from my truck, and I’d seen a sweater and a baseball cap with Yankees logos in the entryway.
He must’ve started rooting for them when he’d lived in New York, when he was young and impressionable and didn’t know better.
“Don’t do it,” Camden said quickly. “They’re Yankees gear. Daddy’s a Yankees fan, and if you are too, I don’t wanna hear about it.”
“I wouldn’t be caught alive in a Yankees shirt,” I chuckled. “It’s a glorified clothing brand worn by tourists.”
August smirked wryly and lifted a brow.
Camden’s eyes lit up.
“I’m from Brooklyn.” It was enough explanation for me. Where I grew up, you cheered for the Mets—end’a fuckin’ discussion. “When I did my postgraduate in the city, I made sure to wear as much Mets gear as possible.”
Camden grinned widely at that and forked up some food that he shoveled into his mouth.
“You went to a local college, I take it?” August asked.
I inclined my head. “I did my undergraduate at Brooklyn College, and then I got my master’s at Hunter in Manhattan.” It almost hadn’t happened. Pop was still balls deep in grief back then from having lost Ma, and my being so much older than Nicky meant he’d been young enough to still need a functioning parent when I went to school. But Nonna had put her foot down and applied for financial aid for me, something I hadn’t been able to turn down. The opportunity had been too big. “What about you two?” I wondered.
August nodded for Camden to go first.
“I was at UCLA when I met Daddy,” Camden said with his mouth full of food. “I was trying to flirt with him, and all he asked was about my school. Like, he said it was too late for me to be outside and that I should go home and watch my cartoons and do my homework.”
I laughed.
August shook his head in amusement. “This little rascal strode up to me one night. Work at the restaurant was winding down, and I went to grab a beer from the bar. He said if I played my cards right, he’d keep me up all night.”
Christ. Why wasn’t I surprised?
“It was my birthday, and I was feelin’ lucky.” Camden shrugged.
“Did it work?” I asked.
Camden scowled to himself, so that had to be a no. “He thought I was too young for him. Such a stupidhead.”
“My brain said one thing, my body another.” August smirked. “I don’t know if I deserve a reward for listenin’ to reason that first night—or if I’m just a weak bastard for foldin’ like a cheap suit the week after when he came in again.”
I smiled.
The two exchanged a brief look that made my chest constrict. Holy fuck, they were so in love with each other. In a single glimpse, August’s protectiveness and affection were as clear as Camden’s mischief and young I-knew-we-were-meant-to-be wisdom.
“It took months for us to get serious, though,” Camden revealed. “Daddy was always working at his restaurant, and I was a double major. But once we sort of morphed into Daddy and Little Boy, I stopped pretending that it wasn’t upsetting to leave his place without knowing when we’d see each other again.”
August dipped down and kissed the side of Camden’s head. “I asked him to move in with me a couple days later.”
That was sweet.
The gold bands on their fingers glinted in the rising sun.
“I had two proud daddies at my graduation ceremony the following year.” Camden smiled smugly.
“You sure did.” August handed Camden a napkin. “Perhaps you can tell Anthony what you studied since he asked.”
I’d almost forgotten.
“Oh, right.” Camden giggled and wiped some grease from his chin. “Photography, design, and computer science. It was through that I found illustration and developing.”
No wonder the photos on their NSFW account were so beautiful. He was a professional.
“Do you work as a photographer, ragazzo?” I asked curiously.
“No, I’m a content creator for a gaming company,” he replied frankly.
“He’ll have to show you his office later,” August said. “It’s like walkin’ into a rave party with all the keyboards lit up in neon colors.”
All the keyboards? How many could he have?
“I can show him quickly, a sneak peek, but I’m off till my next project,” Camden said. “Work is not a fun topic. That’s for grown-ups.”
“Of course.” August ruffled his boy’s hair and crammed a triangle of toast into his mouth, then made eye contact with me. “He loves his job to the point where it borders on obsession, but the minute he sinks back into his Little mind-set, he pretends to snore if I bring it up.”
I grinned.
“That’s how the cookie crumbles,” Camden sang. “We gotta talk about something a million times more important now.”
“Your chores?” August guessed.
Camden rolled his eyes. “Uh, no. Anthony’s next term of endearment for me. He speaks Italian, Daddy. Did you know? It’s so sexy.”
The heated look August sent me made me chuckle and shift in my seat.
“I may have discovered that last night,” he murmured.
Camden didn’t notice the shift in the atmosphere. “Do you speak any other languages, Sir?”
I finished chewing a mouthful of bacon and eggs before responding. “I grew up in a neighborhood where most people speak Spanish, so it kind of became my second language quicker than Italian could.” I thought of Nicky and grinned a little. “My brother manages to butcher four languages on a daily basis. He mixes English with Spanish, Italian, and slang like no other.”
