As Sure As The Sun

by Elle Keaton

  Sacha directed Seth a few blocks away, toward the edge of what locals affectionately called N.O.T. for North of Old Town. The street they turned onto was one of a handful still paved with cobblestones, and it was one of Seth’s favorite blocks in the historic section of Skagit. His scalp started to tingle the farther down the street they traveled. No way.

  “That one there, on the left.” Sacha pointed at a building in the middle of the block.

  “No way.” Seth said the words out loud; he couldn’t believe it. Pulling the Jeep to the curb, he gaped. His mouth hung open, and he snapped it shut so hard his teeth clicked. A Sold banner was plastered over the For Sale sign Seth had seen over the months he had been in Skagit. Seth did not believe it. This guy, this complete stranger was the person who’d purchased one of the old buildings he was most fascinated by?

  Even if he hadn’t already offered him a shower, this was practically a sign from the gods that Sacha was safe. Seth loved, adored, the old buildings in Skagit; he’d spent his down time researching many of them. Some of them had protected status, but this one did not. Yet. Probably because of the hideous 1960s-style remodel that hid its best features.

  “No way,” he repeated stupidly. “You bought the Warrick?” When he first moved to town he’d spent several days wandering around N.O.T., setting his internal compass to the layout of Skagit. He could have found the Warrick in his sleep. “I can’t believe this.”

  Seth opened his door, sliding out of the car. Sacha followed without comment. They stood shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk, gazing at the old building. Sometime in its history, city planners or possessed architectural designers had covered the building with a façade that made it look like the movie set for a juvie detention center. Tiny windows with a flat, personality-free exterior. More recently someone, probably Sacha, had pulled a little of it away, revealing stained white granite cowering underneath.

  “It could be really pretty under all that sh—stuff,” Seth breathed out, staring reverently at the building. “I’ve seen some pictures in the county archives, and the local newspaper did a spread on Skagit’s history a few years ago that I found online; the Warrick was one of the buildings they featured. How’d you know what was under there?” Seth glanced at Sacha. Was it too much to hope he had met a fellow history nerd?

  Sacha looked slightly embarrassed. “I like old buildings, especially in little towns like this one. I was looking at some old photographs of Skagit and wondered about this place. If it was still around. One night I kind of broke in and checked it out. Made an offer on it the next day. Got a screaming deal too. I guess the family has been sitting on this pile for a long time.” Seth nearly swooned.

  Inside didn’t look much better than outside. It was dark, grimy, and smelled of disuse. There had probably been a big open space originally, but at some point occupants had divided it up into several sections, none of which made sense to the original layout. A metal staircase against the back wall led to the second floor.

  Copper piping and old wiring lay in tangled heaps on the floor alongside sheets of plaster, shattered two-by-fours, and what appeared to be cabinets ripped from the walls. Along parts of the exposed floor, Seth could see shadowy outlines where walls, or maybe counters, once stood.

  The ladder was in the front room beneath a hefty hole in the ceiling plaster. “You fell off that? You’re lucky to be walking.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Sacha muttered while he bent down and dug around in a pile, which turned out to be a duffel with a tangle of clothing spilling out of it. “All right, let’s go.”

  Seth thought he spied a sleeping bag on top of a very flat air mattress tucked in a corner. He twisted around, trying to get a glimpse of the rest of the space, but Sacha definitely needed a shower. Acting the tourist could wait.

  “Thanks.” Sacha’s voice jolted him from his thoughts.

  “What?”

  “Thanks. For the shower. I appreciate it.”

  “Anytime.”

  Seth’s little rental was on the east side of town. It wasn’t considered a nice neighborhood by anyone but the folks who lived there. The neighborhood had become (from what Seth had learned) sketchier as longtime residents moved away and a younger generation moved in. Because of its location perched above the freeway, it was doubtful the neighborhood would ever become anything more than transient student and seasonal housing. The tiny box homes built after World War II were not suitable for today’s families, too used to their personal space. Too small, usually two bedrooms, with tiny kitchens. Seth didn’t miss Sacha’s flinch when they crossed I-5 and kept going.

