by Bru Baker
“You seem plenty clever to me. After all, the continued survival of our entire outpost is going to be on your shoulders.”
And what wonderful shoulders they were. Broad and strong, leading to a tapered waist and long, lean legs. No, being sequestered with Mateus during a zombie apocalypse would not be a hardship.
A man at the front of the line started yelling, setting the entire crowd abuzz. It sounded like there were no more flights to Vancouver available for the day, which Crawford had called a while ago. The rental car had been a crazy, spur-of-the-moment plan, but now it seemed like it was actually their best course of action. He pulled out his phone and started looking at options.
“Do you have a preference for type of car?”
Mateus chuckled. “Other than one that will get us where we’re going? No. I don’t know much about cars.”
Crawford was a car guy, but there was no way the company would spring for a luxury ride. Maybe he’d see what was available and splurge. Driving a sweet little sports car up the coast would go a long way to relaxing him for his impending doom tomorrow.
“Okay, so it looks like we can take the I-5 straight up to Vancouver, or we can bump over a bit and go up a coastal road. Prettier view, but it adds a little time. Not too much. I think we’d still be okay getting you to the airport in time, assuming the border isn’t backed up.”
Mateus pulled out his phone and checked the time. “I haven’t been to the coast yet. Let’s do that.”
It was a nice day, especially for the Pacific Northwest. A little cool, but it always was. “I’m unilaterally deciding on a convertible, then. Or a T-top. Something where we can put the top down and enjoy the scenery.”
They could blast the heat if it got cold. Crawford didn’t often get the opportunity to enjoy a drive, since LA was a gridlocked concrete jungle. He loosened his tie. He almost always flew in his suit because he never knew who would be meeting him at the airport, and first impressions mattered. But if they were going to be driving for a few hours, there was no reason not to be comfortable.
“That sounds like an adventure,” Mateus said. He brushed a strand of hair back from his face, and heat flashed through Crawford’s chest at the thought of what he’d look like with it whipping around in the wind. It was too short to be tied back but just long enough to be a nuisance, and it was sexy as hell. Exactly the right length to really sink his fingers into, which was not something Crawford should be thinking about in the middle of a crowded airport. Or at all.
God, if they made it to Vancouver without him popping an ill-timed and embarrassing boner like a teenager, it would be a miracle.
Three people in line in front of them left in a huff, and Crawford and Mateus shuffled up. They were close enough now to eavesdrop on most of the conversations, and it didn’t sound like any of them were going well.
Crawford scrolled through the cars that were available and found a BMW Roadster. It was four hundred dollars a day, plus mileage, but he was too giddy to care. He’d only need it for today—he’d be turning it in at the Vancouver airport in a few hours. So why not live a little? Every penny he could manage went into tax-sheltered investments that were building up his nest egg for the inn he wanted to buy someday, so it wasn’t like he was burning money left and right.
He held the phone out to Mateus for his opinion before hitting reserve. “Eh?”
Mateus’s mouth fell open. It really was a gorgeous car. Crawford mentally patted himself on the back for finding one that was so amazing.
“It can’t cost that much to rent a car,” Mateus said, clearly aghast.
Oh. Crawford thought his thumb had been over that part of the screen. He hadn’t meant to let Mateus see the cost.
“We could get something cheaper, but I want this one,” Crawford said stubbornly. He could afford it, and it wasn’t like it was an everyday kind of expense. “I mean, it’s an adventure, right? I usually drive a Jetta. Throw me a bone here. I want to splurge.”
Mateus laughed. “It’s your money. I can just think of a lot of other ways to spend it that are more fun than a car.”
Crawford put a hand to his heart. “This is not a car. This is a thing of beauty and craftsmanship.”
“My brother, Duarte, had a 1960s Maserati he bought off our grandfather. I never understood it because it broke down constantly and he spent more time fixing it up than driving it.”
“Does he still have it?”
“Eh, no. It would have cost a fortune to ship it here from Portugal. He sold it to a collector and used the money as part of the down payment on the orchard. I think he actually cried real tears when the man picked it up.”
