“How about a park?” he suggested, looking hopefully across the table at Josh. “Or a beach, somewhere deserted? Kaylee worked all day yesterday, so she could use a break. I’ve got a Frisbee, some tennis balls . . .” He gestured to the bag hanging over the back of his chair.
“She can do that?” Josh asked, glancing under the table. Then he blinked and flushed, saying, “Sorry. I mean— Just—”
This was another familiar topic for Michael. He shrugged, saying, “She needs time off, just like people. And she’s great at catching . . .” Only then did it occur to him that normal first dates probably didn’t involve playing fetch with a four-legged third wheel. Not everyone liked dogs, after all. “Or we could go somewhere else. The”—think, think—“breakwater?” he finally tried, having vague memories of climbing the boulders in search of crabs and starfish.
When Josh laughed, his eyes lit up over his rounded cheeks. “You said you’ve got a Frisbee?”
Michael nodded. “A soft one. Easier for her to catch.”
“Perfect.” Josh leaned back and said, with exaggerated pride, “I’m a champ with Frisbees. It’s genetic. Well, culturally genetic.”
“Huh?” Michael didn’t know if he’d heard that right or if his brain was playing tricks on him.
“I’m adopted, but I was adopted at birth, so . . .”
That explained the lack of similarity between Josh and his father. “Okay, but . . . the culture part?”
Josh gestured at the bagel counter. “Bagels, Frisbees . . . You know. Round things you can throw.”
Michael snorted. “And yet your father lets you work around ammunition like that? Sounds dangerous.”
“Nobody would dare rob us. Like I said, expert.” Josh’s cocky smile made Michael’s breath catch, and he nearly missed Josh asking, “So, maybe we should exchange numbers? Coordinate when and where we meet up?”
“Oh. Yeah,” Michael said, silently chiding himself. He was supposed to be the logistics and planning expert. He opened the outer pocket of his gear bag and pulled out his phone, only to feel the empty battery compartment rather than the smooth back plate. Shit.
“Uh . . . Did it break?” Josh asked, eyeing the phone.
I’m an idiot. Michael just shook his head. “I— The battery . . . fell out,” he said, avoiding Josh’s eyes. He hated lying, especially about something so stupid, but the truth was even more stupid. He dug out one of the ADA information cards he carried in case a business challenged Kaylee’s right to enter, flipped it over, and wrote his number on the back. “I haven’t switched to a local cell yet. Haven’t done anything local yet. I need to change my driver’s license, all that . . . Here.” He offered Josh the card.
When Josh took it, their fingers brushed, and he seemed to intentionally draw out the contact. “I’ll call you when I’m free?”
“Yeah. And, uh, I’ll find the battery,” Michael promised, though he couldn’t for the life of him remember where it was. Hopefully he hadn’t dropped it at the rest stop where he’d zoned out for hours yesterday. Maybe he should just go get a new phone. Yeah, that was a better idea. And he’d only give the number to Amanda, not the rest of his family. He held out his pen, saying, “How about you give me yours? Your number, I mean. There’s a cellular place somewhere on the island, right?”
“Actually, no.” Josh smiled wryly. “And our movie theater still only has one screen. But here.” Instead of reaching for the pen, he took a phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. After a few quick presses, he slid it across the table. An info screen was up, including the phone’s number.
It was strange that Josh didn’t write it down himself, but Michael didn’t ask. He took out another card and quickly wrote down Josh’s number. “If I can’t find the battery, I’ll call you from the house phone. I think there’s still a landline there. If not, I’ll just come back here?” It turned into a question as his confidence faltered. “If that’s okay?”
Josh shoved the phone back into his pocket. “More than okay. I can make you lunch, if you’re not sick of bagels. Soup and a panini sandwich, maybe?”
Michael laughed and ducked his head, safely tucking the card with Josh’s number into his bag, along with the useless phone. “You don’t have to keep feeding me.”
“I run a bagel shop. It’s my job to feed people, remember?”
