by Posy Roberts
“So . . . hot meals are better.”
“I’m not knocking your desire to help, but canned chicken, tuna, or even peanut butter is more convenient. A can of beans or soup. Stew. I can eat that anywhere, and I don’t have to worry about cooking it even. I like condensed soup. Goes farther if I don’t eat it right out of the can.”
Louis gave him a somber nod as he reached in his cart for a chicken, moving back toward the freezer.
“People will still love that for the holidays. Not everyone’s homeless that needs food. And didn’t you promise Marvin you’d bring chickens?”
“I did, but I’m feeling really stupid right now.”
“Well . . . don’t.” Sebastian couldn’t help the smile that brightened his mood. This was the most fun he’d had in a long time. Just picking food off the shelf and knowing it was affordable . . . For Louis, at least. Something about that felt freeing. “My learning curve was a lot steeper than yours, but you’ll get it.”
“More than ever before, I see the value in the hot meals. I’m glad I’ve never stopped working those.”
“So . . .” Sebastian hefted a chicken. “How many do you want to donate? You’ve got twenty in here.”
Louis tilted his head back and forth, lips moving, gaze flitting up and down in a way that told Bash he was doing math, adding up numbers, carrying the one or the two, likely working out how much he was spending.
Sebastian spotted a guy on the other side of the freezer door already restocking the empty shelves. So there were more chickens. His gut unclenched. There was food for others.
Louis came to a conclusion that shone in his eyes. “Let’s take ’em all.”
“Deal.”
“And once everything’s delivered, can I take you shopping?”
“Louis, we’re already shopping, in case you forgot.”
Louis’s mouth curled into a shy, cute-as-hell grin. “I saw a sweater last week I bet would look great on you. And if you wouldn’t be opposed to it—” He kicked at the concrete beneath his feet, neck and ears blooming bright red. Cheeks too. “I have a holiday party I’m going to, and . . . well . . . if you’d want . . . What I’m trying to say is—”
“Yes, Louis. What are you trying to say?” Sebastian managed around a chuckle.
“I’m always so awkward about these things. Mati took the lead so often that I don’t even know how.”
Sebastian grinned, sliding his fingers into Louis’s palm. “I’d love to go with you. Shopping. The party.” He licked his lips. “I like spending time with you.”
Louis looked at him, wide-eyed, and beamed. “I like spending time with you too.”
“After we drop this stuff off, let me show you where I shop instead. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Sebastian would take him to his favorite secondhand shop. There was a little bookshop down a few more blocks if he had it in him to walk. He’d occasionally sneak in there. The owner knew him by name and didn’t mind if he read a chapter or two before he bought the book. Just to make sure he really wanted to read it.
His mother had teased him about reading “trashy romance novels” when he was still living at home, but they were anything but trashy. They were filled with hope and love and people looking toward the future. What was trashy were the gossip rags his mom read. They kept her up to the minute on who did what to whom at whatever place, and the moment she got in the vicinity of another friend, that’s all they could talk about. And considering the gossip was about friends in her social circle, it was all a bit sordid.
At times, Sebastian was glad he got out. He sure as hell didn’t like that he’d landed flat on his ass, but there was very little of his past life that he missed.
“What are you thinking about?” Louis asked. “You’ve been drifty for a while.”
He had. As he’d allowed his mind to wander, Louis had paid, they’d loaded his car, and they’d already dropped off Louis’s donations. Sebastian had greeted a few people he knew while Louis did all the talking, and Sebastian slipped away the second he could.
He was content in the front seat now as Louis drove toward an address he’d entered into his phone, the secondhand store.
“Just that I’m grateful for being away from my parents at times,” he admitted.
“Were they . . . ?”
“Self-involved? Selfish? Unaware of the real world around them? Yes.”
Louis nodded. “I was going to ask if they were abusive or maybe religious zealots.”
“Nah. Nothing like that. They had more of a laissez-faire approach to parenting.”