Crawford winced in sympathy. If he’d had something that amazing, he’d probably cry if he had to sell it too. As it stood, he’d trade away his Jetta without a second thought, but that was one of the few bonuses of driving such a generic car. No emotional attachment.
He bit back a laugh. He couldn’t even commit to a car these days.
They both looked up when the line shuffled forward again. Mateus was next. “So I’m definitely renting a car and driving. And I’d love to have the company if you want to come. But I’ll understand if you want to catch another flight or make other plans or whatever they offer you. Don’t feel obligated to go with me,” Crawford said in a rush.
Mateus’s lips curved into another of his gorgeous smiles. “I think we make a good team, even if there are no zombies.”
Tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying bled out of his shoulders at Mateus’s easy tone. Crawford had been worried he’d come on too strong with the car thing, but it did make sense. He was going anyway, and he could probably get Mateus there faster than the airline. He kind of hoped they couldn’t get Mateus on another flight tonight. It would be nice to have an excuse to be with him for a few more hours.
An agent beckoned to him, and Mateus grabbed the handle of his roller bag and stepped forward. “I’ll meet you over at the end?” he asked, nodding toward a spot in the corner where they’d be out of everyone’s way.
“Sure,” Crawford said with a nod. “But really, if they offer you some way to get up there, you can take it, and I won’t be offended.”
“Will do,” Mateus said. He offered Crawford a small salute and walked off toward the counter. Crawford only had to wait another minute or so before someone called him forward too.
Chapter Six
“YOU are enjoying this too much,” Mateus said, wrapping his sweater tighter around himself.
Crawford threw his head back and laughed. “What’s not to enjoy? Gorgeous scenery, beautiful car”—he looked over at Mateus and winked—“handsome man.”
Mateus let out a pleased laugh. They hadn’t spoken much since they’d left the airport. They were going fast enough that the wind made it hard to hear. Not to mention the fact that every time Mateus spoke, he ended up with a mouthful of hair.
Crawford had stayed on I-5 for a while and then jogged over to Chuckanut Drive, which the clerk at the rental car desk had told them was a less direct route to Vancouver but worth it for the scenic views. Mateus couldn’t complain. It was so green here. He didn’t know which was more impressive, the trees or the beautiful glimpses of Puget Sound.
Crawford had gotten the sporty little convertible he’d wanted despite the ridiculous price, and they were now driving it up the coast as promised. It was gorgeous, but it was also freezing. Crawford didn’t seem to be affected by the wind, which was a small mercy. If Mateus had to freeze, at least he could enjoy looking at Crawford, who’d taken off his suit coat as soon as they’d gotten into the car and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. He looked absolutely edible, and if they hadn’t been on a deadline, Mateus might’ve been tempted to persuade him to pull over and let Mateus take the rest of the suit off.
For a businessman, Crawford seemed to be in pretty good shape. His tanned forearms were nicely muscled and sprinkled with coarse hair. He must do something sporty outside in his
free time.
Mateus cast a side-eyed glance at him. “Do you surf?”
Crawford looked over, confusion painted all over his face. “I don’t think it’s really good surfing up here—too many logs and rocks.”
The coastline was littered with chunks of wood that looked bigger than buses, so Mateus didn’t doubt that. “I mean at home. In Los Angeles.”
“Not really. My brother does, and I go with him and my nephew sometimes, but it’s not really my thing.”
Mateus hadn’t heard about the brother or the nephew. He wanted to ask more but didn’t want to pry. Crawford’s face had tightened when he’d mentioned them, so there must be a story there. They had another two hours in the car together, so he hoped he’d get it eventually. Then again, why would Crawford share such personal information with a stranger? They’d passed into heavier flirting sometime between canceling their tickets to Vancouver and picking up the rental, but it had all been in good fun. Crawford had given no indication that this was anything other than a lark for him, and even though it was obvious he thought Mateus was attractive, it was equally obvious it wasn’t going to go anywhere.
