by Tia Fielding
“Hi, there you are,” he murmured, smiling. “God, you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen, Wyatt Abbot.”
The corner of Wyatt’s mouth twitched slightly, and a blush spread over his cheeks. “Th-thanks, I guess…?”
“So, Wyatt, I’m Izzy, and I’m a cis-man, and I think I might be pansexual, but I sure as hell aren’t straight when it comes to you.”
Wyatt’s gaze snapped up into his. He looked so startled, Izzy smiled.
“I’m sorry, for how I handled yesterday,” Izzy said quietly.
“Apology accepted,” Wyatt breathed out the words, and Izzy could feel the weight he’d been holding since the day before falling off just like that.
“Oh, thank God.” He let go of Wyatt’s chin and let his own head fall forward with relief. “I thought I blew it,” he admitted out loud.
Wyatt chuckled. Then he took in a breath so deep Izzy could hear it.
“W-would you maybe want to…I mean, if you still—” Wyatt snapped his mouth shut.
“Kiss again?” Izzy hazarded a guess, because he really, really wanted to continue where they’d left off right then.
Wyatt nodded, and they fell into the kiss like they’d done it all their lives.
Izzy moaned at the taste of something lemony on Wyatt’s tongue, and this time, when he felt Wyatt get hard, he pressed closer, chasing the friction.
A door banged somewhere, jolting them apart.
“Th-the screen door, back of house,” Wyatt panted, looking flushed and fucking gorgeous.
“You look good enough to eat,” Izzy blurted out, feeling a blush crawl over his own neck and face as he stepped back and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I think we should maybe stop here,” he said, more controlled this time.
Wyatt’s expression fell, and that same horrible thing from last time started to crawl over his features.
“No, Wyatt, I don’t mean forever,” Izzy explained quickly, stepping back and cupping Wyatt’s cheeks. He pecked Wyatt’s lips gently, then stole another deeper kiss before he had to tear himself away again. “Fuck, your taste.”
Wyatt let out an honest to God giggle. “Probably the lemon curd from the cake filling.”
Izzy smiled at him. “I mean it though, we need to stop, because I have less than ten minutes of my lunch left and I didn’t even lock the door.”
Wyatt blushed again and ducked his head. “Yeah. I guess.”
“If you’re having a girl day the next time we meet like this”—meaning alone, with some time on their hands, Izzy thought with something like excitement bubbling in his belly—”it’s okay. I’m drawn to you, Wyatt. It doesn’t matter to me what kind of headspace you’re in with the gender stuff at the time. Just that you’re consenting and want me back, okay?”
Somehow, Wyatt looked like Izzy had given him the best present ever, right then.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Okay.”
“Now I really gotta run.” Izzy swooped back in for a kiss, and then made himself turn around and go, because he really, really needed and wanted to keep this job.
Chapter 9
Everything that Wyatt had told himself about Izzy—about how Izzy was wrong for him, about how he was dangerous in ways that weren’t Izzy’s fault but were Wyatt’s—went straight out the window when Izzy kissed him in the kitchen. Suddenly it didn’t matter what Izzy had done to get sent to prison, or that he used drugs, or that Wyatt didn’t really know a thing about him, because he wanted Wyatt the same way that Wyatt wanted him. And it was selfish maybe, and stupid maybe, but he could be careful, right? Wasn’t it possible that he could have this, and not have it blow up in his face?
Was that what addicts told themselves?
Wyatt’s heart beat fast just thinking about the hundred different ways it could go wrong. And the scariest thing was, he didn’t care, because he wanted Izzy so much. Wyatt had never had anyone want him like that before. He’d never lay in bed stroking himself frantically, sucking in ragged breaths as he balanced right on the edge of coming, and it was the thought that right now Izzy could be thinking about him in the same way that finally pushed him into one of the most shattering orgasms he’d ever had. It left him panting for breath, feeling like his skin was tingling and his bones had melted, and he barely had the energy to clean himself up before rolling over and falling asleep to dreams of Izzy.
