Village Fool

by Nathan Burgoine

  Owen stepped into Bittersweets and took a second to wipe his feet on the mat. The weather had been grey and wet all day, and it showed. The store was more or less empty. Kira was behind the counter by herself, chatting with an older woman with a cane at a nearby table.

  Owen shucked his coat and draped it over the back of a chair, leaned his umbrella against the table, then checked his phone. Of course he was early. He had twenty whole minutes before Toma would arrive, which was more than enough time to work himself up into a complete knot of anxiousness.

  His phone pinged. A text from Felix popped up on the screen.

  Still good for four at Bittersweets?

  Owen blinked, tapping the screen to open the text message. He read it again.

  Whoops. Had he double-booked? He didn’t remember agreeing to meet with Felix, but then again, this morning he hadn’t been at his mental best. Or maybe they’d agreed to hang out some time last week? He wasn’t sure. Should he tell him? He bit his lip, then blew out a breath. What the hell, he thought. Felix might tease him, but he’d be happy for him, too.

  I’m afraid I’ve got a date with the world’s best chest at four. Rain check?

  He watched the little grey dots bounce on the screen.

  You’re funny. I hope the chest doesn’t disappoint. I have it on good authority it’s feeling self-conscious.

  Owen shook his head and tried not to stare at the clock. He checked his email again, scrolled social media for a while, and even tried to listen to his audiobook for a few minutes before he realized he had no idea what the performer was even talking about and turned it off again. Finally, when there was only five minutes to go, he realized if he didn’t do something he was going to flip out, so he pulled up his contact list and drafted a quick text to Toma.

  Hey, I’m at Bittersweets a little early—I’m always early, don’t rush—and it’s wet and cold out there. What kind of coffee do you like? I’ll have it ready and waiting for you.

  He read and reread the message, trying not to overthink and failing miserably. It was casual enough, right? Thoughtful, but not needy. Or was it presumptive? Maybe he should add an emoji? A smiley face. No. The mug of coffee. Yes. Finally, he blew out a breath and hit send on the text before he changed his mind. They were meeting for coffee. Ordering Toma a drink before he arrived was totally within the realm of normal.

  It took a little while for the three dots to appear, not that Owen was staring at the screen and waiting for it to happen or anything.

  Okay, that was exactly what he was doing.

  They appeared, then vanished. Then appeared.

  Then vanished.

  Owen frowned and reread his message. Had he come off strange? Shit. Had he managed to make this awkward before Toma even got here? If so, that was a new record, even for him.

  Finally, a text appeared.

  Call me.

  What? That didn’t sound like a good thing. Maybe Toma was about to cancel. That would suck, but it was possible something came up.

  Or maybe he thinks you’re a complete freak and is trying to bail?

  Owen took a breath and tapped the call icon and held the phone to his ear. This was fine. Stuff happened.

  “Come clean. You bringing him coffee at work now or what? Because that’s a great in for asking him out.”

  Owen frowned. “Felix?”

  “Ha! April Fools’!”

  It was Felix.

  “Why do you have Toma’s phone?” Owen said.

  “Dude. I don’t have his phone.” Felix laughed. “I had your phone. This morning.”

  Owen frowned. He didn’t get it. “I called Toma.”

  “No,” Felix said. “You called me. I edited a bunch of your contact names.”

  “You edited…?” Owen’s stomach clenched. “You did what?”

  Felix kept laughing. “Did you text Silas? Because if you texted Silas, you were totally texting your foster mom.”

  “Felix.” Owen’s chest tightened. “When I texted you, who was I texting?” This couldn’t be happening.

  “The trainer of your dreams. Why?” Felix’s voice rose with glee. “Wait! Did you text him? Oh my God, you did! What did you say to him? You have to tell me. Was it—”

  Owen hung up.

  He stared at the screen for a horrified moment, then tapped his way to the text messages he thought he’d been sending to Felix. He hit the contact information and brought up the entry. He didn’t recognize the phone number—who recognized anyone’s phone number these days? But the email associated with the contact was right there on the screen.

  TomaPopescu@VillageBodyPostive.ca

  Every text he’d sent to Felix today, he’d actually been sending to Toma.

