by Kim Fielding
“That’s a pretty picture,” Sage said, leaning against Tully’s chest. “I’ve never been on an island. But I think we’ve got a few responsibilities keeping us on the mainland.”
“Fuck responsibilities,” Tully grumbled. But it was too difficult to be disgruntled with Sage naked on top of him, so he kissed Sage’s cheek instead. “Did you have a good Christmas?”
“Yeah, it was real nice. I cooked a lot. And Kayley loved the presents. Thanks for yours.” He kissed Tully back.
Sage had bought her a leather jacket, an attractive and practical gift. Tully had insisted on getting her a laptop. Although Sage had initially resisted, Tully pointed out that she’d need one for college anyway, and his reasoning crumbled Sage’s defenses.
“Kayley told me she was gonna write you a thank-you note,” Sage said.
“I told you. The laptop was from Santa.”
“She’s seventeen. I think she’s figured out that a fat old man ain’t coming down our chimney. Anyway I wanted her and Mom to know I’m staying with a great guy. A great friend.”
Tully wondered how explicit Sage had been about the nature of their friendship. Sage had a family who didn’t care he was gay, but maybe he didn’t want to admit he was sleeping with a lawyer.
Suddenly Sage wiggled out of Tully’s grip and bounced to his feet. “Almost forgot. Hang on.” He ran down the hall to the entryway, where he bent to rifle through his duffel, giving Tully a most satisfactory view. As he hurried back, he held a small brightly wrapped box. “Here,” he said, handing it over.
“It’s for me?”
“No, it’s for all the other nude men in the hallway. C’mon. Open.”
“But we didn’t—”
“Open!”
Tully had intentionally avoided the subject of a gift exchange, in part because he didn’t want Sage to feel pressured to spend money on him. But he had to admit, it was nice to have something to open. The box was about the size of a watch case and didn’t weigh much. The red wrapping paper sparkled with glittery Christmas trees.
“My mom saves wrapping paper,” Sage said. “She has a closet full of it. I bet this piece is practically antique. And the gift’s not much….” He shrugged and sat gracefully beside Tully.
With a shock, Tully registered his tight throat and burning eyes. God, when was the last time anyone had given him a Christmas present that wasn’t just part of some corporate mass bounty?
He opened the package carefully, taking care not to rip Mrs. Filling’s paper. Inside was a wooden box, somewhat awkwardly constructed, with a drawing of some mountains burned into the lid.
“It’s pretty ugly, huh?” said Sage.
“It looks like someone put a lot of work into making it.”
“I did. Tenth grade shop class. I got a B. I used to hide my weed in it, but then Kayley was born and I stopped smoking.” He chewed his lip uncertainly. “It’s stupid.”
Dammit. Tully was not going to cry sitting bare-assed in his hallway. He hugged the box to his chest. “I love it.”
“There’s, uh, some papers inside. I printed out some of your favorite recipes in case you learn to cook someday.”
“They’ll never taste as good as when you make them.”
A little watery-eyed himself, Sage gave Tully’s cheek a quick brush of his lips, then hopped to his feet again. “Gonna shower.” He collected his clothing before making his way to his room.
By the time Sage entered the kitchen, his hair still damp, Tully had pulled himself together and was trying to look casual as he drank some coffee. He’d had second and third thoughts about the pasta machine—it was so impersonal compared to what Sage had given him—but he had no other options.
Sage’s eyebrows rose when he caught sight of the large box on the counter. “What’s that?”
“Looks like Santa was here.”
“You don’t even have a chimney.”
“I don’t need one. I have a concierge.”
Sage eyed the box for a moment or two before carrying it to the table. Then he ripped into the gold-and-white paper with joyful abandon, reducing it to shreds in seconds. He whistled when he saw what was printed on the box. “Is this what’s inside?”
“Yeah. The saleslady said it’s a good model, but if you don’t like it— Oof!” He grunted as Sage threw himself into him and wrapped him in a bear hug.
