Chapter 14

It took two buses to get across town from my office in the Richmond to the food truck court in the Mission. Harlan sat in the window seat, watching San Francisco go by. I sat in the aisle and watched the man I loved in the city I loved. The years fell away from his face as he remembered other times, happier times, we’d ridden these streets together. Every few blocks, his eyes would widen, and he’d turn to me with some version of, “Isn’t that the place where we…?” I couldn’t wait to revisit those old haunts and take him to the places we hadn’t had time to explore before. Time passed quicker than it ever had on a bus, and I was almost sad to see our stop come into view.

We walked the few blocks to the lot where the food court was, listening to the sounds of the city. Traffic, seagulls, music, and conversation bubbled up from every direction. The food court had been set up on a formerly empty lot on the east edge of town. Food trucks lined the edges of the big lot two deep, forming an outer aisle. Seating was in the middle of the lot. Propane heaters ringed the space, a concession to our many cold, foggy days. The longer, covered tables had gas-fueled fire pits in their centers. Smaller tables were scattered wherever they would fit.

We wove through the light crowd, enjoying the nice day. The sun shone from a cloudless blue sky, and delicious scents wafted through the air. I’d left my trench coat in the office, and my suit jacket hung over my bag. I would have left it behind as well, but we’d need it later. Harlan also carried his jacket and loosened his tie, giving me a glimpse of the hollow of his throat and a hint of collarbone. I found it hard to tear my eyes off the contrast of white shirt, tan skin, and the black leather strap of his watchband.

Being around Harlan was messing with my head, making it difficult to focus on the case, despite the threat to his life. Waking up next to him that morning had felt too comfortable, too familiar. He’d been everything to me for so long. I’d thought we’d known each other inside and out. I’d been wrong.

We had a second chance now, but there were ten long years between the people we’d been then and the people we were now. If we were careful and lucky, we could build a new, better relationship on the firm foundations of the old one. There had been so much right about it. We’d been good for each other then, and I knew we could be again.

Communication was the key. Neither of us could afford to make assumptions about what the other was thinking or feeling. There could be no secrets. Harlan walked a few feet in front of me, his head on a swivel. Assessing the crowds for threats was part of the job, but I knew he was assessing the food truck offerings just as closely. Personally, I was assessing his rear assets. With his broad shoulders and firm, round butt, the view was delightful. He made those department store suit pants look like a million bucks.

Thinking about us sharing a bed again tonight wasn’t helping my concentration issues. I hurried to catch up with him. He turned to me, the lines around his eyes deepening as he squinted against the sun. “Where is the waffle truck Serena mentioned? I haven’t spotted it yet.”

To stop myself from staring, I pulled a few steps in front of him. “It was in the far-right corner last time I was here.”

“Do you come here often?”

I turned to face him, grinning and walking backward through the crowd. He rolled his eyes before I could speak. “Shut up.”

Holding up my hands, I turned back around. “I’m just saying, if that’s your best pickup line, I’m not surprised you’re single.”

“My bad pickup lines are not the reason I was still single.” He took a few quick steps to catch up with me and then reached for my hand.

Was? Had we agreed to get back together? We’d have to talk about that later. I took his hand and squeezed. “But you admit your lines are bad?”

“So bad. You don’t need any pickup lines, I assume. You just smile at guys and say ‘wanna shag?’ and they fall in line.”

Truthfully, if I was just looking for a quick hookup, that was pretty much how it went. But that wasn’t the point. “First of all, why am I Austin Powers all of a sudden? I’ve never said shag once in my life. Second of all, it worked on you.” I waggled my eyebrows at him. It wasn’t much of an exaggeration. We’d met the first day of boot camp, started talking, and didn’t stop pretty much for the next eight years.

He elbowed me and pointed to a bright yellow truck half hidden behind two other trucks. “Is that it?”

I could just make out the NomNom Waffles sign on the side of the truck. “That’s it. Let’s go.”

