by E M Lindsey
His app managed to get him the frozen fries he needed, then he hooked the little basket over his elbow and attempted to make his way to the cheese section. That was going to be the tricky part. The supermarket had a fromagerie at the back of the store, but it was one of the more dimly lit areas. He had no idea where to begin, and when his app tried to read the print on the cheese, it just came out a garbled mess.
“Fuck my life,” he muttered.
“Um,” came a voice to his right, and Wyatt startled a little bit. “Sorry, can I help? You look seconds away from murder.” The man had an accent, a thickness to his words that Wyatt had to assume came from being deaf or hard of hearing, but he wasn’t hard to understand.
Wyatt let out a tense laugh as the wedge of cheese dropped from his hand and turned to face the voice. “Thank you. It’s kind of a long-shot, but I’m trying to make poutine and I need cheese curds.”
“Cheese curds?” the man repeated like he was asking for clarification.
Wyatt nodded. “Euh, yes. I mean, I can probably make do with something else but…”
“No worries, man. I got you,” the stranger said. “I’m going to flag down the guy behind the counter and he can point us in the right direction.”
Wyatt felt a small measure of relief, even if his annoyance was at its peak. It wasn’t needing the help, he realized, but it was his own self-imposed isolation which had made things harder on himself than they needed to be. The poker night taught him that not only was he starting to feel ready to move on, but that he really was craving some sort of human interaction. He waited patiently, running the tips of his fingers over the smooth metal of the cheese cooler, and he perked up when he heard footsteps return.
“I told the guy poutine and he said that this is probably what you’re looking for.” The man then attempted to pronounce the French on the front of the package, making Wyatt grin. “He said it’s the best they’ve got. I have to warn you though, this import shit is really expensive.”
Wyatt laughed. “That’s okay, trust me. Worth the cost if I can find what I need. Thank you, you’ve been a huge help.”
“Hey, no worries, man. Do you need help with anything else?”
Wyatt started to shake his head, then reminded himself the guy was genuinely asking, and it might be nice to have a little help through the check-out. “Actually, can you find me a line that isn’t too long?”
“How about self-check out?” he offered.
“Bane of my existence,” Wyatt muttered. “All touch screen, no voice-over.”
“That’s what I’m here for, right? I’m Amit, by the way. I realized it’s probably weird I didn’t introduce myself.”
Wyatt grinned, extending his hand a little awkwardly as he tried to keep his hand basket balanced in the crook of his elbow. “Wyatt. And you know, I think I’ll take your help if you don’t mind. If you have more shopping to do…”
“Nah. I was only here to snag one of their pre-made salmon bowls to eat before work,” Amit told him, and it was then Wyatt realized he could smell the cooked fish. “They’re the first things to disappear, and I needed something before my tattoo appointment.”
Wyatt’s eyebrows flew up. “Do you mean at Irons and Works?”
“Yeah,” Amit said. “Here, you want my arm?” Wyatt felt Amit’s elbow touch him, so he folded his cane, then shifted his basket to take the other man’s bicep. As they started toward the front of the store, Amit went on. “You got ink from those guys?”
Wyatt couldn’t stop a small, startled laugh. “No. I’ve never gotten a tattoo. I have an okay pain tolerance, but the idea always scared me.”
Amit snorted with his chuckle, coming to a stop. “There’s like two people ahead of us, but much shorter than the other lines. You good?”
“I’m good,” Wyatt said. “So, is this your first tattoo?”
“Nope,” Amit said. “I have a handful. I always go to those guys for ink. How do you know them if you don’t have any?”
“Oh. I rent from James,” Wyatt said. “Do you know him?”
“Oh, hell yes,” Amit said, a grin in his voice. “He is crazy—but like in a good way. He did the piece I have on my leg. I got inspired after I saw his. He’s got these really awesome bio-mechanical ones.”
Wyatt frowned. “Bio-mechanical?”
“Yeah. They’re like…” Amit hummed in thought. “So, it looks like the skin is being pulled open and inside are metal gears. I wanted something like that for the side of my head where I have my hearing aids, but I didn’t want to shave my hair that short that far up,” he added with a laugh.
