by Tara Lain
“In all the times I’ve been in, I’ve never seen you stop at all, much less eat.” He must have realized he’d just admitted to watching Red, because he cleared his throat and said, “That I’ve ever noticed, that is.”
Red worked to keep his lips from curving up. “I’m fine. Ready to plunge into your accounts.”
Mark turned off the engine and crawled out of the truck. He seemed to be rounding the front and making a beeline toward Red’s door, but too late, because Red had already hopped out and started to the entrance of the office. Mark frowned a little but fell in beside Red.
Mark unlocked the office and flipped on the lights. “Back here.” Winding down a short hall, he opened the door to a private back office that, like the rest of the place, had a faint smell of oil and tires. Mostly, though, it was just super messy, with papers piled on the desk and the credenza and bookcase behind it. Funny, Red might have picked Mark as a neat freak. When he came into the restaurant, he was always clean and shiny. Not even grease under the fingernails or in the crevices of his knuckles. Red knew. He looked. But it was pretty endearing to know Mark was actually disorganized and chaotic.
Red must have been grinning, because Mark said, “I kind of use up all my organizational skills in my tool chests, I guess.”
“Hey, that’s what counts.”
Mark hurried over and cleared some space around his computer by moving all the papers and books onto the credenza, forming a leaning tower of papers. Looking kind of sheepish, he reached over the keyboard, toggled the space bar and clicked a few keys that must be his password. Then he moved back and let Red step in front of him to the desk chair and sit. Mark pointed to a stack to the left of the keyboard. “Those are records of transactions, the newest on top. We’re good about keeping the paperwork. I just run out of time to put it all in the computer. I’m not so fast at it.”
“I’ll bet you can set it up with electronic tablets so all your employees could input the transactions directly into the computer. Then it would be easier to integrate into your P&L.”
“Uh, maybe so. Some of the guys aren’t real computer savvy.”
“I’ll bet we could make it dead-on simple and hard to make a mistake.”
“You could do that?” His eyes were wide, suggesting that one of the not-computer-savvy guys was him.
“Sure. Not that I’m trying to get myself out of a job or anything.”
Mark cleared his throat and scurried toward the door of his office. “I’ll just be right out there if you have any questions or need anything, okay? I mean, I might leave for a little while, but I’ll be right back.”
Red barely looked up. He was sorting through the messy pile of neat work orders beside him. “Yeah, no problem.”
After a few minutes, Red had acclimatized himself to the very complete paper records and the woefully incomplete P&L, to say nothing of the barely touched accounts payable and receivable. Hopefully, the paper processes on those were as well handled as the work orders. If not, Red better get right on some bill paying.
Okay, get to work.
By the time he looked around again, his neck and shoulders burned and his head felt like it weighed fifty pounds. That was confirmed when he dropped his head back and had trouble pulling it upright again.
“Dinner time.” Mark bumped the office door with his awe-inspiring butt and walked in carrying hamburgers or maybe, yum, cheeseburgers, two boxes of fries, two small green salads and some kind of drink in a paper cup. This whole feast, accompanied by plastic utensils and packets of ketchup, mustard, and salad dressing, was displayed on two well-balanced clipboards.
Red sprang up and grabbed one clipboard, carefully set it on the desk, then took the other one.
Mark disappeared and returned with another drink and a rolling chair, which he sat in.
Red returned to his chair and surveyed his meal. “Wow, thanks for this. If I’d known you’d be picking me up, I could have brought food from work. I just didn’t think I could get a couple Mom and Pop hamburgers here safely on the bus.”
Mark grabbed a fry and squirted ketchup into his paper holder. “You’d be attacked by a pack of dogs.”
“Or a pack of teenagers.” Red took a bite of his burger and chewed.
“So the bookkeeping’s pretty bad, huh?” Mark gave Red side-eye.
Red shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.” He chewed. “Lots worse, actually. I don’t know how you get your employees to do such good work orders, but having those makes data entry so much easier.”
“Good. But you still worked awful hard.”
