Rainbow Hill

by Alex Carreras

  “He has an accent,” Ethan cooed, scooting over to make room for Nikki.

  “Of course he does.” She took the seat offered and plucked a french fry from Ethan’s plate. “But fellas, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that fine piece of Italian man-flesh is straight.”

  “Nooooo,” Ethan and Quinn protested in unison, their eyes now firmly planted on Nikki’s knowing face.

  She nodded, pursing her lips. “Fact.”

  Ethan nudged her. “Spill, chickadee, or I’m going to tell everyone you dye that mop of yours.”

  Her mouth fell open. “But I don’t,” Nikki lied.

  Ethan shrugged his shoulders and pulled a coy look. “So.”

  “You bitch,” she hissed under her breath. After a moment of contemplation, Nikki conceded. “Okay, you win. You remember Hannah Ulrich?”

  “Who doesn’t,” Ethan responded.

  “Wasn’t her nickname Hoover Upright because she got caught with a guy in a kitchen closet at some house party?”

  “That would be the one,” Nikki answered. “And she earned that nickname. I was at that party.”

  “Probably wedged in the same closet.”

  Nikki slugged Ethan in his arm, hard. “Don’t be throwing stones, pretty boy, because if you want to start playing that game, I’ll win since I have an entire gravel pit in my armory.”

  Ethan lifted both hands, palms out. “I surrender.”

  Satisfied, Nikki continued with her story. “Anyway, Hoover—” She paused and brushed a curl out of her left eye. “—I mean, Hannah tapped that, the first hour that Adonis got into town.” She lowered her head and her voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “She said he was the biggest and the best she has ever had, and let’s face it, that slut has had loads. No pun intended.”

  “Hey,” Ethan began, “maybe she can be the connection we need to get to Antonio.”

  “What do you mean?” Nikki asked.

  “Have you tasted his bread? And before you ask, that is not a euphemism.”

  Ethan handed Nikki a piece of bread and waited as she placed it in her mouth and chewed. She moaned, catching the attention of a man seated nearby, his hair pressed into a perfect part.

  “It’s an orgasm for the taste buds,” she said. “It’s also going to be responsible for my future weight gain.”

  “I think we should sell it at the farm,” Ethan said. “I’ll explain later.”

  Nikki swallowed the contents in her mouth. She wiped away crumbs that had fallen on her Moms Do It With Style T-shirt. “You don’t have to. I bumped into your dad yesterday, and he said you two are going to make that place into a yuppie-slash-gay boy destination paradise.”

  “Was I the last person in town to find out?”

  “Not the last,” Nikki returned. “I don’t think Antonio knows yet.”

  Sliding out of the booth, Quinn said, “But that’s about to change. Be right back.”

  Nikki and Ethan watched Quinn’s taut, retreating backside.

  “You still carrying that torch for Quinn?” Nikki asked breathily.

  “I wouldn’t call it a torch.”

  “A book of matches, then?”

  “Somewhere between that and the torch. Just look at him. Do you blame me?”

  “No, honey, I don’t. He was always one good-looking teenager, but he’s filled out to be one helluva hunk.”

  Turning his attention back to his food, Ethan offered half his omelet to Nikki, but she declined, more interested in his french fries. She popped one in her mouth. “So what’s it going to be like with you and him living under one roof?”

  “Our relationship is and always will be strictly platonic. I don’t sleep with my business partners.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing.” Nikki pouted between sloppy chewing. “And that doesn’t make good telephone conversation. What will we talk about while you’re here?” She paused, her eyes darting left and right. “How long are you here for? You usually flit into town and race away again before I even knew you’re here.”

  “I don’t flit.”

  Nikki grabbed another fry and pointed it at Ethan. “You flit. The word flit describes you to a T.”

  Ethan sacrificed his one and only napkin. “Here,” he said, handing it to his best friend. “Sloppy describes you to a T.”

