by Anna Martin
It would be so totally worth it.
“I’ll text you later,” Dylan said and slid out of the truck before James could form a cohesive response.
“Okay,” he whispered to the empty cab anyway.
That was so very okay with him.
Chapter Four
STEVE HADN’T been on an honest-to-God, real-life date since the disastrous breakup with Jason. He didn’t think about it too much as he drove over to the restaurant, didn’t think about whether he was dressed nice enough, or too nice, whether it would be awkward, what they’d do after the date. He very consciously didn’t think at all.
Mark had picked the time and place—a Thai restaurant that Steve had ordered takeout from a hundred times but had never booked a table in the dining room. It was nice, tucked into a little corner in a street of cafés and bookshops and record stores.
The hostess smiled widely, showing too many teeth, when Steve walked in.
“Do you have a reservation?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m with Mark Henderson.”
“Henderson… Henderson. He’s already here. Right this way.”
The restaurant was decorated in pale greens and golds, with artwork on the walls. It was fancy, but not too fancy. Steve was sort of glad he knew the menu like the back of his hand, otherwise he’d be intimidated to order for himself.
“Hey,” Mark said, standing as Steve approached. The hostess slipped discreetly away and Steve leaned in, letting Mark kiss his cheek. He found himself smiling, genuinely, as he took his seat.
“Hi. You look nice.”
Mark nodded. “So do you.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Steve laughed. “Is this weird? I don’t want it to be weird.”
“No, I don’t want that either.”
Their last meeting still hung heavily between them, and Steve shifted in his seat, remembering the feel of Mark’s hands on his hips, his cock in Steve’s ass. He let his gaze linger on Mark’s throat. Mark was wearing a soft gray sweater with a V-neck, just enough to show off a few chest hairs. It suited him. Matched his eyes, though Steve wasn’t confident enough to say that aloud.
Steve cleared his throat. “I think I should make reservations here more often. It’s nice.”
“It’s something of a family favorite. I wasn’t sure if you like Thai….”
“I love it.”
“Oh, good.”
Steve picked up the menu anyway and cast his eye over it, already knowing what he wanted to order.
“I’m glad you could make it tonight. I wasn’t sure if you needed to arrange for a sitter or something,” Mark said.
Steve laughed. “No, I don’t need a sitter.” He watched Mark for a moment, then took pity on him. “My kid is twenty.”
Mark blinked. “Oh. I… I wasn’t expecting that.”
“I get that reaction a lot. People tend to assume that I’m younger than I am. And I adopted him when he was fourteen, so….” He shrugged. “There you go.”
“Can I ask how old you are?”
Steve set his menu back down. “Thirty-nine.”
“Oh. I did think you were younger.”
“Disappointed?”
“No, relieved.”
Steve laughed again and nudged his foot against Mark’s under the table. “So you’re only a few years older than me, right?”
“Flatterer,” Mark muttered. “Try forty-five.”
“There you go.”
The server interrupted them then, and Steve leaned back in his seat. Mark asked for a beer, and Steve nodded for the same.
“Are you ready to order?”
Mark deferred to Steve. “Go for it.”
“You want me to order for us both?”
“Sure. I’ll eat most things.”
Steve grinned. This he could do.
If the server was surprised at the amount of food Steve asked for, she didn’t show it, instead nodding with approval at his choices.
“I’ll be right back with those beers.”
“Thanks,” Steve murmured. He grinned at Mark again. “You’ve got kids too, right?”
“Yeah. Two of them. Frankie and James. They’re twins.”
“I’m not going to assume genders,” Steve said.
“James is a boy; Frankie’s a girl. It’s short for Frances.”
“And you’re a high school chemistry teacher.”
Mark gave him a small smile. “Yeah.”
Steve frowned, thinking hard. Those names stuck in his head. He was sure there was a connection there if he could find it….
“Holy shit, did you name your kids after those guys who discovered DNA?”
Mark laughed, bright and loud. “In fairness, you figured that out a lot quicker than my ex-wife did.”
“We’ll leave that story for another day,” Steve said, not wanting to get into ex-wives when Mark was smiling like that.
“Good idea. But to answer your question, yes, James Watson and Francis Crick won the Nobel Prize for discovering the structure of the DNA strand. They’ve always been heroes of mine.”
“They’re cool names.”
“I thought so. The ex-wife we’re not discussing did not agree.” Mark grinned. “Some people have no taste.”
Steve was curious about the ex-wife, so damn curious, but he wasn’t going to press. He didn’t particularly want to discuss his own relationship history, and if he pushed Mark for answers, Mark would be entitled to ask for the same in return. It was easier to let it go, for now.
“And what do the kids think?”
Mark shrugged. “They’ve known me long enough to accept that I’m a nerd. They don’t mind.” Mark neatly changed the subject by asking, “What made you decide to adopt?”
“I was thirty-two,” Steve said. “I hadn’t met anyone I wanted to be with, you know, long-term, but I knew I wanted a family. Preferably a big family.”
He played with a heavy cloth napkin, remembering.