Their whole relationship couldn’t be built around Josh feeding Michael. That was ridiculous—not to mention unfair. “Maybe you’ll let me take you out to lunch instead? Or dinner. After we find a park or somewhere? Whatever you want to do.”
“A park sounds great.” The front bell rang, and Josh twisted around as four people came in.
Michael bit back a sigh. “Should you . . .” He gestured to the counter.
“Yeah. I’m sorry.” Josh sounded sincere, which was something. He stood, picked up his tray, and reached for Michael’s.
“You don’t have to,” Michael protested, holding on to his tray.
Josh gave a little tug. “Actually, it’s my job, remember?” he said, amused. He gently slid the tray out of Michael’s grasp and stacked both trays. “You can hang out as long as you want, but it’s going to get more crowded.”
Was that a subtle hint that Michael should vacate the table? Or had Josh picked up on Michael’s dislike of most crowds? Either way, it was Michael’s cue to leave. “That’s okay. We have stuff to do.” It wasn’t even a lie, now that he thought about it. “I’ll call you or stop by later.”
It was too early for him to hope for a kiss, but the smile he got in return was almost as good. “Later, then,” Josh said warmly.
Michael watched Josh hurry over to the counter pass-through, stacked trays balanced in one hand. The bell up front rang again, signaling more customers. Time to go. He did a last check for anything he’d forgotten, made sure his bag was closed up, and told Kaylee, “Let’s go.”
Home to find the phone battery and pick up the car, then the vet’s office, and then maybe a quick trip to the mainland to pick up a new phone. Or maybe he’d just scope out the island to find a nice, quiet park where he and Josh could be alone. Yeah, that sounded like a better idea. He didn’t have it in him to face a crowded store and high-pressure salespeople when he could be thinking about Josh instead.
Michael sprawled in the back footwell of the SUV, trying to see into the blurry, shadowy space under the seat. Modern convenience, my ass, he thought, slowly easing his arm into the darkness, wary of sharp edges. Smartphones were great, with their flashlight apps. No need to carry a separate flashlight.
Unless you were looking for the damned battery.
Kaylee nudged at Michael’s calf, distressed that he was acting strangely. “It’s okay. Kaylee, go play,” he grunted as his fingertips brushed against something that moved. Aha. He stretched a little more, catching one corner, then the edges. Sighing in relief, he grabbed the battery and shifted onto his side, freeing his arm without any damage worse than red indents on his forearms from the seat supports.
He sat up, and the world went fuzzy. Swearing under his breath, he braced his arm on the backseat and rested his head, breathing deeply until the dizziness faded. Six months ago, he would’ve had to lie down for an hour; now the spell passed in minutes. Maybe he wasn’t healing as quickly as he would’ve liked, but he was making some progress.
Once the front yard was no longer a blur, he pushed himself to the edge of the footwell, legs hanging out the doorway. Kaylee trotted across the driveway to sniff at his sneakers. He scratched one shoe along her side and fitted the battery into the phone, then snapped the back cover into place. His stomach gave a nervous flip as the phone booted up.
“What do you think, baby? Ten messages? More?” He didn’t even want to look, but if nothing else, he needed to program Josh’s number in before he lost the card. At least he could read the number, since he’d written it with care. Maybe that was why Josh hadn’t written it himself? Maybe they had bad handwriting in common, along with an appr
eciation for good bagels and pepperoni pizza. They could send each other birthday cards with incoherent scribbles. That’d be fun.
The phone’s buzz made Michael jump. His heart lodged somewhere in his throat, cutting off his air. He patted his knee, and Kaylee braced her paws against the truck’s running boards so she could lean on his lap, muzzle shoved under his arm. He concentrated on her warm weight, reminding himself that he was away from his parents and capable of getting farther away—much farther if he dipped into his trust fund.
Thank God for Grandma and Grandpa Hanson. He barely remembered them—they’d died the year after Amanda was born—but they’d left their estate in trust to their only grandchildren. Amanda was apparently spending her share on a trip to the other side of the world. For Michael, that money was at the heart of his backup plan, an essential tool for his escape if living in New Hampshire became too politically charged.
