by Aislin, Amy
Sam had watched Bo’s face fall before he drew himself up—exactly like he had before answering Laura’s call—fisted his hands on his hips and said, “Well, excuuuuuse me. But who plants flowers right on the edge of the sidewalk? What if a kid on a bicycle accidentally ends up riding over them? You gonna yell at them, too?”
It had been a fair question. One Sam hadn’t had an answer to. Not that he expected kids to be biking along on the small gravel sidewalk. Burnhamthorpe Road was a fairly busy street with an eighty-kilometer an hour speed limit. Yet instead of saying so to Bo, he’d rethought his strategy and moved his seedlings up closer to his porch. Just in case.
The question now was, why was Bo lying to Laura? The fact that he was making Sam out to be some helpful, generous neighbor only served to make him feel like a bigger heel for the way he’d treated Bo the past few weeks.
I was really looking forward to being his friend. A fist squeezed his lungs at the thought that he’d so disappointed Bo. Truth was Sam had been looking forward to meeting Bo too, ever since Laura told him Bo was coming to take over running Big Sky for the summer. But then the shit had hit the fan and he’d taken out his frustrations on poor Bo. Who’d only wanted to be his friend.
Bo finally finished his phone call. Setting his phone on the stair behind him, he let out a long breath and went back to staring at the horizon. Sam walked toward him and cleared his throat to get his attention.
When Bo spotted him, his expression went from brooding to annoyed in less than a second. He rolled those big brown eyes and stood.
“Are you freakin’ kidding me? I fixed my damn fence,” he growled.
“Yeah, I—”
“You might want to check your side because I’m pretty sure that’s where the problem is.”
“I—” know, he tried to say, but Bo interrupted him again.
“Or did you come here to complain about something else? Is PomPom snorting too loudly? Did the water from his pail accidentally get onto your side of the yard? Is there some stench that’s bugging your delicate sense of smell?”
Sam knew he deserved that. He’d done nothing but harp on Bo since he arrived.
“Was my sitting here too loud for you?” Bo kept going. “Is Your Tall Perfectness bothered by the sound of almost non-existent wind in the trees?”
Your Tall—what? Thrown for a moment, it took Sam a second to respond. “I came to apologize.”
That shut Bo up. His eyes narrowed. “Huh?”
“I, uh…” Sam cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk the past few weeks. I’ve just been stressed about…stuff.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. No excuse. You didn’t deserve that and I’m sorry.”
The furrow that appeared between Bo’s brows when he was confused was really damn cute.
“And you’re right,” Sam continued. “It is my side of the fence that needs to be fixed. I didn’t, uh…” He winced. “Notice before.”
Bo blinked at him. “So you came to kill me?”
“What?” Sam took a step back at the words.
“Carrots.” Bo nodded at something in Sam’s hands. “I’m allergic to them.”
Sam looked down at the gardening pot he’d forgotten he was holding, the one he’d used to grow a small batch of carrots as an experiment. A test to see if he could nurture them properly. He’d never grown carrots before and had wanted to try growing a few in a pot in case he failed epically.
He’d brought them for Bo as an apology since he didn’t have any flowers lying around to bring in their stead.
“You’re allergic to…carrots.”
Bo’s lips twitched.
“Are you pulling my leg?”
Bo shook his head and bit his lip, but Sam saw the corners of his mouth kick up. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Got an EpiPen in the house.”
Sam walked backward until his back hit the fence. “I’m just going to…” He turned to head back to his own yard with his killer carrots.
“Looking at them isn’t going to kill me,” Bo said. There was a smile in his voice and when Sam turned back to him, he saw there was one on his face as well. Sam ignored how that smile made his chest feel funny.
Not your type, remember?
“I was just about to head in for a mid-morning snack,” Bo told him. “Or an early lunch depending on what time it is. Want to join me?”
Sam acknowledged the olive branch for what it was and followed Bo inside.
Chapter Two
Bo really wanted to stay miffed with Sam, but the apology carrots were such a sweet gesture that he didn’t have it in him.