“You like it?” Tully asked breathlessly.
Sage demonstrated his approval with a thorough kiss, which didn’t help Tully’s oxygen-depletion issue.
When they separated a few inches, Tully scrunched up his face. “It’s not something I made myself in high school. I just bought it at a store.”
“At a kitchenware store, which I’m guessing you’ve never shopped at before. And you had the salesclerk find something especially for me. Something you knew I’d appreciate. It was the best they carried, wasn’t it?”
“I think so.”
“You made a huge effort—for me. And spent a lot. Also, I’ve been lusting after a decent pasta maker.”
Tully’s heart felt as sweet and light as whipped cream.
Still, it took almost another hour—during which he watched Sage gleefully use the new machine to make fettuccine—before Tully worked up the courage to ask a question. “Is there any chance you could get the night off two Saturdays from now? And stay in town?”
Sage glanced away from the sauce he was stirring. “Why?”
“There’s a gala.”
“A what?”
“This lawyer—she’s a partner in another firm—hosts the thing every year with her husband. He’s a property developer. They invite a bunch of people and hit everyone up for charity.”
Sage squinted at him. “Is she looking for a caterer? Because I can’t—”
“No! I’m asking you to be my date.” Tully let out a deep breath. That hadn’t been so hard, right?
So dumbfounded he’d stopped stirring, Sage gaped. “You want me to go with you to a fancy rich-people party?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“But I’m….” He looked down at himself. “I’m not rich people.”
“I don’t care about that! You’re my….” And Tully had to stop himself because they hadn’t said the magic L-word, hadn’t even come close, and they hadn’t put a name to whatever they had together. “You’re my Sage,” he finished lamely.
Something softened in Sage’s eyes, and he worked his jaw a moment before answering. “You’d really want to be seen with me in front of all those people?”
“Of course I— Jesus! You don’t think I’m ashamed of you, do you?”
“Not ashamed, exactly. But… I figured you’d rather be seen with someone like Harrington.”
Tully had been sitting at the kitchen table, but now he stood and moved close enough to cradle Sage’s chin in his palm. “I don’t want that. I don’t want some kind of… trophy boyfriend. I want you. There is nobody on earth I’d rather go to the gala with.”
Sage’s answering smile was a little shy but pleased. “They won’t mind two men going together?”
“Nope. Last year’s donations went to an organization that helps elderly LGBT people. Plus the hosts’ son is gay. There are always plenty of same-sex couples.”
“But I’m guessing the dress code isn’t jeans and old Green Day T-shirts.”
“We’ll get you a tux.” Then Tully grinned. “Honestly, the chance to see you in formalwear is a big part of my motive.”
“You don’t like how I dress?” Sage’s tone was teasing.
“I like you dressed, undressed—any way I can get you. But your sauce is burning.”
“Shit!”
“I LOOK like an ass.” Sage scowled at his reflection in Tully’s full-length mirror. He twitched his shoulders as if to settle his jacket more comfortably. “Or a waiter.”
Tully reached around from behind to straighten Sage’s bow tie. “You look like an incredibly good-looking man in a tuxedo.” A truth Tull
y would have sworn to in court. In fact he was sorely tempted to keep Sage home that evening and ravish him. A scenario popped into his head: Sage fully clothed but with his flies undone, Tully kneeling naked before him with Sage’s cock down his throat.
“We’d better get going,” Tully said quickly.
Leering as if he’d read Tully’s mind, Sage followed him to the entryway, where they put on their overcoats. Sage’s tux was rented, but he’d bought the wool trench coat. When Tully had offered to pay, Sage had growled at him. “It’s on fucking clearance. I’m paying.” And it looked very nice indeed.
They could have walked to the gala, which was being held in the Pearl District. But rain was falling, and neither of them wanted to tromp through downtown in their finery, so they took the Tesla instead. Sage hadn’t ridden in it before and was impressed with the gadgetry.
