“Nah, he was straight. No question. He ended up marrying the girl he was with that night. But he was cool. Always treated me decently, even when other people didn’t.”
“They gave you shit after you came out?” I hated that. Hated thinking about Cal having to defend who he was.
“I went to a small conservative college in the south. What do you think?” His mouth twisted into a wry half-smile. “It wasn’t as bad as you’d think, but they didn’t exactly throw me a rainbow-confetti parade, either.” He paused. “Not that I made it that big a deal. I didn’t have a press conference. It just kind of . . . seeped out over time. You know, a whisper here, and a funny look there. And then one day I was invited to visit the dean of student affairs. Which was pretty ironic, all things considered.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I’d say so. What did he say? Don’t tell me they tossed you out?”
“Oh, no, it wasn’t that dramatic. He just suggested that maybe I hadn’t given girls enough of a chance, and he asked me if I’d had a trauma in childhood. He offered to make sure I saw a counselor. And when I politely declined all of that, he said as he saw it, I had two choices: I could get through the next three years at his school by playing the game and putting on a happy face. What I chose to do after that was up to me. Or I could find another school where I might fit in better.”
“And what did you choose?” I really couldn’t be sure. Cal seemed to be a pretty contained guy. I would’ve pegged him as tightly-wound, someone who didn’t want to rock the boat. I could see him hiding rather than taking a stand.
“I thought about it for a long time. I knew I could go into hiding without too much of a problem, because it wasn’t like I was out cruising the bars or hooking up anyway. And I knew I could make it my cause, be the guy who forced the college into the twenty-first century. But then I realized I just didn’t care that much.” He shrugged. “Does that make me a selfish bastard?”
“No, man.” I shook my head. “We all have to choose our battles. If it’s something you love and you’re passionate about, you wouldn’t hesitate to fight for it. But it sounds like this school wasn’t the right fit for you anyway.”
“Exactly.” Cal nodded. “So I transferred to SCAD and we all lived happily ever after.” He spread out his hands. “End of story. How about you?”
“Not much of a story on my end. I knew I liked boys as long as I can remember. And I guess other people knew, too.” I chuckled. “My best friend was a girl named Ali. She lived on the farm next door to us outside Burton. Every summer, we went swimming in the lake along the property line. Naked swimming, that is—I mean, we were kids. Well, the summer we were thirteen, Ali’s mom told her it wasn’t appropriate anymore for us to skinny dip together. Ali said she didn’t see why not, because it wasn’t like I was interested in anything she had, anyway.” I couldn’t hold back a laugh, remembering. “Her mother about died. But that was Ali. To her, I was just Alex, her buddy.”
“And no one else in your town cared? I thought small southern towns were all judgmental.”
“Maybe some are, but not Burton. Not about me, anyway. No one made me feel uncomfortable.” I drained the rest of my wine and set down the glass. “Of course, there wasn’t much of a dating pool in town, either. I was a gay without a cause—or any experience—until I went away to college.”
“Did you . . . date a lot in college?” Cal was hedging, but I could hear his curiosity.
“Hell, yeah. I just told you, I had no one in high school. Once I got to the big city, I went a little wild. I did the bar scene, the club scene, the one-night-stand scene and then after a year or so, I tried the long-term relationship thing. I guess you could say I graduated a well-rounded gay man.” I twisted my paper napkin into a thin rope. “But none of that stuck. The past few years, I’ve stuck to casual dating.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He pressed his lips together and glanced over my shoulder, out the window of the restaurant. “It must be getting late. I should probably head home.”
“Hey, not so fast.” I reached across the table and touched the back of his hand, the first overt move I’d made all night. “I want to hear the rest of your story. So you transferred up here to go to school, and . . . you met someone? Or you went on a wild orgy rampage?”
“Uh, a little of both, I guess.” Cal didn’t move his hand out from beneath mine, but he seemed tenser. “I didn’t do orgies, exactly, but I definitely sowed some wild oats. Art school was a total game changer. And then I met someone, and I was with him for a long time.”
