“I replaced it a few years ago,” Dean said. “It snapped and Kyle Davis nearly killed himself falling into the water headfirst.”
“Jesus!”
“Yeah… well, he didn’t. He just pulled some muscles twisting around in the air and sucked in some water. Fortunately, his friends were here to pull him out, and he was fine. But I replaced that old ratty rope with a heavy-duty, braided polypropylene one. That should hold a while.”
Aiden unhooked the bottom of the rope from the crotch of a smaller branch—the same place it had always been hooked when not in use. He looked out across the river, which shimmered in the fading light. In the center of it sat the tree-covered, uninhabited Buck Island, and beyond that, the opposite shore appeared to be nothing but forest in all directions. Berlin was somewhere to the north, but its lights were too distant to be seen.
“Remember the day we did this naked?” Aiden asked, giving him a coquettish look.
“I remember.” The spot was just isolated enough to make a little bit of skinny-dipping possible. Though it was still risky. Plenty of kids in the neighborhood swam there on hot summer days. Dean flapped one hand like the wing of a wounded bird. “I remember Little Aiden flopping around between your legs.”
Aiden laughed. “It’s not that little.”
“No,” Dean agreed, feeling a bit warm as more details of the memory came back to him. “No, it’s not.” God, that had been sexy as hell. It had been the first time they’d seen each other naked. They hadn’t done anything—it was all still new and exciting and a little scary—but the sight of Aiden’s ass and… everything… had fueled Dean’s masturbation fantasies for the rest of high school.
“Catch me!” Aiden said.
Then, to Dean’s surprise, he swung out over the water. Fortunately, since he was wearing clothes and shoes that wouldn’t be easy to swim in, he wasn’t dumb enough to drop off. But he hooted in delight. On his return swing, Dean reached out and snagged him by the belt. Dean staggered a moment, almost toppling forward and sending them both into the water. Then he managed to pull Aiden close.
Aiden dropped down and fell against his front. He was laughing, one hand still clutching the rope, the other hooking itself over Dean’s shoulder for support. Dean released his belt and grabbed Aiden’s waist in a bear hug. Then he tilted his face up, and somehow their mouths came together. The kiss was long and hard, their tongues intertwining, and their breath flowing warm and sensual from one mouth to the other. Dean felt Aiden’s hardness pressing against him, and he lifted his thigh up between Aiden’s legs.
IT was getting harder to recall why they’d decided to take things slow. Aiden felt the heat rushing from his groin to the rest of his body, and he wanted nothing more than to tear Dean’s clothes off so their naked bodies could press together.
Before his dick could completely wrest control away from his brain, however, Dean jumped and said, “What the fuck?”
“Huh?” Aiden looked down to find a black lab licking at Dean’s hand, joyfully wagging its tail.
“Jesus, pup!” Dean said, lifting his hand to scratch the dog on the head. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“Ninja!” a man called. “Leave those boys alone!”
Ninja gave out a short, cheerful bark and trotted back to his master, who stood on the path not fifty feet away. He was an older man, perhaps in his seventies or eighties, dressed in khaki slacks and a gray button-down sweater, even as warm as the evening was. “Sorry about that. I was gonna sneak away and come back some other time, but Ninja got away from me. He’s always pokin’ his nose into other people’s business.”
Dean laughed self-consciously and stepped back a bit so his and Aiden’s crotches were no longer pressed together, though he kept a steadying hand at Aiden’s waist. If he removed it, Aiden might stumble down the bank into the river. “No problem, Mr. Flores.”
Mr. Flores nodded at them, smiling, and touched his fingers to the visor of his Fisher Cats baseball cap. Then he continued along the path, his dog running off ahead into the deepening shadows.
Dean helped Aiden find more stable footing before he released him.
Aiden was still holding the rope swing in one hand, so he wedged the end of it in the crotch of the branch where he’d found it. “Does everyone in town know you’re gay?”
“Pretty much.” He gave Aiden an apologetic shrug. “That doesn’t mean I want them to see me bumping and grinding with my dates, though.”