  Nikki took the napkin, balled it up, and dropped it on the table. “Save it for later because I plan to get even sloppier. These fries are deep fried heaven.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. I don’t do anything fried. Plus I saw Quinn shirtless today, and he doesn’t have one ounce of fat on that fit body of his so…”

  Propping her elbow on to the table, Nikki leaned in and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Shirtless. I thought you said you were going to keep things platonic. Is there something you’re not telling me?” She pressed her face only inches from Ethan. “I have ways to make you talk.”

  “You’ve been here less than five minutes and you’ve already threated me at least two times.”

  “Well, I’m falling behind then,” Nikki teased. “It’s usually more than that.”

  “He was getting out of the shower.”

  “Alone?”

  “Alone.”

  Satisfied by Ethan’s answer, she relaxed into the booth. “Not to be negative, but do you think this is going to work?”

  Ethan gave a noncommittal shrug of the shoulders. “I don’t know. Everyone seems to think so.”

  “I’m asking you,” Nikki pressed, Ethan suddenly feeling sorry for Nikki’s, no doubt, whipped husband.

  “I have my reservations, but my dad needs me. The Kincades need me.”

  “It’s nice to be needed for a change.” Nikki didn’t make eye contact.

  Ethan’s fork stopped midair, his mouth ajar. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

  “Oh yes, you do, Nikki Carmichael. Don’t play innocent with me because I know that you’re anything but.”

  “Okay.” She pushed a clump of unruly hair from of her face, the same piece that always seemed to be there, and exhaled a long gust of air. “I’m referring to Randall. You don’t talk about him anymore. It’s like he doesn’t… exist.”

  “He’s fine,” he assured. “We’re fine.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That we’re fine. How can that be confusing?”

  “Fine.” Nikki smiled at a passing acquaintance that Ethan did not recognize. “But if you’re not, you know you can always confide in me. You know that, right?”

  “Thanks but we really are. You know how relationships are. They settle out. The passion that burns in the beginning turns into mutual respect, and you get comfortable.”

  “This shirt is comfortable, Ethan. Not a relationship.”

  “Correction.” Ethan flared his nostril and eyed Nikki’s faded T-shirt. “That shirt is ugly.”

  “My kids gave it to me, and I like it.”

  “I can tell. You wore it the last time we got together. And very possibly the time before that.”

  “You better be careful because I might encourage my children to pick out your next birthday present. Maybe a plaid flannel shirt with matching boxers? I saw a very nice boxed gift set over at Walmart on clearance just the other day. I’m sure they’re still sitting there.”

  “No doubt,” Ethan said, running a hand over his tailored mercerized cotton, button-down.

  In a gust of Irish Spring and man musk, Quinn reappeared, an exuberant smile stretched across his masculine face. “Antonio is very interested in our proposal.” He reclaimed his seat and dug into his food.

  “We have a proposal?”

  “We will. I’ll leave that part up to you.”

  “How exciting,” Nikki chimed. “Your first day back and you have a proposal.”

  “Don’t put the cart before the horse,” Ethan returned. “We don’t have a proposal yet.”

  “But we will.” Quinn
winked, Ethan’s heart skipping a few beats. “I have the utmost faith in you, Ethan. And in the future of Oak Hill Farm.”

  Ethan wished he felt the same way.

  * * * *

  After leaving the diner, Ethan and Quinn strolled down Main Street, Nikki in tow until she received an emergency text from her husband stating their youngest boy, Cody, decided that a few crayons were the perfect snack to suppress his ever-present hunger. Less than frantic because this wasn’t the first time the toddler munched down on the waxy sticks, she kissed both men good-bye before racing back toward her minivan parked nearby. Nikki’s absence immediately changed the dynamic of the two men, the sexual energy between them tangible. Ethan tried his best to push it away and focus on Randall while picking out a few articles of clothing at a small men’s store, which didn’t prove to be half bad in their selection. But that only worsened his current state of affairs, because he doubted that Randall was thinking of him.

