Chapter 11

Chapter

Eleven

My heart leapsinto my throat as the shower water turns off. I crouch to sweep bits of dry, crushed pasta into the dustpan, muttering curses under my breath as I hastily dump them in the trash.

Of course Gage showers with military efficiency.

He was so relieved at the prospect of rinsing off with fresh, warm water that he didn’t even look toward the kitchen. I thought I’d have time to cover my tracks, but he’s only been in there for five minutes. But at least the floors and the counters are better, right?

Sure, Kieran. He might not notice the teetering mountain of dishes threatening to fall right out of the sink.

Every pot and pan I own is stacked up in there like evidence of my disastrous cooking technique.

“Hey, it’s cooked food,” I mutter, washing up my hands to grab my nicest bowls and serve dinner. “Overcooked, even. Beats the alternative.”

By the time I divide the plastic container into two bowls and stick a fork into each, Gage is coming around the corner—this time wearing plaid PJ pants and a faded grey T-shirt. He looks cute as hell, even if he’s significantly too clothed.

“So, what’s for dinner, chef?”

“Nothing fancy,” I say with a laugh, turning to my rickety little dining room table to set down the bowls. “Or is it?” I grin as I suddenly get an idea.

I yank the fridge open and grab the parmesan shaker, leaning over to the table to sprinkle it violently across each bowl.

“Whoa—” Gage breaks off as cheese goes everywhere. He coughs into his fist, but I flourish with my other hand and shove the shaker back into the fridge. Some of it made it onto dinner, and that’s what counts.

“Fancy,” I tell him with a smug grin.

Before I can plop into one of the wobbly wooden chairs, though, Gage grabs it and scoots it back for me. He keeps holding onto it, nodding down at the seat when I hesitate.

My cheeks burn as I sit down and he helps scoot me into the table before taking his own seat. “I should be the one acting chivalrous, since I’m hosting.”

“Pfff,” Gage snorts. “You’re providing dinner. I may as well provide the chivalry.”

Oh, hell. It’s literally impossible not to be charmed by this man.

“Thanks,” I tell him, and then I look down at dinner. “Tonight’s special is slightly chewy pasta with sausage, parmesan, and overcooked spinach.”

Crinkles appear around Gage’s eyes, like he’s almost verging on a smile. He looks down at the bowl and then back at me with real gratitude on his face. “Thank you, Kieran.”

“No problem.” But Gage looks like he’s fighting to hold back his tongue, so I raise my eyebrow. “What?”

Gage’s eyes flick toward the kitchen. “It seems like you might have had a few problems,” he says in a tone that I think is teasing.

I lean dramatically back in my chair. “Busted,” I groan. “I’m not a great cook. But it shouldn’t kill either of us. Which is a low bar, I admit…”

Even as I speak, he’s taking his first bite, so I hold my tongue and watch him nervously, chewing my lower lip. Obviously I tasted individual ingredients to make sure they were edible, but not the whole thing together.

I don’t know if it’s enough to impress him. And I really want to impress him.

Gage swallows and looks up at me, and then—at last—I catch the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Don’t put yourself down. This is much better than a cold can of soup. Or even a reheated can of soup on my camp stove. I appreciate all the effort you put into it.”

Instantly, he puts me at ease. I smile right back at him and pick up my fork to dig in, my own stomach grumbling. “And there’s pie after this,” I promise him. “From Berty and Doug. They remembered you, and they wanted to welcome you properly.”

Gage stares at me, fork hovering over his bowl. “They do?” He blinks and shakes his head. “I mean, uh. That’s cool. Seeing an older gay couple… it made a real difference when I was a kid, you know?”

Oh, I do.

“Right! I almost forgot…” I trail off, shaking my head—and shaking off the heartache at the same time. I glance at the plastic bag of food I brought to Gage’s place. “There’s something for you.”

“Yeah?”

My growling stomach makes me reluctant to stop eating right when I’m finally digging in. I shove several forkfuls of pasta in my mouth to tide me over, and then I set down my fork to rummage.

Gage snorts with amusement. “There’s no rush,” he tells me, a little too late.

Fucking hell. My cheeks are stuffed and roasting hot now. It’s obviously been a while since I had a real first date. I’m just glad Gage doesn’t seem to mind me being my usual chaotic mess.

I grope around for the little card with Berty’s handwriting. Turns out it’s hiding away under the pie container, so I’ve swallowed by the time I dig it out and hand it over. “Aha. There you go.”

Gage takes the card from me, and our fingertips brush together for just a moment.

All of a sudden, my fingers are tingling. Warmth shoots from my wrist straight up my arm. As it races across my skin, the familiar electric chill seems to spread and settle in, until every atom of my body is suddenly magnetically drawn toward Gage.

Jesus.

Gage tears his gaze away first and clears his throat loudly, ripping open the envelope.

I fumble for my glass of water and gulp half of it down at once. I’m glad I’ve got a moment to get a hold of myself. I feel like I’m a fresh-faced kid again, off to uni and finally discovering the big, wide world of gay men.