In the morning, as he set the table for breakfast, his body thrummed with the sort of nervous energy he was more than familiar with, though for once it wasn’t anxiety setting him on edge. Well, it was anxiety, but a different sort of anxiety. A good sort, somehow. It took Wyatt a while to figure out exactly what he was feeling, but this was anticipation. He couldn’t wait to see Izzy again, and maybe kiss him again, and maybe do more than that.
Izzy had…Izzy had called him non-binary. Wyatt knew the term, but he suspected it wasn’t quite nuanced enough for him. He thought that maybe he was genderfluid. He wasn’t just some point in the middle of a line where male and female were at opposite ends. He shifted up and down the line. And maybe it didn’t matter—maybe all that mattered was that Izzy liked him for who he was, whatever that was—but the people who said labels didn’t matter were most often the people who didn’t have any trouble applying them.
When Wyatt had first stumbled across the term genderfluid, he’d felt a rush of relief that there was a word that explained what he sometimes felt, and if there was a word for it already then that meant he wasn’t the only person in the world who was like this. He didn’t know how he would feel using label aloud, but at least it was there, sealed away in a secret place inside of him, an unspoken promise that he wasn’t alone. So labels didn’t matter too much, except when they did, and the difference between non-binary and genderfluid didn’t matter too much—but the fact Izzy had gone and discovered the term non-binary did. He’d looked for a label, and not just for Wyatt but for himself too. He didn’t shut down and deny it when he’d felt an attraction that was new to him. He’d looked for a way to understand it.
“I think I might be pansexual,” he’d said.
Izzy hadn’t blamed Wyatt for causing these new feelings in him. He’d rolled with it, and that was something that Wyatt would never have expected from him. So maybe Wyatt had some prejudices of his own that he needed to work on, right? He and Izzy were both new at this, but maybe they could figure it out together.
His gaze fell to the family photograph on the wall. It had been taken shortly after they’d arrived in California. Dad’s hair had been a lot darker, and Justin looked not much older than a kid. Lettie was a grinning toddler in Justin’s arms, Harper was beaming brilliantly between them and there, in Dad’s lap, was Wyatt. Small and dark-haired and dark-eyed. Wyatt’s smile was tentative and shy, like maybe even back then he’d been unsure about everything. Maybe he hadn’t been born that way, but it had been so ingrained in him already by the time he was four or five that it was impossible to shake now.
He remembered sitting on the couch, or thought he did, but he didn’t remember if he knew that Mom was dead or if he’d just thought she was sleeping.
Wyatt shook himself, and looked at Dad and Justin in the picture. They’d had more than their fair share of obstacles, hadn’t they? Dad was almost twenty years older than Justin, and Justin had once said that they’d met plenty of people along the way who’d taken a look at them and assumed it wouldn’t last on that alone. And that was before they even added three kids to the equation. But here they all were, a family, and if Dad and Justin had done it, then why not Wyatt and Izzy? Not that Wyatt was thinking of happy endings and forever afters right now, but it didn’t have to be a disaster, did it?
Because if Izzy could accept who Wyatt was, then couldn’t Wyatt accept the same about him?
He stared at his own face in the photograph, so small and shy and big-eyed.
Or was he only kidding himself in thinking there was any way he could ever trust himself to reach for happiness and some
how not stumble and shatter himself in the process?
* * * *
Lettie missed the school bus, so Wyatt drove her to school in Dad’s car. It was only a short drive, and Lettie was content to ride in silence and stare out the window. She offered Wyatt a stick of gum when he pulled up out the front of the school.
“I’m good,” he said. “Have a good day.”
They fist bumped.
Wyatt stared at the high school for a moment. He’d been a good student, but he hadn’t enjoyed school. The few friends he’d had back then had been the same as him—quiet. They’d moved on to college now, and Wyatt still talked to them a bit on social media, but they weren’t close. He wondered how often they even thought of him now they were away at different colleges.
Wyatt headed to Walgreens to pick up his prescription for Ativan. He wasn’t on it regularly anymore, like he had been at several points through high school, but he wanted to fill the prescription before it expired. With Izzy, and with Dad and Paris and everything, Wyatt was worried he’d stumble into that place where his anxiety became an issue again.
