Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

7th December

Echo

D ean sits bare ass naked on my bed. You have to understand, this is not usually a problem. Who wouldn’t want to have a hot, naked man in his bed? And Dean makes my mouth water and my dick think happy thoughts.

Or it would do, but he’s moaning again, and he hasn’t stopped since we arrived home from the bar.

“My feet are going to fall off.” He pokes at his feet as if he expects them to do just that.

“If you keep poking at them of course they’ll hurt,” I point out, trying to be reasonable.

“But they hurt,” he whines like a five-year-old, poking at them yet again. I’m ready to cuff his hands together to make him stop.

“You should try being on your feet for an eight-hour shift every day,” I snap.

I’m cranky too but not because of my feet.

Deep breath, Echo, he’s just decompressing.

I limp into the bathroom and stare at my frazzled self in the mirror.

Be nice. The Creekers will never forgive you if you kill Santa.

Arms wrap around me, a warm body presses against mine, and Dean rests his chin on my shoulder.

“I’m being a pain, aren’t I?”

“No. Yes. A bit.”

His lips twitch. “You’re always trying to be nice to me.”

“I’m a bartender. Being nice to people is my specialty.”

“I can see that. Especially to whingy, whiny folk like me.”

I sigh as I lean against him. “I’m tired too. It was a long afternoon.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Dean had not stopped thanking me since our impromptu gig finished. As some of the thanks involved a heated make-out session in the back of the bar, I’m not complaining.

“I had fun,” I tell him for the umpteenth time.

He grimaces. “You cray cray.”

I give a tired chuckle. “I like entertaining kids.” I’d forgotten how much fun I had making kids laugh.

“You’re so good at it. You had the kids eating out of the palm of your hand. Why not take it up as a side hustle?”

“Don’t joke.” I beg.

“Who’s joking? Not that Randy would ever give you the time off.”

“He’s already asked if you and I could do another show before Christmas.”

I swear the color drains from his face as he processes that.

“No, no way. That was my one and only.”

“But we were so good together.” I waggle my eyebrows. “Randy thinks we could fit in two more parties before Christmas.”

“One or two?” he mutters. “Just because this worked.”

It had gone so well, parents who’d wandered in during our performance had been begging for a repeat showing and at least three had asked for our card so they could book us. It amuses me no end that they all came to me, not Dean. The town treats him as if he’s fragile, and I’m his handler. Actually, that doesn’t amuse me at all.

“What did you just think of?” Dean stares at me in the mirror, his brow furrowed. “You look angry.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Just tell me,” he coaxes.

I turn my head to press a kiss to his cheek. “I think Collier’s Creek saw a new side of you today.”

Dean gives a wry smile. “Playing a screw up for laughs instead of for real?”

“You’re not a screw up.”

“I am, but it’s okay. I’ve learned to live with it.”

I open my mouth, but he puts a finger over it.

“I’ve been called worse things, Echo. The names don’t hurt me. The town cares about me like it does everyone else, they just don’t always understand.”

I’m not convinced. “You spend all your time helping people. Don’t they see that?”

“Some of them do.” He gives me a squeeze. “I can spend my day volunteering and helping others. I’m okay with that. You don’t need to be my bodyguard or my handler or the guy who shows me how to live again.” As I flinch, he gives a rueful chuckle. “Gloria isn’t subtle. But you can be my friend. I don’t have many of those.”

“Just your friend?”

Was that all Dean wanted from me?

“Boyfriend is good too. I meant it when I introduced you as my boyfriend to Burl. I just want it to be our choice and not that of the well-meaning folk of Collier’s Creek.”

I kiss his cheek again. “I’m your friend always and I’m your boyfriend too, but it doesn’t have to be heavy.”

Dean looks relieved. I can see he wants to claim boyfriend status, but the idea scares him. In some ways, he’s still the eighteen-year-old boy finding his way in the universe because his world stopped then, and it’s only just restarted. I want more. Even after just two weeks I know that, but I can take it at his pace.

“And now you owe me a foot massage,” he declares.

I squint at him in the mirror. “Are you still going on about your feet?”

“You’re the one who insisted we do this. You owe me a foot massage.”

“Which one of us has the sprained ankle?”