August smiled pensively at me but made no comment.
Camden wouldn’t be steered away from his topic and requested a “new, sexy pet name” for every day I was here in Nashville.
“But it has to be cute too,” he added. “Because I’m cute.”
Yeah, he was.
I racked my brain for a fitting term as I finished my coffee and landed on one of the more common nicknames for children. “Today you’ll be my topolino, then. It’s the name for Mickey Mouse in Italy and translates roughly to little mouse.”
He grinned goofily. “I can totally be a mouse. They’re cute.”
“That cute little mouse is going to clean his room today,” August interjected smoothly. “I’ve prepared a list for you.”
Camden’s look of horror was funny.
“It includes the little mouse’s arts and crafts
supplies,” August added with a pointed look. “You’ve been putting that off for weeks.”
Camden sighed heavily and stared at his plate. “I don’t wanna be the little mouse no more.”
Precious boy. I didn’t know whether to laugh or hug him.
August was primarily amused, though there was an underlying current of severity that told me he could definitely be a disciplinarian.
This was one of the things that fascinated me the most about D/s and why it appealed to so many with cognitive differences. A lifestyle where structure and order were such significant factors. Music was similar, as was the way I worked with students who had autism or ADHD. Freedom and peace were sometimes found in the confines of something smaller, be it in the structure of a song or in a dynamic encased by rules. Maybe Camden’s mind was more at rest when Daddy held the leash.
Spending the next week with them was going to be interesting in many ways.
I’d been to food festivals before—in Brooklyn. Big fan. I loved food. But this couldn’t compare. This was something else.
Everything was bigger in the South, I’d heard.
August and I had come separately for obvious reasons; today was supposed to be the first time I met the man since I’d “missed” the barbecue last night. But as I walked through the actual field that was now a temporary parking area for festivalgoers—not to mention already three times bigger than the festivals I’d been to in New York—I wondered if the sneaking around was necessary. It was ten in the morning, and the area was packed with people. And trucks. Trucks everywhere.
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I slipped on my old, ratty baseball cap and got closer to the festival. Which was just an extension of the same field that had to be the biggest I’d ever seen. Miles of nothing but grass.
The festival area itself was fenced-off, but it didn’t stop people from having a good time outside the gates. Music poured out all over the place, several tailgates were dropped, and some had even brought camping grills.
Were they aware of the smoke billowing from countless food vendors two minutes away?
I lit up a smoke and patted the pockets of my jeans, making sure I had my ticket.
The festival was free to attend, though this lucky bastard had won a VIP ticket through August’s giveaway, granting me a goodie bag and better seating in the various dining areas.
I’d checked out the map of the festival online and was looking forward to exploring several of the nearly four hundred vendors.
Maybe I could even get a decent slice of pizza around here.
There was something about sunshine and the strong smell of barbecue that always brightened my mood.
Before I reached the gates, I finished my smoke and texted Nicky to let him know I was ready to eat my body weight in meat.
It was still early enough that I didn’t have to wait in line to get in, and I handed over the ticket August had set aside for me and was given a rubber wristband. I’d just show it at the entrance of each serving area, and I could pick up my goodie bag at the exit before I left today.
Before we got in our trucks earlier, August had mentioned that his flagship restaurant here in Nashville had donated promotional Parmesan knives to the VIP attendants that I would want to get my hands on. I didn’t even know Parmesan required its own knife, but I loved cheese, and I wouldn’t mind a special knife to slice it with.
In the wide entrance, I accepted a pamphlet from someone with “Volunteer” on her tee, and it turned out to be the map I’d already looked at online. But this was good. When Nicky and I brought Nonna and Pop to food festivals back home, Nonna always wanted a list at hand so she could circle the vendors she intended to visit.
“Fuck yeah,” I murmured to myself, scanning the map. Soon as the cooking class was over, I was gonna start with Texas Row. An entire section of the festival dedicated to food from the Lone Star State.
I wasn’t sure I should venture into the area called New York, New York, though. There were vendors selling Italian food—among the cuisines from other cultures, to represent the melting pot I’d grown up in—but unless the vendors actually came from New York, I was skeptical.
I’d seen what pizza from California looked like. Fuckin’ white sauce…
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I quickly checked my watch to make sure I wasn’t late. Still good on time, thankfully. I was to report to Clara Pierce on platform two, row fourteen, in twenty minutes. I assumed August was already there.
Having expected a response from Nicky, I was a little surprised to see my latest-added contact had texted me.
Camden.