Red twerked his lips to the side, trying not to grin. “Well, you were a little far behind on your entries.”
“A little. Ha!”
Red chuckled. “One more good session should catch you up.”
Mark gaped and Red looked at him questioningly. Mark said, “I guess I didn’t realize how bad it was. I’m gonna pay you for your time.”
Red frowned. “No way. What you did for me could never be repaid. You’ve got to let me try to thank you.”
Mark frowned back, and their eyes met. For a second, Red imagined all the ways he’d like to thank Mark Woods, not that he had enough experience to picture the whole thing very clearly. Whole thing? Oh yes, he’d like to see Mark’s whole thing. He snorted at his own brain pornography, and Mark’s eyebrows lowered even farther.
Red forced himself not to laugh and said, “You can’t pay me for today. We had a deal.”
“Okay. But I’m paying you when you come back.”
Red paused, but Mark had his jaw set. Red nodded once. “Okay.” He’d make sure he got the rest of the work done in record time. And he’d bring dinner. Red wiped his hands. “So let me finish up.”
Mark shook his head vehemently. “Oh no. You’re going to go home and sleep and do the rest when you come back.”
So much for that strategy. “Okay. Can I come back tomorrow?”
Maybe it was Red’s imagination, but it looked like Mark’s face lit up. “Sure. That’d be great.”
Red smiled back—and then nothing. They both just stared into a wordless void. Red cleared his throat—oh yeah, that was cool. “So I’ll get going now.” He glanced at his watch. “If I hurry, I can just make the last bus.” He grabbed his windbreaker from the back of the chair.
“No, man, I’m driving you.”
“Oh, okay.” For a second, he had dreams of hugging Mark’s waist and, uh, other parts on that infernal motorcycle, but when they walked outside, Mark led him to the truck. Definitely for the best. Red released a soft stream of air between his lips and tried again to think of a crosstown amount of small talk.
In their seats, silence spread around them like a blanket, and not a comfy, cozy, homey blanket. More like a blanket Red had suffered under in a super-cheap motel on a high school trip to New York City, the only time he’d ever been there. Jeez, despite the age of the truck, even its engine noise was low. Mark must take good care of it. But Red couldn’t even use that as an excuse not to talk.
Just as Red took a breath to say something inane, Mark leaned over and switched on the sound system. It was old and scratchy, but Sergio Mendes’s song “What Do We Mean To Each Other” poured out. Mark sat back and just stared out the windshield as he drove.
Red smiled and started to say how much he liked that old song, then stopped. Did Mark choose that song on purpose? Did he have it cued up? Did he mean for Red to answer that question? He glanced at Mark out of the corner of his eye. Mark just stared, his expression never changing.
But the music did change. It moved on to something silly and innocuous, and the chance to ask Mark if that was a favorite song of his vanished like the miles to Red’s house disappeared under the truck tires.
Mark pulled up in front of Red’s, seemed to collect himself for a minute, and then turned to Red. “What time shall I pick you up tomorrow? You work dinner shift, don’t you?” Red smiled, but Mark rushed on, “I come in for dinner a lot on Thursdays
and notice that you’re often there, right?”
“Uh, right. I was thinking I could come over before I start my shift at three.”
“You going to have lunch before you come?”
“Oh no, I need to start earlier than that if I want to get everything done. Probably I should be at your place at ten.”
“Okay. How about I pick you up at eight thirty and we’ll go have a big breakfast?”
“Oh.” Slam, his heart pounded a big fat Yes against Red’s ribs. “Uh, sure, that would be great.”
“See you at eight thirty.” A dimple popped out at the corner of Mark’s luscious mouth.
Red nodded, hoped his Adam’s apple didn’t bob too much as he swallowed, and opened the truck door. At least Mark didn’t hop out and try to open Red’s door, which would have been embarrassing—even if kind of nice. “See you.”
He slid to the ground and trotted to his front door. Mark didn’t move the truck until Red opened the door, turned, and waved.