“Oh, I know that photo,” I say before I can help myself, glancing at the picture on the card. It’s Sunrise Island from the mainland harbour in Nanaimo, and the golden sunrise sky behind the island fills up most of the frame. “Berty took it. He featured it in the newsletter for three straight months.”

A little grin flits across Gage’s face as he flips open the card. It says, in Berty’s big looping cursive handwriting, Welcome back.

Then, in smaller print underneath:

You know where we are. Please drop by if you need anything!

-Berty Doug

PS: The apples in this pie are from your orchard last autumn! We’re looking forward to being the first to try the famous cider…

“Aha!” I sit up again and grin at him. “This is a bribe pie,” I tell him, and then I shove more pasta in my mouth.

Gage raises his eyebrow, looks at the card, and then nods to admit that I’m right. “It’s all right. I’ll let you have your own slice this time.”

My cheeks flush, and suddenly I can’t stop thinking about our afternoon. I’d almost convinced myself I was daydreaming the whole thing, but I obviously wasn’t. We really did share a slice of apple pie.

Me and a customer. I’m pretty sure it’s against health regulations or something. But… I wasn’t going to say no.

Gage really isn’t being subtle about how he feels, is he?

Wait. He’s actually grinning at me.

Is he enjoying this? I think he is! It only makes me get more flustered, stabbing my fork into the bowl to shovel food into my mouth.

I’m not used to reacting this way. Nobody gets me tongue-tied—ever. If there’s one thing I have… besides my excellent blowjob skills… it’s a quick wit and a sassy attitude. Inviting Gage to stay with me seemed like the perfect chance to tease him straight into bed.

But I thought I was going to have the upper hand. Suddenly, I’m not really sure what I signed up for.

“Wine and icebreakers?”

We’ve both eaten as much dinner and pie as we can stand, and Gage just relocated to the couch.

“Wine, sure,” Gage says, and I unscrew a bottle of white to pour us two glasses. Then I bring them to the couch and flop down next to him. “But do we have to do the icebreakers?” He looks like the suggestion hurts his whole soul.

I laugh. “Or get-to-know-you games. Party dares. Whatever you want to call them.”

He eyes me, and then he pushes himself to sit upright a little more, pulling one knee up beside himself. “Actually, I was just thinking that you know my story already.”

Bollocks.My walls are flying up, anticipating the end of his sentence before he even gets there.

“I don’t know yours,” Gage continues with a shrug. “I’d like to.”

Okay. This isn’t the end of the world. It’s sweet of him to ask, and to be so direct about it. And it’s not like I’ve got anything to hide… there’s just a lot I’d rather not talk about.

“What do you want to know?” I ask as I clutch my wine glass a little tighter.

Gage tilts his head, watching me thoughtfully.

My stomach goes tighter with every passing second. I have the standard answers ready, of course. I could deflect him without a second thought. But he’s been so genuine with me today—so honest and vulnerable and real—that it wouldn’t feel right.

At last, Gage says, “Is everyone in Ireland this friendly?”

Oof.

I’m restrained in my reaction, all things considered. I don’t even flinch, much less spill wine all over myself. But I know he must have seen the shadow that just flickered through my thoughts—and over my face.

For the first time, I force a smile for him. “Just me,” I tell him sarcastically. “I’m the only friendly Irishman ever to live.”

Gage laughs.

Whoa. I’m so damn proud of getting that sound out of him that I’m actually breathing a little easier. I relax into the couch for a sip from my glass, winking at him.

“How long have you been here?”

“Eight months on Sunrise,” I tell him. “But I’ve been in Canada for… coming up to a couple of years now. I explored the country, worked my way from coast to coast. Best way to get to know Canadians… eh?” I try it out, with a cheeky wink.

I’m still not sure about the usage of that word, but I think that’s right.

Gage snorts at me and reaches out to gently shove my knee. “Yeah. That’s really cool, though.”

“Yeah?” I glance at him. “What does it tell you?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know. To pull off a trip like that, you have to be flexible, outgoing, confident… and a bit of a risk-taker, am I right?”

That surprises me into a momentary silence. Then I nod slowly.

“I worked on farms and orchards across Canada in my gap year,” Gage confides in me. The nostalgia in his voice makes me smile.

“Oh yeah? Is that where you got all those muscles?” I giggle.

Gage’s cheeks turn pink. “I… uh, thanks. I do work out a lot. I bet the orchard will take care of that now.”

“That makes one of us.” I pull up my shirt for a moment and grin as Gage can’t help glancing down at my smooth, bare torso—not remotely rippling with muscles. “I don’t have a body made for farming.”

That’s the perfect opening.

I half-expect Gage to take his chance and get his hands all over me. But instead of putting aside his wine glass, he just leans back and sips and keeps on watching me with this intense curiosity.

“Hence the bartending. So do you really love drunk people, or the tips, or…?”