Sam left the small pot of carrots on the deck before entering the house. Bo tried to ignore Sam’s tall, muscly presence as the man looked around the kitchen, instead trying to focus on putting together a couple of sandwiches. Turned out it was almost lunchtime, after all. He’d been working in the yard longer than he thought.
“You’ve redecorated since Laura’s been away,” Sam said.
“A bit,” Bo admitted. He hadn’t realized Sam had been in the house before, but it made sense: He and Laura were friends. “Just in the kitchen though. The way she had things organized didn’t make any sense so I moved a couple of things around to make my life easier.” He was babbling, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Like, the mixer was over here—” he pointed, “—yet all of the baking stuff is over here.” He pointed in the opposite corner. “Do you like mustard on your sandwich? I have mayo too. Or butter. And do you prefer ham or pastrami? Or a combination of both? That’s what I’m doing, but I don’t know if it’s any good. I haven’t tried it before.”
He refused to look at Sam, afraid of the expression he’d see on the other man’s face at Bo’s runaway mouth.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Sam said.
Bo looked at Sam then, seated on a barstool at the island. He had a half smile on his face, but it didn’t look like he thought Bo was a pesky annoyance. More like he was charmed.
Well, that would make the first person ever to be charmed by the likes of him. It was a nice feeling. Made his heart beat a little fast and his palms sweat, but he couldn’t imagine a guy who looked like Sam would ever be attracted to a puny shrimp like him, arm muscles be damned.
“So what do you do in that big house next door all by yourself?” Bo asked, spreading mustard on a couple slices of bread. “Besides garden, I mean. How’d it go with the magazine people this morning, anyway? Sounded like it went well from my side of the fence.”
“It did,” Sam said. “They’ll be back next week with a writer to interview me. Though I don’t know why. I’m not all that interesting.”
Bo took in Sam’s perfect hair, the neat beard, the broad shoulders, rough hands, tapered waist…and begged to differ.
“Besides,” Sam continued, “I’m no gardening expert. It’s just a hobby. They’d be better off interviewing a horticulturist.”
“Maybe it’s for some kind of mini bio?” Bo finished assembling the sandwiches and plated them. Taking a container of pre-cut veggies out of the fridge, he added a few to the plates, then handed one to Sam.
“Thank you,” Sam said. “They’ll also be coming with a camera crew next week to photograph the garden.”
Bo grunted. “I’ll make sure my chickens stay on this side of the fence.”
Sam winced. Bo had meant it as a joke, but clearly it fell flat. Not knowing what to say, he took a bite of his sandwich.
Sam finished chewing then nodded at something on the island. “You read that one yet?”
That was volume three of a popular yaoi series. Bo was slowly making his way through it.
“I’m about halfway through.” Bo munched on a celery stick. “I like it but…I like a little paranormal in my manga.”
Sam polished off his veggies. “Me, too. What’s your favorite?”
“It’s not manga, but…Scythe and Swords.” Scythe and Swords was about a married demon-fighting duo. James and Ell
iot were sickeningly cute demon-fighting ass kickers who could behead a demon, praise each other’s fighting skills, and make out like relieved, horny teenagers while covered in icky demon gore, all within the span of five seconds.
Sam’s eyebrows went up. “The web comic?”
He sounded so surprised, Bo’s hackles went up. “Something wrong with web comics? Just because they’re not traditionally published doesn’t mean they’re not as good. That’s like saying books published in e-form only aren’t as good as what you can find on the shelves.”
Sam lifted both hands. “Whoa. I didn’t say that. I was just surprised. I’ve never met anyone outside of online and cons who have ever heard of it.”
Oh. Well, didn’t Bo feel like an idiot now? It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. Laura always said he was too quick to react.
“Have you read the latest chapter?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. And holy shit did it take a turn I wasn’t expecting! Can you believe—wait.” Bo stopped himself from vomiting any spoilers. “Have you read it?”