“They don’t tell you how overwhelming it is, the whole adoption process. You get presented with, like, catalogs of children to flick through, to decide if you like them or not. How the hell anyone finds a child like that is beyond me.”
“That sounds intense.”
“It is. It was definitely harder for me as a single gay man. A lot of my family thought I was crazy to go it alone when I was still young, when I still had time to meet someone and have a family the traditional way, you know?”
Mark nodded. “I can imagine.”
“I got told outright that no one would give me a baby—all the babies were reserved for straight couples. Or gay couples as a backup. So I knew right away it was going to be an older child. Then I read somewhere how quickly a kid’s chances of being adopted drops off after they reach the age of ten. Pretty much by the time they’re in their midteens, these kids have resigned themselves to the fact that they’re never going to find a real family. They’re just waiting to age out of the system; then a lot of them go and join the military.”
“So you found a teenager?”
“A teenage boy. Who had a whole boatload of issues. Anxiety, depression, a lot of anger issues. He lashed out all the time, at the slightest little thing. He was clearly so smart, but he’d never really had any consistent education because he kept running away from foster homes, so he was behind in school.”
Steve didn’t mention the abuse. That was maybe a conversation for another time. Plus, he had an agreement with Dylan that he didn’t discuss it with anyone without his permission. Dylan’s history wasn’t Steve’s to tell.
“Nevertheless, he persisted.”
Steve grinned. “Yeah. He’s a really great kid. It was all worth it. I used to worry about what people would think, but I just don’t give a shit anymore.”
“About you being a single dad?”
“A gay single dad, yeah, with a kid that looks nothing like me.”
Steve was never going to be able to pretend Dylan was his biological son
. Where Dylan was broad and olive-skinned with thick, dark hair, Steve had a swimmer’s build, tall and lanky. He managed to keep an almost natural tan, and his time spent in the sun kept his hair on the blond side of brownish-blond. But he’d gotten over his hang-ups about their differences a long time ago.
“Did that affect your big family plans, then?”
“I’m not entirely sure. Dylan became my main focus for a while, just getting him back on equal footing, getting him happy and settled. I’m not too worried. We have a good relationship now. I’m not sure if I want to introduce another kid into the family and upset it all.”
“Not even when he moves out for college?”
“He’s in college,” Steve said with a laugh. “He’s studying to become an auto mechanic. He’s good with practical stuff like that.”
“At the FH Community College?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a good school.”
Steve nodded. “What about your two? Do they have college plans?”
“James is staying close,” Mark said. “I think Frankie will end up in Chicago or San Francisco or New York. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a West Coast school, but knowing Frankie, if she can get into a New York school, she’ll go there.”
“She sounds independent.”
“You have no idea,” Mark said with a sigh. “I worried for a long time about her growing up without a mother figure. But she went out there and found a group of dance teachers and theater kids who became this band of estrogen surrounding her.”
Steve laughed. “I’m not sure I’d know how to bring up a daughter.”
“I’m not sure I do now.”
“How long have you been on your own with them?” Steve asked, not sure if even this was pushing too hard.
“About sixteen years,” Mark said wryly. “Their mom is still around, sort of. She comes through town once or twice a year, so they still see her. It’s not this big tragic thing.”
“I’ve seen a lot of kids who get messed up by their parents. It’s credit to you if they’re well-adjusted.”
Mark shrugged. “I do my best.”
The server came back then, her arms full of a huge tray stacked high with food.
“This smells amazing,” Mark said. “I don’t think I’ve tried half of these dishes.”
“You’re going to love it,” Steve told him. “Trust me.”
WHEN STEVE got home, Dylan was sitting on the sofa watching Game of Thrones, steadily working his way through an enormous bag of chips.
“Hey, Steve,” Dylan called over his shoulder, then did a dramatic double take. “Woah.”
“What?” Steve toed off his shoes and hung his jacket in the hallway closet.
“Someone looks nice,” Dylan said, pausing the show. “Have you been on a date?”
“Housemate rule,” Steve said and hid a grin.
“OMG, tell me everything,” Dylan said. He turned fully around, resting his elbows on the back of the sofa and picking up the mannerisms of a teenage girl. “What’s he like? Is he hot? Did he kiss you good night?”
Steve laughed. “Good night, Dylan.”
“You suck,” Dylan called after him as Steve walked up the stairs.
ON WEEKENDS Steve slept late, usually because he liked to go out on Friday nights. Dylan did his thing with the guys from his class at college, or went to a bar with his buddies from the garage. Despite being just shy of his twenty-first birthday, most bars were happy for Dylan to be there when he was with Joe, as long as he stuck to soft drinks. He was a good kid—Steve didn’t worry about him so much anymore.
When he rolled over and checked the alarm clock on his nightstand, he was surprised it was only a little after eight. Dylan would definitely still be sleeping, probably for a few more hours yet.
Steve sprawled on his back, relishing the stretch as he yawned. Although it was early—weekend early, anyway—he didn’t want to snooze. From his bed, he could lean over and tug at the heavy curtains, revealing a cool, crisp, sunny morning.
