Jerking away, Tomas said in a hoarse tone, “Enough of the lesson, kid.”
“Not a kid. And thanks for the lesson.” Bernie smirked.
He walked away, a sway in his hips. His ass looked fuller in his baggy pants. Tomas licked his lips. Raising his head, Tomas scowled as Robert and Alex slapped Bernie on the back. He turned away, pushed through the crowd, and went to the bar. Leaning on it, he waited his turn. He ordered from one of the bartenders and brooded as he waited for his beer.
“You and Bernie looked good out there,” a melodious voice said.
“Don’t you have something else you should be doing?” Tomas scowled at Mackenzie Hannigan, the owner of Bacchus Sloan.
“Nope.” Mackenzie put a beer on the bar in front of him.
He opened the gate to the bar and came out, leaning next to Tomas. Mackenzie opened his bottle of water and took a drink.
“So what? The kid can dance,” Tomas said.
“He’s not a kid,” Mackenzie pointed out.
“He keeps saying that.”
“And I don’t think others see him that way.” Mackenzie sounded amused.
Tomas glanced up sharply. He growled when he spotted Bernie dancing with two men. They were all over him. Tomas took a step. A hand settled on his shoulder. He glanced from it to Mackenzie’s face.
“I don’t want my place to be busted up.” Mackenzie’s tone was mild, but Tomas heard the clear warning.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Tomas said, defending himself.
Mackenzie gave him a look.
“Well, unless you’re with me.” Tomas smiled.
“Those were the days, buddy.” Mackenzie laughed, his dark green eyes twinkling.
“Are you two plotting trouble again?” Alejandro asked.
“Count us in. But not too much. Have to keep up the rep of being a law-abiding citizen,” Hector said.
“Speak for yourself,” Malik replied.
“Whatever it is, I don’t want to know,” Miguel stated.
“Please. You’ll be the one leading the mischief,” Tomas said.
His brothers flanked around them. They watched the dancers.
“What’s up with you and Bernie?” Miguel asked.
Tomas took a drink. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The other men snorted in disbelief. Ignoring them, Tomas watched Bernie dancing with man after man. He slammed his mug on the bar and went over to Bernie. Pushing between Bernie and his dance partner, Tomas glowered at the man. The man backed away. Tomas looked back at Bernie.
“Let’s go,” he growled.
He strode off the dance floor. Tomas waved at Mackenzie and his brothers, heading for the door. He pushed out the door and went to his car. Bernie’s soft tread came behind him. Pushing the button to disarm his truck alarm, he went to the driver’s side. Getting in, he slammed the door. Bernie got in beside him, closing the door softly. Tomas got them on their way. The ride was silent. In a short bit, he pulled up in front of Bernie’s condo. Impatiently, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It won’t happen again.” Bernie’s voice was soft.
Tomas glanced at him. His head was turned away, a blush staining his cheeks. He got out of the car and went up the drive to the steps. There was a slump to his shoulders. He tripped, then righted himself, rushing up the steps and into the house. Tomas sat a while, looking at the door.
“What am I going to do with you, kid?” Tomas asked.
Shaking his head, he drove automatically to his house.
TOMAS drove the trowel into the dirt. Leaning back on his heels, he wiped his forehead with his bandanna. Although it was only almost the end of April, it was already shaping up to be a very warm spring in Mapson. Rolling his shoulders and neck, he looked down the line of roses he was planting. They were looking very nice. Thankfully, the job wasn’t too complicated, and he was working alone. Malik had tried to change the schedule so they could work together today, pulling the old gambit that he was co-owner of Rodbro—their landscaping business—and thus could change things if he wanted. Tomas knew why he had wanted to switch.
Since Tomas was also a co-owner, he had made sure once Malik left to switch with Allen for this job. He knew Malik and Link, who also worked with them, would be surprised to see Allen when he went to the job. After last night, Tomas didn’t want to hear the ribbing he would get from Malik or Link. His thoughts turned, as they had all day, to Bernie—specifically, to how he had moved on the dance floor. He had been sexy. There seemed to be more behind that geeky exterior than Tomas knew.