“But you’re not anymore?” His answer to this question had suddenly become very important to me.
“No.” Cal looked down. “No, not anymore.”
“Good.” I moved my fingers just enough to give a gentle pressure, let him feel my interest without overwhelming him. Cal Rhodes reminded me a little of a skittish colt my dad had bought when I was about ten. Domino had been okay as long as I watched from the safety of the fence, but once I ventured into the corral, he went nuts, ears back and running away.
“What’s wrong with him, Dad?” I’d only experienced our own animals, born and raised on our farm. They knew me, and I knew them, and none of them had ever acted afraid.
My father frowned. “When an animal or any creature acts like that, Alex, it means someone’s hurt it at some point in the past. Someone’s done something wrong. No one’s born afraid. It’s got to be taught fear, and I’d like to take a horsewhip to the person who made Domino scared of a boy like you.”
“But how do we make him not be afraid of me?” I’d already fallen half in love with the beautiful horse.
“We take it slow, son. We take baby steps. No sudden moves, no forcing it. We treat him gentle and kind, speak soft and touch light. And then one day, he’ll realize he can trust us. And he’ll know it’s safe to stop being afraid.”
My father was a wise man. Nowadays when I went back to the farm, Domino was the first of the horses to gallop toward me, nudging his big head against my shoulder, gently nipping at me until I produced a bit of carrot or apple. He wasn’t scared anymore. He trusted me.
Cal jerked his hand out from under mine. I watched, unmoving, as he rubbed his fingers with his other hand, frowning as he looked down at them.
Baby steps. No sudden moves, no forcing it.
“You know, you’re right. It is getting late, and I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.” I faked a yawn and stretched, pushing back my chair. “Thanks for having dinner with me, Cal. It was good to have company. And excellent food, too.”
He stood as well, watching me. “Thanks for asking me. Do you need a ride back to your hotel?” His whole body tensed, begging me to say no.
“I’m okay, thanks. Think I’ll walk off some of this dinner, enjoy the night air.” I offered him my hand to shake and then, as though it were an afterthought, I reached into my back pocket and pulled out one of my business cards. “Oh, hey, here’s my number and my email, in case you ever wanted to get together again. Or if you come to Atlanta and need a tour guide in my city.”
Cal took the small rectangle, nodding. “Sure, thanks.” He stuck it into his own pocket, and I wondered if he’d dare to look at it again, or if it would go through the wash in his pants, destined to be thrown away. I noticed he didn’t offer me his card in return, or even give me his phone number.
But that was perfectly all right, because I had an advantage over Cal Rhodes in this situation.
I knew where to find him.
And find him I did.
For the next several months, every time I came into Savannah—and since we nailed the contract I’d been working on, my trips to the city were frequent—I made it a point to stop in and see Cal. Sometimes it was a simple walk-by visit, where I’d simply stick my head into the gallery when I’d spotted him through the window and give a quick wave hello. Other times, I intentionally went in just before lunch and persuaded him to join me at a nearby deli or one of the cute little bistros that lined t
he nearby street.
And we texted. Not every day, but at least once or twice a week. I’d sweet-talked him into giving me his phone number on our third lunch date, with the promise I wasn’t a serial caller. I made sure I kept my texts casual, sending him a picture I thought he might appreciate or some kind of amusing story. He always responded; not right away, usually, but sometime within the same day, even if it was just with an emoticon.
But today I was determined to step up my game. It’d been three months since I’d ducked into that gallery, and during that time, I hadn’t dated anyone. I’d turned down a few propositions, said no thanks to a guy in my office who’d been working up the nerve for weeks to ask me out and stayed away from the hot Atlanta club scene. I’d contented myself with my occasional lunches and text conversations with Cal, but now I was ready to take things to the next level.
I timed my stop at the gallery with purpose, swinging open the glass door just after lunch. There weren’t any customers around; Cal stood at the reception desk, leaning against it as he spoke with the older woman who was sitting in a throne-like chair.