“So they were hands-off until you came out? Then they were gloves-off?”
Sebastian shrugged. “Something like that.”
“How the fuck—” Louis growled. “Sorry. I just get so pissed when I hear stories like this. It’s not right.”
“I agree. It isn’t right, but what can I do?”
“Fight it.”
Sebastian burst out laughing. “Right. ’Cause I have loads of money to hire a lawyer so I can have access to what was promised me every day of my life.”
“Did your parents set up a trust or anything like that?”
“I don’t know. That’s how disengaged I was.”
“You have a right to know. You said something along the lines of them being ashamed of you.”
Sebastian nodded. “Right. They were embarrassed by how unapologetic I was. They knew I was gay from a pretty early age. Never had a problem with it aside from how I didn’t really do monogamy. I slept around, was in poly relationships, lived through Grindr, and according to them, never lived a ‘normal’ life. Whatever the fuck that is. Like they did? Ha! And yeah, I refuse to use that word without the fucking finger quotes. Fuck them.”
Louis reached across the expansive car to put a warm palm on Sebastian’s thigh. He squeezed. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“You’re just doing it because you care. I can tell that much.” Sebastian stared out the passenger window at people bustling on sidewalks, snugging collars up a little tighter, and pulling hats down over their foreheads. “You know the worst part?”
“Worse than you living on the streets?”
“Yeah. It’s worse to me, at least.”
“No. Tell me.”
“I wanted kids. I still want kids. I mean . . . let me dream for a damn minute. But the second I came out, they never let me.”
“Dream away, Bash. I think you deserve it.”
Sebastian turned to look at Louis. He was being serious. Not snarky or cocky or mean. He truly believed Sebastian deserved to dream of a happily ever after like all those endings in the romance novels he’d read since he first discovered them.
The voice on the mapping app interrupted them, telling them their destination was on their right. Louis searched for a parking spot. Sebastian thought their conversation was over, but the second the car was parked, Louis unclipped his seat belt and turned to face him full-on.
He smiled. “Tell me.”
Sebastian mirrored him and drew in a deep breath. Letting it out ended up a shakier ordeal than he expected, but he’d not shared this stuff with anyone. Anyone!
“A wedding. The man I love and I are both wearing blue suits. Not navy, but something brighter. Royal or maybe periwinkle.”
“What’s periwinkle?” Louis whispered, as if he didn’t want to stop Sebastian’s story but he truly wanted to know about the color.
“Blue with a hint of purple in it. Not indigo; that’s too dark. Brighter. It’s a beautiful color. My favorite, actually.”
Louis smiled and bit his lip, maybe to keep it from growing too big. “Blue suits.”
Sebastian nodded. “On a white backdrop. Nothing too fancy. White tulips. Daisies. Maybe those big pompoms of hydrangeas. Overlooking the water in the summer or under a canopy of flowering trees in the spring, like the cherry trees. Outside. I want my wedding to be outside.”
“Oh,” Louis releas
ed on a breath.
“And it will be small. Just the people I care about. Not a big showy event. That’s what my mom would’ve insisted on. Hundreds invited. I wouldn’t even want to send out a hundred invitations. Fifty, maybe. Because it’s not the spectacle of the wedding that matters; it’s what happens. Two people devoting themselves to each other.” He released a contented sigh.
Louis gripped his hand and didn’t let it go.
“The only thing I’d spend any big money on is a photographer who can really capture our love. I don’t care about the typical shots: cake eating, the first toast. None of that crap. I want a photographer to see how much I love this man. I want them to wait for the exact perfect moment to press their shutter so that everyone who sees that picture, even two hundred years from now, they can read how much I loved the man I married.”
“Sounds . . . well, perfect.”
