by K. C. Wells
“Are you looking forward to the film?” Vic asked, bringing in a cup of tea and setting it on the table in front of Rob.
“I’m still not sure about this,” Rob muttered. Vic hadn’t deigned to let Rob know what they were going to watch as yet, and Rob could only hazard a guess as to why. Despite Vic’s claims to the contrary, it had to be a chick flick. I mean, what do gay guys watch?
“Oh, come on. It’ll be great.” Vic lowered the lights, then sat down, picked up the remote, and clicked Play. A moment later the title appeared.
“The Wizard of Oz?” Rob groaned. He’d never seen it, but he knew it was an old film, probably older than his parents, and that was saying something.
Vic whacked him on the arm. “Hey! I gave Shaun of the Dead a chance. The least you can do is try this. Unless you’ve seen it already?”
Rob shrugged one shoulder. “No, but…. Come on.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Vic said in a low voice. “When I was young, I wanted to do what you dream of doing. Getting away, traveling somewhere. Well, I told my parents that I wanted to go to Oz.”
Rob had to smile. “Really?”
Vic nodded. “I loved the film. What I didn’t know, however, was that even though this film isn’t at all scary, the books are another matter. The Tin Man? In the books his limbs are cut off one by one because of a curse. Throughout the series, Baum showed some really scary things. I wouldn’t say these are kid’s books at all, even if the film is sugarcoated.”
The truth about the books made the thought of seeing the film a lot more intriguing. Rob had never read any of the stories, but if he enjoyed the film, he would go to the secondhand book shop in Manchester to see if any of them were available.
He watched the film with rapt attention. It was indeed sappy, but Rob could see the underlying hint of menace in it. He could easily tell how the book could have been written to scare kids out of their minds, which made him all the more eager to delve into the world the author had created.
“So, what did you think?” Vic asked, as he turned the lights back up.
“It was good,” Rob admitted. “Now I want to read the books.”
Vic smiled wide. “Excellent!” He went to the bookcase and pulled out a tattered paperback, which he handed to Rob. “It’s not in the best condition, but I figure you’ll enjoy it anyway.”
Rob took the book and flipped through the pages. He stared at the notations in the margins. “How could you do this to a book?”
Vic laughed. “I’ve had that book since I was fourteen. I’ve read and reread it many times since.”
Rob stilled. He couldn’t believe Vic would give him something that held such significance in his life. “I can’t take your book.” He held it out to Vic, who shook his head.
“You can and you will. If you want to read them, then you need to start with the first one. I have another copy, so you can take it with you. If you want, when you’re done, bring it back and we’ll discuss it.”
“Are you sure? What if I lose the book?”
Vic shrugged. “It’s a thing and can be replaced. Yes, it’s a sentimental possession, but not one I would be horribly upset over if it were lost. Besides, I want us to share our love of reading. Think of all the things we could discuss.” Vic sat down beside Rob. “Tell you what. Next time you come, bring me one of your favorites. We can both expand our horizons.”
Next time? He said it, but…. He really wants me to come back? Rob’s heart thudded hard. He couldn’t get over the fact that Vic had so much faith in him, plus he actually seemed to enjoy having Rob in his home. What would it be like if…?
No, he had to stop thinking like that. It was a pipe dream at best, and not something Rob could allow himself to think about.
“Okay. Thank you.”
Vic smiled. “You’re welcome. So, what do you want for breakfast in the morning? We can eat here, or we can go out.”
Rob grinned. “Do you know how to make french toast?”
When Vic put a hand on Rob’s arm, he swore he could feel the heat all the way to his core. “Rob, my boy, I’ll make you the best french toast you’ve ever had.”
He smiled and Rob melted on the inside.
Chapter Eleven
GETTING OFF the train in Manchester on Sunday should have felt like coming home, but it didn’t. The whole way there, Rob couldn’t get the time he’d spent with Vic out of his mind, which… unsettled him.
He keeps doing stuff that surprises me.
Like breakfast that morning, for instance.