Wyatt grinned at him. “So, you chose your leg?”
“Yeah. I let James go wild with the design and it came out pretty bad-ass. I’m getting my arm piece done by Derek today, though. But I’ve been inked by Tony too. And Mat.”
At the sound of Mat’s name, Wyatt jolted a little, then flushed. “I just met Mat the other night. Well, properly anyway. Our first introduction doesn’t count.”
Amit didn’t answer as he guided Wyatt to the self-check counter and let him scan the items before he handled the touch screen. It was a simple enough process with two people instead of trying it on his own, and as much as he was bitter that it wasn’t accessible to him alone, he was glad he got it done that much faster.
“I need to order my uber,” Wyatt said, “but thanks for the help.”
“You know, I could drive you. It’s not like it’s out of the way or anything,” Amit offered.
Wyatt blinked rapidly in surprise, catching himself as he reached up to rub at his eye—an old habit from childhood he never did quite break. “That’s kind of you. I probably shouldn’t accept rides from strangers, but then again, I suppose I do pay for them every day.”
Amit laughed. “True. I’m right here in the front anyway.”
They pair of them headed over to Amit’s car—or Jeep, it felt like with how high it sat and how heavy the doors were. Ioan had driven one when the pair of them had first gotten together, and it left a strange pang of nostalgia in his chest. He still didn’t miss Ioan—he just missed what he thought they’d once had.
When Amit turned the Jeep on, Wyatt was startled by loud, pounding music. He winced, rubbing at his temple as Amit quickly turned it down. “Shit, sorry. I like to take my hearing aids out when I listen to music, but I basically have to blow-out my speakers. I always fucking forget when I put hearing people in my car.”
Wyatt smiled good-naturedly. “It’s okay. I’ve done the same, forgetting to turn on the lights for people who can see.”
“Ha. Disability bros,” Amit said, then gave Wyatt a gentle punch on the arm. A second later, the Jeep backed out, and Amit turned onto the main road. “So, are you like permanently living with James? You seem a little well put together to be renting out some shitty little cabin from that asshole.”
Wyatt barked a small, startled laugh. “I didn’t mean to stay even this long. I had a bad divorce—my ex-husband and I didn’t part well, and I guess I ran.”
“Shit. That sucks, I’m sorry,” Amit said. He sounded young, probably around the same age as Mat, and not for the first time Wyatt felt like a tired old man.
“It is what it is,” Wyatt told him. “I just wanted to get away, and somehow I ended up here. I’ve been finding it…difficult to let go.”
Amit laughed quietly. “I feel that. I mean, I want to travel, you know? I want to do shit with my life, but this place just gets her claws in you and doesn’t let go. I actually live and work in Denver, but I think I spend more time in Fairfield than anywhere else. Hell, I was thinking about a road trip last week when I was on this double date with Mat and Ruby.”
At that, Wyatt physically startled. “Ruby,” he said, hoping Amit couldn’t tell he was taken aback.
“Yeah. You know her? Owns a bar, feisty as hell?” Amit said.
Numbly, Wyatt nodded. “She was the one who introduced me to James. I just…didn’t know she and Mat were a coup
le.”
“Oh,” Amit said with a laugh, “I don’t think it’s serious. Both Mat and Ruby are sort of anti-serious. They just fuck and occasionally go to the movies with me and Ricky.”
Wyatt nodded, swallowing thickly. “I’ve been keeping out of the gossip as I try to decide what I want to do. Sounds like I need to pay better attention.”
“It’s soap opera levels of drama,” Amit warned, but Wyatt could tell he was smiling again. “Fun, but better when you’re not involved.” With that, Wyatt felt the shift in terrain as the Jeep pulled onto James’ rocky driveway. “You good here? Or should I pull around back?”
Feeling suddenly desperate to be out of the car, Wyatt waved him off. “This is perfect, thank you. For everything.”
“You got it, man. And hey, get my number from James, yeah? If you ever want to hang out and chill, or if you need a shopping buddy, just text me.”
