by Feliz Faber
The other received his drink, met Will’s gaze, and smiled. Will raised his own glass in salute, took a sip, tasted the tartness of white wine mixed with sweet bitterness. He wrinkled his nose, and the black man laughed, said something to the bartender while winking at Will.
“He says if you don’t like Picon Vin Blanc, he’ll give you something sweeter,” Jules conveyed to Will, all but shouting over the noise.
“Tell him I take him up on it,” Will answered immediately, casting his best come-hither along the bar. The old game, flirting and banter, looks and smiles, played along the same rules anywhere in the world, apparently. Just what he needed to take his mind off things.
His cell phone rang. Wouldn’t you know it? Watching the exchange between his newfound interest and the bartender, Will answered the call without checking the cell phone screen first.
“Hi, Will,” Louis’s voice came through the phone, followed by something else Will couldn’t quite make out over the talking and laughter around him. Keeping an eye on his target’s approach, Will stuck his forefinger in his ear and called, “What? Come again, please?”
“I asked if you wanted to meet with us for a late lunch. What’s that noise?”
“I’m in some bar at the waterfront.” Will looked around until he found the name. “Chez Jules, obviously. Really nice people here.” Soulful eyes and a delicious pout underneath were now within his reach, and he smiled apologetically, indicating his phone.
A chuckle spilled into his ear, and he thought he heard Louis mutter “Like a homing pigeon…,” but he wasn’t sure since the comment didn’t make any sense, did it?
A moment later, though, a light dawned on him, particularly when an inquiring hand sneaked around his waist. “Oh. Want to come and join me?”
Another chuckle. “Do you need rescuing?”
The hand started to familiarize itself with Will’s rear. “Most definitely not.”
“Then no,” Louis said, his voice still shaking with amusement. “Listen, I forgot to tell you we’ve got a business meeting over dinner tonight. You’re welcome, of course, but our guests speak only French….”
“Don’t mind me,” Will said. The hand on his backside got bolder now, and he leaned into the touch. “I’m perfectly fine where I am.”
“Right. Give Pauly and Jules our love, will you?”
“Will do,” Will said, ending the call. He set the phone on vibrate before he turned to give his best attention to the beautiful man who was attached to that talented hand.
His name was Habib, and except for his skin color and an apparent fondness for Will’s freckles, he couldn’t have been more different from Francis. Telling Will he was from Senegal and made a living as a street vendor almost exceeded his limited command of English. Will didn’t mind; they got along just fine without words. Habib was sweet and pliant, affectionate like a kitten. But he made clear he had claws when Pauly, guffawing, slapped Will’s back and shouted something in that booming voice of his that Will assumed had to be the French equivalent of Get a room, you two! Habib’s hissed response and the glares he cast at the intruder as he tightened his hold made Will laugh. He took the opportunity to convey Louis’s message to Pauly. This resulted in a round of excited exclamations and Jules and Pauly pushing a celebratory drink on Will, pure white wine this time. Habib sulked until Will ordered another Picon Vin Blanc for him, then cuddled up to him again with a contented purr.
At some point Will became hungry for more than the salted crackers and peanuts that went with the drinks. At four in the afternoon in France, the only place they could find to eat was a hole-in-the-wall greasy spoon, much to Will’s bewilderment. The place looked dismal and smelled even worse, but Habib insisted with lively gestures that the food was indeed edible and wouldn’t give Will herpes or diarrhea or any other disagreeable conditions. And indeed, the moules frites Habib hand-fed him, mussels in white wine with french fries, were a revelation and a lesson in “never judge a book by its cover,” which Will stowed dutifully away.
Later, they ambled down the darkened portside road arm in arm toward the Jimny, allegedly to share an umbrella but in reality following the ever-growing need for touch. Will had parked in front of a closed shop. They leaned against its exterior wall, the umbrella abandoned for the shelter of the shop’s awning. Callused hands wandered over Will’s chest, his ass, his groin. He leaned into their touch, returned the favor. Will let Habib kiss his cheeks, his neck, but not his lips, never the lips. Will turned his head away, muttering “No” into the crook of Habib’s neck. Habib murmured protest, cupped Will’s face and stared into his eyes. Will stared back. He didn’t resist, but didn’t comply either, and Habib nodded, dropped his gaze. “Okay,” a shrug, he turned away. Will grabbed his arm and held him back. Their eyes met again.