Rob had entered the kitchen to find Vic standing at the stove, wearing a green apron. He glanced over his shoulder at Rob and smiled before returning to his task.
“Good morning. There’s coffee on the table and breakfast will be ready in a sec.”
Then Rob had spied the glass of orange juice, not to mention the butter dish and a bottle of maple syrup. He smiled. “I take it we’re not having cereal.”
Vic gave him another glance, his eyebrows arched. “I promised you french toast, remember?”
Damn. He had forgotten. Rob sniffed, inhaling different delicious aromas. “Is that… bacon?”
Vic chuckled. “Well, there goes one part of my surprise. Why is it you can never hide the smell of bacon?”
Rob snickered. “Because it always smells fantastic?”
“Now that you mention it….” Vic turned, a plate of golden-brown french toast in his hand. “This is the first course. The rest is warming in the oven, apart from the eggs. I draw the line at rubbery eggs.” He placed the dish in the center of the table, then added a couple of empty plates.
Rob shuddered. “In our house that was the only way eggs arrived at the table. I swear, once I dropped a forkful and they bounced.”
Vic guffawed. “Who cooked, your mum or your dad?”
Just the thought of his dad cooking made Rob chuckle. “I don’t think Dad even knew where the stove was,” he joked. It was an exaggeration, but most of his memories of his dad involved an armchair, a newspaper, and a pair of slippers.
And not much in the way of conversation.
That last recollection tightened his chest.
“Are you okay?”
Rob jerked his head up. Vic was standing beside him, his gaze focused on Rob, his brow creased. Vic’s hand rested on the back of Rob’s chair.
And there was the first thing that had unsettled him. More than anything, Rob had wanted that hand on his shoulder.
He’d pasted on a smile. “I’m fine. Just not looking forward to work, I suppose.”
“Who does?” Vic grinned. “Anyone who says they love waking up on Monday morning either has their dream job or they’re deranged.” He placed a jar of raspberry jam on the table next to the syrup. “Okay, dig in.” He speared a piece of toast for himself, put it on his own plate, and then reached for the butter and jam.
Rob stared. “Is that how you do french toast?”
Vic paused, knife in hand, and stared back. “Why—how do you make it?”
“Mum used to mix up a couple of eggs, dip in the bread until it had soaked in, then cook it in the frying pan.”
Vic appeared horrified. “Just egg? Nothing else?” When Rob still hadn’t moved, Vic held up his forkful of toast. “I give you fair warning. I will not be saving you any of this. So if you don’t grab some now, you’ll lose out.” He fixed Rob with an amused expression. “Eat, boy.”
Rob’s breathing quickened. He dropped his gaze to the food and cut off a piece. Oh my God. That first mouthful was a delight, and absolutely nothing like any french toast he’d ever eaten. There was a hint of…. “Vanilla?” he asked, licking his lips.
Vic nodded. “I went on a trip to Chicago a few years ago, and the people I stayed with gave me their recipe. Milk, vanilla, flour, and salt, along with just a pinch of powdered sugar. It makes a batter that cooks up fluffy and light. Sheer heaven.”
For some reason Rob found Vic’s description amusing. For a
man so large, he had a soft side to him too.
“It smells delicious,” Rob said. He pointed to the maple syrup. “Now I understand. Don’t Americans drown their breakfast in that?”
Vic chuckled. “Pretty much. Syrup on bacon is definitely an acquired taste.” He opened the bottle and poured a little over his toast, then made a puddle of it on his plate. “Care to try?”
Rob gave a shrug. “Why not?” He dipped another forkful of toast into the syrup and cautiously tasted it. He nodded with enthusiasm. “That’s not bad.”
Vic opened the jar of jam. “Now this.” When Rob screwed up his face, Vic laughed. “Don’t knock it until you try it.” He cocked his head to one side. “You trusted me about the syrup.”
When he put it like that….
It turned out that raspberry jam on french toast was sublime too.
“See?” Vic said triumphantly. “I tell you, everything tastes good with this recipe.”
Rob wasn’t about to leave it there. “I’m sure there are some things that even you wouldn’t try.”
