by Amy Aislin
Except he was tired and lazy, and he was taking an evening to himself.
A key in the lock halted his progress across the hall. Only one other person had a key to his place, so he waited at the foot of the stairs for Calder to come in, hoping that Calder wasn’t about to hand him a last-minute cake to decorate.
“Jesus!” Calder jumped back, hand going to his chest. “Why are you standing there in the dark like some freakishly tall ghostly apparition?”
“You say ‘freakishly tall’ as if you’re not two inches taller than me.”
“Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?” Muttering to himself, Calder closed the door softly behind him and slipped out of his boots, leaving his winter coat on the bench by the door.
Relieved that Calder wasn’t carrying a cake tray, Dakota jerked his head in the direction of the family room, urging Calder to follow him to where their voices wouldn’t drift up to Andy’s bedroom and wake him.
“Want a drink?” Dakota asked once they were in the other room.
“Got about seven of those?” Calder said with a nod at Calder’s lowball glass.
Dakota’s eyebrows went up. “Something on your mind?”
Dropping onto the couch, Calder scrubbed both hands over his face. “I did a thing. A stupid thing. And then I did another thing I should’ve talked to you about first.”
Wary, Dakota sat next to his cousin. “Okay.”
With his hands cupped over his mouth, a muffled “I quit my job today” escaped Calder’s mouth.
Dakota blinked. “You . . . What?” He’d known Calder didn’t enjoy his job as a baker at the bakery franchise, but to up and quit like that? “Just . . . out of the blue? Or was this something you’ve been thinking about for a while?”
Calder dropped his hands. Sighing, he slumped backward, sinking into the couch. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Months, really. I wanted to find a new job before I quit, but everything came to a head today and . . .” He sighed again. “I’ll take those seven drinks now.”
Going into the living room, Dakota opened the cupboard of his minibar and poured Calder a few fingers of the ten-year-old Laphroaig he loved.
“I knew you were unhappy there,” Dakota said as he stepped back into the family room and held the glass out to Calder. “But I didn’t think it was this bad. How come you never said anything?”
“Thought I could tough it out until I found something else.”
“What happened today?”
“I just can’t handle Peter’s management anymore. He’s trying to cut costs by shortening our hours, but that means there aren’t enough of us to get the morning baking done in time. Not to mention if we’re low on supplies, he has a hissy fit—and inventory is his job. I’m done.” Calder sipped his scotch. “If he wants to cut costs so bad, he can stop paying me entirely. See how he likes having one less body to boss around.”
Peter was the owner of the bakery. Talk about personalities that didn’t mesh—Calder and Peter were like crayons and microwaves.
“Bet he comes crawling back within the week,” Calder muttered into his drink.
“You didn’t give two weeks’ notice?”
“No, I did. Don’t listen to me.” He waved a hand. “I’m just blabbering.”
Dakota tucked himself against the arm of the couch, one leg bent underneath him so he could face Calder. “And what was the second thing you did that you should’ve talked to me about?”
“Oh. Hm.” Calder stared into his glass. “I did a thing.”
“Uh-huh. You said that.” It was kind of amusing seeing Calder all evasive, but it wasn’t enough to eclipse the cramping in Dakota’s gut. What the hell was Calder about to spring on him? The uncertainty cast his mind back three-plus years, to coming home from work and finding Fiona with her bags packed by the door, announcing she wanted a divorce, couldn’t be a mother, and was moving into an apartment she’d leased, all in one breath. She’d had everything planned out and Dakota hadn’t had a clue.
He hated not having a clue.
Never mind that she’d left him with a full-time job to be a full-time single parent, she’d never talked to him about what was bothering her or any of the plans she was making. Secrets layered upon secrets. He’d tried, in the days that followed, to convince her to see a doctor in case she had postpartum depression. Turned out that she didn’t, which she knew, because she’d already seen a doctor about it. Something else she’d kept from him.