  “So, are you new to Skagit?” Seth asked, wondering how Sacha had discovered the Warrick.

  “Not really, but I moved here very recently.” Seth glanced over at his passenger, expecting a little more, but Sacha was silent, staring out the windshield at the neighborhood flashing by.

  “I moved here recently too,” Seth offered. His passenger didn’t respond. Seth glanced over again to see Sacha still looking the other direction. Seth hoped he hadn’t judged too quickly, thinking it was safe to bring this particular stray home.

  “Sacha—is that short for something? Or is it a nickname?” Seth had always been slightly envious of kids with good nicknames, as his was too short to become any shorter, and his fellow students had thought names like “Beth” or “Sloth” were funny.

  Sacha looked over at him like he’d lost his marbles. He muttered something Seth couldn’t quite hear.

  “What?”

  “It’s short for Alexander,” he muttered louder, still looking out the window and not at Seth. Seth was pretty sure that was not what he’d said. The man needed another coffee, or maybe he hadn’t eaten breakfast. He had been out looking for coffee, and it was early; likely he hadn’t eaten yet. Seth was going to ignore the rude behavior as low blood sugar.

  “Sacha, huh? It suits you better than Alexander.”

  Sacha took a deep breath, visibly making an effort to relax.

  “I promise I am safe. Not that you aren’t big enough to take care of yourself.” Seth flashed a quick grin toward his passenger. “I guess it’s weird going to a stranger’s house, but I’m pretty good at reading people. Otherwise I wouldn’t have offered you a shower. Sacha suits you better than Alexander, or even Alex. Nice to meet you, Sacha.” Shut your mouth, Seth. Quit rambling, Seth.

  Sacha shook his head at him, but Seth saw the corner of his mouth lift in a half smile. “Nice to meet you, Seth. I do appreciate the shower. Please excuse my mood. I could say I’m normally better mannered, but my family would tell you that is a lie.”

  Chuckling, Seth took the turn toward his house and managed to drive the rest of the way without asking a single question, setting some sort of personal record.

  He rented the tiny shotgun-style house from a senior couple who were currently RVing across the southern US. They didn’t live in this house, but in another one a few miles away that Seth kept an eye on while they were gone for a discount on his rent. Meaning he watered the lawn and made sure the mail didn’t pile up in the box.

  It was nothing special, dirty white on the outside with beige walls inside. His half-brother Adam, the reason he had moved to Skagit, had taken one very quick look at it and hated it. But Adam wasn’t the one living in it, so he could fuck right off. Adam had given Seth a laundry list of reasons why the neighborhood wasn’t ideal, even going so far as to send him an email with the crime statistics for the area. Seth had rolled his eyes and deleted the message.

  Sacha followed him from the car up the two concrete steps to the front door. There was no porch, only a 4x4 cement pad. When it was raining, Seth had a practiced method of getting from his car to the door in as little time as possible. Today however, the sky was clear and blue as it could be, promising another incredible afternoon. So far, Seth did not miss the Arizona summer at all.

  “Nice place,” Sacha commented once they were inside. He sounded surprised. What did he expect? Because Se
th chose to live in this neighborhood he would live in squalor? He wasn’t the one camping out in a construction zone. Seth had done the best he could to create a living space he was comfortable in.

  The living room and kitchen faced west and had larger windows, serving as Seth’s house-plant hospice. He was forever going through Fred Meyer or Home Depot and bringing home half-price plants, the ones they had forgotten to water, or those some tiny human who should have been stroller bound had gotten hold of and abused. It was a little jungly. During the time he’d been in Skagit, he’d managed to collect quite a few patients.

  Two bedrooms and the single tiny bathroom opposite faced northeast. There was nothing Seth could do about how dark they were. He’d painted his bedroom a soft blue and hung white curtains to encourage light, but that side of the house was cave-like. Most of the mismatched furniture had come with the house, adding to the sense of living inside a thrift store.

  “I like it. Shower’s that way.” He pointed toward the tiny hallway.

