by Ashlyn Kane
“Hey,” Leo said from the kitchen. “Come here and taste this?”
Cole turned toward him to find him standing only a few inches away, holding a spoonful of something warm and fragrant to Cole’s mouth, his other hand cupped beneath as if to prevent drips. The warmth of him radiated through the space between them. Half a step and Cole could close the gap. And part of him yearned to. Would Leo back away? Or would he let Cole into his space? What would he feel like in Cole’s arms? What would his kiss taste like?
Leo must have blinked, or something, because suddenly Cole remembered he was supposed to be doing something. Something besides staring intently, potentially making his houseguest uncomfortable. His houseguest who didn’t have anywhere else safe to go, Cole reminded himself. And the universe didn’t intend Leo for him. No perving. “Uh,” he said intelligently, “there’s no hazelnuts in that, right? I’m allergic and my EpiPen is in the car.”
“No hazelnuts,” Leo promised. Was his voice a little husky? What had Leo been cooking to make the kitchen so warm?
With nothing intelligent to say, Cole opened his mouth. Leo nudged the spoon into it.
Warm, gooey, tangy flavor melted on Cole’s tongue, and without meaning to, he chased the spoon as Leo withdrew it. He wanted to get every last drop of cheesy goodness. And then the note of spice hit him and he hummed in surprise.
Or he meant to. It might, judging by the wide-eyed, lips-parted startlement on Leo’s face, have come out as a moan.
Leo cleared his throat. “Good?” he prompted. His cheeks flamed, and his eyes seemed a particularly luminous blue.
“Yeah, yes, that’s….” Cole licked his lips. “What is that, some kind of dip… thing?”
“Warm artichoke dip.” Leo hadn’t moved back yet. He was watching Cole’s mouth.
Cole was melting like chocolate in the sun. “That’s nice.” He needed to think of something else to say, something to break the tension between them. Otherwise he was going to lean forward and—“Is something on fire?”
The pleasant color fled Leo’s face. “Oh shit!” He spun around and used the dip spoon to pick up a paper towel that had been left too close to the burner and started smoldering. Leo dropped both items into the kitchen sink just as the paper towel went up in flames. He rushed to turn the water on while Cole shut off the burner.
“Well,” Leo said sheepishly, “now I remember why I don’t usually cook.”
Cole prodded at an ashen piece of paper towel with a knife. It disintegrated on the stovetop. Oh well. Cleanup wouldn’t take too long, at least. “Tendency to get distracted?”
“Usually I have Niamh to supervise, and she keeps me on task.” He turned the water off and pulled a soggy, singed paper glob out of the sink. “She’s mostly interested in the food, but she makes sure I don’t burn anything too. I never really cook when it’s just me—too much work.”
Niamh must be out for her afternoon social with the other neighborhood familiars. But Cole wasn’t going to tell Leo that. Not yet. Maybe soon. “Well, no permanent harm done.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t believe I….”
He trailed off, and Cole looked at him. Couldn’t believe he what? His ears were still red, and he was looking at his feet. Can’t believe I spoon-fed you? Can’t believe we almost kissed?
“Don’t worry about it.” Cole smiled. “At least you didn’t get sugar on the burner. I’ve done that a time or three hundred. It’s a pain in the ass to clean up, and it stinks. This is no big deal.”
“This is the last thing I needed to get ready anyway.” Leo shooed Cole away from the stove. “I’ll clean this up, and then we’ll be set.” He glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Of course, that still leaves four hours to kill before everyone gets here.”
Cole could think of six or seven hundred ways to fill those hours, but the last time he’d let things get too heated, something literally caught on fire. Talk about signs from the universe. Probably best that he put some distance between them until he regained his equilibrium. “Well, I have sugar….” He held up his hands to demonstrate, though Leo probably couldn’t see the granules clinging to Cole unless he had superpowers. “Pretty much everywhere, actually. So I’m gonna go shower and then”—don’t say it—“have a nap. You going to brush up on your drawing skills for Pictionary?”
“I’m much better at the interpretation side of Pictionary,” Leo said. “Years of practice reading doctors’ handwriting, probably.”