Thank God for Calder, whose flexible work schedule meant he could pitch in while Dakota scrambled to find a daycare that had availability for a six-month-old.
Removing his phone from his pocket, Calder fiddled with it for a moment, then handed it to Dakota. On the screen was a website featuring their logo—a clip-art-looking cake they’d bought off a stock site—next to the name of their company. Underneath that was a menu: home, about, gallery, contact, order, FAQ. Below that was a photo gallery featuring some of the cakes, cupcakes, cookies, and pastries they’d done over the years. It was a very clean website, minimalist with lots of white space, eye-catching colors, and photos of some of their best work.
“Before you freak out,” Calder said, “this isn’t live. I just thought it was something we might want to look into. I know you don’t really have time to take on more work and—”
“Did you read the stars or something?” Dakota interrupted.
“Huh?”
Huffing out a laugh, Dakota shook his head. “When Tay was here a couple days ago, he asked why we don’t have a website. This is all incredibly coincidental.” He couldn’t say he hadn’t thought of it ever since Tay had mentioned it, but . . . “We’ll have to figure out logistics.” As the baker, Calder currently took all of the orders and notified Dakota of the ones requiring any decorating.
“Yeah, that’s what I was getting at.” Calder sat forward on the edge of the couch, eager now that Dakota hadn’t flipped out like he’d so clearly thought. “I know you don’t have time to take on more work, but I’ll have nothing but time two weeks from now, and I’ll need the income. Cake decorating isn’t really my thing, but I can take on whatever you don’t have time for.” Not really my thing was quite the euphemism for can’t stand it. Calder was just as good as Dakota, but he lacked the patience that went along with intricate cake decorating. Something like the golf course he’d done a couple days ago would’ve driven Calder to way more than seven drinks.
Dakota handed the phone back and took a leap. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Calder’s brow creased. “Okay, as in let’s do it? Or okay, as in let’s talk about it some more?”
“We do need to talk about it more, and not just from a logistics point of view but from a business one. Once we figure that out? Yeah, I’m in.” Anticipation was a heady thing, making Dakota’s palms sweat on his glass.
“Really?” Calder’s grin overtook his face.
Dakota’s matched it. “Really.”
“I thought for sure you’d need to spend a week thinking about it.”
It wasn’t quite their dream of opening their own little boutique bakery; it was, however, a step in the right direction. And how could Dakota say no to that?
Tay grew up with two older sisters. He’d witnessed more than one guy bring them flowers before a date.
He didn’t think Dakota would appreciate flowers, and not because Dakota was a guy, but because he was more practical than that. There weren’t any flowers in his house, just sturdy plants that would last forever instead of flowers that would wilt and die within two weeks.
Which was how Tay found himself at the liquor store near Dakota’s house twenty minutes before their date. Except . . .
Shit. There were five billion brands of scotch. And whiskey. Wait, were they one and the same? No, there was a sign for American whiskey, Irish whiskey, and Canadian whisky—without the e, strangely—and, in the middle of it all, one for scotch.
He was so screwed.
He must’ve had a
stupefied expression on his face because two employees headed in his direction. The older one—tall and broad and distinguished with silver at his temples and in his neat beard—reached him first. He had a name tag that read Chris pinned to his green apron.
“Help you?”
“Yes. Please. Save me.”
Chris chuckled. “What are you looking for?”
Tay waved a hand at the six billion brands of scotch. Which one of these should I bring on a first date? Not the question to ask when he hadn’t publicly come out as bisexual yet. “What’s good?”
“Are you looking for something light and grassy, or something smoky with hints of nutmeg, something more peaty—” Chris cut himself off. The stupefied expression was back on Tay’s face, no doubt. “Is it a gift?”
“Yes!” Tay said, louder than strictly necessary, jumping on the excuse. Or not an excuse really—it was technically a gift. “And I don’t really know his tastes yet, but I suspect they’re on the higher end. Which one of these is good but isn’t so cheap that it’d make me look like a cheapskate, but also isn’t super expensive and makes me look like an asshole who’s trying too hard?”