Lucinda Baker was the owner of the gallery, although she preferred to call herself the chief patron. As such, she was Cal’s boss. More than that, though, I’d realized after my first few visits that she was also his friend, possibly the closest thing he had to family in Savannah. He’d told me that Lucinda had accepted him for who he was from the minute they’d met; I’d learned later that she’d had a younger brother who was gay. Back in the mid-fifties, though, when they were both coming of age, the pressure to conform was enormous, and her brother had taken his own life. Since then, Lucinda had crusaded on behalf of all those in danger of being disenfranchised or discriminated against. She informed me proudly that she had marched with both Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and with Gloria Steinem.
“Mr. Baker is a Republican, so I have to keep a low-profile,” she’d told me, speaking just above a whisper. “But he doesn’t mind as long as I behave myself.”
Lucinda didn’t come into the gallery every day, as she had other business interests and her charity work, but I knew she was almost always in on Fridays, which was why I’d chosen that day to stop. I had a hunch that I’d find an ally in the venerable lady; I’d been wooing her to my side for a while now. Hell, if I couldn’t have charmed the skirt off an older woman like Lucinda, I’d have had to turn in my card as a Southern boy.
She saw me first, her eyes lighting up. Cal paused mid-sentence and turned, toward me, but I couldn’t read his expression.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” Lucinda didn’t jump to her feet, as another woman might have; instead she waited, hand extended, for me to come to her. I lifted it to my lips and smiled.
“You never know who’s going to walk through those doors when you leave them open.” I winked at Lucinda and glanced at Cal. “Hey, handsome. How’re you doing?”
“Fine.” It was an automatic response, I could tell. He’d gone a little stiff, a little stand-offish.
“Good to hear it.” I held his eyes, almost staring him down. “Let’s have dinner tonight.”
I worded my request carefully. I didn’t ask if he were free for dinner, as I usually would, because that would’ve given him an out to say no. I didn’t even make it a question—it was a suggestion. An invitation. And damn if my stomach wasn’t filled with jumbo-sized butterflies as I waited to see if he’d accept.
“Uh, tonight isn’t good.” He flickered a glance at Lucinda and then back at me.
“Cal, isn’t this just the best luck! Now your problem’s solved.” Lucinda’s lips curved into a triumphant smile. “Alex, Cal was just explaining to me why he wasn’t bringing a date to our soiree this evening. And then you waltzed in, like a gift from heaven.”
I raised one eyebrow, giving Lucinda the smolder. “No one’s ever accused me of being from heaven, outside my mama. Now, she did used to call me her sweet angel.” I leaned my elbows on the counter above the desk. “So, Cal, you need a date for tonight? I’m your man.”
He flushed, and something deep stirred in me. Okay, full disclosure, something not so deep also stirred, but I was trying to behave, so I ignored that.
“Alex, I hope you’ve brought a suit with you. We’re having a semi-formal reception tonight at one of the oldest and most beautiful townhouses in Savannah.” She waited a beat and then smiled, adding, “Of course, it’s my beautiful townhouse. It’s been in my family for generations, and it’s haunted. If you come tonight, I’ll show you the portrait of my great-grandmother, who conceived a plot to murder that Yankee scourge Sherman.”
Lucinda didn’t spit when she said General Sherman’s name, but the action was implied. Nearly everyone in the state of Georgia despised William Tecumseh Sherman, the Yankee general who’d cut a swath through the state during the War of Northern Aggression, but the people of Savannah harbored a special hatred for the man who’d made a Christmas gift of their city to President Lincoln.
“I’d love to see it.” We both looked at Cal, whose face was showing the strain of being forced into something he wasn’t sure he wanted to do. “What do you say, Cal?”
His jaw tensed. “I told you, Lucinda, I don’t need a date.”
Lucinda’s eyes narrowed slightly, and when she answered him, her tone was quiet. Anyone who thought that meant she was acquiescing had never met a Southern woman.
“You’re invited to a party at my house, Calvert Rhodes. If I say you need to bring a date, you better damn well ask this fine-looking young man standing in front of us if he’d do you the honor of accompanying you tonight. Understand?”