Wyatt wanted to just run off, to promise nothing to this man, because this was exactly why he didn’t want to let himself get attached. Mat had agreed to dinner, not a date, and it was Wyatt’s mistake for assuming. His own miscommunication—his bad habit of not paying attention—was always what got him hurt.
He’d told himself years ago to avoid catching feelings for straight boys, but here he was shooting himself in the foot again. “Thank you, Amit,” Wyatt told him. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
Wyatt headed for the porch before making his way around, and he heard the faint sound of Amit’s Jeep leaving the area. His heart was heavy with disappointment and a little pain, but he didn’t have anyone to blame but himself. If he’d had Mat’s number, he’d just cancel. But, he reminded himself, he was supposed to be doing things like an adult now. No more avoidance for the sake of ignoring responsibility.
Mat was a good guy—he deserved a friend, and so did Wyatt. Even if there couldn’t be anything romantic, he shouldn’t turn down support where it was freely offered. He just had to protect himself from falling any harder. And hell, since Mat was straight, it’s not like he would notice Wyatt pulling away.
There was a lot Mat missed after his accident, but nothing more than driving. Relying on friends and ride-share services were helpful, but nothing was more frustrating than not having his independence enough to just hop in his car and go. And in truth, he probably could have driven again. Apart from reading street signs, he could easily recognize the signage by the symbols on them, and his doctor probably would have signed off on a release or something. But he didn’t know because being turned down would have been a bigger kick in the gut than never really finding out.
James had been pestering Mat to consider riding a bike—or hell, even a scooter. Mat had been brushing him off for a while now, but the idea that he might want to spend more time doing things outside of working at the shop and going to the gym had sudden appeal.
Especially when he wasn’t ready to tell the guys. Mat was more relaxed that Sunday. James was spending the afternoon working on Tony’s project car at his auto shop, then he was taking the closing shift at the shop, which would keep him there until at least midnight. Short of Mat spending the night with Wyatt—and hell if that didn’t cause him to feel something—he’d be in and out long before he was discovered.
The secrecy was starting to weigh on him a bit though. If this was going somewhere, if Wyatt was interested in him, Mat needed to decide if it was worth it. He wasn’t going to stay in any kind of closet if he was pursuing someone. It was as simple enough as confessing he wasn’t really the token straight guy, and it was a complicated as not knowing how the guys were really going to feel about the fact that he’d been posing as one for all these years.
It was a lot. But for now, it didn’t matter. This was just having a nice dinner with James’ renter—a potential new friend—and whatever else came after, he’d deal with that later. As the driver pulled into James’ driveway, Mat gave him his thanks, then made sure the payment had gone through before heading out.
He had a bag in his hands with a chocolate pie he’d gotten from the grocery store—nothing fancy or probably even very good, but he felt weird about showing up empty-handed. So, it was the pie, and the random little phrase he’d managed to learn in the last twelve hours from the Duolingo app. He didn’t even know what the hell it meant, since he couldn’t read the words under it, but he made the little bird repeat it over and over until he had gotten himself to sound at least a little like the nasal man talking about something that sounded like soda.
He smiled to himself at how ridiculous it was, but he was bound and determined to find out what the hell Wyatt had said the night before during poker. He knew for sure it wasn’t just describing poutine. The look on Wyatt’s face, the way he’d pitched his voice. Mat was a little too scared to assume, but he found himself wanting to.
“God, this is a really weird fucking time to be having some big gay crisis,” he muttered to himself. He used his key to open James’ door, then froze when he realized that it was maybe impolite since James wasn’t there and Wyatt was using his kitchen. It was too late to just go back out and knock though, so he made a lot of noise coming in as he heard sounds coming from the kitchen.
The sliding door separating the kitchen from the living room was halfway open, and Mat stuck his head around the corner, finding Wyatt standing at the stove stirring something in a small sauce pot. When he pushed the door all the way to the side, Wyatt turned his head slightly and grinned.
“I thought I heard you. You’re Mat, right?”