  His phone started ringing. The screen said it was from Toma but he knew better now. He tapped the screen and put the phone to his ear.

  “You have no fucking idea what you’ve done,” Owen said.

  “Whoa, Owen.” Felix wasn’t laughing now. “Is everything okay?”

  “Okay? Oh wow, no. A world of no. Fuck you, Felix.” Owen hung up.

  Then he saw the clock. Shit. Toma could arrive any second, and… Oh God.

  It’s way less creepy to ogle hot cubcakes through a mirror.

  For the thighs I would risk it.

  I had to finish my boring-ass exercises without views of any amazing asses.

  I’ve got a date with the world’s best chest.

  He was going to throw up. Owen was absolutely going to vomit right in the middle of Bittersweets.

  His phone rang again. “Toma” again. He declined the call.

  Owen grabbed his coat. He had to get out. He managed the zipper after two attempts when the door to Bittersweets opened. He looked up, mortified he was too late, but embarrassment shifted to anger when he saw a wet Felix standing there.

  “What happened?” Felix was breathing heavy. He had his scrubs on and wasn’t even wearing a coat. He must have been with one of his clients in the neighborhood, and run over in the rain.

  “You asshole,” Owen said, not bothering to lower his voice. To his utter humiliation, his eyes welled up with tears. He swiped at his face with one hand. “You absolute…fucking…asshole.” He choked out the words, then had to stop to swallow, hard. He was not going to cry right now. He was too fucking angry to cry.

  “Everything okay?” Kira said, her voice heavy with concern.

  Owen waved her off. “Sorry.”

  “Oh my God,” Felix said, taking a step forward. “Owen?”

  Owen stepped back.

  The door opened again.

  Toma smiled at Owen for about half a second or so, then frowned, looking between him and Felix. “Is everything okay?”

  Felix stared at Toma, mouth open.

  “There,” Owen said, pointing at Toma. “That’s what happened. You complete asshole.” Why wouldn’t his brain give him another word?

  “What’s going on?” Toma said.

  “It was a joke,” Owen said. He couldn’t meet Toma’s gaze. He stared at the ground. “I’m so sorry.”

  “A joke?” Toma said.

  “Oh,” Felix said. “Oh shit.”

  Owen pushed past them both.

  “Owen?” Toma said, but Owen was already out the door into the rain.

  Six

  January

  “So, tell me the truth. How much do you hate gyms?”

  Owen almost laughed, but the woman in front of him waited, and he realized she was serious.

  “Oh,” Owen said. “Um. I don’t. I mean, I’ve never joined one before, but I need to do this, so…” He raised his arm, setting off a spasm of pain he’d gotten used to whenever he tried to do anything more strenuous than picking up a sock. “I don’t hate gyms.”

  She kept staring at him.

  “But I don’t like them, either.”

  “Brilliant. Starting from an honest place is good for all of us.” Fiona Foley wasn’t at all what Owen had expected. Less of an Amazon
vibe, more curvaceous than he imagined, though she was definitely strong, too. He’d expected someone with deeply tanned skin, not someone even whiter than him, nor so many freckles. She also sported a side-swept undercut that emphasized her cheekbones to perfection and made him itch to ask her who her hair stylist was. He had some major hair envy. Add a really welcoming smile, which she was aiming at him right now, and Fiona was more or less wrecking every image he’d had in mind for lesbian gym owner. “Good news is, you’ll be in the physiotherapy room for the first month or so, so you can ease into walking through those doors. You’re already ahead of the curve.”

  Fiona’s office, a small glassed-in area just past the entrance to Body Positive, was full of drawings and paintings he assumed were made by children, many of which seemed to involve snowmen and Santa, despite it being past New Year’s. A picture of herself and a taller, beautiful Black woman, the two of them in really gorgeous suits and staring at each other with utter devotion, held a place of pride on the table behind her.

  “We can stretch your coverage as far as possible,” Fiona said, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand.

  “That’s great,” he said. “But I can handle the cost if we need to do more. I work in the tech industry, so I can pretty much make my own schedule, too.”