  They chatted about plans for the future and possible marketing strategies they could implement after doing the basic groundwork that mostly included a bucket of paint, a hammer or two, and a height adjustable ladder. Heading back to the farm, they rode in companionable silence. Ethan hated to admit it, but his hometown was vastly different than he remembered. Or was it because he was experiencing it through Quinn’s eyes? Whatever the case, he found the changes charming, and the people much friendlier than the bigoted rednecks that once inhabited the town, replaced by young entrepreneurs and lifelong residents seeking to make a change. It was the first time in his life that he didn’t feel like a freak, an outcast—the only gay in a fifty-mile radius while walking the streets of Jefferson. The normally anxious feeling that churned in his gut was now replaced with a light and airy sensation swelling across his chest. He didn’t do light and airy. Never had. So what was different this time? Ethan wondered.

  “Are you still with me?”

  Ethan chuckled. “Yeah. Miles away but I’m back now.”

  “Are you missing your boyfriend?”

  “I just left him.”

  “But you’ll be here for a while. It’s not like you can be running back and forth to the city every other day. I know this has been a surprise, but I hope it isn’t a disruption in your life.”

  “I’ve suffered through a few disruptions lately, but this is not one of them. I have to admit, I’m excited about this. The possibilities are endless. Working with my dad. I’ve always wanted an opportunity like this to get to know him better.”

  “That sounds funny since you are referring to your father.”

  “What do you mean?” Quinn asked, mystified.

  “To me, Tucker seems like a down-to-earth kind of man, straight shooting. He does what he says and says what he means.”

  “With you,” Ethan clarified. “But I’m his gay son. His only son.”

  “Are you saying that you’re a disappointment to him since you’re gay? Has he ever said that?”

  “He didn’t have to. I could sense it.”

  “Whatever you’re sensing, I think you are wrong. I know for a fact he’s proud of you. Very proud.”

  Ethan cocked his head and looked at Quinn. “You’ve had a conversation about me with Dad?”

  “Of course. You are an integral part of this project so we had to discuss you. How you’d react.”

  It was a strange admission coming from the man’s lips he’d fantasized over for more than a decade. “Did I react the way you thought I would? Am I that predictable?”

  Quinn made a noise deep in his throat. “Ethan Stokes, you are anything but predictable. I remember sophomore year when you showed up one morning with that crazy haircut and you colored your hair orange.”

  “Blond,” Ethan corrected. “It was supposed to be Billy Idol blond.”

  “Bill who?”

  “He was an eighties punker with platinum spikes.”

  “You had a mess on your head, like a chicken tried to roost in it but failed.” Quinn smiled with the memory. “And it was the color of an old penny.”

  “That’s what happens when you find yourself at the supermarket with an itch for a change and five bucks burning a hole in your pocket.”

  “That look was anything but predictable. You shocked the shit out of the entire school. Before that, you were such a goody two-shoes, pressed shirts and starched jeans.” Quinn swept his gaze over Ethan from head to toe. “Looks like you’ve returned to that look.”

  “There is nothing wrong with looking like a classic.”

  Quinn rolled eyes. “Here’s another we didn’t predict, the time you blew up your AP Biology classroom.” Quinn released a burst of laughter. “Kaboom!” His laugh grew stronger. “You left Mr. Jankowitz half bald and with no eyebrows.” He snorted, attempting to catch his breath. “I saw him the other day, and I swear he still didn’t have any eyebrows. Nothing but one, big forehead.”

  Ethan sunk down against the seat, the walk down memory lane not as amusing to him as it was to Quinn. “I ended up acing that class,” Ethan quipped. “And you better pay attention to what you’re doing. You almost fell off the shoulder of the road back there, and I don’t feel like ending up in the hospital with a fractured skull.”

  “If you can live through that hair color, you can survive anything.”

  “I almost didn’t.” Ethan crossed his arms firmly over his chest, reliving the derogatory remarks and rude comments he suffered from his fellow classmates until his hair color grew out. “Did you know Nikki posted a picture of me during that humiliating period of my life on Facebook? You should’ve read all the comments. It was like reliving the horror all over again.” He readjusted his arms and gripped tighter. “I could’ve killed her.”

