“Hmm.” The sound was half-assent, half-murmur, and did wicked things to Preston below the belt. “Can we talk again tomorrow night? I’ll call you this time.”
“Only if you promise to do all the talking,” Preston said. “I hardly let you get a word in edgewise.”
Cam laughed softly. “It’s a deal. And we’re still on for dinner at some point, right?”
“I’m holding you to it.” Preston’s stomach did a nervous little flip at the thought of seeing Cam again. “When were you thinking?”
“I don’t know…”
“I work days,” Preston offered, “while Abby’s at school, but she’s a picky eater and has to have her dinner a certain way, and it’s hard to get a sitter during the week, so maybe the weekend would work better for me.”
“How’s Saturday, then?” Cam asked.
Preston started. “This Saturday?” It seemed so soon.
“Yeah. Unless you have something else planned?”
The only thing Preston had scheduled was Tess’s Skype call, but that was in the morning. “No, no, Saturday’s good for me. I just hope we’re not all talked out by then,” he joked. “I’m pretty boring once you get to know me.”
With another laugh, Cam assured him, “Somehow I doubt that.”
* * * *
By Saturday, Preston was a nervous wreck. For the first time in God, he didn’t know how long, he was finally going out on a date.
Even though Abby didn’t have to get up early for school that morning, Preston didn’t stay up too late on the phone the night before with Cam. He still needed to be at work by eight for the restaurant’s morning breakfast rush, and he wanted a few moments to talk to Tess before he left and turned the computer over to Abby. So after he served her the usual blueberry pancakes, prepared the way she liked them, he booted up the desktop they kept in an unused linen closet off the downstairs hallway.
Tess had modified the space, turning it into a mini-computer room barely big enough for the small desk and chair they kept in there. The best part about it was that, once Abby was finished using the computer for her schoolwork or to Skype with her mother, the closet door could be shut and the desk hidden away, but the wi-fi router’s signal still fed through the rest of the house unimpeded, allowing Preston to use his smartphone or tablet without a problem. The computer was outdated technology in their household; even Tess used a tablet when she was home. They only held onto the computer now for Abby, but Preston had heard students were given laptops or Chromebooks in the higher grades, and wondered how much longer they’d need to keep a desktop around for her to use. She was already asking for a Kindle Fire like some of her friends at school had. Preston wasn’t sure if she was ready for one, yet. She was only eight years old, and easily lost things. He couldn’t see investing into a tablet she’d break or lose shortly after opening it, and how good were the parental controls on those things, anyway? He’d have to look into it more before he let her talk him into it.
The clock on the computer read 7:21 when the desktop finally loaded. Skype took another minute or so to open, and Preston wasn’t the least surprised to see Tess already online. As he was moving the USB microphone into place—they had a separate one so Abby could pull it closer when she spoke, otherwise Tess wasn’t able to hear her very well—an incoming call came through. Preston clicked the button to answer it.
A moment later, a video feed opened on the screen and he saw Tess smiling at him, her long blond hair pulled back into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She wore an Army green T-shirt and dog tags around her neck. “Hey there, handsome,” she said. “My baby girl still eating breakfast?”
“Three guesses what she’s having,” Preston joked, “and the first two don’t count.”
Tess rolled her eyes. “What do you do when the store is out of blueberry? Because sometimes they are, right?”
With a laugh, Preston admitted, “Drive to another store, and another, and another, until I find them. So how are you doing?”
“Still alive, so I guess I can’t complain,” she told him. “You heading out to work?”
Preston glanced at the clock. “In ten minutes. Mrs. Schroedinger is on her way over. By the way…” He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth and tamped it down. “Guess who has a date tonight?”
“Mrs. Schroedinger?” Tess teased. “God, finally. Her husband passed away what, fifteen years ago? I wondered if she was ever going to get back out there or not.”