He was leaving Walgreens when he saw the premises for lease on Yucaipa Boulevard, and suddenly imagined what it would be like to open a small bakery right there. Maybe it was a silly fantasy—Wyatt had no idea of what rent and overheads would be, or of what other businesses were already established in the same vicinity, or what sort of research he’d have to do before even applying for a business loan—but it was a fantasy, and none of that mattered right now. He just liked the idea of having a place close to home where he could bake cakes and bread and simple things. He liked the idea of coming in early when it was still dark outside, and starting on the dough. He liked the idea of a quiet life that was a little out of sync with the rest of the fast-paced world: working when the rest of the world was sleeping, at his own pace, lost in his own thoughts.
He thought about what it would feel like to own his own bakery, to have that sense of accomplishment. It was so small compared to what he’d wanted once, to what Dad thought he could do, but at the same time it was almost too big to imagine.
Wyatt was a baker at heart, not a pâtissier. Just a baker. It wasn’t a question of skill—Wyatt knew he had skillset to be a pâtissier, both the knowledge and the practice—but it wasn’t for him. It didn’t feel right. It felt too much like forcing himself into a suit that didn’t quite fit, just like so many other things in his life.
He thought of what Izzy had said that night at dinner, about how much he loved the smell of bakeries and how they always made him smile.
Izzy had a beautiful smile.
Wyatt glanced at the building one more time before heading home.
* * * *
Wyatt headed over to the greenhouses around lunchtime.
“Shoplifter!” Patty yelled when Wyatt helped himself to an apple from the stall, startling some actual customers. “I’m kidding!” she assured the customers. “He’s family. How are you, my sweet, sweet boy?”
“No cookies today, sorry,” Wyatt said.
Patty smiled. “Well, you’re still my sweet boy and even a lack of baked goods won’t change that.”
Wyatt laughed and bit into the apple. It was sweet and crisp. “I’ll bring something tomorrow!”
“I love you, starshine!” she said happily, ringing the customers up.
The soles of Wyatt’s shoes crunched on the dirt as he headed down the road to the greenhouses and ate his apple. He checked in with Jimmy first—the reason for his visit—to make sure that Jenna had liked the cupcakes. Jimmy assured him that she did, and that she’d loved the palette of pastel colors he’d done the frosting in, and Wyatt was satisfied they were both pleased with what they’d be getting and that he knew exactly what he was doing.
He asked Jimmy if he knew where Justin was.
The second greenhouse was large, with cathedral-like glass walls and ceiling panes, and was warm and damp. A fine mist of water drifted down from the hoses suspended from the ceilings. Underneath them, spinach, peppers, chard, and lettuce burst out of their hydroponic planters in a riot of life and color.
He saw Justin working his way down a row, inspecting the leaves of the chard for bugs or imperfections. Justin didn’t use pesticides, so he inspected everything daily. Bug infestations, although rare, had to be caught very early.
Wyatt peered down the long row. At the far end of the greenhouse, he saw Izzy, and holy shit. Izzy was shirtless. His thin jeans were hanging off his hips, and his skin gleamed damply under the mist as he hefted a box onto his shoulder, muscles shifting and arms cording. Wyatt was too far away to make out his tattoos, but he saw they climbed up his torso. Izzy was with Sam, and whatever Sam said caused Izzy to laugh. He threw his head back, his throat gleaming, and Wyatt felt a pulse of want shoot through him that left him weak-kneed.
He tore his gaze away from Izzy and he approached Justin on shaky legs
“Hey,” Justin said when he looked up and saw Wyatt. “What’s up?”
“Just checking in with Jimmy about the cakes,” Wyatt said, hoping his voice was steadier than the rest of him felt. “I figured I’d visit you while I was here.”
“I was just on my way to lunch,” Justin said. “Want to join me?”
Wyatt hesitated. He didn’t really want to go to the break room right now. It was always crowded and noisy around lunch time.
Justin’s forehead creased with concern. “What’s going on, Wy?”