The car was convenient, out of the rain, and private enough on the deserted street with Habib in the passenger seat—pushed all the way back—and Will kneeling on the floorboard. A short while later, it was the other way around. Will stroked Habib’s springy hair, warned early on like Habib had done to him. He came in Habib’s hand, but that was fine. It wasn’t as if they knew each other after all. Never mind. This wasn’t about company, it was about fun and release and having a good time. They parted with a hug and a smile, and Will watched fondly as Habib’s dark form merged with the night, a flash of white teeth his last goodbye.
He drove home, feeling sated and defiantly content. This was how sex was supposed to be, after all, an uncomplicated, easy game of give and take, a mutual fulfilling of needs, not a world-shattering drama of emotions and heartache. He sauntered through the quiet entrance hall and up the stairs to his room, and got into bed without even a glance at his phone. He was young and attractive and could have any man he wanted, even one as gorgeous as Habib, and even if he couldn’t talk to them. The world was his oyster, and Francis could kiss his ass.
Eleven
FOR once Will was in time for breakfast, only to realize there was none, at least not yet. Thursday was the horses’ rest day, he learned, which meant the nonpermanent staff had a day off. Which in turn meant that anybody present needed to lend a hand with the stables.
“Yes, Kim too, since Jacques isn’t here,” Louis said in response to the pitiful glance Will cast at the silent coffeemaker. “You’re the guest. You could go back to sleep for an hour or so if you wanted, what with the strenuous afternoon you had yesterday.”
Blushing, Will bit back a groan, glad they were speaking English and Mme. Kim was well out of earshot. “Not telling.”
Louis leered at him. “None of my business. It was my car, though,” and Will felt his damn ears heating yet again. “On the other hand, if you filled in for Kim, she’d be free to collect fresh croissants,” Louis continued. Will’s stomach gave an approving grumble, and that settled the matter. Before he knew what hit him, he was piloting horse apples and soiled straw up and down the stable aisle in a wheelbarrow and not looking overly excited about it, given the gleeful grins he earned all around. Even old Jean-Yves cracked a smirk and what had to be a quip at him, because it had Claude in stitches.
“He says you look like someone piss in your coffee,” Claude translated, and Will made a face, just shy of sticking out his tongue at the two of them.
“I wish, ’cause then I’d have had some,” he shot back. Claude’s brows knitted together as he obviously tried to unravel what had been too fast and too complicated for his limited English, and Will put his wheelbarrow down to elaborate.
“Coffee,” he said, gesticulating. “I need coffee.”
The smile returned to Claude’s face, and he clapped Will’s shoulder. “Soon. You work quick, you drink coffee well soon.”
“Let’s hope so.” Will sighed. He heard the two grooms chatter on behind him as he wheeled on.
However, after a while he started to enjoy the work. The weather looked promising for once. Cool but dry air breezed in from the open doors at both ends of the building. Will could
’ve sworn that even the horses’ noises sounded happier today. Most of them were wrapped up in blankets and then let out to graze. The ripe stench that had so assaulted Will’s nose in the beginning faded as soon as the muck was cleared out, replaced by the sweet scents of fresh hay and straw.
Hauling the bales was hard physical work, but even tiny Arlette wielded the heavy things without complaint. Her example shamed Will into putting extra effort in his task of wheelbarrowing bales down the aisle and depositing them outside the stalls as needed. He shed more sweat than during an afternoon at the gym, but the exercise was also more rewarding, somehow.
Right when it looked as if they were about to finish, Will heard voices rise in anger a few stalls over. Alarmed, he dropped everything and went to look. Almost knocking him over, Jean-Yves stormed past him, face drawn in outrage.