Vic grabbed his knife and fork and banged them on the table. “I accept that challenge.” His eyes gleamed.
Rob left his chair and went over to the large fridge. He peered inside and grinned when he saw the host of bottles and jars standing in the door rack. “Okay, then let’s try….” He picked up three containers, hiding them from Vic’s view. “Cover your eyes,” Rob told him.
Vic arched his eyebrows but complied with Rob’s instruction.
Rob returned to the table and added a little of each of the condiments to Vic’s plate. Then he cut off a piece and dipped it into the first one. “Open wide.”
Vic didn’t hesitate, and Rob carefully fed him the toast, chuckling when Vic attempted to hold on to the fork. He smacked his lips. “Hmm, ketchup. Like it.”
Not to be deterred, Rob went for the second taste sensation.
Vic frowned. “Okay, you might have me convinced that mayonnaise on french toast is not the best thing I’ve ever tried—but you could live on it if you had to.” His eyes screwed tight shut, Vic grinned. “Come on, bring on the next one.”
“This is the last,” Rob promised him, enjoying himself. He made sure the toast had plenty of sauce on it before sliding it between Vic’s lips. It was an almost sensual act, and Rob couldn’t account for the shiver that trickled down his back.
Vic froze. Grimaced. Swallowed. His eyes popped open and he shuddered. “Okay, okay, I admit defeat. Béarnaise on french toast is revolting.”
Rob laughed out loud and did a fist pump. “Yes!”
Vic made a show of wiping his mouth on a napkin, then taking a long drink of coffee.
Of course, once Vic had cooked up creamy scrambled eggs and served them with rashers of bacon and a couple of sausages, that meant it was time to go. His visit was over.
The last thing Vic had done before they’d left the house was to ask for Rob’s phone. Rob felt a twinge of shame as he handed over his cheap piece of junk, especially when Vic took out his own iPhone and gave it to him.
“Put your number in mine, and I’ll add mine to yours.”
Rob tapped the screen and brought the phone to life. He quickly added his contact information, then gave the phone back to Vic.
“Will I see you next weekend?” Vic asked.
Rob was about to say no, but then he remembered the gift Vic had given him. “Yes, I’ll be here. I mean, if it’s okay with you.”
“Yep. It’s perfectly okay. I had a great time. Maybe if you can stay the weekend, we could go see the changing of the guard.”
Vic’s expression was hopeful, and Rob had a hard time believing it was real. He wasn’t about to question it, though. The time he’d spent with Vic had flown by too quickly, and Rob hated the fact that it was finally over.
Tell him that. “I had a great time. I wish I could stay longer.” They weren’t just glib words. He meant every single one.
Vic grinned. “Me, too. I’m on holiday, and it would be nice to spend some time with you.”
The admission rocked Rob to his core. Someone actually wanted to spend time with him? How fucking awesome was that?
But now he was back in Manchester, his weekend officially over. By the time he got home, it was already after five o’clock. He had to work tomorrow, but he didn’t care. The glow of his time with Vic would carry him through the week until he could see Vic again.
That realization was enough to tell him that there’d been an irrevocable shift inside him.
JUDGING BY how little Rob had seen his boss, Mr. Peterson appeared to have relented in his mission to find Rob the worst possible tasks, and as a result, the days had flown by. When he wasn’t at work, he was curled up in his armchair or in bed, reading Vic’s book. He loved every page and couldn’t wait to talk to Vic about it. He wondered what Vic would say when he handed it back, along with his copy of a Grisham novel. He wasn’t sure why the thought of talking about the stories excited him so much.
Maybe it’s because we share something in common. The sight of all Vic’s books on the numerous shelves in his lounge was proof that Vic was as much into reading as Rob. More than that, he’d enjoyed their conversations. Vic was proving to be a very interesting man.
Friday morning Rob rolled out of bed, took a lingering shower, then slipped into his uniform. His apron carefully rolled up and placed into his backpack, he stepped outside to be greeted by sweet birdsong, a blue sky, and sunshine. It was such a glorious day that he decided to walk to work.