Sam nodded, mouth full of food, giving Bo permission to continue. “First of all, I almost stopped reading when Elliot got killed off. It was only S.P. McAuley’s promise that we hadn’t seen the last of him that made me keep reading. And second? I didn’t expect Elliot to still be alive. I thought he’d be coming back as a ghost or something. Oh, and third…” Bo kept rambling, mostly to keep himself distracted from the slight smile that had reappeared on Sam’s face.
They chatted comics for the better part of an hour, until well after they’d both finished their sandwiches. It wasn’t until Sam pushed his empty plate away and stood that Bo remembered he had something for him.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he told Sam, and headed upstairs to the guest room he’d claimed as his own. He came down with a few comics and a graphic novel. “Um…” Suddenly embarrassed, he shifted from foot to foot. “Laura mentioned that you’re into comics, so I, uh, brought you some of mine. In case you’d like to read them.” He thrust them at Sam, forcing him to take them.
Sam’s smile was crooked. “Thanks. Although…” He handed two back to Bo. “I have these ones.” The first two volumes of Scythe and Swords. Bo had received them as part of S.P. McAuley’s Kickstarter campaign a few months ago. “Anyway, thank you for lunch. I have to go feed Tripaw before he starts eating my shoes.”
“Tripaw?”
“My cat,” Sam said, tucking the comics under one arm. “Like tripod. Because he only has three legs?”
“No, I get it.” Bo grinned. “You named your cat after the one in Scythe and Swords?”
Sam’s cheeks pinked. Bo’s grin widened at the sight. “Um, sure,” Sam mumbled, turning for the back door. Bo unashamedly ogled his butt in those loose jeans. “Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?” Sam asked. His words were all mushed together, like he’d rushed the sentence before he chickened out. Or changed his mind. Or questioned his sanity. “I owe you a meal after all.” He shrugged like, no big deal if you can’t make it. Just thought I’d offer. But the colored cheeks and unsure smile told Bo differently. At least he’d like to think so.
“Do you want to come over here for dinner?” Bo countered. He motioned to the slow cooker on the counter. “I’m making a stew. Should be ready about six or so.”
“Stew?”
“Yup.”
“In summer?”
His tone of voice told Bo that was weird, but whatever. Bo liked stew and he wasn’t going to let the season dictate whether he should eat it or not. Before he could get his back up, Sam nodded and said, “I’d love to.”
Bo watched Sam’s backside exit his house, watched him bend to retrieve the little pot of carrots and wave goodbye over his shoulder. And tried not to sigh like a lovesick teenager.
§§§§
Bo arrived home from grocery shopping three hours before Sam was due to arrive for dinner to find a small flower pot on his doorstep. Hope you’re not also allergic to dwarf Canadian primrose! See you tonight. Unable to stop the sappy grin from forming, Bo folded the note, tucked it into his shorts pocket, and lugged his groceries and the pot of purple flowers inside.
He may or may not (he definitely did) spend an embarrassing amount of time staring at his new flowers after he put his groceries away. Trying not to read too much into them. This was just Sam saying I’m sorry I was an ass, not I’m sorry I was an ass and is this enough to get me in your pants. Even though Bo would like it to.
The flowers deserved some kind of reciprocation but all Bo had to offer were the rest of the comics he’d brought for Sam but no way in Hell’s fiery inferno would he ever leave them on Sam’s front porch for some random nobody to steal. Some of those were first editions. He could smell the stew in the air and realized he had dinner to offer. That would have to do.
Bo headed out back to make sure the animals were okay. After ensuring that PomPom had enough food and water to last until the evening feeding, he made his way over to the chicken coop. The fortifying breath he took before opening the door didn’t really help at all. He really couldn’t wait for the day he didn’t have to deal with them anymore.
Of course his phone rang in his pocket just as he opened the door, Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off.” It scared the shit out of him but, surprisingly, it made all the chickens go still. Huh. He’d have to remember that. He checked the caller ID and the name on the display made him grit his teeth despite his good mood. Jesus, he loved his sister, he really did, but did she have to check up on him three times a day? This wasn’t the first time he’d taken over running Big Sky from Laura. Granted, she hadn’t had the chickens last time and this was his longest stint—longest by about three and a half months, but still. It wasn’t like he was going to flake out and disappear on the animals. Sure, sometimes he thought about murdering all the chickens, but he’d never actually do it, even though the brown one with the lone white feather might tempt him every damn day.