  “Are you a morning person?”

  “Before this I was,” Owen said, shifting his shoulder again. “I’d like to be again.”

  “I’m going to suggest Toma,” Fiona said.

  “Okay,” Owen said. He had no idea what Toma was. He’d done some research and remembered a vaguely frightening description of a treatment involving electric currents, but thought it was called TENS, not Toma. Fiona, though, was waving at someone through the glass behind him, and a moment later, a low, rumbly voice said, “What’s up?”

  Owen turned in the chair.

  Toma, it turned out, wasn’t a what but a who, and what a who indeed. He was built broadly, with big shoulders and a wide chest, and warm tawny skin. Thick dark hair with an honest-to-God Superman curl framed a warm face that seemed open and kind. He had a short, soft-looking beard. Owen’s fingers twitched.

  “Toma, this is Owen. Owen here has a physiotherapy plan, and I’d like him to work with us. Subluxated shoulder, trauma-induced tendonitis. He’s post-ortho, but his doctor said everything went about as well as it could possibly go.”

  “Just got your arm back?” Toma smiled at Owen.

  “I…” Owen swallowed. “Yes.”

  Toma crossed his arms. The striped Body Positive tank he wore did nothing to hide the dark hair on his chest and forearms. Owen sent up a prayer of thanks to whichever god was in charge of bearish men.

  He blinked, realizing too late that Toma had asked him something. Shit.

  “I’m sorry,” Owen said. “Pardon?”

  “I thought we could sit and chat a bit,” Toma said. “We can go over a plan, see if we’re a good fit.”

  “Oh. Yes.”

  Toma stretched out one of those impressive arms, and Owen rose.

  “Thank you,” Owen said to Fiona.

  She smiled at him. “Welcome to Body Positive.”

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  “You don’t want him. You want me.”

  Owen turned. If Toma was a big, rumbly dream-come-true, the guy leaning over the desk where they were talking was more likely to be a nightmare. Bigger, with deeper bronze skin, far more cut, and definitely more intimidating, the guy’s admittedly handsome face practically dripped confidence.

  “I beg your pardon?” Owen said.

  “This is Dino.” When Toma didn’t sound offended or annoyed, Owen relaxed a tiny bit. “He’s one of the trainers here at Body Positive.”

  Dino shifted his weight, and Owen had to fight the urge to lean back in his chair. “If you’re looking to grow into your shoulders,” Dino said, “you could definitely do it. You’ve got the right frame.”

  “Well, since I’m looking to repair my shoulder, I’m going to stick with Toma.” Owen’s voice only wobbled a bit. Holy shit. Where had that come from? For a second there, Owen felt like he was sitting at the table with Silas, Ru, Felix, and Nick and playing his aasimar bard, Kallax, instead of facing down a buff godling who looked like he could snap him in half.

  Dino glanced at Toma.

  “It’s nice to be wanted,” Toma said with a little smile.

  Okay, that was freaking adorable. Also, Owen could definitely handle wanting Toma. Wanting Toma was totally a role Owen was willing to fulfill.

  “Huh,” Dino said, not losing the confidence at all.

  “It’s also great to know when you’re not wanted,” Toma said, and his smile grew.

  Owen started to get the impression the two sparred like this often. It was almost fun to be the metaphorical ball bouncing between their rackets, albeit in a mildly terrifying way.

  Dino raised his hands. “Message received, Mr. High and Mighty.”

  “I prefer Your Majesty,” Toma said.

  “Dude, in this gym? I’m the king.”

  “In yellow,” Toma said.

  Owen choke-snorted.

  “What?” Dino frowned, looking between the two.

  “Nothing,” Toma said, with a completely straight face.

  Dino moved on, his strut no less smug than before.

  “Sorry about that,” Toma said. “Dino is a great trainer, and he’s really nice, but his gregariousness is an acquired taste. He says it’s a Greek thing, but I’m pretty sure it’s just a Dino thing.”

  Owen shook his head. “Maybe warn a guy before you toss a literary insult, okay?”

  Toma leaned forward. “I haven’t actually read the story. I only know it from the board game.”

  Owen stared. Okay, now the man was totally blowing his mind. “Which game?”