When he arrived at the supermarket, he pulled the shopping trolleys that were locked together in one long line, guiding them toward the main doors. He spied a young mother coming out, struggling with three bags of shopping in one hand while she tried to soothe the crying toddler who clutched her other hand.
“Here, let me carry your shopping,” he offered, leaving his trolleys and walking toward her.
She rolled out a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you.” She handed the bags over and led the little boy to her car, Rob following behind. He couldn’t deny how good it felt to be doing something for someone else. Once she was pulling out of the car park, waving cheerfully at him, Rob resumed his task and pushed the trolleys into the store, ready to start his day.
“Rob? Can you step into my office, please?”
Rob blinked at Mr. Peterson. “Can I put my backpack away first and put on my apron?” The sight of Mr. Peterson, glaring, his arms folded across his chest, sent a shiver of apprehension through him. He couldn’t think what the problem could be, but Rob wasn’t about to make him wait. “Yes, sir.”
As they walked through the store toward the office, Rob noticed several staff members staring at him, only to look away when he turned in their direction. It was weird. Though he wouldn’t describe any of his coworkers as mates, he still got on okay with them, so he couldn’t imagine what was going on.
Mr. Peterson pushed open the door to his office and then pointed to the chair. “Sit there.”
His brusque manner was creating all kinds of disquiet within Rob. He sat down, his hands folded in his lap, wondering what the hell was coming his way.
Mr. Peterson closed the door and took a seat at his desk. He pulled out a folder from one of the drawers and placed it next to the phone. When he raised his chin to look at Rob, his eyes were cool. “Rob, do you know why you’re here?”
“No, sir.”
Mr. Peterson sighed. “Right. Last weekend someone came into the store and made some very distressing allegations that involve you. We looked into it but couldn’t corroborate the claims, so Head Office has instructed me to speak to you about them.”
“Claims… about me?” Rob’s head was spinning. Who would say something about me?
More worryingly, what would they say that would cause such a reaction from his manager?
Mr. Peterson opened the folder and removed the top sheet. He pulled a pair of dark-framed glasses from his pocket and perched them on his nose. He sc
anned the paper for a moment before speaking. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. In 2010, did you unlawfully remove items from these premises without paying for them?”
What the fuck? The accusation ripped through Rob. It had been a couple of times when he was a kid. He hadn’t done it since.
“Rob?” Mr. Peterson stared at him, his gaze narrowed.
I could deny it. There’s no proof. No one else knows except for….
Realization sent icy fingers skittering over his skin. There was only one way Mr. Peterson could have known, only one person who could possibly have told him—Jamie.
Fuck. That son of a bitch.
Rob must really have pissed him off for him to resort to this. Well, fuck him! Rob would deny it and that would be the end of it. It would be his word against Jamie’s.
Only….
Weariness stole over him. Rob had more than enough lies in his past without adding to them. He was trying his damnedest to be a better person, especially since Vic seemed to see him that way. Yes, he could deny it, say it was nothing but lies, but if he did that, would he really be any different than he was all those years ago?
I berated Jamie, told him to grow up. Maybe it’s time I did the same.
“Yes, sir,” Rob whispered, his heart heavy. He looked Mr. Peterson in the eye, willing him to understand. “But it was a long time ago. It wasn’t supposed to be anything to hurt anybody, and I’m very sorry.”
Sorrier than he had ever been in his life.
Mr. Peterson regarded him in silence for a moment. Then he put the sheet on the desk, picked up a pen, and wrote something on it. Rob had a sinking feeling he knew what the words said.
Mr. Peterson cleared his throat. “Thank you for being honest. However, I’m afraid I can’t leave it at that. Ordinarily we’d call in the police, but I’m not going to go that far. That being said, there are policies in place that prevent us from retaining you as an employee.”
What shocked Rob most at that moment was the knowledge that Jamie had given Mr. Peterson exactly what he needed to get rid of him, and Mr. Peterson clearly wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity.
