by E M Lindsey
But he’d gotten through it, and now he was reliving those moments. Except they were softer, easier. Because one text and he could have warm, strong arms around him, grounding him as bits of his home were repaired.
“Do we need to do anything else?” James asked, startling Wilder out of his thoughts.
He sighed. “Just remove the plywood and indicate any spaces that are weak and crumbling.”
James nodded, and they got to work, the place looking worse than before, but it was nice to see progress being made. He took the left corner of the room, and gently began to prod the crumbling drywall. What was left started to cave inward, a dull thump—but after a second, he swore the sound was different.
He adjusted his hearing aids, then pushed more material in—and it happened again. “Do you hear that?” he asked.
Levi was walking over, frowning. “Sounds like…something falling on a cookie tin?”
It was a weird image, but Wilder dropped to his knees and pushed on the wall until the bottom gave way, and when the hole was wide enough, he found it. It was a cookie tin, just like Levi said. It was a rich blue, faded and a little rusted in the corners, but it was sealed tight with nothing to indicate what was inside.
“Uh, do you know what this is?” he said to Levi, pushing it along the floor.
Levi stood a foot away, his face set in a look of panic almost like he wanted to bolt. “No. It doesn’t look familiar.”
Wilder shrugged, then pried the lid off the top and stared down into the bottom. There were two folded up pieces of paper, an old matchbox car, a very small, very faded dalmatian figurine, and a couple of playing cards.
“Does this,” he started to say, but then he looked up at Levi’s face and saw that his eyes were glassy and red. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”
Levi dragged his bottom lip between his teeth, and his breath was ragged as he shook his head. “It’s not mine. It’s Simon’s. I…hashem yishmor. I vaguely remember this. There was a hole in the wall panel, and he shoved it inside and said we would dig it out when we were old.”
Wilder caressed the edge—this moment of memory that clearly had teeth as it bit deep into Levi. Then he covered the box and lifted it toward him. “He’s coming back for the holidays, right?”
Levi closed his hand around the box like he was too afraid to take it, but his grip tightened when James put an arm around his waist and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Levi nodded, his jaw tight, but he didn’t seem angry—he was almost resigned to whatever pain was inside those letters.
“The dalmatian was mine,” he said when he stepped back, and he offered Wilder a grin that seemed like more concession than anything genuine. “I was obsessed with them until I was like nine.”
Wilder pushed to his feet and swiped his hands on the front of his jeans. “I had a really, really intense Bug’s Life phase. The chubby caterpillar—god, my parents hated it.”
Levi’s chuckle was soft, but it was genuine. “Cute.”
“They didn’t think so.” He moved around Levi to the kitchen and got everyone water, and he could tell the mood in the apartment had irrevocably shifted. “Thank you for your help.”
“Is that it?” Theo asked with a frown.
Wilder darted his gaze over toward Levi, who was still staring at the box in his hands. “That’s all they need from me.”
“Cool,” James grunted. “Catch you later?”
Levi briefly met Wilder’s gaze before he followed his boyfriend out, and the door shut hard enough Wilder could feel it in the soles of his feet. He looked up at Theo, who was wearing a soft frown, then he set his water on the counter.
“You still want to stay with me, right?”
Wilder shrugged. “That’s the plan.” Only, he was half considering changing his mind—if Lorenzo wanted. He hadn’t brought it up, hadn’t wanted to rush things, for himself or for Lorenzo, but it had a little more appeal than staying with Theo and Brad, even if his place was bigger than his last shoe-box apartment. “Text you?”
“Shit, I’m being kicked out?” Theo asked with a grin. “Is your hot Italian sausage coming over?”
“Don’t ever say that to my face again,” Wilder ordered, and he took Theo by the elbow and escorted him to the door. “And maybe. I’m going to send him a text.”
Theo looked happier than he had any right to be, but in that moment, Wilder couldn’t blame him. He felt the same emotion lodged deep in his chest.