That security net gave him the reassurance he needed to check his phone. Only seven messages—three from his father’s chief of staff, three from Amanda, and one from a private number that was surely his father’s personal cell. He went right for Amanda’s, ignoring the rest.
“Hey, what happened? Wilkins is having a shit fit. Call me,” was the first message. The second was, “Okay, now I’m worried. Text me if you don’t want to talk. Just let me know you’re okay.” Number three was the kicker: “You have to stop letting them get to you, Mike. You’re an adult. They can’t do anything to you anymore.”
She was right, of course, but it was easy for her to be right. For all their father’s speeches about equality between the sexes and races and social classes, they’d been raised in an old-fashioned, sexist family. Amanda’s job was to look pretty and go to a good college so she could catch herself a well-connected husband—preferably a lawyer or politician. Michael, though . . . He was supposed to be his father’s heir, whether he wanted to be or not. Growing up, his father had made damned sure that the alternative was unpleasant, to say the least.
He deleted Wilkins’s messages without bothering to play them. He wanted to do the same to his father’s, but he hesitated and decided to call Amanda instead. She didn’t live with their parents, but she was close enough that she’d be able to give him a heads-up if their father was genuinely angry and not just irritated with Michael, which was his baseline.
“Michael. Are you okay?” Amanda asked before the phone rang twice. Her voice was low and gruff, as if she were trying to be quiet.
“I’m fine.” He got out of the truck and closed the door. Free of her vest, Kaylee bounced around at his feet.
Amanda grunted. “Fine. You sure about that?”
Michael waved a hand at Kaylee, sending her off across the lawn at a run. “Yeah. My phone was dead. I just got the battery working.” It wasn’t quite a lie.
She took a deep breath, then released it. He couldn’t hear any background noise. “What happened? You disappeared.”
Off in the distance, Kaylee was sniffing at the grass. He was tempted to find a ball, but he didn’t want to tire her out before his maybe-date with Josh. And he was trying to avoid discussing what happened yesterday.
“Dad was . . .” He kicked at the grass edging the driveway. “You know how he is. With me.”
Gently, Amanda said, “Yeah. I kind of figured that’s why he wanted you there.”
“He wanted me to play nice with an old veteran. I’m surprised there weren’t cameras there, but the poor guy was in his pajamas.” Michael shrugged. “It would’ve been more dramatic if he’d been in uniform, I guess. Pj’s aren’t exactly newsworthy.” He couldn’t keep the sneer off his face or out of his voice. His father was all for military heroism, as long as it was packaged in a way that would lure more voters to his side.
Which was why Michael had made a point of being as unphotogenic as possible while he was at Walter Reed, at least once he awoke from his coma.
“Everything’s about politics.” Amanda’s groan sounded harsh, full of disgust. “If they weren’t so damned useful for fund-raising and visibility, I would’ve banned them from the charity’s home office.”
Michael winced. For years he’d been overseas, shuffled from one base to another, and then safe behind restricted access at the hospital. Yeah, his parents had insinuated themselves into his life when he was an outpatient living in DC, but that had been incidental—the result of his proximity to useful political connections.
Amanda, though, had been within their reach her whole life. No wonder she wanted to spread her wings and fly away the instant she turned twenty-five.
“I know you have plans,” he said thoughtfully, “but if you want to come down here for a little while before you go away—even just a weekend—you can.”
“I won’t be interrupting anything?”
“Huh?”
She laughed, light and quick, a contrast to how low and rough her voice had been. “I thought you had a new boy at least two or three times a week when you were in DC.”
Michael’s face went hot. He walked briskly out onto the lawn, trying to distract himself by finding a stick to throw for Kaylee. “I— The clubs—”
“How’d that work, anyway?” Amanda interrupted. “Did you bring your dog with you?”