“Paul found a pitchfork in there, buried under the straw,” Nic told him, nodding at one of the stalls. “Stepped on its prongs, actually. Rémy said it was Jean-Yves who left it there, but he denied it. I think Rémy’s right, though. Wouldn’t be the first time Jean-Yves had a momentary brain lapse.”
“Good thing the horse was out, then,” Will commented.
Nic nodded. “Yeah. He’s getting old, our Jean-Yves. Pushing eighty, would you believe it? We offered him retirement more than once, but he won’t hear a word of it. Says he won’t be thrown out onto the scrap heap.” He sighed. “I’ll have to talk to him again sometime soon. Once he’s calmed down a little.”
After that, Will took extra care in stowing his own tools away.
The heavenly scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted across the yard, luring the workers to the kitchen like bees to the honeypot. Jean-Yves didn’t join them, but nobody seemed surprised; Mme. Kim just set a couple of pastries aside for him.
Will dug into his breakfast with gusto, and Mme. Kim, beaming, plied him with the last croissant. Will had no qualms about taking it. He’d earned it, after all.
“What do you plan on doing today?” he asked Louis as Mme. Kim was washing the dishes (by now, Will knew better than offering to help her). They were last at the table; the others had cleared out already to start their day off, and Nic had excused himself a few minutes ago, ever-present cell phone pressed to his ear.
“Nic and I were going to Le Touques, see to the lot, have the vet checking out Minuit again, have racing irons put on next Saturday’s starters. Do you want to come along and watch?”
“I’d love to, but I’ve been banned, remember?” Will said.
Louis waved him off. “Forget about that. One of our guests last night was Le Touques’s manager. Your ban is off as long as you stick to us and don’t wander about alone.”
“Uh-oh. That won’t make Mr. Joviel happy.”
Louis shrugged. “He deserves it. But I’d still stay out of his sight if I were you.”
“I’ll need to go back to Caen today after we finish at the track,” Nic announced as he came back into the kitchen. “Auffay’s got some papers he wants to discuss in person. You needn’t bother, Louis. He said one of us would do. We’d better take two cars, though.”
“I can drive my own car and take Louis back with me,” Will offered, and Louis gave him a broad grin.
“Great. Thanks, Will.”
“By the way, Jacques will be transferred here tomorrow,” Mme. Kim butted in. “Amélie told me when I called her earlier. She said he’s fine so far, though he’ll still be in the hospital for a while.”
“That’s good news.” Nic turned to give her a half hug, smiling down at her. “Will you go and see her?”
“I thought about visiting with her this afternoon, cheer her up a little. Could one of you be a love and go by Amadou’s at the market? Tell him to prepare a gift basket so it’s ready for me to collect later.”
Nic squeezed her shoulders again. “Of course. Thanks for thinking of it. Give her our love, will you?”
“I think I’ll take Will to the market. He’ll like it.” Louis stood, turning back to Will with a grin. “Off we go. You didn’t like the stable odors this morning, did you? Wait till you smell the farrier at work.”
LOUIS hadn’t exaggerated; as the farrier fit the new horseshoes on, the stench of burning keratin made Will’s eyes water. However, the experience was almost worth it.
The farrier was a short, stocky guy with a goatee. Silver rings rimmed the shells of both his ears, and his grayish-black hair hung in a long braid down his back. In his leather apron and tight black tank top that left his impressively muscled arms bare, he looked like he’d just jumped off the screen from a Lord of the Rings movie.
The mobile smithy fascinated Will; everything the man needed, from anvil and forge to a collection of raw horseshoes, came out of the back of a ramshackle white Renault van. The farrier, as it turned out, had learned his trade in Ireland and was happy to show off his quite rusty English by explaining his work to Will while Louis and Nic were busy with the veterinarian. By the time his hosts saved him, Will had learned more about hooves and farriery than he’d ever cared to know, but he’d also gained more understanding about how some little detail like a mismatched shoeing could make or break a race. Which in turn gave him new insights into the incident with the racetrack official a couple of days ago. Those ten minutes on the track he’d bought Louis had really made a difference; the realization made him doubly glad he’d stepped up.