Aiden laughed and kissed him. He pretty much felt the same about that. He’d been thinking of suggesting skinny-dipping again. But… not with Mr. Flores and Ninja wandering the paths. Maybe some other time.
“It’s starting to get dark, anyway,” Aiden observed. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
Chapter Sixteen
DEAN took Aiden to the Osaka, a Japanese restaurant in Berlin, about a half hour down the road. Dean always ordered either Steak Teriyaki or Chicken Tempura. He was a simple man with simple tastes—simple, fried, carnivorous tastes. No soybeans, nothing with tentacles, and nothing raw. Fish was okay, if it was cooked.
Aiden had more gourmet tastes. He ordered several things from the sushi bar, some kind of soup with beef and noodles and vegetables, and something called agedashi tofu. It was mostly chunks of tofu fried in tempura batter, but it was sprinkled with horrifying slivers of something transparent that smelled fishy and writhed in the heat of the tofu. Aiden assured him it wasn’t alive, but Dean wasn’t sure he believed that.
“Do you miss the fancy restaurants in New York?” he asked.
Aiden looked amused. “The ‘fancy’ restaurants? You mean the ones without spittoons at the tables?”
“You know what I mean. Around here we got diner food, McDonald’s, Chinese, Japanese… I think there might be a Taco Bell. I’m not sure, since I don’t like Mexican food. Then we got more diner food.”
“You forgot pizza.”
“Yeah,” Dean agreed unenthusiastically. “What I’m sayin’ is, in New York you must have food from all over the world. Good food.”
“Townsend’s has good food,” Aiden insisted. Then, when Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow, he added, “Yes. There are some great restaurants in New York. And in LA and Paris and London and Moscow—”
“You went to Moscow?”
Aiden nodded, deftly picking up a piece of tofu with his chopsticks. “My job took me all over the world.” He blew on it, then popped it into his mouth.
“Isn’t it dangerous for guys like us in Russia?”
“It is. But I didn’t bring Louis on that trip.” Aiden grimaced. “In other words, I went back in the closet for the duration.”
“Nice.” Dean really didn’t blame him. Getting thrown in jail in a foreign country didn’t sound like his idea of a good time, either.
“Well, this was before the Sochi Olympics,” Aiden said defensively. “Back when a lot of westerners hoped the changes in same-sex rights sweeping across America and Europe would influence Russia. We didn’t expect things to keep getting worse.” He sighed and tapped his plate absently with his chopsticks. “I did take Louis to Paris and London. He would have lynched me if I hadn’t.”
Dean didn’t particularly feel like talking about Aiden’s ex-boyfriend. Even if that was definitely over with, it was still pretty recent. No point in begging for trouble. “I’d love to travel someday. I’ve never been outside New England.”
“Unfortunately,” Aiden said, “I never really got to see the cities I performed in. Things were so busy, I rarely saw anything outside the concert halls and my hotel. A few restaurants, but I certainly didn’t have time for sightseeing.”
Dean couldn’t help but notice he was talking about it all in the past tense, as if that part of his life was over. The thought of Aiden’s career being over at thirty-two was just… impossible for him to believe. Aiden had too much talent.
But if it’s not over, that means he’ll be leaving.
Dean decided to change the s
ubject. “I don’t suppose you know anyone with an upright bass they could loan me?”
“What do you want an upright bass for?” Aiden asked. Then the light dawned. “Oh, for the band. Well… I know some guys in the Boston Symphony. There’s that orchestra in Manchester my friend has a connection with, but I don’t really know….” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute. You said somebody in the band smashed up his instrument.”
“Ben Tyler. The idiot got drunk and sat on his bass.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dean realized it was the wrong thing to say. “I would vouch for it, of course,” he said hurriedly.
Aiden looked at him skeptically. “An upright bass is an expensive instrument, Dean. Even a student bass can run seven or eight hundred dollars. A professional one sells for thousands.”
“That’s what Tom said.”
“Who?”