“Old Bessie barely has seat belts. This thing looks like you could pilot it into space.”
“Only if there are charging stations along the way.”
After the valet took the car, Tully wrapped Sage’s arm in his as they strode up the covered walkway. They left their outerwear at the coat check in the large foyer. Jazz music flowed from the main room, along with the sound of many people conversing, and Sage hung back. “Are you sure you—”
“Positive.” Tully took his arm and towed him inside.
Over two hundred people in formalwear crowded the room. A few danced, others clustered near the bars or the food tables, but most stood talking in small groups. One of the other junior partners from Tully’s firm spied him and waved. Tully waved back.
The hostess swept over to them with a smile. “Bradford Tolliver! So glad you could make it.” She and Tully had represented opposing clients a few times, but he’d found her reasonable to work with.
“Thanks for inviting me. I’m glad I could come.” Tully introduced her to Sage, and she welcomed him warmly. By then Tully’s colleague from the firm had made her way over, so after the hostess left to greet someone else, Tully performed more introductions. A few other people walked up, and soon they were part of a little assemblage.
“And what do you do, Sage?” asked a woman in a crimson dress.
“I’m a cook.”
Judging from his guarded expression, he thought his new acquaintances would react badly. Instead they were fascinated. The woman asked him his opinion on chanterelle mushrooms, a man wanted to know where in Portland to get the best chocolate, and pretty soon Sage was deep in conversation with several people about the intricacies of Indian spices. He shed his discomfort gradually until finally he was waving his hands around, a sign he’d become passionate about his topic.
More partygoers entered the room, the crowd shifted, and when the band started playing more danceable tunes, couples headed onto the dance floor. Sage listened with seeming interest as Tully discussed a juicy eminent domain case with a lawyer from another firm. Then Tully took him over to the well-stocked bar, where they each got a glass of wine.
“Nice spread,” Sage commented, strolling to the food tables. “Doesn’t look like the caterer cut corners.” He picked up a plate and, despite the wineglass, managed to cover it with several tidbits. Tully wasn’t as graceful, so he stole from Sage’s plate instead. They made their way to a relatively quiet corner and watched the dancers.
“They haven’t thrown me out yet,” Sage said.
“Why on earth would they?”
“Look at these people. They’re all lawyers, doctors…. Isn’t that the mayor over there?”
Tully looked. “Yep. And that’s the Oregon secretary of state he’s talking to.”
“Holy shit. And I’m just Sage Filling from—”
“You’re not just anything. Look, Sage. You’re at least as much an expert in your field as any of these people are in theirs. More so. For example, I don’t know how Ira Trinkleman over there even managed to graduate from law school. But more importantly, you’re an amazing person. You’re smart and funny, you’re willing to sacrifice everything you have for your family, you don’t play stupid little games with people.” And you’re lodged deep in my heart.
Sage’s gaze was intense and searching. “You mean all that, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
“You’re not…. To you I’m not just some hot guy who’s a convenient lay, am I?”
Stricken, Tully shook his head. “No. God, I hope I haven’t given you that impression. That’s not how I think of you at all.”
Sage set down his plate and glass on a small table nearby. Standing very close to Tully, he asked, “How do you think of me?”
Tully had gone most of his life avoiding relationship talks, and he’d been especially eschewing this one because he knew how the talk had to end. But apparently they were going to do this now, here. Great.
He downed the last of his wine, wishing he’d had something stronger, and left the glass beside Sage’s dishes.
“I think of you all the time. I was doing that even before we started sleeping together, and since then…. I used to think I’d never fall for anyone. Like maybe I’d inherited a dysfunctional gene from my father, a gene that kept me from really caring about someone else.”
“And now?” Sage’s chin jutted.
“Now I know I was wrong about that.”
For a moment Sage hung his head, eyes closed. Then he met Tully’s gaze again. “I know I can care about other people. I’ve always known that. But I figured that between living in the sticks and supporting my family, I was gonna be stuck with nothing but a rare hookup. A little fling once or twice a year. So I was wrong too.”