  Sacha moved in the direction Seth indicated, clearly wanting to get cleaned up as soon as possible. He didn’t so much walk as stalk, Seth observed. For a big man—and he was big, possibly taller than Seth’s own 6’2”, and definitely bulkier—he moved like a cat. Long legs, and sinuous upper body flowing rather than jogging along. He probably could walk a block with a book balanced on his head. The gracefulness in that large a man was breathtaking.

  Seth realized he was staring when Sacha turned and caught his gaze. Oops. Turning back in the direction of the bathroom without comment, Sacha went in, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  Seth shook his head at himself. What was he thinking? He hung out with Adam and his boyfriend, Micah, and many of their friends who were gay, bi, or very accepting, but that didn’t mean the rest of Skagit was the same. And Sacha was a complete stranger. Seth futilely wondered if Sacha was into men; could the universe be that kind? Had it been Seth’s imagination that Sacha considered Seth a beat too long and with… approval?

  Wandering into his kitchen, Seth continued unsuccessfully to try not to imagine the handsome and dangerous-looking man naked in his bathroom. The more he tried, the more his brain kept showering him with images. Showering. Gah. It had been way too long since he’d had sex.

  One of his few framed photos caught his eye. He’d been a goofy twelve-year-old, and his aunt had surprised him with a summer road trip. They’d ended up at Glacier National Park in Montana. The photo was taken along Going to the Sun Road with the Rocky Mountains looming behind them. He stood next to his diminutive aunt, a huge grin on his face. Marnie had been everything. A true flower child, she never cared about who Seth dated, fucked, loved, or hung out with. She wouldn’t care that he was ogling a stranger, one clearly older than him. She wouldn’t have blinked at him bringing a stranger home. She absolutely would have agreed that Sacha also being interested in old architecture was a sign.

  The shower turned off. Seth shook off his ridiculous thoughts to dig around in his fridge for something to eat. He’d make it, and Sacha would eat it. The man had to be hungry and probably had manners enough not to refuse food.

  Pulling eggs, an assortment of veggies, and ham out of his fridge, Seth began putting a scramble together. He always enjoyed cooking; the various steps involved—chopping, organizing, cooking, and then plating—were a calming routine for him. Baking was good too, which reminded him of the bread he had baked yesterday, perfect for toast.

  He barely managed not to stare when Sacha came into the kitchen toweled off, wearing worn blue jeans, a sinfully tight black T-shirt that accentuated his meaty biceps and well-defined chest, no socks, bare feet… the stuff of fantasies. Seth gestured toward the table where the scramble and a stack of toast were waiting.

  Sacha’s hair was dark, nearly black, with a little salt sprinkled through it, more at the sides. Seth loved salt-and-pepper hair; older men turned his crank. The long scratch above one dark eyebrow made Sacha appear slightly rakish. Seth wasn’t sure how much older Sacha was, but enough that Seth knew he’d have a body full of history Seth could map with his tongue.

  “Breakfast?” Seth offered, cutting off his inappropriate thoughts. Again. A gurgling sound from Sacha’s stomach answered his question.

  “Breakfast sounds fucking amazing.”

  They sat at Seth’s little table eating in a not-entirely-uncomfortable silence. Even if Seth had hoped to chat, Sacha was ravenous. Seth stared out the small window while his guest ate.

  Sacha devoured his plate of eggs and all the toast before glancing sheepishly at Seth and breaking the silence. “Thanks. I was hungry.”

  “No prob. My pleasure.” Seth leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me about the building; what are your plans? Information in exchange for food.”

  Sacha grinned at him. The smile transformed his grim façade. Gone were the slightly brooding air and vague sense of mystery. Smiling, Sacha was breathtakingly handsome, the delicate crinkle of smile lines along the corners of his dark-green eyes giving him a slightly mischievous look. “At this point I think I must have been knocked harder in the head then I thought. The place is a wreck. My interest in local history ran by my common sense and stole the fucking baton.”

  “Oh, yeah? You really are a history buff?” Seth loved history, the quirkier the better. He and his aunt had spent several summer vacations hunting down, for lack of a better term, “weird” history.

