“How’d it go?”
“Good.”
He couldn’t hold in his smile as the diner door slammed open and shut, the wind chimes singing.
Veronica, having evidently watched their showdown outside, grinned and hooked an arm around Patrick as he tried to slip by her. He faced them all with a grim set to his beautiful, pouty mouth.
“Patrick is my date to all the Alumni Weekend stuff,” she said.
“Well, it’s a good one for him to come back for it, since it’s our ten year,” Suzy chimed in. “Charlie has done an awesome job planning stuff for it. He’s our class rep on the Alumni Weekend Committee.”
She directed that last statement at Patrick, who visibly stiffened under his mom’s arm. “With you?” he asked Veronica.
“Yes.” Veronica smiled serenely and Charlie laughed.
He loved her. Charlie was a little surprised that she’d never mentioned him to Patrick. Charlie and Veronica had coffee once a week—supposedly to talk reunion planning, but really he just liked chatting with her. She made him feel welcome and showed him support when his family acted like a shit show. She modeled the love, care, and affection he’d never received at home. And she talked about Patrick all the time, so he was happy to have a front row seat.
“What do you mean by ‘all the Alumni Weekend stuff.’ I thought it was only the dance on Saturday?” Patrick said, and Veronica laughed.
“Oh my sweet summer child, have you been gone so long that you don’t remember how big of a deal it is? There’s whatever your class has planned for their ten-year celebration tomorrow night. On Friday, there’s the Alumni Cookout and Ice Cream Social. And on Saturday, there’s a parade in the morning and the dance that shuts down Limestone Drive in the evening.”
“We have the top floor of Minky’s Bar rented out for our class reunion tomorrow,” Charlie explained. “There will be drinking, and a pool tournament. Pretty low key.”
“Well . . . that’s nice,” Patrick said before ducking out from under Veronica’s arm and disappearing into the kitchen.
Charlie watched Patrick’s perfect ass twitch in his tight black jeans as he practically ran away.
Patrick had always had this otherworldly quality about him. In high school, he’d been almost pretty. Delicate, soft features. Willowy build. Short, blond hair that fell in soft curls over his forehead when it started to grow out.
Now, he’d matured into his looks. His jaw had sharpened, and he had blond scruff that made his face less pixie-ish and more rugged. He’d obviously filled out some—not like a gym bunny, but like he was solid now. And his hair.
Good Lord, Patrick’s hair was a dream. It was still that dark, burnished gold color, but now it fell in perfect spiral curls to his shoulders.
Fingers appeared right in front of his nose and snapped. He jolted back and then scowled at Dan. Everyone around the table was laughing at him, since he’d obviously been lost daydreaming about Patrick Pearl.
It was like high school all over again.
Veronica patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll get your chance, dear.”
He hummed, a bit uncomfortable that she could read him so clearly when his thoughts were distinctly full of her son. He wanted a chance with Patrick but wasn’t sure it was a good idea. For one, Patrick didn’t live in Small City. He didn’t even live in the state, and Charlie was over the casual hookup scene. Though, if a casual hookup was his one shot at getting his lips on Patrick, he’d take it. Maybe he’d manage not be completely clingy.
Clinginess was kind of his forte, according to his ex.
Veronica eventually left, leaving their teenage waitress to take care of the table, and Patrick never reappeared. The crowd picked up as it tipped over into evening time. Charlie, Dan, Suzy, and Rico all ate together once a week, usually at Ronnie’s Diner, as unofficial team building.
Today the wheels were turning in Rico’s and Dan’s eyes, and Charlie was already wishing they weren’t so observant. Suzy was grinning, but he trusted her not to be too hard on him. As his best friend, she already knew everything there was to know about his Patrick Pearl crush.
“So, Ronnie’s son,” Dan started, referring to Veronica by her nickname. “You want to be his boyfriend? Or—” he dropped his voice, “—is it a sex thing?”
“I am not answering that question.”
Rico and Suzy laughed, and Charlie glared at them.