Do you even want to go there? Tomas unclipped his canteen from his waist, uncapped it, and drank deeply. He lowered it, recapping it slowly.
“Nah. He’s just a kid,” Tomas said.
He remembered the blush and Bernie’s soft apology. When he saw Bernie on Saturday, he would have to make sure Bernie understood there was nothing to be sorry for.
“Maybe I should go by today.” As soon as he said it, he dismissed the thought.
Friday was Bernie’s movie night with Alex, Robert, and Simon, if he was in town. Tomas didn’t impose on it. Usually, he spent the night at home catching up with things at his house, or sometimes going out with his brothers. The sound of a car coming up the drive caught Tomas’s attention. Frowning, he stood as the squad car pulled up. Striding over to it, Tomas leaned down as the window lowered. Surprised, he studied the man in the car. Immediately Tomas thought something had happened to Miguel, but dismissed the thought as soon as it formed. He would have gotten a call, not an in-person notification.
“Ramirez. What are you doing here?” Tomas was curious why Ramirez had tracked him down.
Gerald Ramirez worked on the police force with Miguel. He was a close friend, although lately he hadn’t been coming to their poker games or any of the other get-togethers they’d had. “We need to talk about Bernie.” A fierce frown was on Ramirez’s craggy face, and his black eyes were furious.
Chapter Two
BERNIE paced in front of the bay window. Stopping, he glanced at the clock over the mantle. Only three o’clock. Almost two hours until Alex came by for movie night. Robert couldn’t make it. Alex was bringing food so Bernie didn’t have to cook. Technically, Friday through Sunday were his days off from both work with Robert and his own graduate classes, but he didn’t use them all. He tended to go in at least half a day on Fridays. Today, he hadn’t even gone in for a half day, just stayed at home.
The day had been filled with thoughts of how good Tomas had felt pressed against him. His scent had been how he smelled when he went home to clean up before coming to dinner at Bernie’s house. Bernie assumed it was whatever he used to bathe with. When Tomas cleaned up at Bernie’s house, he smelled like Bernie’s own herbal soap or shampoo. Bernie couldn’t decide if he’d rather have Tomas smelling of Bernie’s things or of his own. He shook his head.
“You practically attacked the man on the dance floor.” Guilt filled him.
No wonder Tomas had run from the dance floor and avoided him all night. Bernie had flung himself at him. Shamelessly. Bernie ran his hand through his hair. He sat in the window seat looking at the sunny day.
I can’t stay here and wait for Alex for two hours. I’m going stir-crazy.
Coming to a decision, he stood and walked over to the entry table, opened a drawer, and took out his wallet and keys. Putting them in his pocket, he went to the door, then opened it, and paused on the porch, raising his face to the sun. The April day was warm and the sky clear. The great weather was one of the things he enjoyed most about living in California. He walked rapidly down the steps, cursing as he tripped. He glanced back at the open garage that held his old beat-up RAV4. Deciding not to take it, he turned and walked down the drive. Making a left, he walked toward Paget Street, the strip of quaint stores not far from the condo. He’d seen them every day as he went to and from school and always wanted to check them out, but since movin
g to the area a bit over ten months ago, he’d never found the time.
You just want to stop thinking of Tomas.
Bernie knew it was true, and he was not going to deal with it. At least not until he saw Tomas tomorrow for poker. He paused. Maybe he should drive himself to the game. Knowing Tomas, he would demand an explanation—one Bernie didn’t want to have to give. He would just have to see what happened. Bernie started walking again. Ten minutes later, he stopped in front of the store he’d come to check out.
A stylized design of books on a table with “2H Book Nook” over it stretched across the front window. Through the glass, Bernie could see the store was fairly busy. Going to the door, he opened it and went in. Music filled the store. People were humming along with it as he skirted them, browsing the shelves filled with books. Absently, he took in the seating areas set up throughout the store. There was even a coffee shop with tables and booths to the left inside the store. Some people had laptops and seemed to be working. Passing by one patron, Bernie noted the man was on the Internet.