Hi, Sir. I checked the festival website and wonder if you can get me some mini donuts from Pearl’s on row 17 before you come home? I don’t wanna bother Daddy when he’s working. Otherwise I would have messaged him instead, sorry. Hugs and kisses.
This kid was putting my ticker in a fucking vise.
I responded right away.
You can text me whenever, ragazzo. Of course I’ll pick up some donuts for you. Let me know if there’s anything else you want.
He should be here. It didn’t feel right that he had to stay home just because he was regressing. It was a huge festival. Maybe he could stay away from August’s spot during his events, but mannaggia, why couldn’t I pick up Camden after the cooking class? We could steer clear of row fourteen.
Camden’s reply consisted of approximately a dozen emojis, ranging from heart-eyes and wide smiles to hearts and a princess crown. Then an all-caps “THANK YOU, SIR” popped up.
I chuckled to myself and pocketed my phone. I might as well make my way over to the event.
Chapter 9
Washed by the Water - II
“What’re you doing?” I chuckled, out of breath, and side-eyed Nicky.
He was arguing with the strap on his guitar, that’s what he was doing.
Nicky replied in his own mic. “I wanted to change this damn—fuck! There. Finally.”
The crowd was thoroughly amused, and it sparked an idea. If there was one thing Nicky and I loved, preferably up on my rooftop terrace on a warm summer night, it was a nice, long jamming session.
I improvised a teasing, playful lick to get his attention, and he smirked lazily and raised a brow.
Let’s go, little brother.
I bobbed my head to the beat and advanced, easing into an unhurried solo where I plucked, strummed, and tinkered. Letting the music set the course. Or my thoughts, maybe. How I felt. And given that we were in the South… Nothing fit better than an ode to the musicians I’d grown up idolizing, starting with B.B. King.
For the next couple minutes, Nicky and I unclenched and let go of the setlist. One solo set off another. Our guitars spoke to each other, and we moved closer to each other and got lost in the rhythm.
Luiz and Chris improvised alongside us.
Nicky made his guitar wail for a beat, and I responded by taking us from bluesy notes to a funk-like tempo that got Luiz going.
I grinned, filled with passion and peace.
Have mercy.
Platform two consisted of a large wooden deck that would, according to the sign nailed to the entrance, host dancing, live music, and entertainment for children throughout the festival. And right now, a cooking class by “August King of MAT,” whatever that meant. I mean, I knew MAT was the name of his restaurants, but I hadn’t asked what it stood for.
The whole setup reminded me of the cooking shows I’d watched at home. Six workstations, two by two, facing a slightly elevated podium where August’s own workstation was situated. We’d all have our own stove, sink, work surface, and the equipment we’d need. Crates filled with ingredients waited for us.
August would be closest to the audience that would stand in the wide, grassy walkway off the deck, and though he’d have his back to them, they’d be able to see everything going on anyway. Several cameras and big screens were attached to tall stands around the deck, and they were already showing the
live feed of all the workstations.
In other words, one camera would constantly be directed at my station. People would see me fuck up royally.
Fantastic.
As if that weren’t enough, before I could let anyone know I was here, a buzzing, take-charge woman jogged over to me and started speaking rapidly about the rules for the event. Mainly, watch the language. Kids would be in the audience, and we’d all wear mics. So they would not only see me fuck up royally, they’d hear it too.
“You must be Clara,” I said to the blonde. She was short, maybe a decade younger than me, blue-eyed, and seemingly possessive of her headset and clipboard. She had the latter in a tight grip, and she wouldn’t stop adjusting the headset. “Are introductions out of fashion?”
“My name tag is my introduction, and for as long as August is my boss, I won’t have time for chitchat because I’m busy handling his whole fucking life,” she responded coolly. Then she snapped her fingers—legit snapped her fingers—at a guy who quickly ran over to us. “Fender needs a mic. So do Galen and Washington, who just arrived.” She peered up at me and pushed up her glasses. “You’re at workstation number four—and a reminder. Don’t fucking curse.”
I grinned.
I liked her already.
“How do you even know who I am?” I didn’t think August would have described me or anything. I didn’t even know where he was right now. Maybe in the tent behind the deck slash dance floor?
“Oh,” Clara responded with a frown. “Because I’m an adult who can put two and two together? I met all the other participants last night—you know, when you were hiding out upstairs with Cam—and you’re wearing a tee that has your last name on it.”
Fuck me. She laughed at my no-doubt stunned expression and walked away, leaving me standing there having nothing to say while a guy attached a small mic to my T-shirt and stuck the bodypack to my belt behind my back.
Okay, so Clara knew…
It seemed private, though. I was supposedly the first man August and Camden had opened their relationship to since they became serious, and even if Clara was employed by August to run his public life, I didn’t understand how she’d already know about me. Unless someone had told her.