  “Kind of, I guess. I’ve always liked small-town history. I mean, these places were often at the forefront, right? Of the gold rush, or land grabs, or the industry of the moment, and now they’re sleepy little places that people have mostly forgotten about.”

  “So you’ve traveled a lot?”

  “I guess, around the US. I’ve been pretty lucky to have traveled to almost all the states. In my downtime I would visit the local museums, stuff like that.”

  Seth wondered what he had done that gave him the chance to travel so much, but something told him if he asked, Sacha would shut down the conversation. “I’m guessing you came to Skagit, and that’s how you found the Warrick?”

  Grimacing, Sacha pushed his chair away from the table and stretched his long legs out in front of him before answering. “Pretty much. I had a window of opportunity; it was either take the chance or quit bitching about my day job… among other things.” A haunted expression flashed across his face. “I decided to take the chance. Once the decision was made, it was easy. Although now I realize I didn’t plan for things like regular showers or missing having a kitchen.”

  “That was a sleeping bag, then; you’re staying there while you remodel?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s just me, and why waste money on a place to stay?”

  “Except when you need a shower and a hot meal?”

  “Except for that.” There was that grin again.

  “Do you have any pictures of the building? In its,” Seth snickered, “natural state? Before someone with the design sense of…” Honestly, he couldn’t think of anything bad enough to describe what had been done to the historic structure.

  “A monkey on meth? Bauhaus gone bad? Neo-structuralism? Yeah, I’ve got a few back at the building,” Sacha answered after gulping down the last of his coffee.

  “More toast?”

  “No, that’s okay. Thank you for breakfast; it was delicious.” A faint blush spread across his cheeks.

  “Lemme give you a ride back, then I can come in and see the photos you have.”

  Five

  Sacha

  They cleaned up the dishes together. It was the least Sacha could do after Seth fed him and let him take a shower—close to the best shower of his life. The house was a piece of shit, but he could see that Seth took care with it. Why did a nice guy like Seth live in this neighborhood? Many of the homes had peeling paint, their lawns full of weeds and trash. One a couple doors down had an ancient, rusty barbeque sprawled at the end of the driveway. Were the occupants hop
ing it would disappear one day? Melt into the pavement so they wouldn’t have to look at it anymore?

  He and Andriy Sokolovic, the Russian mobster he’d nailed earlier in the year—may that bastard rot in prison for the rest of his life—had used a couple of places a few blocks from here when Sacha was undercover. His skin crawled, thinking about what he’d had to do to break the human trafficking ring and bring as many of the perpetrators to justice as possible.

  It had only been for a few days, but the memory of the shivering kids locked in a storage container continued to haunt him. Sacha still dreamt of them now and then. For a while it had been nightly that his sleep was haunted by moaning children, none of them crying for their parents or family because they had already been slaves for most of their short lives. They had been resigned to their fate. It had been hell.

  “Why this neighborhood?” Sacha asked as he carefully rinsed dishes under the running tap, trying to shake the memory of the trafficking victims. He placed the two plates into the dish rack before searching in the warm dishwater for the remaining silverware.

  “Why not?” Seth replied. “It’s cheap. As long as I mind my own business, no one bugs me.”

  “You got business to mind?” He probably sounded like a dick. Actually, there was no question that he sounded like a dick. It was harder than he’d thought to shed the US Marshal persona and become Sacha Bolic, ordinary citizen. He naturally assumed the worst of most people. Changing his deeply ingrained suspicion of people in general to something like “Give everyone a chance” felt like turning his brain inside out.

  Seth grinned, surprising Sacha with his good humor over the rude question. “Nah, cheap. I’m trying to grow my landscaping-slash-yard-work business. This fits my budget.”

  Back in the car, Seth cheerfully pointed his ancient Jeep back toward N.O.T. and the building, or what Sacha was beginning to secretly call the folly. Never in his life would Sacha have defined himself as impulsive. And yet wasn’t he trying to change his life? Maybe a little impulsive behavior would do him good.