The thought of their eighty-year-old neighbor going anywhere other than the craft store for more yarn for her endless knitting projects or the grocery store to restock the cans of cat food she doled out daily to the clowder of feral cats in their neighborhood made Preston snicker. “I don’t think Mrs. Schroedinger’s still on the market, hon. And if she is, I don’t want to know.”
“So, hmm.” Tess closed one eye and tipped her head to the side, pretending to think. She looked a lot like Abby when she did it, and Preston had the eerie sensation of looking at a future image of his daughter all grown up. As if reading his thoughts, Tess gave him a stern look and warned, “It better not be Abby. She’s a little too young for dating, the last I checked. I haven’t been gone that long.”
In Preston’s opinion, his daughter would always be too young. “Don’t worry,” he assured Tess. “You’ll be a four star general by the time I let her go out with a teenage boy on her own. I used to be one of those once. I know all the tricks they try to pull, all too well.”
“What if it turns out she likes girls?” Tess wanted to know. “What then?”
“You forget I dated my fair share of teenage girls,” Preston reminded her. “Half the time, they were way worse. So doubly no.”
Holding up one hand, Tess ticked off her fingers. “Well then, let’s see. Mrs. Schroedinger is in for the night, as far as you know. Abby’s home, too. Who else does that leave?” She gave him a pointed look, the perfect opening.
He cleared his throat and pointed to himself. “Ta-da!”
A sly smile spread across Tess’s face. “Preston Andrew, as I live and breathe. Don’t tell me you’ve finally found a man. Give me the deets.”
“I only have a few minutes,” Preston pointed out. “I’ll have to give you the highlights instead.”
Tess rolled her hand, hurrying him along. “So spill already. Chop chop. Who is he? Do I know him? What’s he look like? Is he hot?”
Taking a deep breath, Preston said, “No, you don’t know him. Yes, he’s hot—”
“Woo!” Tess whooped.
“He’s a redhead,” Preston continued. “Really cute. Name’s Cameron Richards, but he goes by Cam. He’s a photographer and has a studio in Short Pump—”
“How’d you meet?” she asked. “And when you say redhead, do you mean dyed or natural?”
Preston laughed. “Oh, it’s natural, I’m sure.”
She squinted at him, unconvinced. “So you’ve seen the carpet?” When he gave her a confused look, she elaborated. “Is he red all over? Does he have a fire crotch? How do you know?”
“We just met!” Preston cried, glancing around to make sure their daughter wasn’t listening in. He was alone in the hallway, though; Abby was still in the dining room, eating breakfast. “This is our first date, jeez.”
“So you don’t know.”
“He has freckles, okay?” Preston shook his head. Only Tess would ask these sort of questions. “I’m not talking one or two, either. His arms and face are covered in them, so it’s a pretty safe bet he’s a natural redhead. Satisfied?”
Her mouth twisted in a sardonic smirk. “Hmm, well, I’m going to ask again once you two have done it, so be prepared.”
Preston’s face felt hot, embarrassed. “I don’t ask you for deets about your girl, do I?”
“Hey, I’m happy to share,” Tess told him. “What do you want to know? Hair color, nipple size, how big her clit gets after I suck on it—”
“Whoa, stop!” He held up a hand. “TMI
, God. Abby might overhear.”
Tess looked past him and grinned. “She isn’t even there. You’re just squeamish. So tell me how you met this hunk of burning love. He’s a what, photographer? Did you go get your picture taken, or something?”
Quickly he told her about the day he met Cam at Abby’s school. Maybe his daughter was listening in, after all, because when he mentioned her fairy wings, she drifted in from the dining room to see what was going on. When she saw Tess on the computer screen, Abby squeezed into the chair beside Preston and took over telling the story, putting undue emphasis on how wronged she had been when they made her take off the wings.
Moments later, the doorbell rang. Preston slipped out of the chair to answer it, knowing Mrs. Schroedinger had arrived. She would watch Abby while he was at work, then return in the evening after he’d fed his daughter dinner so he could go out with Cam. When he came back to the computer, he found Abby had commandeered the chair and taken over his side of the conversation completely.