Wilder made his way to Lorenzo’s apartment with more instruction not to cook, and he wasn’t going to turn down Lorenzo attempting to woo him through food again. He hadn’t been lying when he said he had written off his diet as bland and tasteless. He had never been particularly experimental outside of baking when it came to flavor, and anything pre-packaged low-sodium was a death sentence to his taste buds.
So, he ate fresh and bland, indulged in his cakes, and didn’t let himself worry that his abs weren’t flat. It was his one small food joy, and he would take it without shame.
But Lorenzo’s food had been like magic, and he couldn’t help but look forward to the night. He popped down to the bakery to make sure Dmitri was taking care of everything for the Market, then he grabbed a box and filled it with a few cakes that sat out on the table.
He had a few hours before set-up, and he was going to use that in his own sort of indulgence—wrapped in Lorenzo’s arms and letting himself truly feel this brand-new happiness.
He bypassed the salon and headed up the stairs, then tapped his foot as he waited for Lorenzo to answer. He did, not long after Wilder knocked, looking like he was fresh from a nap with mussed hair and his shirt rucked up on one side. He rubbed his curled fist into an eye as his other hand reached out, dragging Wilder inside, and when the door shut, Lorenzo’s mouth was on him.
A press to the lips, a nip against his neck, a nuzzle along his collarbone—it was fucking heaven. Wilder closed his eyes and gave himself to each and every tiny sensation that Lorenzo dragged from his neglected body. He’d grown numb to being touch-starved until now, and god, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live without this for long.
“How are you?” Lorenzo rumbled just under his ear.
“Exhausted. Long day. Were you sleeping?”
Lorenzo nodded. “Sorry—I had a rough night. It’s been a while since I had insomnia, and it knocked me out this afternoon.”
Wilder’s brow furrowed, and he pushed past him to set the cupcakes and his bag on a chair. “I should have stayed.”
“And what, had me keep you up too?” Lorenzo huffed and wrapped his arms around him, pulling Wilder’s back to his front before he kissed the nape of his neck. “You’re here now, and it counts.”
“And you sound like you need to go back to bed,” Wilder countered.
Lorenzo shook his head. “No. Food, Market date, then bed.” He kissed him again. “Want to help cook?”
“Always.” And although Wilder wasn’t good on his own in the kitchen, he was trained. It was easy enough to pick up a knife and start chopping zucchini—and there was something beautifully simple about the way they worked together, like they fit.
And he had never fit before.
“You look… thinking…hard,” Lorenzo said, nudging Wilder with his elbow.
Wilder turned to face him, having missed most of the sentence. “Sorry, what?”
Biting his lip, Lorenzo shook his head. “You look like you’re thinking too hard,” he repeated.
Wilder shrugged. “It’s nothing bad. I’ve just never really done this before. You know, the whole domestic, cooking dinner sort of thing.”
“Not even with…” Lorenzo said, then paled and looked away as the rest of his sentence trailed off into a dull murmur.
His words were so muffled, Wilder was mostly guessing, so he reached out and touched his chin. “Bad ear day, so I really need you to face me. But I think I caught most of that, and no, not even with my ex.”
Lorenzo set the wooden spoon he�
�d been using to brown sausage down, and he propped his hip against the counter and switched to sign. ‘Was it always terrible?’
Wilder shook his head, feeling soothed by his language on Lorenzo’s hands. It was so much easier to talk about it that way. ‘No. It was good at first—but not great. Not the way it should have been. It was just less violent. And there were good moments. I tried to leave him once, and he promised to change, and there were about three months that I thought he meant it.’
‘Sorry,’ Lorenzo said. He turned to stir the meat again before looking back. ‘I wish it hadn’t cost you so much to get out.’
‘The price was worth it,’ Wilder said, and he believed that with every ounce of his being. He wouldn’t trade a single second of his scars—inside or out—for his freedom and for the distance between him and his past. ‘But even in the good months, it was never this good.’
‘It’s not really a high bar,’ Lorenzo told him, and Wilder laughed.