He shut the chicken coop door on the motionless chickens and answered.
“Hey, Bonobo! How’s my place?”
How’s my place. Not, How are you? Not, What’s up, little brother? Not, How are you holding up out there in a place where you don’t know anybody except the psycho chickens?
He really should stop expecting any different.
“Still standing,” Bo told Laura. If his voice was sharper than he intended, Laura didn’t notice. As usual. Too centered on herself to notice anything going on around her. Unless it had to do with the animals, of course. Then she was focused like a cat who’d spotted a mouse.
“Have the pigeons arrived yet?”
“They’re coming on Friday.” Which was still two days away.
“Oh, right. You said that this morning.”
Yes, he had.
“Anyway,” Laura said. “I gotta run. I was just calling to check in.”
To make sure he hadn’t flown the coop? The pun made him snort as he hung up with his sister. He made quick work of checking on the chickens, which basically involved sticking his head in the door to make sure they were still alive—unfortunately, they were—before shutting the door again.
His phone beeped on his way back to the house, a Tumblr message notification. Bo walked into the house grinning, conversation with Laura forgotten. There was only one person he messaged with on Tumblr.
§§§§
S.P. McAuley: Hey.
Bonobo: Hey, stranger.
S.P. McAuley: Yeah, sorry. Things have been crazy. How’s the housesitting gig?
Bonobo: Lonely. I don’t know anybody here. And the job I’ve got here isn’t exactly full-time. I’ve been doing a loooooooot of reading.
S.P. McAuley: Anything you’d recommend? I could use a good distraction.
Bonobo: Well there’s this one called Scythe and Swords. I’m re-reading it. It’s just as good the second time…or the hundredth in my case…don’t tell the author, it might go to his head :)
S.P. McAuley: LOL your secre
t’s safe with me. I heard the next chapter gets uploaded tomorrow.
Bonobo: The chapter? Not just a scene?
S.P. McAuley: I have it on good authority that it’s the whole chapter :)
Bonobo: …
S.P. McAuley: Hello?
S.P. McAuley: Have I shocked you to death?
Bonobo: [sends a gif of a unicorn shitting rainbows]
§§§§
The flowers in the middle of the table weren’t working. They screamed THIS IS A DATE. Bo wanted the table to say something much subtler, like I WISH THIS WAS A DATE. Just maybe not in all-caps, because this definitely wasn’t a date. Sam was coming over for dinner and conversation, not for Bo to make googly eyes at him all night and secretly send telepathic messages along the lines of Do me, hot stuff!
Right. Focus, Bo.
He moved the flowers back to the counter just as the slow cooker beeped to signal it was finished cooking. Bo turned on the “warm” setting and checked the time. With the table set and the food cooked and the sourdough bread sliced in a basket on the table, there was nothing left to do but wait the ten minutes for Sam to arrive.
So Bo sat at the table and waited for Mr. Really Tall, Not At All Dark, and Fucking Handsome to arrive.
Okay, maybe he did more than wait. Maybe he sat in his chair, feet restless, stomach clenched with an unfamiliar bout of nerves, and mentally fantasized about the life they could make if this were a date and if things naturally progressed from there and they dated and fell in love and got married.
Sure, he was getting ahead of himself, but a guy was allowed to dream. In fact, he dreamed for so long that it took a while for him to notice that Sam was ten minutes late. Odd. He seemed like the type who was a stickler for punctuality.
His stomach was going to start protesting the lack of food any minute, so he ate a piece of bread to tide himself over until Sam arrived. He’d been eating much more than usual the past few weeks. The physical activity that came with running Big Sky—cleaning out cages and pens, hauling around bags of food, corralling wayward animals—meant he was hungry all the time. The pudge on his stomach should’ve been getting bigger, but if anything it was maybe a touch smaller. He might even have actual abs by the end of the summer. Wouldn’t that be something?