Kissing her on the top of her head, he interrupted long enough to tell her and Tess both goodbye. “I have to get going,” he said. “You both be good. Abby, you be good for Mrs. Schroedinger. Tess, you take care.”
“I want a long email telling me all about your hot date!” Tess called after him. “Don’t gloss over anything, either! It gets boring here and you know it!”
He laughed as he hurried to get ready for work. Behind him, Abby assured her mother, “I’ll send you a long email, Mommy. What do you want it to say?”
* * * *
Cam had let Preston pick the restaurant where they’d eat, since he had the culinary degree. “I went to school in New York,” Preston reminded him with a laugh. “Everything else pales in comparison.”
“I’m sure you can find something,” Cam said over the phone.
Preston wasn’t so sure. “I don’t even know what you like to eat.”
“Oh, I’m easy to please,” Cam assured him, which sounded like the promising way to start a first date.
All week long, Preston had wracked his brain trying to pick out the perfect restaurant. Immediately he discarded the River City where he worked; not only was it a dive, there was no way in hell he planned on bringing a male date anywhere near his homophobic boss. It was bad enough Roger complained at times that he and Tess were unmarried, but if he knew they were both gay, as well? Preston wouldn’t have to worry about showing up for his shift the next morning, that was for sure.
Besides, he wanted something nice, simple but elegant, with good food and fine wine, somewhere they could linger after eating and talk the rest of the night away. Somewhere downtown close to the river, maybe, so they could stroll along the canal afterward, take in the view, maybe even hold hands or snuggle under the stars.
In the end he settled for the Bistro. It was a posh little cafe right on the waterfront with an outside patio that would be perfect for dining under the stars. It required reservations, but fortunately there was one table left when Preston called. Though, seriously, he wondered how often the maître d’ said those words, “one table left.” Maybe every potential customer was told the same thing.
He and Cam decided to arrive separately. Cam had offered to pick him up, but Preston didn’t want to rely on anyone else in case something happened with Abby and he had to leave early. Plus, driving himself would limit the amount of alcohol he would be able to drink. “Maybe next time,” he said.
“Oh, there’ll be a next time,” Cam assured him.
A little after six thirty, Preston left his house. Abby was at the dining room table, lost in her mac and cheese, and barely glanced up as he called goodbye. Mrs. Schroedinger sat in the living room, her knitting needles already clicking together in her lap. The drive to the Bistro took less than twenty minutes, leaving Preston enough time to sit in his car in the parking lot and wait for Cam to arrive.
His stomach was a ball of nervous energy. It’d been four days since he first met the photographer, and even though they had spoken for hours every night on the phone between then and now, Preston had to admit he couldn’t quite remember exactly what Cam looked like. He remembered little things, of course—the red hair, the golden eyes, the freckles across Cam’s nose, the sole dark dot on his lower lip that disappeared into a dimple when he smiled.
And God, what a smile.
But when he pulled back on the details and tried to combine them together into one whole image, he couldn’t do it.
Preston had to admit he didn’t even think he remembered Cam’s smile so much as the way it’d made him feel. It was like the sun, slow in rising, its warmth cast over everything in its path, until Preston felt himself washed in its light. Thinking about it ignited his blood, set fire to his loins. Even if he could remember nothing else about the man, nothing at all, Preston knew he only had to see Cam’s grin and he’d know the photographer in an instant.
As if to prove his point, a blue Nissan Sentra pulled into the small parking lot behind the Bistro and parked across from Preston’s car. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Preston; their eyes met in the mirror’s reflection. When he got out of the car, he waved and flashed that sunshine smile that lit Preston up inside like a Christmas tree.
Preston almost fell over himself scrambling out of his own car. “Hey. There you are.”
“Been waiting long?” Cam asked.
Preston shook his head. God, the guy was even sexier than he remembered. “Just got here. You?” Then he laughed, embarrassed. “No, wait, don’t answer that. Never mind.”