‘No, but the one you set is.’ Wilder hesitated saying any of this, because it had been a week—just a week since the man stumbled into his life, begging for pity but offering so much more in return. Wilder shuddered to think about how he had almost not gone outside when he saw him on the bench that day. He had almost not bothered. That thought alone threatened to choke him, and he set his knife down and put both hands at Lorenzo’s waist. “Thank you.”
Lorenzo’s brows lifted, eyes going wide, but he didn’t ask what for. He just leaned in to kiss him. “Come on,” he murmured, trailing his lips to speak against the shell of his hear. “Let’s get this cooked so we can get your booth set up. I’m looking forward to this date night.”
Wilder stole a last kiss, then stepped back to tip the zucchini into the pan next to the meat. “Selling cupcakes isn’t much of a date.”
“It is to me.” And the absolute and simplistic honesty of his words were enough to make Wilder feel like he’d finally gotten something right.
“Oh, shit. Oh, holy shit.”
Wilder turned his head in a half panic at the sound of Theo’s voice rising above the crowd as he clambered over the table and into the booth. ‘What’s wrong?’ he signed, pulling him close.
‘You,’ Theo signed, then bit his lip and leaned in so Wilder would be able to hear him over the crowd. “You’re in love!”
Wilder blinked, then took a step back. ‘No.’
Rolling his eyes, Theo turned and motioned across the way where Lorenzo was currently in deep discussion with both Sonia and Birdie at the blacksmith stand. Wilder knew Birdie had given him shit, but whatever happened in the two hours Lorenzo had wandered the Market, it seemed like things were fine now. In fact, Birdie was grinning at him and pushing something into his hands.
Wilder had been watching them—and admiring Lorenzo’s lithe form, he couldn’t deny that. And he had also been feeling a lot of things deep in his gut—soft and a little scary, but so damn good. And yet… the idea of being in love? This soon?
“You can’t lie to me. I am your self-appointed platonic soulmate, and it’s my job to notice these things,” Theo said, slinging an arm around Wilder’s waist and speaking close to his ear. “You are in love with him.”
His pulse raced—he could feel it against the inside of his throat and thrumming in his ears. It had never felt like this before, not before Scott and not with him either. And he realized he had no true baseline for what a healthy relationship was like. But still…
Love?
“Don’t panic,” Theo said firmly, turning Wilder to face him. “Breathe and then take that man home and fuck him stupid.”
And there. There was the real issue, because Wilder had loved what they’d done so far—loved Lorenzo’s soft careful way of handling him and loved how he didn’t push for more and didn’t use the phrase, ‘when you’re ready.’ He acted like Wilder’s boundaries were permanent, and it was…
Perfect. Too perfect.
It had to be too good to be true, because no one would ever stay that patient. Lorenzo didn’t have the same kind of trauma, and eventually, he’d get bored with over the clothes frotting, or hand-jobs, or however close Wilder could get to the things most people wanted.
But Wilder wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready for anything more than that.
He hadn’t liked penetration before Scott, and when he was with him, he hadn’t been given a lot of say in the matter. And now, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to open himself that way. So why would Lorenzo want to stay with that mess, no matter how they felt about each other?
Relationships fell apart for smaller things than that—and to assume a man who wasn’t from here—and didn’t entirely belong in a small life like this—would compromise all of that? Just for him?
It was laughable.
“I fucked up,” Theo said. “I can see your face. Please don’t do this. Please don’t panic and run.”
Wilder looked over again, and this time, Lorenzo’s gaze met him through the crowd, and his mouth softened into a grin before he lifted a hand to wave. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, and he meant it. If there was a coffin, he wouldn’t be the one nailing it shut. He would just prepare himself for when the hammer fell. “I don’t think I love him.”
“Yet,” Theo pressed.
“I don’t know if I’ll have time for that. He’s not staying.”
He didn’t know what Lorenzo’s plans were. He had a few weeks left booked at the Manor, and the future after that was just an abstract idea. Lorenzo wasn’t much of a planner, from what Wilder could tell. It almost seemed like they were simply making the best out of their ticking clock before the bomb went off and blew them to pieces.