Cool. They have Wi-Fi. I’ll have to come with my laptop one day.
The store was a good size, yet had a comfy and relaxed feel to it, unlike the bigger bookstores. He already liked it. As he walked, he looked at the selection of books. The store had a good variety of all kinds of books from fiction to nonfiction. Reaching the science section, Bernie looked through the titles offered. Impressed, he noted the books on quantum sciences, physics, and other topics. Biting his lip, he calculated in his head how much he had in his bank account. Picking just one book, he glanced at the sitting area set up close to where he stood. Glancing at his watch, then the book, he knew if he started to read, he would get caught up and miss movie night with Alex. At least at home he would hear Alex coming in. He walked back to the counter. There wasn’t a line at the register, but the man behind the counter was on the phone. The man’s head was bent as he whispered furiously.
“I don’t need you to come get me like I’m a child. I can get home.” He paused, then sighed, rubbing his hand across his forehead. “Fine. You’ll do whatever you want anyway.” His tone was bitter and resigned.
The man hung up and gripped the counter with his hands. He shook his head. Bernie shifted and cleared his throat. The man looked up sharply, his hazel eyes weary.
The man straightened. “Sorry. Did you need help, or to check out?”
“To check out,” Bernie replied, putting the book on the counter.
Something niggled at him. The man was very familiar. Suddenly, it dawned on him.
“Harper Hillman?”
“Yes. Do I know you?” Harper glanced at him, frowning.
“Umm… I’m a friend of Robert’s. We’ve played poker together a few times before….” Bernie trailed off as he realized what he was about to say.
A sad look flitted across Harper’s face. Bernie shifted, remembering the last time he had seen Harper. It was at Karl Provenza’s—Harper’s partner’s—funeral. They had been together for more than ten years before Provenza was murdered. Harper had been grief-stricken. The tribute that Provenza had asked Miguel and Ramirez—his two best buddies—to do for Harper had been touching. When Harper had broken down, they had all been relieved he had finally started grieving. In the almost seven months since then, Harper and Ramirez hadn’t come to the poker night, or any of the other get-togethers the poker crew had. Bernie studied Harper. He looked better, but there was still a brittleness to him. Harper was an intense man, but had a devilish side, at least when Provenza, who’d been more affable, had prodded him to it.
“I remember you now. Bernie, right? Nice to see you. Been a long time. Let me ring you up.” Harper rang up his purchase.
Bernie frowned at the total. Mentally, he calculated the book and tax.
“That’s not the right price for the book.” He shook his head.
“It’s a discount for friends.” Harper smiled.
Bernie blinked, startled at the statement. “I can’t do that. I have money for it. I can afford it. I know what Robert probably told you guys, but I have money this year. I was awarded a special grant to use for my expenses,” he insisted.
Harper seemed surprised. “I’m sure you can afford it. And I’m not sure what you mean by Robert told us something. He didn’t tell me anything. This is the discount I give to all my friends. Provenza liked you.” Harper’s voice faltered, and then he said firmly, “And I do too. I see you as a friend, so take the discount. Unless you don’t see me as a friend.”
“I do see you as a friend.”
“Good. Then give me the money for the total here.” Harper beckoned with his hand.
Bernie handed over the money. Harper finished the transaction and gave him his change. Harper put the book in a bag that had the same design as the window.
“Did you find the science section had some good titles? I asked Robert to give me some recommendations so I could order them. Since he did, I’ve noticed that more of the science majors from Mapson University are coming in and buying them. Do you have any titles you think I should get?” Harper asked as he handed Bernie the bag.
“Ahh… that explains why you have such a good selection. I did notice there were a few that you could add. But they might not sell that well, since they’re more for hard-core researchers. Your boss might not like that,” Bernie said.
“I’m the owner of 2H, so that won’t be a problem. I don’t mind trying out some of the titles,” Harper replied.