TO SAY Will liked the market was an understatement. Turning his head this way and that to drink in the sights, he trailed after Louis between the open beams and under the wood-shingled roofs of the Deauville covered market, right into a rich, thick miasma of fish, fruit, scented soaps, cheese, fresh bread, and a thousand other things. A cacophony of voices engulfed him, haggling, chattering, laughing; more often than not Will saw people gesturing wildly as if they were about to lay into each other, only to shake hands bare moments later.
Amadou turned out to be a gaudy man in his fifties who sported an impressive walrus moustache under his sharp, overlong nose and wore a fez with his brown suit. The range of goods in his stall went from fresh fruit and vegetables to exotic spices, chutneys, and sticky-sweet Arabic candy. While Louis placed Mme. Kim’s order, Will went exploring. Despite his not-long-ago breakfast, he couldn’t resist sampling some of the delicacies an almond-eyed girl behind the display counter offered him.
Louis joined him as Will paid for a big box of rosewater lokum. “You Americans and your sweet tooth,” he teased. “I always wondered how much of this Francis could put away in one go without being sick.”
“So did I,” Will answered, busy sorting through the strangely colorful Euros in his wallet. Those things didn’t even look like real money. Ocean blue, electric green, and orange bills, for God’s sake. “I can’t stand it myself. But he sure loves the stuff.”
“Huh,” Louis said, but didn’t comment any further until they were back in Will’s car and on their way home.
“If you don’t mind me asking… what’s it with you and Francis?” Louis’s sudden question surprised Will enough that he took his eyes off the road for a moment too long. Only a sharp “Watch it!” from Louis made him swerve in time to avoid an oncoming truck.
“What do you mean?” Will asked, once his heart rate was back to normal.
“You bought the candy for him, didn’t you? How do you know he likes it anyway?”
Will shrugged. “We had dinner one night at a Turkish restaurant, and when he heard I’d never tried lokum, he ordered some for dessert. I took one bite and almost gagged, it was so sweet. He laughed at me as he wolfed down the whole stack. Afterwards, he bitched about me overdosing him on sugar. Said it was my fault he needed to work off the extra energy now.” He chuckled at the memory. “I’ll take that kind of reprimand from him any day, believe me.”
Only when Louis gave an amused snort did Will realize what he’d just let out, and he blushed. Louis laughed again.
“No worries, Will. That’s just so like him.” From the corn
er of his eye, Will could see Louis grin at him. “He’ll act miffed that you figured out his weak spot, but he’ll be thrilled at your gift.”
Will blushed once again. “I know.”
Louis sat back, and Will felt the sharp blue gaze on him as he focused on taking the right exit from the next roundabout. “So you two have been, how do you say, dating? Seeing each other? How long?”
“Since about the time I first called you,” Will said.
Louis hummed. “Six weeks. That’s interesting.”
“Technically, it’s been only five, and a lot of that time it was about setting me up with coming over here and clearing things with my editor, but….” he trailed off, casting Louis a glance. The jockey scrutinized him thoughtfully. “Why’d you think this interesting?” Will asked.
“Not the dating. The lokum,” Louis said, a smile in his voice. “Tells me you know him pretty well already.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Will asked, taken aback.
“Yes, why not indeed. After all, I can so see you two have lots of fun together.” The rough voice had turned suggestively husky. Not being able to see Louis’s face made Will more perceptive to his tone, and he felt his ears heat up yet again. He tried to shrug it off with nonchalant bluntness.
“The fun only started after he was done biting my head off about you.” He winked at Louis, which earned him a quirked eyebrow. “I found him rather… intimidating at first. But once I got to know him, he turned out to be funny and incredibly generous and sweet and….” He realized he was gushing and snapped his mouth shut with a cough. He’d bought the candy almost on instinct. He had merely seen it and thought, “Francis will love that,” and hadn’t wasted a second on memories of yesterday afternoon. So much for getting Francis out of his system. He darted another glance at Louis, meeting that thoughtful gaze again. “Francis is… special,” he closed lamely.
“That he is,” Louis answered softly, not a hint of mockery in his voice.