The yard was distressingly devoid of sticks. The caretaker must have arranged for the landscaper to visit recently. Kaylee was sniffing around the hedges. It looked like she was oblivious to him, but if he said her name or snapped his fingers, she’d be at his side in a heartbeat. “She was in training,” he said, remembering how gangly she’d been, with legs too long for her body and huge feet; she was still a juvenile, growing into her body. “I left her at home.”
“You were okay without— Didn’t you need her?”
Michael kicked at the grass again, and Kaylee trotted over to investigate. “Things were different,” he said evasively. It had taken three months for his therapist to help him recognize the uncomfortable truths about how he was using strangers for meaningless sex—how picking up one-night stands wasn’t actually healthy socializing. He wasn’t going to have that discussion with his sister.
The silence stretched out for long, awkward seconds before Amanda finally said, “I just want you to be happy. Not alone.”
Braced for a lecture, Michael had no defense against her genuine concern. “I did meet someone here,” he said before he could catch himself. Quickly he added, “It might be nothing. I don’t even know for sure if he’s interested in guys.”
“One of these days, you’ll have to explain how exactly you figure out who’s gay and who’s not.”
Michael grinned. His sister was so weird. “Why? Since when do you have trouble finding guys?”
“It’s not finding guys-plural that’s the problem. It’s finding the one guy.” She laughed wickedly. “Or maybe two, in case the first one gets tired.”
“Maybe you should be giving me tips.” He leaned down to ruffle Kaylee’s ears, then waved her away again. “What’s this really about? Are you having relationship trouble?”
It took Amanda a few seconds to answer, “Ask me in a year.”
That was worrying, but if Michael pried, she’d pry right back. “Okay. Think you’ll make it out here to visit?”
“We’ll see,” she said in a way that sounded more like no. “Email’s the best way to get in touch with me once I’m gone. Send me pics.”
Relieved to have escaped the interrogation about Josh, Michael said, “You got it. I’ll send you my new phone number too, so you can call me whenever you have a chance.”
“You’d better. Love you, Mike.”
“You too.” Michael disconnected the call and didn’t bother listening to the one remaining voice mail. He had enough to do without getting distracted by family politics, starting with programming Josh’s number into the phone.
The lunch rush was still going at quarter after one, when Josh’s phone buzzed twice in quick succession. It was another ten minutes before he could step ba
ck from the counter, take off his gloves, and check.
He had two texts from a private number: How’s your day going? and It’s Michael.
Going okay. You? he typed back carefully, double-checking autocorrect before he hit Send. Then he pulled on fresh gloves and picked up the pastrami.
He was in the middle of slicing off tissue-thin pieces when the response came. After he built and wrapped the sandwich, he checked his phone again. Michael had sent: Got lots done. We’re on the green by the statue whenever you’re done for the day.
Josh looked up at the solid wall of customers along the counter, from the register all the way back to the pass-through. Dee was bagging and ringing up orders, Josh and his dad were working the deli section, and Charlie was taking orders and prepping bagels and sandwich breads. And Heather wasn’t scheduled to start until two.
“Can you cover me for two minutes?” Josh quietly asked his dad.
Dad scanned the customers, then jerked his head toward the back room. “Go. You’ve been here long enough.”
Josh wanted to nod—he wanted to rip off his apron and run across the street like the star in a bad rom-com—but he couldn’t abandon his crew. “I can hold off until Heather gets here. I just want to let Michael know.”
He must’ve spoken too loudly, because Dee piped up, “Michael? Who’s Michael?”
Dad’s sudden grin was all the warning Josh needed to preemptively say, “A friend. And he can wait, Dad.”
Dad frowned at Josh, reaching past him to take hold of the next plate. Charlie said, “Lox deluxe. What kind of friend?”
Josh sighed. “Not you too.”
“Got it, Charlie,” Dad said, grin never fading. He took the salmon out of the deli case. “Josh, go.”
Despite wanting nothing more than to do just that, he had to ask, “Are you sure?”
Change of Address Page 9