Cam’s grin spread wider. Before Preston could react, Cam pulled him into a tight hug. Strong arms enveloped him in a warm hug that made every nerve in Preston’s body tingle. How long had it been since he’d been held by another man? His hands fluttered awkwardly against Cam’s back, but the rest of him knew exactly what to do—his nipples hardened, his cock stiffened, his balls dropped. His blood pounded in his ears. In the few seconds they embraced, he went from at ease to atten-SHUN! faster than a new recruit at boot camp.
In his ear, Cam murmured, “I’ve been waiting to do that all week.”
The whispered words only added fuel to the fires burning in Preston’s groin.
Chapter 7
Once they were seated on the patio with a view of the James River and its rapids falling off beyond the parking lot, Cam scooted his chair around their small, wrought iron table to move closer to Preston. He placed a hand on Preston’s arm, his touch warm through the thin blazer Preston had worn to ward off the evening chill. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week long,” he admitted.
His eyes reflected the last of the sun and the white lights strung up around the outside of the Bistro. They had the same golden glow as the river rocks, and seemed as inscrutable, too. Preston thought he could stare into Cam’s honey hued gaze all night and consider the date a success.
After a few moments, though, he realized Cam was saying something. A warm smile spread across that freckled face. “Hello? Earth to Preston?”
“Wh-what?” Preston shook his head sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I was just—”
“Staring?” Cam winked. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
With a laugh, Preston covered Cam’s hand with his own. “What did we use to say as kids? Take a picture, it lasts longer? But that’s your area of expertise, isn’t it?”
“And gourmet food is yours.” Indicating the menu between them on the table, Cam asked, “What are your recommendations for this evening’s meal?”
“Well…” Preston had looked at the Bistro’s menu online and, though the prices were expensive, he’d been impressed. And, he had to admit, more than a little nostalgic for his college days back in NYC. The limited menu offered elegant dishes with a decidedly French flair, though tweaked with Southern American touches that paid tribute to Richmond cuisine.
There was a lot of seafood, much of it locally caught: oysters, crawfish, sushi, crab cakes, catfish, bass, and scallops. The m
eat tended towards classier cuts, as well; no common steak or chicken on the menu, but rather filet mignon, foie gras, duck, rabbit, and veal. For the vegetarian diner, salads were automatically served with every meal, and the pasta list went far beyond mere spaghetti. The noodles had names like campanelle, capellini, and tufoli. Preston resisted the urge to pull out his smartphone and Google the names to see what each noodle looked like. Every sauce listed included wine as an ingredient.
Speaking of wine, the list of available choices was twice as long as the dinner menu itself. Though he knew food, and knew the basics of what color to pair with which meal, he wasn’t much of a drinker and didn’t really know specifics. He knew sparkling whites went well with fish, but would prosecco or champagne prove better with the catfish? He wasn’t sure, and did he really want bubbly on a first date? Could he pull off a grenache with the oysters, and have the same wine with the pasta, as well? What did grenache taste like, anyway? He preferred fruity wines, not dry ones, but didn’t really know what that meant. He only knew he didn’t like the ones that left him feeling like he had to wash down each sip with a glass of water.
And, more importantly, did Cam even like seafood? They’d talked about possible food allergies when arranging the date—and Cam had assured Preston he had none. But this would be an expensive evening, and Preston didn’t want to order more than one bottle of wine, if he could help it. He wasn’t sure who was paying, himself or Cam, or if they were splitting the tab, but he didn’t want to splurge like some sort of celebrity only to discover at the end of the night that he had to fork over a fortune because neither of them finished an entire bottle of booze.
Cam’s hand rubbed down Preston’s arm and eased back his shirt sleeve to expose a swath of skin. There Cam’s forefinger began to trace a tiny circle into the tender skin on the back of Preston’s wrist. “What are you thinking?” Cam asked softly.
With a laugh, Preston admitted, “That I know shit about wine.”
Recipe for Romance Page 6