It would be glorious and painful, and he wouldn’t regret a thing.
Lorenzo’s conversation ended, and Theo hopped the table and made it around the corner before Lorenzo took his place, squeezing in beside the tent wall. He had a couple of bags hooked on his arm, and he let them fall to the ground before he reached for Wilder, then froze.
‘Sorry,’ he signed.
Wilder frowned. ‘What? Why?’
‘Public.’ Lorenzo spelled the word slowly, his face a mask of worry, and it took Wilder a second to realize what he meant.
“I don’t…oh my god,” said, then lifted his hands, feeling them tremble with both frustration and want. ‘I don’t care if people see you with me. Come here and kiss me.’
Lorenzo licked his lips, and then he erased the distance between them in two long strides and had both hands cupping Wilder’s face as he pressed their lips together. It had the breath of desperation, but Lorenzo kept it chaste and easy, pulling back with three soft pecks to his chin. “Thank you,” he said.
Wilder squeezed his wrists, then stepped out of his grasp for signing space. ‘You’re beautiful. I will never be ashamed of you. Of this.’
Swallowing thickly, Lorenzo rubbed the back of his neck, then gestured to a customer who approached. Wilder went back into business mode, and Lorenzo busied himself with his phone as he sat in the corner of the tent. It was hardly the most romantic date, but later, they got kettle corn and a funnel cake, and Lorenzo licked powdered sugar from the corner of Wilder’s mouth, and they bought another scarf from Fitz, who again refused to let Lorenzo pay, and he picked up an abstract alcohol ink canvas painting from Greyson before the night was through.
It was the best night at the Market Wilder had ever had. He didn’t know what it really meant—or what it would mean for the future, but he was happy.
‘Come back to my place?’ Lorenzo asked at the end of the night as they stood on a dark street corner, watching the way the Market emptied, and everyone made their way home. They kept their palms pressed together, and Lorenzo was more relaxed than Wilder had ever seen him.
“I actually have people working on my apartment right now,” he said with a small grin, “and I was going to stay with Theo and Brad, but…”
“Me,” Lorenzo all but growled. “Stay with me. Please.”
<
br /> It wasn’t exactly a question, so he figured a kiss was a good enough answer.
Wilder typically joined his friends for a quick drink and dinner at the Tavern when the Market was over, but tonight, no one even bothered to ask if he was going to show up. Theo smiled, and Andy waved, and he felt some measure of relief that he wouldn’t have to make excuses or explain himself, because all he wanted was to get back to Lorenzo’s rented apartment and curl up with him.
And more. Probably. His dick was interested, but the small, nervous twinge in his belly wasn’t sure. He and Lorenzo didn’t waste time packing up, though, and they took the leftovers to Indulgence where Lorenzo shoved everything into the fridge as Wilder darted upstairs to grab clothes for the rest of the week.
It felt odd—moving fast like this. It wasn’t permanent, and Hopewell Manor wasn’t Lorenzo’s anything. And yet, it felt oddly like home, or maybe the premonition of what a future would be like if Lorenzo stayed. He was too terrified to go down that road, though, so he pushed the thought aside and grabbed his keys, locking up before they walked across the courtyard and down the narrow streets that led to the Manor.
Wilder heard a quiet murmur from Lorenzo, but the words were too low for him to make out, so he pulled him closer. “I didn’t catch that.”
“It’s nice here,” Lorenzo repeated, and dragged his thumb over Wilder’s wrist. “It has a sort of old world feel to it.”
And that was true. He spent a lot of warm summer nights sitting outside on his little terrace, staring at the blanket of stars that sat over thatched roofs. He was happy in that moment, but he couldn’t stop wondering if he would really be content in Cherry Creek forever. So far, the answer was yes, but that was before Lorenzo had stumbled into his life and turned everything onto its head.
“I traveled a lot, but I never stopped to appreciate the small things. I always felt like if I didn’t keep busy, my thoughts would get louder.” Lorenzo cleared his throat, then shrugged. “I was afraid of myself for a long time.”