  “Arkham Horror. It’s one of the expansions.”

  He’s a gorgeous cubcake and he plays board games? “Yeah, that’s…” Owen managed a nod. “That’s a great game.”

  “Okay,” Toma said. He leaned forward and put his hands on the table. “Now, I totally understand if you were trying to get Dino off your back, but it sounded like you were willing to give me a chance to work with you?”

  Owen smiled. “Yes. I’d like that.”

  Toma’s grin seemed genuinely excited. “Fantastic. Let me take you on a tour of the gym and the physio area, and we can go over your schedule and the rest of the notes from your doctor.” He paused. “Are you feeling up to it? Rule number one is you being completely clear and upfront in telling me whatever you’re feeling, okay?”

  Owen swallowed a rogue laugh. “I can do that. And I’m fine. Really.”

  “Okay then.” Toma rose. “This way.”

  I am feeling those thighs, Owen thought, then forced his eyes up again. “Great.”

  Seven

  April

  At the sound of his doorbell, Owen turned his head but didn’t move from the couch. Whoever it was, they’d go away.

  His phone buzzed. He picked it up.

  It’s me, the screen said, attributing the text to “Mama Wendy.” For a split second, Owen tried to imagine what could possibly have made his foster mother come all the way from Montreal to talk to him, but then he remembered. He tapped the contact to confirm, and saw the email and phone number now associated with “Mama Wendy” were both Silas’s.

  Just like that, livid anger with Felix filled his gut all over again. And no doubt Silas was here to play peacemaker.

  He rolled off the couch and stomped his way to the front door. He opened it, in full-on angry mode, and saw Silas standing there with two Bittersweets to-go cups in a tray and a bag with the Sweet Temptations logo.

  He narrowed his eyes. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Coconut snowballs,” Silas said, the image of total innocence.

  “Dirty play, Silas. Dirty play.”

  “Thank you,” Silas said, stepping right past him and pressing the bag into Owen’s hand. Owen
opened it, the scent of coconut and chocolate wafting up from the bag. He wanted one. A lot.

  “Coming?” Silas said from deeper inside his house.

  Owen sighed and closed the door. His full-on angry mode was slipping. There was no holding on to angry when faced with Silas and coconut snowballs.

  Silas settled in the recliner, wiping the rain off his glasses with his shirt. Owen returned to the couch, though he didn’t sprawl out. There was a to-go cup on the table for him. He picked it up and took a swallow. Dark roast, splash of cream. Still piping hot and perfect. How did Silas know? He had no idea what Silas took in his coffee.

  “Eat a snowball,” Silas said.

  Owen wanted to scowl, but he couldn’t quite work up the effort. He opened the bag, picked up one of the flaky, coconut-shedding balls of fudge-and-chocolate wonder, and bit into it.

  “Okay,” Silas said, apparently deciding he’d given Owen enough time with the coffee, coconut, and chocolate. “May I say one thing?”

  “Is the one thing ‘Felix deserves to be buried alive’?”

  “That’s harsh, but currently within the realm of a fair way to feel,” Silas said. “But that’s not what I wanted to say.”

  Owen sighed. “Bring it. How much worse can today get?”

  “That’s kind of what I wanted to say, actually. This isn’t…I mean…” Silas bit his lip. “Did today really turn out so bad?”

  Owen stared. “Are you kidding me? I basically texted Toma about how I wanted to lick his thighs. Me. I don’t say things like that!”

  “Yes, again, that’s fair. You said stuff you wouldn’t normally say.”

  “Ever.”

  “Yes, ever.” Silas looked at him. “But, and correct me if I’m wrong here, didn’t Toma ask you out?”

  Owen scowled. “Only because I said all that stuff. Stuff I thought I was saying to Felix.”

  “Yes, again. Felix is the devil here. Not disputing that. Total dick move. Super-bad joke.” Silas paused. “And yet Toma asked you out.”

  Owen groaned and threw back his head. “Yes.”

  “And Felix said you took off?”

  “I was humiliated.” Owen stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, then finally raised his head. Silas frowned, like he couldn’t work something out.