“2H? Is that because of your name?”
“Yep. Provenza came up with it.” He cleared his throat, then continued. “So give me the titles.”
“Con—”
Harper interrupted him. “Wait. Let me get someone to cover this counter, and we can have some coffee.”
Before he could answer, Harper hurried away. Bernie walked a little away from the counter.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Harper glanced at Bernie, and Bernie followed him. As they walked, Harper greeted various customers by name. He spoke to them and made recommendations for books. They all seemed to like him, and he was personable. Inside the coffee shop, Harper walked over to a back booth with a reserved sign on it.
“Have a seat, and I’ll get the coffee. What do you drink?” Harper asked.
“Ummm… I prefer tea with a stick of cinnamon, if you have it.”
“Got ya. Any special type of tea? We carry lots of kinds.”
Bernie shrugged. “Anything is fine.”
He’d only had regular tea, so he was unsure of what other types there were. Harper walked away. Bernie sat, putting his bag on the seat next to him. He glanced around. The coffee shop part of the store was larger than he’d thought from the glimpse he’d had of it. The combination of the bookstore and coffee shop made the store larger than it looked from outside. He looked over at the counter across the room.
Harper went behind the counter and made their drinks. He was talking with the man at the counter, but Bernie was too far away to make out the man’s features or hear their conversation. Moments later, Harper took up a tray and came out of the swinging gate toward him. When he got to the table, he placed the tray on it. Harper placed a pastry in front of Bernie along with a steaming cup of tea before sitting on the other side of the booth and sliding closer to him.
“Hope you’re not allergic to pecans or caramel. Since you mentioned liking cinnamon, I got us each a caramel sticky bun.”
“No, I’m not allergic.” Bernie grabbed a fork and took a bite. He moaned as he ate the first gooey bite.
“Good, huh? We make them here in the shop. Actually, all the pastries are made here. We have a kitchen beyond those doors.” Harper looked at Bernie with a slight smile on his face.
Bernie swallowed and asked, “Can I have the recipe? I’d like to try and make them.”
“I’ll give you a copy of my recipe,” Harper said.
“Yours?”
“Yeah. Came up with it for Provenza. He loved
caramel and pecans,” Harper said softly.
Bernie frowned, sorry he had made him sad again. “It’s okay to talk about him, sharing the memories you have.” He reached out and touched Harper’s hand and then squeezed it.
“Ah… you don’t want to hear about all that,” Harper said.
“I do. I had started to know a little about him from the games, but didn’t get to know him before”—he paused, then went on—“he was gone.”
Harper’s gaze was intense, and then he gripped Bernie’s hand. “Thank you for saying that.”
“Saying what?”
“Acknowledging he was here and gone. Everyone is so afraid of saying his name to me. They act like since he’s gone, they can’t talk about him. They treat me like I’m broken. Not like me anymore. I miss him so much, but I miss being able to talk about us, him, or me, without being treated as if I’m so fragile I’ll shatter. I won’t.” His voice was fierce.
“Tell me about him.” Bernie turned his hand and held Harper’s.
“He was the one who pushed me to open 2H. He knew of my love of books and said I was friendly to people, not to mention too stubborn to fail or do it halfway. It was supposed to be just a small bookstore. Two years ago, when the two shops on either side were empty, Karl was the one who went and bought them so I could expand. He gave me the spaces for my birthday and paid to have them redone to expand the store and open the coffee shop. Even convinced his brother Kenton to run the coffee shop so he could bake the pastries he loved. Kenton didn’t formally go to school for baking, but he’s really good. Karl knew that Kenton would thrive at making pastries. Hell, Kenton has even started taking special orders for various private parties. Karl had a knack for knowing what others couldn’t see or do themselves. I loved that about him.” Harper’s voice got choked.
“He sounds like a good man,” Bernie said softly.
“He was. He was a lot like Tomas—a nurturer, although they like to act tough and like they don’t care. They do care, deeply.”
Sparks Page 2