“I’m just wondering,” Dan said. “I mean, he’s a handsome kid. But he’s not . . . you know.” Dan waved his hand.
“No, we don’t know, Dan. Please enlighten us,” Suzy chimed in, her voice hard, and Charlie shot her a grateful smile. They were the only out queer people in the fire department, and it helped to stick together.
“He’s a city slicker. Look around, man.” Dan gestured at the photography lining the diner’s walls. It was all Patrick’s. He was known for his portraits of city dwellers—men at the basketball court, street musicians, young mothers at city parks, business people running to work. Patrick also had an entire collection of Flint Hills photography at the Chase Gallery down the street. It sold for a pretty copper penny around here, and Charlie had spent more than one Christmas bonus on one of Patrick’s prints, but those landscapes weren’t his bread and butter.
Rico nodded. “He’s not like us. I always get itchy around people who run off to some big city, and then come back here and treat us like they’ve got bigger and better things to get to.”
Charlie watched the kitchen door, praying Patrick wouldn’t waltz out and catch them gossiping like a bunch of hens.
“That’s not fair,” Suzy said, lowering her voice. “High school was hard for Pattie. Anyone that had to deal with the bullshit he experienced would have moved on too. You can’t blame him for that. And Veronica is one of the most down to earth people I know. You can’t seriously think she raised her son to think he’s better than people from Small City.”
But what if Patrick did think that? Ten years could change a person—Charlie was case in point. What if Patrick couldn’t see past, well, the past? What if all Patrick saw when he looked at Charlie was the scared, closeted kid he’d been in high school? Or worse, the dismissive jock?
“I liked him, okay?” Charlie finally said. “He was never afraid to be himself, even when it was hard, and I liked that. He was different, and it’s not easy being different in a place like Small City. And now, I love his pictures. I love listening to Veronica gush about her son off in Chicago. I don’t care if he thinks he’s too good for me. Hell, he probably is too good for me. But I’m not going to let you talk shit about him.”
Dan and Rico both sat back in their chairs, obviously surprised by his little speech. He was usually amiable. That was how he survived as the token gay guy in a rural firehouse.
He stood up, ready to escape the scrutiny. “Getting some cobbler. Anyone want some?” He took everyone’s orders, and then made his way to the counter at the back of the diner. In the display case, there was peach, strawberry rhubarb, and blueberry cobbler. He waited patiently at the register until the kitchen doors swung open to show Patrick walking backwards through the door carrying a large tray.
Patrick turned around and stopped in his tracks when their eyes met.
“Can I help you?” Patrick said. He had his camera around his neck, and a blackberry cobbler in his hands.
“Did they put you to work?”
A small huff escaped Patrick, and he placed the cobbler on the counter. “My mom said if I insisted on hiding in the kitchen, I had to stop eating and do some heavy lifting.”
“What were you eating?”
“Anything Marjorie would give me.” Patrick’s voice had softened, and he seemed much more amendable to a conversation. Maybe food buttered him up. Charlie was going to remember that. He couldn’t stop glancing at Patrick’s lips. They tipped into a small smile. “God, seeing you like this is weird. Stop staring at me.”
“Sorry.” Charlie shook his head. “I’m n
ot really sorry. But, you know, sorry.”
Patrick showed off an epic eye roll to beat all eye rolls, and then said, “So, can I help you, Charles North?”
“It’s Charlie.”
“Whatever. Do I need to get my mother, who is evidently your new best friend? Would that make this interaction easier for you?”
“Cobbler. I want cobbler. Two blueberry, and one peach.”
Patrick wrinkled his nose up. “The blackberry is fresh out of the oven. It’s warm, and it’s the best kind.”
Charlie laughed. “You’re kind of bad at customer service, you know that? No one wanted blackberry.”
“Who ordered the peach?”
“I did.”
“Why? The peach is her worst one! The blackberries were picked locally, and it just came out of the oven. I had some a minute ago. It’s so good. I dream of my mom’s blackberry cobbler when I’m gone, and here you are ordering the fucking peach. You could at least be interesting and get the strawberry rhubarb.”