When he stepped into the small foyer, Gran was crossing from the kitchen to the living room. He must have had a shit-eating grin on his face, because his gran said, “You look happy.”
“What? Oh, yeah. I got a lot of good work done.” He walked into the living room where Gran sat in her favorite chair with a cup of herb tea beside her and her computer on her lap. She must be working on her blog.
She grinned and sipped tea. “Yes, I’m sure that’s why you’re smiling.”
“Uh, yes.” He took a step back. “I’m going to change. Be right back.”
“Want some tea?”
“Sure.” He bounded up the stairs to his room, stepped inside, and then fell back against the door he’d closed after him. What did Gran mean by that? What does she know?
Right, he’d never come out to Gran. But hell, he barely knew if he was gay, so he hadn’t felt bad about not telling her.
What about now? Do I know?
Jeez, the things that happened in his body when he just thought about Mark Woods, much less saw him, didn’t leave a lot of room for doubt.
Chewing his lip, he pulled off his jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt and swapped them for PJ pants and another T-shirt. He slipped on flip-flops and tried not to think because what was going to happen would happen. Inhaling, he headed down to the living room.
A cup of steaming tea perched on the table by his favorite end of the couch. He sat and curled his legs up, then picked up his tea mug and cradled it in his hands. He wasn’t cold, but the warmth was comforting.
Gran had set her laptop aside and was leafing through a magazine, probably because she thought he’d feel more comfortable if all her attention wasn’t on him. She was right.
She gave him a casual smile. “So how were Mark’s books?”
For a second, Red felt like he might be violating attorney-client privilege if he told her, but he doubted if bookkeepers had the same restraints, plus he wasn’t a bookkeeper. “Good and bad. Good because he and his employees all keep meticulous work orders. Bad because Mark doesn’t have enough time to do his entries, so his accounting is way behind.” He sipped tea, then rounded his mouth and sucked air because it was hot.
“Sorry. Want me to put an ice cube in it?”
“No. It’ll cool.” He stared at the tea. “I’m going back over tomorrow to finish up this round and get him caught up.”
“You work tomorrow night, don’t you?”
“Uh, yes. I’m going over in the morning.”
She flipped a page and nodded with only secondary interest, even though he could feel her laser focus under the laid-back attention.
Might as well confess. “Mark’s going to come and get me.”
“That’s nice of him.” Another page got flipped.
“He’s taking me to breakfast.”
Finally, she looked up with those smart eyes. “Ah, so we finally get to the source of the smile, I think.”
He fought a grin and failed miserably.
She said, “Am I correct in thinking that you like Mr. Woods?”
He stared at his feet but nodded.
“This isn’t just hero worship because he fought for you and saved you from those awful boys?”
Red shook his head. “No, uh, I liked him before that.”
“So that would suggest that you’re—” She paused and raised her eyebrows.
“Gay. Yes, I’m pretty sure.” He glanced up, met her eyes, then looked down again. “It’s not that I’ve ever done anything with a guy or anything. It’s more of a suspicion. I mean, I don’t really like girls in that way.”
“I noticed that.”
“You did?” He really looked at her that time.
“Um-hm.” She smiled softly. “Somewhere around thirteen, I started observing a lack of girl craziness. For a bit, I thought Kimmie might be the one—”
“Ew.” Kimmie was like his sister.
Gran chuckled. “Yes, well I finally understood that and then started to assume you might prefer boys.” She raised her brows as she sipped tea. “I must confess, I’ve worried a little when I haven’t seen any evidence of a boyfriend. I hope you never thought that I’d be, uh, disapproving.”
“No, not exactly.” He chewed his lip for a second. “So you don’t mind?”
“Darling, me objecting to you being gay would be like you disapproving of me being old—a fruitless and silly endeavor.”
He finally returned her smile. “But you’re not old.”
“Well, we’ll agree to disagree on that one.” She put a hand against her chest, a gesture she seemed to do a lot these days.
He let out a long breath. “I never really got that I was gay. I mean, I think I kind of fought it.”