The moment started to draw out again. Cole needed to get out of this kitchen. “All right, well.” He clamped down on the urge to rub the back of his neck. He’d only end up feeling stickier and looking awkward to boot. “Let me know if anything else catches fire.”
Chapter Thirteen
NATURALLY, Amy was the first to arrive, a bag of wine in one hand and a stack of games balanced precariously in the other.
“Hey, let me get those before they fall,” Leo said, carefully relieving her of the boxes while Cole grabbed the wine and her coat. Charlotte and Grace followed from Amy’s car and introduced themselves to Cole while Leo was setting up in the living room.
“Sorry, I know we’re a little early,” Amy said sheepishly.
“Party planner habit,” chorused Leo and the couple she’d brought along with her, just as Amy said it herself.
Laughter followed, and Cole said bemusedly, “These people know you.”
“Anyway, I don’t mind being early,” said Charlotte, already following Leo toward the living room. “It means we get to sample the goods before Andre eats it all. Show me the way!”
Andre showed up at twenty past, by which time Charlotte and Grace had eaten half the artichoke dip and Leo had guiltily consumed two raspberry-basil candy sticks rather than proper food. He might have to rethink his stance on candy.
It had started to rain, so Leo hurried to the door, but Andre seemed unperturbed, just letting the water run down his face. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Believe it or not, we anticipated that.” Leo smiled. For someone who ran his own business, Andre had a difficult time appearing anywhere on time. “Come on in out of the wet. I’ll grab you a towel. I think Charlotte left you a pita chip or two.”
Andre shook himself like a dog before stepping inside, leaving his soggy boots on the mat by the door, then looking around the house as if in wonder. Maybe he was checking all the doorways were tall enough for him to get through without ducking.
Four hours later Leo decided that Cranium was terrible and he should throw it in Lake Erie. And if Amy didn’t stop laughing, he’d throw her in too.
His face burned. His ears burned. His whole body burned wherever Cole was touching him, which was a lot of places. Because right now he was acting as Cole’s puppet while Cole tried to get him to guess the phrase written on the card.
Leo couldn’t have made a decent guess if he’d had the card in front of him. He’d probably forgotten how to read. Cole had put him on his hands and knees on the carpet, while Cole knelt close—very close—behind him, making grasping motions at Leo’s groin. Leo had never been so acutely aware of how long it had been since he last had sex.
“Time,” Amy finally called, wiping away tears of laughter.
Cole sat back on his heels, and Leo let out what he hoped was a quiet sigh of relief. “What the hell was that?” he asked to cover, hoping it came out exasperated instead of flustered. Where was the curse to save him from that?
“Milking the cow!” Cole and Amy chorused. Amy went on, “Though have you ever seen anyone milk a cow? Here’s a hint: don’t stand behind the cow unless you want to get kicked.”
Cole made a face at her. “Feel free to do better!”
Leo picked himself off the floor and handed Andre the die. “She has to wait her turn.” He passed the die to Andre, who was still hiccupping with repressed laughter. “I hope you get green, you tone-deaf bastard.”
By the end of the night, Leo was buzzing pleasantly from wine and good company. He
and Cole waved goodbye to their guests at the door. Amy, Charlotte, and Grace hurried to the car, each holding a board game over their head, but Andre just put on his (still wet) boots and declined the offer of a ride to trudge home in the wet.
“I don’t get him,” Leo said, shaking his head as he closed the door and locked it. But when he looked up and met Cole’s gaze, he found him too close, for maybe the hundredth time that day. Or maybe not close enough. Leo could admit that he’d initiated his share of those close encounters. But that was as far as it could go. The curse held him fast.
“He’s an odd duck,” Cole agreed with the hint of a smile. “Get it? Because he likes the rain?”
“Oh my God,” Leo said, and got stuck on I can’t believe I like you so much. He blushed anyway. Cole would probably blame the alcohol.
“Aww, come on. It was funny.”