A tic jumped in Cal’s cheek, and he licked his lips. “Yes, ma’am.” He swung his gaze to me. “Alex, would you like to be my date tonight?”
I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from laughing. “Why, yes, Cal, I’m flattered that you’d ask. I just happen to have brought a brand-new suit with me.”
“Fine.” He reached for a slip of paper on the desk and began to scribble something on it. “Here’s the address. It starts at seven o’clock. I’ll meet you there.”
“No, sir!” Lucinda stood up and put one hand on her hip. “You’ll pick him up at his hotel, like a gentleman. Honestly, Cal, you were raised better than this.”
He opened his mouth as though he was going to argue, then closed it and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll pick you up at your hotel at six forty-five. Are you at the Hyatt?”
That was my usual spot in Savannah, and it warmed me that Cal remembered. “Yeah, that’s right. Room three eleven.”
He nodded. “Fine. I’ll be there.” He picked up a folder. “Now if you’ll both excuse me, I need to go catalogue the new pieces.”
Cal stomped away—well, he didn’t really; Lucinda probably would’ve hauled him back and made him apologize to me—but the stomping was implied, just as it had been with Lucinda’s spitting at General Sherman.
She turned to me with a smile that a less-kind person might’ve called satisfied. “I’m so glad you just happened to stop by today, Alex. I call that propitious timing.”
“Serendipity.” I winked at her. “Thanks for being my wing man.”
Lucinda lifted her fine white eyebrows and affected an expression of complete innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The last time I’d been nervous about a date was . . . hmmm. Never. I thought about that as I wrestled with my silk tie in front of the hotel room mirror. The guys I’d dated before had been mostly easy, casual relationships or quick one-night stands. I’d never thought about long-term with any of those men. Hell, I’d rarely thought beyond that night.
But Cal was different. He intrigued me. He made me want to know more, and he made me want to be closer. I thought about my best friend Ali and what it’d been like for her with Flynn. We’d been young, all of us, still in high school, but I remembered the look in her eyes. And in his, too; even though Flynn Evans lived in town and not on a farm like Ali and
me, he and I’d been friends since we’d bonded during catechism class. Watching my two closest buddies fall head over heels in love had been an odd experience, and at the time, I’d wondered if it would ever happen to me.
“It’s crazy, Alex.” Ali and I had been sitting on the edge of the lake that straddled the property line between our families’ farms. She hugged her legs to her chest, her eyes dreamy as she stared into the water. “It’s like suddenly, everything in the world is possible, because the world just got a whole lot bigger. When Flynn smiles at me and his eyes go all hazy . . . oh, baby. I just want to melt where I am.” She giggled and fanned herself with one hand before getting serious. “But it’s more than that. I know Flynn cares for me. When my mom and dad—” Her voice broke a little, and I had to look away so she wouldn’t see my own tears. Ali’s parents had been killed in a terrible car accident at the end of her freshman year. I still missed them, and I knew Ali wasn’t over it.
“When that happened, Flynn was there for me every second. Even when I didn’t talk, I knew he was listening. And I’d do the same for him. I only feel right when we’re together. I know it sounds stupid and mushy, but it’s true.” She’d grabbed my hand. “Someday, you’re going to find the guy who makes you sound like a bad greeting card, too. And then I’ll listen and I won’t make fun, either.”
I’d laughed. “I’ll remember that.” And then, because I never liked things to get too serious between us, I jumped up and pushed her into the water.
When she’d surfaced, sputtering and spitting mad, I’d jumped in next to her, and we spent the rest of the afternoon swimming like otters, chasing each other in and out of the lake, ducking under the water to hide and floating peacefully once we were thoroughly exhausted.
But when we’d been lying there, staring up at the leafy green branches overhead, I’d seen that dreamy look come over Ali’s face again, and I’d felt a pang of loneliness that I couldn’t quite explain. I hadn’t thought of that day or that loneliness until I’d met Cal and then it had all come back to me. I understood now.
Love in a Small Town Box Set 1 Page 70