“Tom Batchelder at the music shop downtown. He has a friend who repairs and makes them—”
“A luthier.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Dean replied, vaguely recalling the word. “Anyway, he said the same thing about how expensive they are. That’s why I was hoping we could just… you know… borrow one.” Dean smiled at him weakly. He felt like a complete idiot. He shouldn’t have even brought it up.
Aiden picked up another piece of tofu with his chopsticks and appeared to be studying it closely. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said at last. “Maybe somebody has an old, beat-up one they use for practice or something.”
He didn’t sound enthusiastic about the idea. But Dean let it go. At this point, he wouldn’t trust Ben with anything valuable either. And if the idiot broke a loaner bass, Dean would have a hard time covering the cost.
AFTER dinner Dean drove Aiden back to his house, but Aiden was reluctant to call it a night. He checked his cell phone and it was just after ten. Probably too late for a movie. But he asked, “Would you like to come inside for a few minutes?”
“What time is it?”
“It’s 10:05.”
Dean gave him a cute little smile, as if he thought they might be up to something they shouldn’t be. “Sure. Why not?”
Aiden’s parents were already in bed, but they’d left the porch and kitchen lights on. It was late but not too late for coffee, by Aiden’s standards. He rarely had trouble falling asleep, even right after a cup.
“Would you like some coffee?” he asked, plucking a K-Cup out of the carousel on the counter. Normally he preferred brewed coffee, but the K-Cup machine was for a quick-and-dirty cup, when a full carafe wasn’t warranted.
Dean eyed the K-Cup warily. “Do you have decaf? I have to get up early.”
“Sure.” Aiden selected one for him and put that in the Keurig machine first. He retrieved some mugs from the cabinet and set Dean’s coffee to brewing.
“Are your parents asleep?”
“They probably just went upstairs,” Aiden replied. “This is past their bedtime.”
“Too bad.”
Aiden took the full mug from the machine and handed it to Dean. “Why? You wanted to talk to them?”
“No. At least, I have no reason to. It just occurred to me I haven’t yet heard you play.”
Aiden gave him a puzzled look. “You’ve heard me play plenty of times, since I got back.”
“No, I haven’t.” Dean took a teaspoon of sugar from the bowl on the counter and stirred it into his coffee. “I’ve heard little bits and pieces of you practicing—from outdoors. I have yet to hear the world-famous Aiden Scott actually perform a piece from beginning to end.”
Aiden snorted. “World-famous….” He pressed the button to make his own coffee—not decaf. He loathed decaf.
“You said it yourself. You’ve played all over the world.”
“Fine. We can take our coffee into the music room, and I’ll play you something.”
Dean glanced up at the ceiling. “What about your folks?”
“There’s a reason the music room is at the farthest point in the house from their bedroom,” Aiden said. “I know I sound like an insensitive ass, but they insist they can’t hear me in their bedroom. As long as I don’t bang out Rachmaninoff, we should be fine.”
“Cool.”
They went into the music room, and Aiden took a couple of swigs of his coffee before setting it on top of the metal filing cabinet near the door that contained his library of sheet music. There weren’t many surfaces in the room—it was pretty Spartan. Just the piano and piano bench in the center, and a few folding chairs against the far wall. He and his father had hung some bedsheets on the walls when he was a teenager in order to cut down on the echo, and his mother had insisted upon replacing them with more stylish tapestries with designs from the Renaissance depicting bards playing lutes in neoclassical landscapes.
Aiden sat at the piano and switched on the light that illuminated the sheet music stand and keyboard.
“Come sit beside me,” he told Dean when he noticed him standing awkwardly near the door. When Dean moved toward the chairs, Aiden said, “No. Sit here on the bench.”
“I don’t want to bump your arm.”
“Then don’t.” Aiden smiled at him. “I’m used to page turners sitting next to me.” He was fudging that a little. He’d had page turners sitting on the bench with him in school, but he couldn’t recall it ever happening in his professional career. They usually sat in their own chairs or stood, so they wouldn’t be in his way. But it didn’t matter—he wanted Dean to sit near him.