Patrick might have disagreed with his choices, but he bent over and retrieved the requested pieces of cobbler from the display case. He placed them in a row on the counter and then said, “Hold on,” and snapped a quick picture of the desserts all lined up together. “Why do you get the peach?”
“Huh?” Charlie was wholly unprepared for the dessert judgment, or Patrick’s sudden chattiness.
Without warning, Patrick lifted his camera and took a picture of Charlie’s face. “You look so confused right now.” He glanced down at the camera screen and chuckled.
“Hey!”
“Why peach?”
“I always get peach. It’s my favorite.”
“Have you ever tried any of the others?”
Charlie shook his head, still feeling too slow for this conversation.
“Oh, God. I get it now. You’re boring. Ice cream or no ice cream?”
“None. I’m not boring.” He couldn’t believe this infuriating man was insulting him and making him smile this wide at the same time. It felt like flirting.
“Prove it.”
Charlie leaned over the counter, until they were closer. “How?”
“Try the freaking blackberry! Duh.”
“What if I don’t like it?”
“Then we can’t be friends.” Patrick rolled his eyes again, but they were crinkled at the edges like he was about to smile. “I’ll eat it if you don’t like it. Try one bite.”
“You already had some. Are you sure you’d want another piece?” Charlie hated the idea of some of Veronica’s hard work going to waste.
“Sure. My ass doesn’t need another piece, but I’ll love every second of it.”
“Your ass is fine.”
“Yeah, okay, Mr. Suddenly Gay. Peach or blackberry?”
“I’ve always been. Gay, I mean.”
Patrick’s eyes, which had been teasing and full of humor a second before, softened, and his smile was slightly less sharp.
“So . . . peach?”
Charlie groaned. “Blackberry, you monster. God.”
“Yes!” Patrick carefully spooned out a slice of warm blackberry cobbler and sat it on a plate in front of him on the counter. Then he handed Charlie a fork. “Try it.”
Charlie leaned his elbow on the counter and cut himself a bite. As he was lifting it to his lips, he heard a click. Then another. He glanced up to see Patrick, camera in place, memorializing the event. With a laugh, Charlie shoved the cobbler in his mouth. Gooey tartness burst on his tongue, surprising him. The fruit was surprisingly juicy and the flaky crust as perfect and buttery as ever. He hummed in his throat and swallowed.
“Okay. You win.” He ate another mouthful, and with a smug grin, Patrick put the peach cobbler back in the display case. “You want a bite?” Charlie asked, once he caught Patrick watching him.
“Sure.”
Patrick snatched the fork out of Charlie’s hand, surprising him. And then before Charlie could blink, Patrick had Charlie’s fork in his mouth, and a happy little moan sneaking past his lips.
Charlie’s whole body lit up, and it was ridiculous. Knowing both of their mouths had touched the same utensil shouldn’t have gotten him so flustered, or so hot. Patrick slowly slid the fork out, the tines pressing into his full, pink lips. It might as well have been Charlie’s dick in that mouth—that was how much it turned him on.
Fuck.
Patrick caught Charlie’s eyes and winked. Then he handed the fork back, smiled, and said, “Cobblers are on me. Enjoy.”
With a slight bounce, he turned and slipped through the kitchen doors again. Charlie’s knees went a little weak, but he managed to get the cobblers, including his half-eaten blackberry, back to the table, where his coworkers all applauded. Those jerks.
He ate the rest of his cobbler with a smile.
Chapter 3
Patrick was stalled outside Minky’s Bar, too nervous to walk inside. Who actually enjoyed their ten-year reunion, anyway? No one, surely.
It wasn’t that he minded social situations, exactly. He could waltz into any gay bar in the country and probably find someone to talk to, or go home with, but the thought of arriving at Minky’s alone made him nauseous. Everyone else was probably showing up with spouses or significant others or old friends.
He hadn’t kept in touch with anyone from high school. His friend group hadn’t been so much a friend group but a herd of kids trying to get through the torture without drawing too much attention to themselves. They had been connected by their mutual desire to blend in and not make waves.