Damn it, now he had to get out of bed.
For years he’d been super disciplined when it came to exercise. Every morning he’d run at least five miles, plus swimming a few times a week and weights in the evening. Somewhere in the past few years that discipline had slipped, and he missed it on odd occasions like these.
Steve rolled out of bed and quickly dressed in running shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt, knowing the sunshine was likely hiding a chilly air. His running sneakers were in good condition, and he tugged them on before quickly using the bathroom and washing his face.
He considered, then dismissed the idea of leaving a note for Dylan, sure he’d be back before Dylan woke up. They had a key safe hidden on the side of the house, so Steve locked the door to keep Dylan safe and started a light jog out the drive.
Steve had gotten into shape in his early twenties when he’d decided he was going to join the military. It had been a childhood dream, only fueled when he’d watched older cousins signing up to serve their country.
A motorcycle crash when he was twenty-three ended the dream and left Steve in the hospital for weeks while his fractured pelvis healed.
When it was really cold out, he sometimes still felt the ache deep in his hip joints if he decided to run outside, though this morning the cool, damp air felt good on his skin.
Steve made a wide loop around the neighborhood, covering about five miles… or close enough. He’d moved out here from Bakersfield a year or so before he’d adopted Dylan, wanting to start a family outside the city but still stay in California. It was a quiet suburban neighborhood where people tended to put down roots and stay for the long-term, so he considered himself lucky to have caught a good deal on a house that was going through foreclosure.
When Dylan moved in, there had been some raised eyebrows on the street. After all, Dylan was an adopted kid who promptly got kicked out of his first high school within the first week. Maybe due to Dylan’s olive complexion, Steve worried the people who had been so friendly when he’d bought the house were showing their true, prejudiced colors.
With time everything settled. This was a community where people opened up their backyards for Fourth of July barbecues and fireworks, where kids played out in the street all summer. It took longer than Steve liked for Dylan to be accepted, but it had worked out okay in the end.
Steve jogged up the steps to the porch and paused to stretch properly before letting himself back into the house. It was still and quiet, but he didn’t bother to soften his step as he headed for the master bathroom to shower. Dylan would wake up soon enough, when Steve started breakfast.
Mostly on the weekend, Steve didn’t bother to shave. As he showered, he ran a hand over his jaw, content that he didn’t look too unkempt. The genetic combination of skin that tanned easily and light brown hair meant it took at least a few days growth before his beard set in. Steve’s mom was the only person who gave him shit for not shaving close, and he didn’t have plans to see her, so it could stay.
He dressed in comfortable jeans and a sweater, then combed his hair neatly into place. In the last year or so he’d started to notice a few stray grays and had to have a serious conversation with himself about whether he was the sort of guy who dyed his hair.
Well, the answer to that question lay in the midnineties when he’d sported a truly attractive frosted-tips hairstyle. These days the highlights came courtesy of Mother Nature. For now, he was leaving them where they were.
When Steve renovated the house last summer, he had underfloor heating installed throughout the first floor of the house. It was on some kind of intuitive timer that Steve didn’t really understand; all that mattered was he didn’t need to wear socks on cool mornings, and he loved it.
In the kitchen he turned on the radio and started prepping fruit into two bowls. Dylan was the sort of kid who ate anything that was put in front of him. It had taken a while to realize this wasn’t a side effect of not having enough to eat whe
n he was younger, as Steve had initially feared—Dylan just had an appetite for anything.
By the time he had the coffee maker started and was working on pancake batter, Dylan was stumbling around in his room. A moment later, the clanking pipes loudly signaled he’d made it into the shower. Fifteen minutes or so after that, when Steve started frying bacon and the first mug of coffee was at Steve’s elbow, Dylan stumbled into the kitchen.
“Mornin’,” he grumbled.
“Morning. Coffee and fruit are ready.”
“Ugh. You’re the best.”
Steve smiled to himself. “You’re welcome.”
Dylan took one of the bowls of fruit and fixed himself a coffee, then took a seat at the island in the middle of the kitchen that they mostly used for eating.
“You gonna tell me about your date now?” Dylan asked. He studied a blueberry carefully before eating it, shrugging to himself and spearing three more on his fork.
“You really want to hear about it?”
“Sure,” Dylan said. He was wearing his favorite hoodie—black, with the Forest Heights Motors logo on the back and his name printed on the front. He had two, supposedly for work, but he only ever wore one at the garage. The other was for times like this, when he was lounging around the house.
“It was nice,” Steve said. He flipped the last pancake and started assembling piles of pancakes, bacon, and eggs.
“Nice? Really? Sounds depressing.”
Steve laughed. “No, it was. He’s a decent guy. I sort of know him… from bars and stuff, you know?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So we’re not, like, total strangers.”
“What is he like?”
“Kind of geeky,” Steve said, taking the two plates over to the island, then going back for his fruit and coffee. “Older than me, but not by much. Works with kids.”
“Huh. You gonna see him again?”