“I can understand that the world makes it very hard to be gay. But it’s getting better.”
Red shook his head. “It’s not that exactly. I guess I never wanted to confirm all the crap, excuse me, ma’am, everyone assumes when they look at me.” He glanced up through his lashes. “I think I kept hoping I’d wake up one day and be this macho man, super athlete, or something and everyone would go, ‘Who’d have thought Red Ridley was such a badass?’” He couldn’t help the sigh. “Instead, I turned out to be exactly what turds like Phil Gordat say I am. But as you say, there’s nothing I can do about it.” The last part he expelled on a long breath.
“Redmond Byron Ridley!” Gran leaned forward and frowned at him ferociously. “Do not be questioning or disputing the gifts of creation. You’re an intelligent, hard-working, devoted man. The fact that there are narrow-minded, bigoted ne’er-do-wells out there doesn’t change the fact that you’re entirely, uh, badass just as you are.”
Red first gaped and then snorted at her choice of words. “Thank you, Gran.”
“People like Phil are simply jealous.”
Red plastered on a tight smile and nodded, but no matter how much he’d like to believe that, he didn’t. The look on Phil’s face when he grabbed Red and tried to rip off his jeans hadn’t said a damned word about jealousy. Sharing those details with his grandmother wasn’t going to happen.
Chapter Six
Gran poured them both some more herb tea. He smiled into his cup. She’d made a nice cinnamon blend because she knew he didn’t like that chamomile stuff, even if it was supposed to help him sleep.
When she’d settled back in her chair with her cup, she said, “So, Mark Woods.”
Red had just taken a mouthful of tea and managed to spit it back in the cup rather than all over the small living room. “Uh, yes.”
He looked up just in time to see a crease flit between Gran’s eyebrows, but she wiped it away with a pleasant smile. “Is Mark the man of your dreams?”
Red set down the teacup. Am I really having this conversation with my grandmother? “I don’t know, Gran. I mean, he’s the only guy I’ve ever been really—” Don’t say attracted, dummy. That’s like telling your granny you want to jump his bones. “—interested in.” The face of the dark-haired man fl
ashed in his mind just long enough to remind him that what he said wasn’t 100 percent true. But close enough.
“Do you feel that Mark is the right sort of boyfriend for you?”
Well hell, if she thought Mark was the right sort of boyfriend, she never would’ve asked the question. Red straightened his spine. “First, he’s not my boyfriend. He might not even be gay. Probably not. And I’m not sure what the right sort of boyfriend is, but I do know that Mark’s a responsible business owner in his early twenties and the only time I’ve ever known him to do anything angry or troublemaking was when he saved my life. So I guess my answer is, I could do worse.” He swallowed hard. He seldom had reason to disagree with his gran, except about his supposed “big future.”
“I’m happy to see you’ve given this some intelligent thought, Redmond. Mark’s attractive and it could be easy to be swept away by his virility. I don’t want you risking your future on an ill-conceived fling.”
“Not much danger of that, Gran. Like I said, I’m not even sure he’s gay. I don’t have any particular reason to think he is. For sure, no one else does.” Red slowly exhaled and tried to make it sound not disappointed. “He probably just wants to be friends.” He snorted. “Or maybe it’s like that Chinese thing about if you save somebody’s life, you’re responsible for them.”
She raised her brows. “I doubt that seriously. But you may be right about him wanting to be friends. I don’t get the impression that he has many. Just be smart.” She cleared her throat. “Back when Mark’s mother left, there were stories about him and his father that were somewhat unsavory. He’s certainly appeared to change since his father died, but be cautious.”
Red frowned. “What kind of unsavory?”
“Nothing I want to repeat. And it’s no longer pertinent, so end of that topic.” She inhaled as she drank some tea. “And now I want to tell you some exciting news.”
“Oh really?” His brain still bounced around between Mark having an unsavory past, whatever that was, him just wanting to be friends, and him being a stalker, and what to wear to breakfast the next day. Maybe his blue sweater, since Gran said it brought out the color of his eyes.