Leo smiled in spite of himself, but he couldn’t hold Cole’s gaze. “I’m, ah, I’m gonna go clean up.” He chanced a glance at Cole, who looked almost like he was holding his breath. Leo swallowed. “You go on to bed. This was my thing, so….”
“I had fun too,” Cole protested gently. “I don’t mind helping.”
Leo needed time to process. “It’s your house,” he said. “And you spent half the day at work before this. It’s the least I can do.”
Cole held his gaze for a few more endless seconds before he yawned and forfeited the argument. “Sorry,” he said ruefully. “I guess I’ll take you up on that. Good night.”
“Good night,” Leo whispered.
On autopilot, he went through a mental checklist for cleaning up: gathering dishes, loading them into the dishwasher, straightening the cushions. He opened the door to Cole’s office and retrieved Niamh’s perch, though she must have taken advantage of the open window to do some exploring. That made her as much of an odd duck as Andre, as far as Leo was concerned.
His brain kept buzzing into more and more dangerous territory, so he took the dishes out of the dishwasher again and filled the sink. Spoons and forks first. He cleaned them perhaps more thoroughly than necessary, staring out the kitchen window into the night.
Leo had always maintained that he dated so much because he was looking for love. And he’d believed that. But perhaps it hadn’t been true.
He picked up a wineglass and submerged it in the water.
He could see now what he hadn’t before. He’d spent his life pushing men away the second they got close. Oh, not all of them—he and Roman certainly wouldn’t have worked out in the long run, that much was clear. But the others?
Water splashed onto the floor when he rinsed the glass, and a tapping on the window almost made him drop it. He put it down and threw up the sash.
“What’re you doing penance for?” Niamh asked, hopping from the sill to the countertop, leaving a tiny trail of puddles behind her. “Doing dishes by hand after eleven on Saturday night?”
Leo sloshed at a dessert plate.
“Uh-oh.” Niamh flapped over to a kitchen chair. “That was an ominous silence.”
Leo huffed and set the plate in the drainer without rinsing it. Then he spun around and faced her. “Have you ever thought something about yourself, really believed it, and then one day you realized you’ve been lying to yourself?”
Niamh twitched a tailfeather. “How much wine did you drink?”
Leo made a face and picked up another dessert plate. “It’s not the wine.” Not just the wine, at least.
“Then I don’t know what kind of party games you were playing, but I’m glad I wasn’t invited.”
He set the plate on the drainer, then gave it up and dropped into the chair across from Niamh. “I am afraid of love,” he declared.
Perhaps Niamh knew rolling beady eyes wouldn’t have much effect, because she rolled her entire head. “Please. You and every other fool on the planet.”
Leo opened his mouth to refute the point, but he couldn’t come up with an argument. “Okay, fine. But I always thought—I don’t know, I dated a lot. I told myself I was looking for something. Not running away from it. But I think… I know, I see now, that the men I chose… it was never going to go anywhere between us. And that’s how I wanted it.”
“Boy, you really took the red pill, huh?” She hopped closer. “What prompted this introspection?”
Oh, just the startling realization that I’m falling for your witch. “I don’t know. It’s not any one thing, I guess.” The way Cole smiled, or the kindness in his eyes, or his silly jokes. His selflessness. His perky nipples and round butt. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
For a second Niamh didn’t say anything. Then she flew over to the counter and retrieved Cole’s ever-present magic bag, which she dropped in front of him. It skidded toward him on the table. “Go on,” she encouraged. “Sounds like you need one.”
Leo pulled out a lemon fizzy and popped it into his mouth, feeling better in spite of himself, and mustered his courage. “The thing is, I still can’t do anything. Even if I wanted to—to try something different. I’m stuck. Cursed.”
“No wonder you’re in a mood.” Niamh hop-flapped back to the counter. “Come on. Get these dishes into the dishwasher. Then you have a date with something silly on Netflix.”
“I didn’t know you had a degree in medicine,” Leo joked flatly, but he got up and did what she said. Now that the words had come out, he felt too tired to wash anything by hand. The couch, a blanket, and some mindless entertainment sounded like the perfect balm.