He turned slowly in a full circle to situate himself and identify the quickest unimpeded exits from the market. “This looks like a pretty normal food truck court to me. I assume there’s some special entrance or password to get to the blackish market?”

“There is. But since we’re here, we might as well eat.” My coffee and donut would not hold me for long.

“You said something about gourmet chocolate?” His eyes were hopeful.

Of course, he remembered that. “Yes, I promise I’ll get you some good chocolate, you sugar junkie. I would never hold out on you.”

We joined the line in front of the van and scanned the menu. There were a lot of options. Harlan seemed a little overwhelmed. “They all sound delicious. How am I supposed to choose?”

“That’s the beauty of being a local. You can pick one today, and a different one tomorrow. But let me help. Step one, sweet, savory, or a combo?”

Harlan clicked his tongue while he decided. With his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on the soles of his feet, he looked relaxed and happy. “I think, both.”

The young woman in line in front of us turned around, a smile on her face. “Oh, if you want both, totally get the Monkey’s Uncle. It’s peanut butter, bananas, bacon, drizzled with chocolate sauce and just the perfect amount of maple syrup. It’s…” She put her fingers to her lips and gave a chef’s kiss. “So good.”

“That’s what I was going to recommend.”

“That does sound irresistible,” Harlan said. “What about the Banana Mana with caramelized bananas, bourbon caramel sauce, and whipped cream?”

I smacked his chest with the back of my hand. “I’m going to get diabetes watching you. It’s ten o’clock in the morning. At least have some protein. We can get the banana one when we come back another day.”

The young woman sighed. “You guys are so cute.”

Harlan smiled at her. “Thanks. I think I’ll stick with the Monkey’s Uncle. What are you going to get, Dash?”

“I always get the Popper Topper. It’s kind of a waffle sandwich, with grilled jalape?os and cream cheese filling. But the best part is they cover the whole thing with cheddar cheese and melt it. So good.” From the expression on Harlan’s face, I could tell he had doubts. That was fine. He’d change his mind once he had a taste.

We reached the window, and a young white guy with white guy dreadlocks and a pink and white Baja jacket leaned over the counter. “Crazy Eight! How you doin’, man?” The guy’s Jamaican accent was as fake as the Rolex on his wrist.

“Doing great, Jeremy. How’s your mom?”

He dropped the accent. “She’s great. She got a big promotion at work.”

“What does she do?” Harlan asked.

Jeremy checked him out. “Friend of yours?”

“Old friend. Harlan, this is Jeremy. Jeremy, Harlan.”

They exchanged chin nods.

“I think my mom’s an accountant?” Jeremy said, looking at me for confirmation.

“She is.” I turned to Harlan. “His mom, Mary, went to school with Elizabeta.”

Jeremy was a good kid, not the sharpest tool in the shed, but a magician with a waffle iron. Thanks to his power, he never burned a baked good of any kind and had a knack for making the most disgusting combinations of flavors taste delicious.

Someone behind us coughed impatiently.

Jeremy scowled over my shoulder. “Just give me a second, mon! These are me friends.”

I shook my head. “Jeremy, I told you not to use that accent. Not only are you terrible at it, but it’s offensive in like four different ways. And lose the dreadlocks. It’s embarrassing.”

Jeremy’s smile dropped, and his hand drifted to his hair. Great, now I felt like I had kicked a kitten.

“No. Forget I said that. Sorry. Your hair is very… you. But I’d better order before the mob riots. We need a Monkey’s Uncle, a Popper Topper, and two Underhill Specials.”

He nodded the entire time. “You got it, Dash. Coming right up.”

I paid before Harlan could even offer, and we stepped to the side to wait for our order. I checked my email, sent a quick proposal to a potential client, and saw that my meeting with SKD had been postponed until next week. If I’d known that earlier, I wouldn’t have worn the suit.