  “C’mon, don’t take it so hard. People are just having a little fun.”

  “Yeah, at my expense. I’m starting to get an aversion to social media thanks to her.”

  Quinn indicated a turn and slowed, his light brown fur-covered forearms glistening in the sunshine. “You better not be. We need to set up a Facebook page for Oak Hill and maybe a Twitter account too.” He maneuvered onto the road and straightened. “I think you should be the one to handle that end of the business. It’s not really my thing. I’m more a getting-my-hands-dirty type of guy.”

  “And I’m not?” Ethan questioned, feeling slightly emasculated. “I grew up on a farm too, you know. I got my hands dirty on more than a few occasions.”

  “Great, so I can count you in tomorrow morning for milking? I’m down a worker and could use a fresh pair of hands.”

  “Hell no,” Ethan scoffed.

  “But I thought—“

  “You thought wrong. That unfortunate part of my life is long over, and I never intend to return to it again.”

  “And you’re not man enough to give it another shot? It could be quite the bonding experience between you and Tucker.” Quinn arched a brow as Ethan looked at his profile. “Are you willing to pass up on this potential life-altering opportunity? Or are you going to let a little thing like cow manure get in your way?”

  Ethan clicked his fingers and pointed at Quinn. “I choose the latter. And don’t give me that man up bullshit because that only works on straight guys, not gay interior decorators. Scraping cow dung off my Italian leather loafers is not my idea of a bonding experience with my father, or you.” Plus Ethan could think of many other ways he would like to bond with Quinn, over—or under—that didn’t include shoes, or any clothing for that matter. He gazed down at Quinn’s size eleven substantial boots that screamed outdoor guide instead of city boy lunching at an outdoor café. “Those shoes look perfect for tomorrow morning’s milking. Very easy to hose off. You can handle it shorthanded.”

  “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll stick to the shitty work, and you can stick to the social media.”

  “Deal,” Ethan agreed, only too happy to accept the informal but hygienic terms.

  “We make a perfect team.” Quinn flashed that smile that made Ethan lose
the ability to breathe. “Don’t you think?”

  Ethan swallowed the lump of lust that had formed in his throat. “Yep,” he croaked. “I do think." And I think it could mean trouble.

  Chapter Five

  That night, Ethan sat on his bed, his knees curled up to his chest and his phone clutched in his hand. He stared at the picture of himself and Randall, hugging and smiling, saved as his phone’s home screen image. He remembered that day vividly. Randall had surprised him with a Valentine’s Day weekend getaway to a five-star resort in the heart of Boston. They were in love then, Ethan happily secure in their future together. He wasn’t sure exactly when his relationship started to wane, he had simply thought they had settled into a comfortable and content life together. Apparently, Randall hadn’t felt the same as he began to stay out later and later, and when he returned home, his breath reeked of alcohol, and his shirt was drenched with the smell of cheap cologne and perspiration. Another man’s perspiration.

  Ethan’s finger hovered above the virtual call button, but he couldn’t compel himself to take it any further. He wanted to press call and see how Randall was doing. And if he was honest with himself, his morbid sense of curiosity also wanted to know whom he was doing it with.

  “Fuck,” he whispered into the quiet of the room.

  Spending time with Quinn that day had felt like the beginning flourishes of a relationship, a relationship he knew was headed to being a sexual one. But that was not going to happen. Or was it? What would happen if they did? What was the worst that could happen? Tapping the corner of his phone against his forehead, he released a groan, already knowing the answer. He knew that sometimes he saw the darker side of life a little too often, but being responsible for the ruin of what Ethan was now calling the Oak Hill project, the demise of Frank’s liver, and not to mention the very possible and highly probable financial ruin of his own father, a father who’d personally asked for his help, was something he didn’t want to regret while taking the last few remaining breaths on his death bed. And as for Quinn, Ethan didn’t see much of a downside for him, with the exception of watching Frank drink himself to death.

  Ethan brought the phone to eye level and decided to text the one person he could speak frankly with and would never judge him…at least not too harshly.