Chris laughed outright, his chuckle warm and deep. “Here.” Pulling a fat bottle containing light amber liquid off the shelf, he handed it to Tay. Dalwhinnie Highland Single Malt Scotch Whisky, Aged 15 Years, read the label.
So scotch and whiskey was the same thing? He was so confused.
“It’s not overly expensive,” Chris explained. “It’s amazing scotch, and it’s not as popular—or well-known—as some of the others from Scotland, like Glenlivet and Glenfiddich.”
Tay nodded like he knew what Chris was talking about.
“Do you want a gift bag?” Chris asked as he walked Tay to the checkout counter.
Was that going overboard? Oh hell, he was buying a $110 bottle of scotch. Nothing was going overboard at this point. “Sure.”
Anticipatory nerves bunched into a ball in his stomach and flew outward as he drove the few minutes to Dakota’s. It felt like he’d been looking forward to this date for five months, not five days. Not even last night’s win in Ottawa could trump the happy bubble in his chest.
And he really, really liked winning, so that was saying something.
Excitement had his heart almost leaping out of his chest when he parked in Dakota’s narrow driveway behind his SUV. Grabbing his gift bag, he placed one hand underneath in case it broke and splashed $110 worth of Scottish alcohol onto the pavement and walked up the stairs to Dakota’s porch. He was about to brave letting go of the bag to knock when the door flew open.
And there went his heart again.
Dressed in black jeans and a navy-blue sweater with a half zipper undone at the throat, and with his hair parted at the side, Dakota was elegantly casual in a way that had Tay questioning the choice of restaurant he’d made for tonight.
The way Dakota’s eyes warmed, though? And the way his lips kicked up? It had Tay forgetting he’d been anxious about anything.
“Hey. Saw your headlights.” Dakota pulled the door open wider and stepped aside. “Come in. I just need my coat.” He was already in boots, and he held a scarf in his other hand.
Tay bumped the door closed with his hip, feeling suddenly a tad uneasy about his choice of gift now that he was here. Damn it, he should’ve gone for the flowers. A bright bouquet of daffodils or something equally as eye-catching. He could’ve saved his ostentatiously priced scotch for their fifth date or Dakota’s birthday—whenever that was—or their anniversary. Assuming they made it that far.
He’d been trying to avoid looking like he was trying too hard. Now he just looked desperate.
Oh well. Nothing to do about it now. At least Dakota would think of him when he poured himself a glass of Dalwhinnie after a long day at work?
Huh. There was a silver lining after all.
“Uh.” He held the bag out. “This is for you. In lieu of flowers. Because flowers are . . .” Useless? Make me sneeze? Need to be babied to death? Literally.
Dakota zipped up his peacoat, one eyebrow going up. “Are . . . ?”
“Uh.” Tay got lost in his smile. “Bright?”
Dakota’s lips pressed together but amusement bled through in his eyes. “Thank you.” Taking the bag out of Tay’s hands, he grunted at the weight before removing the bottle from inside. Glimpsing the label, he whistled low, both eyebrows shooting up. “This is nice stuff, Tay.”
“Yeah?” Pleasure zinged through Tay and he took a step closer, into Dakota’s personal space. “The guy at the liquor store recommended it. I hope it’s good.”
“It’s definitely that.” Dakota put the bottle back in the bag and set the bag on the floor next to the bench. Rounding on Tay with a smile that made Tay’s toes curl, he said, “Maybe I’ll even let you taste it later.”
Tay brought his own smiling mouth to Dakota’s. “Just maybe?” he whispered.
In the next second, Tay was being kissed to within an inch of life. God, he loved that Dakota didn’t hold back.
Dakota tasted minty, and he smelled like laundry detergent and soap and an underlying hint of something woodsy. Clutching the front of his coat, Tay let him control the kiss because Dakota kissed like he wanted to taste every inch of him. Like he wanted to savor every piece of Tay. Like it was a prelude to sex.