I find myself chuckling. “Honestly, making sure everyone’s having a good time is important to me.” Gage nods along as I talk. “But it makes it easy to move around and be a bartender. Explore the world. Walk in anywhere and get a job.”

“Is that how you found the job here?”

I shake my head and laugh. “I called ahead first. I really wanted this gig. Came over from Vancouver, and Berty hired me on the spot. One of his friends had just moved out of this flat,” I gesture around me with the wine glass. “Er… apartment, I mean. So it was fully furnished and in need of a tenant. And somehow, I guess I’m still here.”

Gage smiles slightly. “I’m glad,” he tells me, quietly but sincerely.

God, he’s a sweetheart.

He’s obviously trying to say thank you for being there for him earlier, seeing through his toughness and giving him an open space to talk about everything on his mind.

It was easy. Not just because of who I am, or what job I do. There’s something about him that just makes sense to me.

“Me too,” I tell him softly.

I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

But I don’t want to think about that. This evening—and the whole afternoon before it—has felt soft and warm and exciting in a way I’ve never felt before. I don’t want cold, hard reality to come creeping back in.

I have a few months before I have to worry about the future. For now, I want to live in the moment.

“So…” I clear my throat and finish off my wine. “You look pretty tired out.”

“Dead on my feet,” Gage admits, groaning as he sets aside his glass and stands up.

I stand up, too, craning my neck to keep looking up at him. “The bedroom’s that way. I put your stuff there earlier.”

He follows me into my tiny bedroom with its little double bed, and then we pause and look at each other.

Gage says exactly what I’d expect him to say, before I can even get a word out. “I’d be happy with the couch. I was ready for a sleeping bag, after all?—”

“Do you snore?” I interrupt him.

Gage blinks. “Uh… not that I know of?”

“Good. We can share,” I tell him.

I swear, it’s not just an excuse. I might be thinking some mighty distracting thoughts right now, but I do have Gage’s best interests at heart. He’s too tall to fit on the couch, and there’s no way I’m letting him sleep on the floor.

Not when there’s a perfectly nice bed… which also happens to have me in it. But I’d like to think that’s a bonus.

“Are you sure?” Gage asks. Even so, he can’t stop the groan of relief when he sits and sinks into the bed.

“Positive,” I tell him, turning my back and opening my dresser to grab my PJs. Then I hesitate and glance behind me, also not surprised to find that Gage has rolled over to look away.

The moment isn’t right.

Damn it. Despite how much I want this to happen between us tonight… something tells me it would be a bad idea. So I just tug my PJs on and turn off the light, joining him in bed. “What a gentleman.”

“I do my best,” Gage says softly.

I can’t resist grinning into the darkness as I feel my way to the other side of the bed and climb in. “Oh, good. I do love an overachiever.”

Gage makes a soft sound of amusement, and then there’s silence as I rustle against the sheets, nervously tugging everything into place.

The tension is brimming between us. It keeps spilling over, one trickle at a time, like the first touch of spring on a frozen waterfall. But it hasn’t yet burst free—and something is stopping me from blithely forging ahead like I usually would.

This one matters.

All I can hear for long minutes is the ticking of a clock, the uneven rasp to Gage’s breathing that tells me that we’re both feigning sleep—or waiting in vain hope.

Finally, Gage sighs and shifts on the bed. I peek through my lashes and find him lying flat on his back. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “For everything today. It hasn’t gone unappreciated.”

It sounds like an apology for not sweeping me off my feet for a wild, sweaty night.

So, as always, I do what comes most naturally.

I roll toward him, feeling around the pillow until I find the firm, muscled warmth of his shoulder and his breath catches.

Then I just squeeze gently and leave my hand right where it is. No running my fingertips toward his jaw or ear, or down the back of his neck, or even walking them down his arm… no matter how much I want to.

“Hey, my pleasure,” I murmur. “Listen. My home is yours, for as long as you want. Don’t rush anything.”

I’m talking about more than fixing up the cabin, and I don’t think it’s lost on Gage. He goes still all of a sudden. The seconds are ticking by. Did he actually fall asleep? Or just stop breathing?

Then he lets out a quick whoosh of air, and the air in the room suddenly feels so much more relaxed.

“Thanks,” Gage murmurs. “Today was just… a lot.”

“Mmm. Moving day is always a weird one,” I tell him. And I should know. “It’ll start to sink in when you wake up. Get some sleep. I’ll make breakfast if you’re unlucky.”

Gage actually chuckles, a warm and rich little noise. “We’ll see who wakes up first. Good night.”

“Good night,” I tell him.

It’s the hardest thing in the world to pull my hand away from his shoulder. I want to keep indulging myself, secretly enjoying the pleasurable thrum that comes from touching him.

But I have to give him his personal space.

I roll onto my front, leaving my hand next to Gage’s pillow as he shifts around to find the right position, too. Just as I’m going still and my breathing turns even, I feel Gage shift again. His palm slides across the back of my hand until it rests gently on top.

Smiling into the darkness, I sink properly into my bed… and I’m out like a light.