Jeremy’s colleague called out our order number, and we grabbed our food and the tokens that would get us into the Blackish Market. Harlan followed me to a small table around the back of the truck. It wasn’t exactly a garden spot, but it was what we needed.

Harlan put his bag and jacket on the bench next to him. He opened up the recyclable cardboard clamshell his waffle had come in, took one look at the gooey concoction, and tossed his tie over his shoulder. Then he carefully unfolded a napkin and tucked it into his shirt collar.

God, I loved this idiot. I hoped he never changed.

“What?” he asked when he caught me staring.

“Nothing. Should I go to the lobster roll truck and ask for a bib?”

He glared at me. “Some of us care about our clothing, Dashiell.”

I laughed. That prissy tone made me want to tackle him to the ground and spread that chocolatey maple syrup mess all over his body and then lick it off.

“Some of us order grown-up food.” I picked up my sandwich, the filling of which was neatly contained by the outer fried cheese layer.

“Your loss.” He stabbed his cornstarch spork into the toppings and took a tentative taste. The groan he made was so sensual that it, combined with the little mental detour I’d just taken, made my dick get ideas.

Damn him. I was trying to convince myself that jumping back in bed with Harlan was a bad idea. But, really, what would be the harm? We were consenting adults with a sexual history. A really fucking amazing sexual history. Besides, it wasn’t as if he could hurt me more than he had in the past.

Harlan dove into his waffle like he hadn’t eaten in a week, a rapturous expression on his face, while I ate more slowly and contemplated what the sex would be like now compared to how it had been when we were young.

Eventually, he slowed down enough to ask questions. He kept his voice low. “The Underhill Special. I assume that’s the key?”

“It is. Finish up, and I’ll show you.”

Harlan took his time, and when the waffle was gone, he used his finger to finish the last of the sauce. Watching him suck chocolate off his index finger was not helping me rein in my impure thoughts. I stifled a groan and tried not to think about sleeping in the same bed with him again tonight.

“We have to turn our coats inside out? That’s old school, fairy tale kind of stuff.” Harlan stuck a hand through the sleeve of his jacket and pulled. “What happens if you don’t have a jacket?”

“This is San Francisco. Everyone always has a jacket, unless they’re tourists.” After I turned my coat, I handed Harlan his token. It was a small wire circle with paper in the middle, like the kind they put your keys on at the shop. A small black image of a door was stamped on the paper. “Now we walk counter-clockwise around the NomNom truck three times while chanting there’s no place like home.”

Harlan crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not saying that.”

I shrugged and bit back a grin. “It was worth a shot.”

We started our circuit, strolling as if we had nowhere to be and nothing to do. “You have to admit, it would have been funnier if you said it.”

“It would be funnier if…” He trailed off. “Crap. I hate you.”

He looked so disgusted with himself. I had to laugh. “You’ve always sucked at comebacks. It’s barely any fun to mess with you.”

“I’ll think of one, eventually. Just you wait.”

“You can text me when you do.”

By the time we’d finished our second circle and were headed for the third, the air changed in some almost imperceptible way that made you rub your eyes to see if it would go away.

Harlan looked around, probably trying to pick out the subtle changes. “Is this Blackish Market some kind of goblin market?”

I tilted my head from side to side. “Kind of. It’s not quite a fairy market. It’s more like a fairy-adjacent, black-ish market. Some entrepreneurial type with a dimensional pocket type of power probably created it.”

Harlan’s steps slowed. “Well, I can say I’ve never heard of anyone at SPAM running into actual goblins.”

Hearing what he was not saying, I matched my pace to his. “But you have heard of people encountering fairies?”

He shrugged. “Rumors. Investigations that get shunted to different departments.”This was unbelievable. And I’d seen people fly and teleport themselves across town. Really handy, that power. “You’re telling me fairies are real? Like Tinkerbell fairies or Lord of the Rings elf-type fairies?”

“Kind of in between. They’re more like…” His words faded away as we completed our circuit and entered the world of the market.