Dean settled onto the bench at his left side, clutching his coffee mug as if he were afraid he’d spill it on the keyboard. It was true that Aiden wouldn’t be happy if that happened, but the warmth of Dean’s hip pressed against his made it worth the risk.
He began with the eighteenth section of Rachmaninoff’s “Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini,” a beautiful melody that had been popularized by the movie Somewhere in Time. But when he came to the part where the orchestra would have taken up the melody, he stopped, giving Dean an apologetic smile. “Sorry, that one probably wasn’t a good choice.”
“Why not? It was beautiful.”
“It was about to segue into some rather passionate ascending chords that probably would have woken Mom and Dad. The majority of it is so quiet, I forgot about that part. I did mention Rachmaninoff gets loud, didn’t I?”
“I think you hinted at it.”
“I’ll play it for you during the day sometime.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Aiden smiled again and drifted into his favorite Brahms intermezzo.
Dean listened in absolute silence, his eyes seemingly transfixed by Aiden’s hands as they flowed across the keys, his coffee forgotten. “Brahms,” he said, after the final chord had settled. “Intermezzo in A-Major.”
Aiden quirked an eyebrow at him in surprise. “Yes. I wasn’t aware you listened to classical music.”
“Some,” Dean said, frowning down into his mug. He suddenly seemed uncomfortable. “I picked up a record of piano music when we were… whatever we were doing as teenagers… because I knew you liked it. I can’t say it beat out Springsteen, but I listened to it now and then. That was one of the tracks on the album.”
“You like it, then?”
“Uh… yeah. Why don’t you play something else?”
Aiden had the distinct feeling Dean wasn’t telling him something. Had he been insulted by Aiden not expecting him to recognize the piece? He’d never given Aiden any indication he liked classical music when they were in high school, though he’d seemed to enjoy listening to Aiden play.
Not having any idea what else to do, Aiden began playing again, this time some Chopin and Debussy. After a while, he realized he’d been monopolizing Dean’s attention for a long time, and it was getting late. His hands were aching too. So he wrapped up “Clair de lune” and said, “I suppose that’s enough.”
To Aiden’s delight, Dean nuzzled his ear, kissing him on the earlobe. “Thank you. It was wonderful.”
“Anytime.”
“You’re gonna call that orchestra in Manchester, aren’t you?”
Aiden was startled by the change in direction, and it threw him. “I, uh… I don’t know.”
“You’ve gotta do it,” Dean said, looking at him sternly. “You know you’re not gonna be happy hiding out here in the music room where nobody can hear you. You were meant to be on stage!”
Aiden knew he was right, but things weren’t that simple. The dull ache in his tendons was a harsh reminder of that. But he didn’t want to think about that—not right now. He got up from the bench, went to the filing cabinet, and opened one of the drawers. “You play clarinet?”
“Yeah. But… not all that well.” Dean sounded nervous.
Aiden found what he’d been searching for in the hanging folders and withdrew it—Mozart’s “Clarinet Concerto in A Major.” He pulled out the second movement, the adagio, and set the rest of it on top of the filing cabinet. Then he closed the drawer and went back to sit on the bench. “Do you remember when we watched Out of Africa on DVD?”
“Jesus.” Dean rolled his eyes. “I remember we both cried like babies, and I told you I’d kill you if anyone at school ever found out.”
Aiden laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “Your secret’s still safe.”
“It better be.”
“But remember when Meryl Streep and Robert Redford danced to a piece of music playing on an old Victrola?”
“Yeah. I loved that. That scene was one of the reasons I picked clarinet when I joined the school band.”
Aiden hadn’t known Dean was in the school band. But he supposed he had to have learned to play somewhere, and that was the most likely starting point. “Do you read music?” he asked, handing Dean the pages.
As Aiden played the beginning of a piano version of the orchestral part of the Concerto, Dean glanced at the music. “I can read music,” Dean said. “Are you saying you want me to learn this?”
Small Town Sonata Page 9