“So what do you do to stay fit? You don’t surf and you’ve said you travel a lot, so how are you in such good shape?”
“Mountain biking, if I have time. When I’m traveling for work, I usually end up in the hotel gym or out for a run around whatever town I’m in.”
Mateus had always hated gyms, but he admired anyone who would put themselves through that torture on purpose. One benefit of all the manual labor at the orchard was that he rarely worked out anymore. It was a lot more fulfilling to get his weight training in by lifting barrels and trees than metal weights and barbells in a gym.
“And your job? You never said what you do.”
Crawford glanced over at him again before focusing back on the road. “Boring stuff. I’m an auditor for a hotel chain.”
“So you, what, count beds? What does a hotel auditor do?”
Crawford snickered. “No, though I have had to do inventories when we’ve closed a property and put things up for auction. Mostly I go into hotels that aren’t making their numbers and figure out why. Sometimes it’s just an unavoidable result of a market downturn. Sometimes it’s bad management. Sometimes it’s that the hotel is dated and needs a revamp, or needs to have its customer service overhauled.”
“And you do these things?” That didn’t sound like “boring stuff” at all.
“I get them pointed in the right direction, at least. I’ll put a plan in place to get them on the right track and then set up some benchmarks they need to hit to show they’re still doing well.”
Mateus suspected it was a lot more than that. He’d always been a sucker for a man who spoke with authority, and it oozed off Crawford in waves. Delicious, seductive waves.
He looked out the window, focusing on the choppy water he could see each time there was enough of a break in the trees to see the coast. He needed to reel his attraction to Crawford in a bit or he’d make the rest of the drive uncomfortable for both of them.
Crawford seemed to agree, because he didn’t continue the conversation. He turned up the radio instead, and Mateus settled into his seat and just enjoyed his silent company. That got old after about twenty minutes, though, which was how they found themselves discussing ridiculous things like favorite coffee chains.
“I’m just saying I don’t see the appeal,” Crawford said. “Canadians treat it like some sort of thing to be revered, but it seems an awful lot like Dunkin’ Donuts to me, but with mediocre coffee and half-stale baked goods.” He gestured with his hand to accentuate his point.
Mateus had no idea what Tim Hortons was—or Dunkin’ Donuts, for that matter—but it was amusing to see Crawford riled up over something as mundane as a coffee-shop chain. He was gesturing wildly, and people in nearby cars were starting to stare.
Or they might just be staring because Crawford was smoking hot. That was a possibility. It was a big part of why Mateus couldn’t take his eyes off him either.
“I don’t get the American obsession with chains. My sister-in-law is the same way with Starbucks.”
Crawford arched an unimpressed brow. “And you don’t have chains in Lisbon?”
Mateus shrugged. “Eh, we do. But there are a lot of little cafés and restaurants. I prefer those. The atmosphere is better, and usually the food is better too.”
Crawford didn’t continue the conversation after that, and Mateus was starting to worry that he’d offended him. He was just about to apologize when Crawford spoke up.
“I avoid them when I can. Airports excluded, of course. We ate out a lot when I was a kid since my mom was an awful cook. Mostly chains. I was burned out on fast food by college. My brother and I probably had every McDonald’s Happy Meal toy that existed in the late seventies.” He looked over and grinned at Mateus. “Damn, I wish we still did. Those would probably be worth a pretty penny.”
Mateus couldn’t imagine a childhood that didn’t include family meals at home. “My brother and I were lucky, I guess. Our mother was a wonderful cook. And our avó too.” He caught Crawford’s confused look. “Grandmother.”
Crawford bobbed his head. “Ah. Did you grow up near your grandparents? Mine were on the other side of the country, so we didn’t see them very often.”
“My avó lived with us when I was a kid. Or rather, we lived with her. It was her farm, and we were her free labor.” The farm was probably the reason Mateus had gone into botany. He’d loved working outside and nurturing things into bloom.
Mateus stopped himself before he could lapse into boring reminiscences, but Crawford made an interested sound and gave him an expectant look like he wanted to hear more.