“Can I ask you something?” Wyatt asked, his heart thumping wildly. He glanced past Justin down the row, but Izzy had vanished somewhere behind a forest of chard growing on a large vertical rack, their silver-green leaves glistening in the damp.
“Of course.”
“When…when you met Dad first, how did you know it was going to last?”
“What’s brought this on?” Justin asked.
Wyatt shrugged and couldn’t meet his gaze.
Justin drew a deep breath and exhaled. “No, I didn’t know it was going to last, and I was terrified.”
“You were?” Wyatt’s chest clenched. “I never heard you say that before.”
“I fell for Del hard and fast,” Justin said. “It was pretty much love at first sight, and that’s the version we tell everyone. And it’s the truth, but there’s more to it than that. Because yeah, I was terrified at the same time, and so was he. Because he fed us, and you kids loved him, and…You don’t remember much about Oregon, do you?”
Wyatt shook his head
Justin smiled, but it was a bitter smile. “It was…Jesus, I had no idea what the hell I was doing, or why the hell I’d ever thought I could do it. If Del hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would have happened. And that’s what scared me the most.” He swallowed. “How much we relied on him. I thought if I screwed up it wouldn’t just be me or Del I’d be hurting, it’d be you kids too. So yeah, I knew from the start that I loved him, but there was so much that could have gone wrong.”
“But it didn’t,” Wyatt said.
“It didn’t,” Justin said. “Doesn’t mean it still wasn’t scary.” He held Wyatt’s gaze, assessing him carefully. “Anything you want to talk about, Wy?”
Wyatt shook his head, his face burning.
Justin put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m here, when you do. Me and Del both are. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
Justin pulled him into a brief hug, patting his back. “Sure you don’t want to join me for lunch?”
“Nah, I just ate.”
“Okay,” Justin said. “Hey, will you remind Del I’m staying late tonight to help Ignacio move his stuff out? I told him this morning, but he’s been so busy he’ll probably forget.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said. “Ignacio’s moving out?”
“Yeah, his family came through with the money he needs to move to New Mexico,” Justin said. “I think Izzy’s going to move in with Sam? That’s the plan last I heard.”
Izzy would
be living on site? Wyatt felt a jolt of anticipation.
“Oh, that’s cool,” he said faintly. “For Ignacio.”
“Yeah, it’s great,” Justin said.
“I’m just gonna…just gonna see Sam about something,” Wyatt said. “Is he around?”
“Down the back, I think,” Justin said. “Okay, I’ll catch you later.”
“Bye.”
Justin headed out for lunch, and Wyatt made sure he’d left before he headed down the far end of the greenhouse. It wasn’t Sam he was looking for at all, and it wasn’t Sam he found. Izzy was picking through a section of chard, inspecting the leaves the same way Justin had been. There was nobody else around.
“Hey,” Wyatt said, suddenly breathless.
Izzy’s face lit up when he turned to see him there.
“Hey,” he said, and reached out and caught Wyatt by the wrist. He tugged him around the corner of one of the massive vertical racks and into a kiss. He was damp with mist, his skin slick under Wyatt’s hands, his mouth already wet.
Wyatt pulled back, glancing uneasily behind them.
“Yeah,” Izzy said. His mouth quirked. “Guess your brother wouldn’t like that much, would he?”
“Probably not,” Wyatt agreed. There was a difference between giving people a second chance and being happy at seeing them hook up with your family members, he guessed. And Wyatt didn’t know what was on Izzy’s record, but Justin did. And maybe Izzy was bringing it up because it was something he knew Justin would disapprove of, because it was something really bad. But it wasn’t enough to make him step away. He kept one hand on Izzy’s ribs. His other hand drifted across Izzy’s leanly muscled abdomen, tracing the ink he found there. Izzy’s muscles jumped under his touch.
“Shit,” Izzy said through a moan. “Just…just…”
Wyatt’s fingers slid over the hair under his navel, his little finger snagging against the button of Izzy’s jeans. He could see that Izzy was getting hard, and wished he had the courage to grab him through his jeans, or even unzip them. What would that feel like? But he pulled his hand back instead, flushing.