Tully took a great, shuddering breath, then another. “Where does that leave us?” he asked.
Sage shook his head.
The band started a lively new song, one Tully didn’t recognize, and he wished he could end this conversation completely and sweep Sage around the dance floor. But he couldn’t. Besides, he was a terrible dancer.
“There’s always that tropical island,” he said unhappily.
Settling one hand on Tully’s shoulder, Sage attempted a smile. “Sounds a lot more tempting than Eugene, I gotta tell you. But Kayley’s not going to the University of Bora Bora.”
“What about after she’s done?” Because Tully was willing to wait four or five years if he had to. Sage was worth that.
“As soon as she’s self-supporting, I’m going back to Hair Shaker. Don’t know what I’ll do there. Work at the damn pizza place if I have to. I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but that hick town is home. Always will be.”
The thing was, it did make sense to Tully. He’d never had a place like that, a place that lived in his heart and soul, but he knew a lot of people did. He knew Hair Shaker was in Sage’s DNA.
“So we have, what? Eight months?” Tully asked.
“More or less, yeah.”
“Then let’s make the most of what we have, okay?” Because chances were, Tully would never have this again. “Let’s not spend our time brooding.”
Sage’s quirked smile made a brief appearance. “‘’Tis better to have loved and lost,’ huh?”
“You know, I think Tennyson was right about that.” Even if Tully had to give Sage up, he wouldn’t trade their time together for anything. Not for all the money in the world.
“I think so too. When I’m sitting there in Hair Shaker, I’ll have some mighty fine memories to dwell on.”
“Me too, when I’m waist-deep in depositions.”
A small consolation, but a real one. When Sage ultimately left, Tully’s heart would break. But only a few months ago, Tully would have argued that his heart was unbreakable, that it sat solidly in his chest like a hardbound copy of the Uniform Commercial Code, useful—essential even—but uninteresting. And it turned out that what he really had inside him was a steamy little romance novel. That knowledge pleased him.
After a brief hesitation, no doubt due to their somewhat public location, Sage embr
aced him. It felt so good. Tully wished he could recite some charming poetry to articulate his feelings, but all he could think of was the rule against perpetuities.
He kept his eyes closed during the hug, the better to bathe in the sensation. When he opened them and looked over Sage’s shoulder, he spied Eddy standing with an attractive young man at the edge of the dance floor. Eddy was staring at Tully, so Tully closed his eyes again.
Sage and Tully ate more food—accompanied by Sage’s critiques—and chatted with a few people. They even managed to dance to a couple of slow songs. Tully might have been a terrible dancer, but he’d never pass up the chance to have Sage in his arms.
When the band stopped, the host and hostess took the stage. She gave a short speech about all the good things the medical school researchers were working on, and then her husband told a brief personal tale about how doctors there had saved their son’s life when he was a child. Then came the push: the medical school foundation was raising funds to house the families of children undergoing treatment, and the hostess urged everyone to make a generous gift.
“And I have a truly exciting announcement,” she said. “All donations made tonight will be matched by an especially generous benefactor. Thank you, Edison Harrington!”
Eddy had been standing next to the stage, and when she gestured, he turned around and gave the crowd a small wave. As he did, he kept his gaze focused on Tully.
“Show-off,” Sage muttered.
Contributions were not a low-key affair at this event, with the organizers apparently believing that peer pressure was the foundation of a successful campaign. Near the stage was a table holding a large wicker basket, a stack of colored cards, and a bunch of pens. The idea was for everyone to write their names and the sizes of their donations on the cards—with everyone watching. A cad could pretend to write something, of course, but Tully didn’t know if anyone stooped that low. Toward the end of the gala, someone would add up the pledge amounts and the total would be announced with great fanfare. In the following week, someone would contact the donors and collect the money.