“But that’s just the start. After, we’ll set up house together. We’ll travel. We’ll cook together, go grocery shopping, but he’ll have to teach me everything about that. I’ll buy him clothes, sweaters, ties, gloves, socks. Not because he needs them, but because that green tie would look great on him and I can’t bear to leave the store without it. It only put me back fifty dollars, after all.” Sebastian nodded and sighed. “In my dream, I have fifty to burn, so I have a job of some sort.”
“Do you know what you want to do?”
Sebastian shook his head. “That’s always been the problem. Maybe if I’d had a direction in life, being me wouldn’t have been so awful to my parents.”
“How can you be expected to have a direction when your parents were so hands-off that you didn’t even know which way north was?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask them. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about those what-ifs.”
“And I’m sure that’s not been helpful.”
“Not at all.” Bash let out a slow breath between pursed lips. “In my dream, I’m a stay-at-home dad. I’m cooking and cleaning. I’m driving my kids to ballet and school and art classes. I’m reading to them and teaching them how to play the ukulele. I might be slipping away during their nap time to do a little work, but I don’t know what that work is. And when my husband comes home, we all eat at the kitchen table. We talk about our days and tell jokes and get to know each other better. Then we both wash the dishes while our kids do their homework and get ready for bed.”
“Did you have any of that growing up?” Louis tilted his head, waiting patiently.
“I had that with the staff.”
“But not your parents.” It wasn’t a question. Louis knew.
“Never. The closest I got to that were dinner and cocktail parties where I sat and listened to my parents schmooze. But there was always a purpose to those parties. Business, gossip, stock market tips.”
“Sounds to me like your parents missed out on a lot of opportunities to get to know you, to understand your dreams. What they wanted in a son, well, they could’ve had it if they’d given you twenty minutes of their time. Ever. From what you said, they never took the time to get to know you.”
“You’re right. And they just leaped to conclusions when I came out.”
“They landed on the wrong conclusions, it seems, and then gave up on you even more.”
Sebastian nodded. “I mean, what did they think I’d do? Yeah, I’ve been to the gayborhood, fucking and sucking, but that’s not my end goal.”
“Straight people do that too. It’s called our twenties. Do they not know that?”
“Nah. Not really. They’re blind to it. Arranged marriages, for lack of a better word, still happen in the upper echelon. Mergers, really.”
“I’ll be happy to merge, but I’ll be in control of my destiny.”
Sebastian snorted. “Exactly. I was just looking for the right guy three at a time.”
Louis burst out laughing. “Saved you some time, I bet.” He winked.
Sebastian squeezed his hand. “I would’ve settled down. The dream . . . Well, it’s hopeless now.”
“It’s not hopeless. Your parents made it a hell of a lot harder for you to make your dream a reality by kicking you to the curb and keeping your inheritance from you, but this is just a detour. You’ll get back on your feet.”
“I will,” Sebastian said with a determined nod. “And I’ll be a hell of a lot stronger than I was before. Working some ‘grunt job’ my dad found for me at a cushy company never would’ve taught me what I’ve learned on the streets.”
Louis thumbed over Sebastian’s cheekbone, fingers pressing into muscle at the back of his neck, eyes going soft, mouth quirking as if he were fighting back words. But then he stopped fighting. “You’re an amazing man, Bash.”
Louis tugged with his strong, thick fingers, and Sebastian didn’t resist. Instead, he slid as close as he could get. And when Louis’s eyes drifted shut and he tilted his head, so did Sebastian. He didn’t want to fight this. He didn’t want to get defensive or resist anymore. He wanted to give in and accept what was offered.
Their mouths met, and Sebastian felt tension in his shoulders, his back, fuck . . . his scalp melt away. He opened, trailing his tongue over Louis’s. “Fuck, you know how to kiss.”
Louis moaned, “So do you,” before going back in, deepening the kiss.
Sebastian went with it. He was in a car, not out in the open and exposed, so he could. Up to a point. He couldn’t go down on Louis, even if he was tempted.