Mat laughed. “Yeah, man. James is closing tonight, so it’ll just be us. Um…if that’s okay.”
“Well, I didn’t invite him. He gets my cooking a lot more than you.” Wyatt replaced the lid on the pot, then turned and swiped his hands down the front of his jeans. The outfit didn’t look out of place on him at all, but Mat could easily see the man wearing teaching tweed and carrying a briefcase. The thought of it made his gut squirm and the faintest twitch in his balls which was…interesting.
“I brought pie,” Mat said. “Like crappy store-made pie, because I can’t cook for shit.”
Wyatt chuckled lightly and gestured toward the counter. “It’s okay. I’m sure it’s just fine.”
“Well, don’t judge me if it’s garbage,” Mat said, and slid it next to a bowl with yellow-white crumbles sitting at the bottom. He leaned in and sniffed, catching the faint sour scent of dairy. “Cheese?” he asked.
Wyatt frowned, then nodded. “Ah, yes. Cheese curds,” he told Mat. “You can try one if you like. They’re better on the fries with the gravy, though.”
Mat didn’t need an invitation. His body didn’t entirely get along with dairy the older he got, but he was still an addict. He popped one into his mouth, then startled. It was creamier than he expected, with still a little bit of chew to it. It definitely tasted sour, but not enough that it put him off. “Wow, that’s…okay. I kind of like that.”
“Trust me, you’ll like it better the moment this timer goes off,” Wyatt said, indicating a little egg-shaped device on the counter. He turned back to the pot and took the lid off once more, and Mat peered over to see him stirring what looked like a rich, brown gravy.
“Okay, I’m super fucking down for this,” he muttered.
Wyatt laughed again. “Good. It’ll be only a few minutes more. I thought after, we could watch a movie.” He replaced the lid again, then turned the heat off before turning to face Mat. “How was your day?”
Mat grinned at the domesticity of it—and felt a little pang because even with Melissa, it had never been so casual or sweet. He’d loved her, he had wanted a future with her, but the further away he got from that time, the more he realized how much had been lacking. For one, she had never asked him how his day was. She’d only ever cared how much recognition he was getting from the senior staff during his shifts. At the time, he’d wanted the praise too, wanted to be noticed by his bosses at the hospital. Now, he felt a little gutted that it was only what he could bring her th
at had mattered.
He pushed his mind away from thoughts of her and shoved one hand into his pocket. “It was fine. I had PT today.”
“PT?” Wyatt asked.
“Physical therapy,” Mat clarified. “I only go once a month, but the accident fucked with my fine motor skills a little bit, so I try to keep them strengthened as much as I can. It’s harder with tattooing because of the vibration on my arm.”
Wyatt hummed, but before he could ask anything else, his buzzer went off. “Why don’t you get the plates, then I can get this ready.”
Mat was glad to have something to do other than stare at Wyatt’s face, or the way his delicate hands moved over everything with such precision. It was starting to become a problem, and he knew he was going to need some space to really think about how it was making him feel.
It was easy enough to push the thoughts aside and get the plates for Wyatt, then he moved to the fridge for drinks. James had a large pitcher of sweet tea already prepared—a staple in James’ house, which Mat had become almost viciously addicted to. Especially since James had declared that no one this side of the Mississippi could make it the right way, and Mat was inclined to agree after tasting some at a restaurant and comparing the two.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked Wyatt as he got himself a glass.
“I’ll take water,” Wyatt said.
Mat busied himself with that too, and by the time he was done, Wyatt was making his way to the table with the plates all loaded up. In truth, it looked like one of the simplest dishes Mat had ever seen. It was just fries covered in gravy and a generous sprinkling of the cheese curds. But the way Wyatt was almost reverent about it made him want to sit down and savor the experience—even if he hated it.
He took a seat at the head of the table, to the right of where Wyatt had pulled out a chair, and he pulled his plate close. “So, just…dig in? Or do you pray?”
“Dig in. As long as you don’t ever tell my parents,” Wyatt said with a chuckle.
Mat speared a gravy and melted cheese covered fry with his fork. “Religious nuts?”