Maybe they could skip dinner?
No. No, no. Tay had agonized over this date for days. They were going out, even if he spent the next couple of hours with a permanent semi.
Dakota changed the angle of the kiss, slotting their lips together more deeply. Moaning, Tay gripped the back of Dakota’s neck with one hand, fingers toying with the hairs there.
They’d go on that date. They really would.
In just a second.
Lips swept down the underside of his jaw and nosed underneath his scarf. Tay’s head fell back, thumping against the wall behind him.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Dakota said, his rough murmur making Tay shiver.
“I’m wearing just enough to frequent a restaurant.”
Chuckling softly, Dakota kissed him again, once, twice, three times, before stepping away and pulling leather gloves out of his pocket. “I suppose I’ll have to wait a couple of hours before you can taste my new scotch.”
Was taste my new scotch a euphemism? Judging by Dakota’s unholy smirk as he opened the door and gestured Tay ahead of him, yes, yes it was.
Tay couldn’t have been more delighted had he won the Stanley Cup on his birthday.
To Dakota’s surprise, Tay led him past the two SUVs in the driveway and they walked to wherever they were going. The sun was still up, owing to this morning’s time change—springing forward sucked for a few days as he got used to it, but he couldn’t deny he loved having the sun for longer each day.
It wasn’t overly cold although there was a chill in the air. Dakota brought his scarf up a little higher.
“I don’t know why I expected you to have a fancy car,” he said. “Something like a Porsche or a Lambo.”
Tay glanced over his shoulder at his dark blue Infiniti QX50. “My hockey gear would never fit in something smaller than an SUV. Besides, I’ve never been a car connoisseur. I wouldn’t know a Hyundai from a Honda from a Toyota if they were parked next to each other. Same goes for sports cars.”
Dakota was led to the Wildflower Café a couple streets over, a small place with a cheery yellow front and a heavy wooden door. It was one of those restaurants where you ordered at the counter, grabbed a number, and the servers brought your meal when it was ready.
How did Tay constantly manage to take Dakota’s expectations and smother them to bits?
Sure, Tay had told him to dress casual, but after he’d shown up with a one-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch, Dakota had half expected to be taken to an expensive, five-star restaurant despite neither of them being dressed for it.
Once they’d ordered and were given a table number, they scope
d out the available seating, about half of which were empty.
“Did you choose this café because you’re less likely to be recognized in a place like this?” Dakota asked as they selected the cozy couch in front of the four-way fireplace in the middle of the room.
“I’ll admit it did factor in. But it’s also close to your house, so we don’t have to fight weekend traffic to get here. Or fight for parking. Mostly, though, I wanted to be able to talk to you without having to yell. Restaurants are always so loud.” The sound that escaped Tay’s mouth was half-groan, half-laugh. “God, I sound old when I say stuff like that.” Removing his coat, he draped it over the arm of the couch.
“If you’re old, then I’m ancient.”
“Definitely not ancient,” Tay said with a smirk, gaze on Dakota’s neck where he was unraveling his scarf. “More like perfectly aged wine.”
Laughing, Dakota folded his scarf and draped it over the back of the couch with his coat.
“Is this okay, though?” Tay asked.
“It’s perfect.” It was Sunday, so it wasn’t overly busy. It was bright and airy and the music wasn’t loud; Tay was right—they wouldn’t have to raise their voices to talk to each other. And it was casual enough that a couple of guys could be seen having dinner and no one would automatically think they were on a date.
Their soups and sandwiches came. In Tay’s case, he’d also gotten a strawberry and spinach salad. They ate leaning over the coffee table. It was awkward and not ideal, but they’d wanted the couch, so they had to live with their decision.
Dakota bumped their shoulders, gently, so that Tay didn’t slosh his ice water. “Good game against Ottawa last night.”
“You watched?”
“I was going back and forth between yours and Vermont at New Jersey.”
“The Trailblazers have really come into their own since they were formed a few years ago, huh?”