Louis pulled away, pressing their foreheads together. Each breath passed over Sebastian’s wet lips. They were both panting from a kiss that lasted—what?—a minute? Minute and a half?
“What if we actually let ourselves get carried away rather than stopping?” Sebastian mused as he considered telling Louis his real name.
“Yeah, what if?”
“There might be fireworks.”
Louis chuckled and pulled away. “Come on. Let’s finish our shopping. Maybe we can make fireworks later.”
12
A Needle in a Haystack
All the way through the secondhand shop, Bash flirted. And not just subtle little looks or discreetly placed words. No. Outright flirting for everyone around them to pick up on. The sexual tension was thick.
Louis suspected this was a test. Sebastian likely wanted to know how out Louis was. He wasn’t to most people. Strangers didn’t deserve that sort of personal information unless he was at Pride or something like that. But the important people in his life knew, even if they’d never seen him date men.
It wasn’t that long ago when friends would talk to him about meeting “a nice woman.” He’d corrected them.
Person. He was looking for a person to share his life with. He didn’t care about their gender.
And maybe he’d found him. Bash fascinated him. He wanted to know more. Bash had shared a lot, gotten right in the muck and dirt and shared details about his parents that didn’t easily fall off his tongue.
“Look at this,” Bash said, pulling Louis’s focus just as he stripped, bare chested, in the middle of the store.
“Bash . . . What the—”
And poked his head through the sweater, arms emerging seconds later.
Louis drew closer. “That looks . . . Remember the sweater I told you about?”
“Yeah,” Bash said absentmindedly as he faced the mirror and straightened the shoulders, got the collar just how he wanted it, smoothed the fine cable knit over his chest, and played with the gold quarter-length zipper until he was satisfied.
“This looks like it. But I like this color better. Dark gray suits you. It’s slimmer through the waist too.” Louis couldn’t help but skim his palms down Bash’s sides as he stared ahead at their reflection. The mirror was a glorious thing. “I love this on you,” he whispered.
Bash unzipped the sweater. It hit him midchest and was somehow so sexy that Louis was having dirty thoughts he couldn’t follow through on in the middle of a secondhand store in downtown DC. Oh, but if he
could . . .
“You look ready to eat me,” Bash said with a wink.
“You look edible in that sweater.”
Bash raised a brow. “I should. It’s cashmere. Who gives away cashmere this fine?” he asked as he stripped bare again.
Louis’s gaze dropped to Bash’s nipples as he checked the price or the size or the care label. Who the fuck knew what he was looking at? All Louis cared about was that he was given the perfect view of Bash’s chest.
And he knew. Bash pinched a nipple and winked before he walked—still fucking bare chested—across the store and spoke to the salesperson working the counter.
Louis was supposed to behave. He was helping Bash out with food and a bed and some clothes. He never wanted to get his hands on Bash and have his way with him.
Oh, who was he fucking kidding?
That’s exactly what he wanted to do.
And the way Bash flirted. The way he had kissed Louis back in the car. The way he’d crawled into bed, easily thrust against Louis in the tub, just . . . eaten food right from his fingers . . .
It had all been so easy. So maybe it wasn’t such a stupid idea.
Suddenly Bash was in front of him again, dressed in the clothes he’d arrived in. “So, Lou . . . Can I call you Lou?”
“Not unless you want me to call you Ash or Bas or Shhhhhhh.”
Bash snorted a laugh. “Shh? That’s a new one. I’ve had all the others, though. I was Ash for years, actually, but that’s a story for another time.” He held up the sweater. “This is way more than I have, but I can’t let this knit sit here and be snatched up by someone who doesn’t know how to care for it. No one will appreciate what this truly is.”
Louis was confused. “What’s so special about it? It’s a cashmere sweater.”
Bash lowered his voice. “They don’t know what they have here. This is a Brunello Cucinelli. He’s the king of cashmere. This would sell for fifteen hundred, at least. Maybe as much as five.”