Except, Patrick had always made waves. Whether it had been his eyeliner phase or his love of fingernail polish or simply the way he moved, he’d always been different. Different could be great, or it could be isolating.
He couldn’t help but worry that the isolation would follow him into adulthood, into Minky’s Bar, into his high school reunion.
He stared up at the bar from the parking lot before turning around and gazing toward the horizon. The sun was low in the sky, dusk close to settling like a blanket around him, and lightning bugs flashed in the trees across the street. Beyond that were hills. Hills that he’d missed like a piece of his heart had been scooped out with a dessertspoon. His fingers itched to ditch this whole she-bang, walk through that field, and capture the perfect sunset picture—the sun painting the peaks of the hills pink and purple, gray clouds slashing across the colorful sky, muted wildflowers dusting the valleys between. It was perfect. Magic. He took a step that direction. Then another.
No one would know he’d ditched. He could lie to his mom.
“Patrick.”
That voice. Shit, it hit him like a brick. He spun around.
Charlie was standing at the door of Minky’s, and he was even more devastating in tight jeans and a dress shirt than he’d been in his firefighter station wear.
“Are you okay?” Charlie asked, and Patrick nodded automatically. “I was watching you from the window upstairs. It seemed like you were going to leave.”
“I was.”
“Any chance I can talk you out of that?”
Charlie let the door close behind him and walked a few steps forward to lean against a wooden porch support.
“I wanted to get a picture of the sunset.” Patrick patted the black camera bag at his side. He’d brought it because it was his security blanket, but he hadn’t expected to use it.
“I’ll go with you.”
Patrick shook his head. He couldn’t let Charlie do that. He was evidently the organizer of this ridiculous party. It’d look bad if he abandoned it to Patrick’s sunset whims.
Patrick had found a better subject anyway. “Can I take your picture? Like that? You don’t have to move.” In fact, Patrick didn’t want him to move a muscle, but didn’t want to be pushy.
“Anything for you.” Charlie’s small smile melted something in Patrick’s chest, and he rushed to get his camera out of his bag.
In five seconds flat, he had it po
inted at Charlie, who went unnaturally still.
“Should I smile?”
“No. I prefer that constipated expression you’re rocking better.”
Charlie laughed, his head tipping to the side perfectly, and energy buzzed in Patrick’s vein as he snapped his shot. Magic.
His nerves had shifted to small pulses of excitement, so he put his camera away and gestured to the door. “After you.”
Following Charlie up the stairs to Minky’s second floor was its own kind of torture. His tight ass was right there, and Patrick would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in taking a bite, as bad an idea as that was.
And it was the worst idea ever. Finding out Charlie was gay had been a shock. Finding out he wanted to flirt with Patrick, had thought about Patrick throughout the last ten years, was inconceivable. It all felt unreal, like a dream. Or a bad comedy. He’d find out soon if he was in on the joke, or the butt of it.
They crested the top of the stairs and some of Patrick’s nerves rushed back in. There were thirty to forty people in the big room, milling around from table to table and up to the private bar.
The room was kind of dark, with a lot of nooks and crannies, a stage on the north end, small windows on the west side overlooking the parking lot, and four pool tables on the south. Circular tables filled the space between the stage and the pool tables, and he searched desperately around for anyone that would be a friendly face.
He jumped when Charlie placed a hand on the small of his back and leaned to whisper in his ear.
“Suzy’s at the bar, but she’s sitting at the middle table right there.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Patrick sat at the table and then jumped again when Charlie touched his shoulder.
“What do you want to drink?”
“What are you having?”
The edges of Charlie’s perfect Hollywood smile curled up ruefully. “Sweet tea.”
“Yuck. Don’t let my mom hear that. She’d revoke your Kansan card. I’ll take an Arnold Palmer, if they have lemonade. If not, iced tea.”
“Unsweet.”
“Yes, unsweet, you heathen.”
Small City Heart Page 2