“It’s an olive grove. We still have it, Duarte and I. We inherited it after our parents died. It’s not really big enough to make a living at it, so we lease the land to one of the neighbors. His grove is a lot bigger.”
“So that’s why you’re in Lisbon instead of at the family farm? Do you miss it?”
Of course he did. That was a big part of the reason he’d volunteered to come help at Duarte’s orchard. “I do, but it’s not the same. You can’t relive your childhood, you know? Some things seemed magical back then, like taking gas heaters out into the groves when the temperature dipped—I remember staying up all night as a child toting gas to the lamps and watching them, curled up on blankets out in the grove. But as an adult? All I could think about was how much the fuel cost and how uncomfortable the ground was.”
He laughed ruefully, and Crawford joined in. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“We haven’t had to do that yet at my brother’s orchard, but I’m sure we will. It seems to be cooler here than in Lisbon, and the apple trees are so delicate. He’s had a hard time with them, which is why I came over to help. Plus I have him and Bree here. I was lonely at home, missing them.”
Crawford cleared his throat. “I’ve always stayed as close as I could to my brother, Adam. He moves around a fair bit, since his wife is in the Navy, but they’ve been in Los Angeles for a few years. It’s why I moved there, so I could help him with my nephew, Brandon, while Karen was deployed. But they’re moving to Japan in a few weeks. I’m not sure what I’ll do without them.”
The bleakness in Crawford’s voice made Mateus want to reach out and hug him, but he didn’t think that would be welcomed. No matter how much of a connection Mateus felt with him, Crawford was still a total stranger. They’d been pushed together by circumstance, and that had helped them forge a bond quicker than usual. Mateus needed to keep reminding himself of that.
It was surprisingly easy to talk to Crawford. The drive flew by as they chatted, and Mateus was not at all happy to see signs announcing the border becoming more and more frequent. He was going to be sad to lose this strange bond he and Crawford shared once Crawford dropped him off at the airport.
“I’m sorry,” Mateus said at last, at a loss for what else to say. He r
emembered how lost he’d felt when Duarte left Portugal.
Crawford shook his head a bit, as if trying to shake off the melancholia that had descended. “It’s not like I won’t get to see them. And it’ll only be for a few years. I’ve always wanted to see Japan, and now I have a built-in excuse to travel there.”
“I’ve never been, but I’ve heard there are a lot of chain restaurants,” Mateus teased.
Crawford’s laugh filled the car, and a thrill ran through Mateus at the sound. It was rich and gorgeous, and Mateus wanted to preen about being the one to coax it out of him.
“Actually, there’s a chain there called Mister Donut that’s really well-known. It’s related to Dunkin’ Donuts, like, literally. They were founded by a pair of brothers. I’ve always wanted to try it to see if they’re alike in concept only or in taste too.”
Mateus snorted. “Of course you’d travel all the way across the world for donuts. I’m not surprised, since I saw you have a religious experience with a pretzel.”
He shouldn’t dwell on that mental image for too long or things would get very uncomfortable in the confines of the car. Mateus flexed his hands and took a breath, willing the vision away.
“You can’t compare a donut to a pretzel, Mateus. They’re entirely different things.”
“They’re both fried dough. It’s all the same.”
“Heathen. They’re nothing alike.”
“I’m just assuming, since I’ve never had Dunkin’ Donuts—”
Crawford sputtered. “Wait, what? You’ve been here for what, three months? And you haven’t had Dunkin’ Donuts? I’m surprised they let you stay in the country. That’s criminal, Mateus.”
Mateus laughed at the shaky logic. “If you say so. I could use some coffee now, no matter where it’s from.”
“We’ll stop at Tim Hortons when we get across the border. Then you can judge its mediocrity for yourself. If you say you love it, I may never be able to talk to you again.”
Mateus smiled and shook his head. Likely Crawford would never talk to him again even if he did hate the coffee shop. “You have strong feelings about coffee for a man who doesn’t even drink the real stuff.”