He loaded the dishwasher for the second time, checked the doors, turned out most of the lights, used the bathroom. Then he dropped onto the couch. Niamh dragged his blanket over from the end and nudged the remote at him, and they watched bad heartfelt CBC dramas until Leo finally fell asleep.
Chapter Fourteen
LEO left the house Sunday afternoon with two lemon fizzies in his scrubs pocket, just in case. Even if they only had a mild effect, he didn’t want to be under the influence of anything he didn’t understand.
But if a—a werewolf showed up in the ER or something, well. Leo wanted to be prepared.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Niamh had asked as he slipped into his shoes.
If he were honest, Leo did. But—“I have my cell phone if I need advice,” he said. “And won’t you be bored while I’m at work?”
“Bored!” Niamh crowed. “Hardly. Do you know how many people leave shiny wrappers on the ground outside hospitals?”
She was a magpie, after all.
But Leo left without her, telling himself he needed to do this alone to prove he could.
And he did.
Between taking patients’ vitals, administering medications, checking IV lines, and all the recordkeeping that came with it, Leo didn’t have time for flights of fancy about who might be lurking or which of his patients might belong to a world Leo had only just discovered.
“How’s the nausea today?” he asked Mrs. Chifor, who had septicemia from a ruptured appendix. “Having any more luck keeping things down?”
“As long as I don’t eat anything to begin with.” She stared at him with flat, sunken eyes. “This is the most effective diet I’ve ever been on.”
Leo didn’t mistake that for a good thing. He nodded and started writing in her chart. “Well, the antibiotics you’re on for the infection can cause nausea, and the sepsis doesn’t help. I’ll make a note for your doctor to consider a different antibiotic, or maybe lower your dosage if he thinks you’re responding well enough. Meanwhile I can up your antiemetic. You want me to have them send up some applesauce? It’s easy on the stomach.” Too bad he didn’t have any of Cole’s mint candies to give her. A little magic wouldn’t go amiss.
Mrs. Chifor gave an anemic shrug. “Why not.”
If they didn’t get her nausea under control soon, they’d have to put her on IV fluids. “How’s the pain otherwise?”
“When I’m not throwing up? Four, maybe?”
“B
etter than yesterday, then. That’s good.” He finished his notations. “You need anything else?”
She didn’t, so Leo left her to it and moved on to his next patient.
“Good weekend?” Jimmy asked him as they crossed paths at the fourth-floor nurses’ station.
“Yeah, actually,” Leo said, hoping he didn’t sound as surprised as he felt. “A little unusual, but otherwise good. You?”
Jimmy lifted a shoulder. “I picked up an extra couple shifts. Car needs new tires. Winter is coming, blah blah blah.” No wonder he looked tired.
“I’ll make sure the coffeepot stays on.”
“You’re the best,” Jimmy said around a yawn.
Leo grabbed five minutes for a coffee and a vending-machine chocolate bar—admittedly his preferred vice over candy—before getting back to work.
Afternoon faded into twilight, which dimmed into evening. Jimmy seemed to have traded tasks with someone and pulled desk duty, because he sat yawning at the nurses’ station, a giant travel mug next to him. He looked up as Leo passed, blinked at him, then looked back at his screen. Then back at Leo.
“All right?” Leo asked.
Jimmy groaned and admitted, “I forgot what I was going to say.”
By the time Leo was checking on Susan Andrews (tonsillectomy), night had fallen and the hospital was quiet. Susan wasn’t alone, though. She never was.
“Hi, Susan. Hi, Dolly.”
Susan lifted one weathered hand in a wave and mouthed hello. Dolly smiled, deepening the crease lines around her eyes. “You look tired, darling. How come they keep giving you the late shift?”
“Somebody’s gotta do it.” Leo smiled. “How are you doing today? You’ve got to be about ready to go home.”
Yes, please, Susan mouthed.
Dolly raised Susan’s other hand—she’d been holding it in her own—to her lips and kissed the back. “In good time.”
In a different situation, tonsillectomies were essentially outpatient procedures. But between Susan’s age and her heart condition, she’d been in the hospital for almost two weeks.