“That would be you,” Dean allows. “But you don’t need your ankle to massage my feet. And when you’ve taken care of me, I’ll take care of any part you want massaged.” Another eyebrow waggle, letting me know what he’s thinking of isn’t as innocent as touching my feet.

I think about it for a moment. “I can deal with that.”

Dean turns me around, tugs me against him again, and kisses me for a long while. “You taste of coffee and candy canes.”

We’d used the Christmas candy in our props. There were all sorts of things you could do with candy canes, not all of them suitable for a children’s show.

“Do we have any left?” I ask.

“I think so. One or two. I had to rescue them from Joel’s youngest. He would have eaten them all.”

I hum. Not now, but later. Oh Santa, we’re going to have so much fun.

At least he’s quit moaning about his feet being tired.

Okay, if I’d known massaging Dean’s feet reduced him to this boneless mass who lay grinning up at the ceiling, barely able to form a coherent sentence, I might have offered to do this before, just so he’d quit complaining. In fairness, he didn’t know because this was the first time he’d let anyone near his feet.

I chuckle at the satiated heap of man sprawled on the other side of the couch, his bare legs over my lap. “Feeling better, honey?”

“Good,” he assures me, although good sounds more like gah.

I stroke down his shins and calves, feeling the hair tickle my palm. “You feel so good.”

Dean flushes at my praise. “I’m just average.”

“You’re more than average, sweetheart.”

He makes a self-deprecating noise, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m going to work on your self-esteem if it takes me a lifetime.”

“Good luck with that one. Even my therapist thinks it’s a lost cause.”

I frown. Maybe he needs a new therapist.

I run my hand down the length of his leg. “One of the many things I love about men is the visceral feel of them. I love running my hands over muscled thighs, tugging on hair under the armpits, cupping their balls. It’s all about touch and smell and taste.”

Dean nodded. “That’s how I knew I was attracted to boys. People always go on about sweaty teenage boy stink, but when I was a teenager, I loved that smell. Girls always smell of floral perfume. I don’t like that.”

I grin at the idea of teen Dean sniffing boy stink. Even I wasn’t that enamored, and I knew I was into boys. “You love locker rooms?”

He wrinkles his nose. “I did then. Now I’m more discerning, but I was a teen boy.”

“I don’t mind new sweat. Not so keen on BO.” I chuckle. “Have you been to line dancing night at Randy’s? It can get a little ripe in the summer.”

“Occasionally. That’s where I first saw you.” Dean sighs. “I didn’t know who the hot new bartender was that all the guys were drooling over.”

I’d been aware of the attention, but I was too busy learning my new job to pay much interest. By the time I came up for air, their attention was elsewhere.

I caress his cheek. “I remember you. You came with the sheriff and Deputy Ben.”

“They made me a pet project.” His expression is not impressed.

“Matchmaking?”

Dean snorts. “Think baby steps. You heard of Gilligan’s?”

“You mentioned it before. I spend enough time in bars. I prefer a meal out somewhere.”

“I’ve been unofficially barred. By the sheriff.”

I stare at him. Geez, it had to be bad if he’d gotten barred from a dive bar like Gilligan’s. “What the heck did you do?”

“Nothing,” Dean admits. “Except get liquored up like every other guy in there.”

“Then—”

“I’m the mayor’s brother,” he says gently. “They wanted to keep me out of trouble.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. I love the people in Collier’s Creek, I really do, and I know I’m an outsider, but this small-town mentality could crush a sensitive soul.

He gives me a wry smile. “I can see what you want to say, but it’s okay. I quit drinking which is what they really wanted.”

“Do you like Gilligan’s?”

“I do,” Dean admits. “It’s rough and ready, but no one gives a fuck who you are. I could hook up with a stranger, and no one cared.”

“We’ll go together,” I ignore the hook up part. I make a mental note to talk to the sheriff. No one puts my baby in the corner.

“You take me to Gilligan’s, and I’ll take you for a meal out. There’s a new restaurant in town.”

“The way to my heart is through pizza,” I admit.

He looks surprised. “You want to go to Gustoso?”

It’s an Italian restaurant just off the square, near Logan’s leather workshop. Sometimes when I’m not working, I get takeout from there if I’m too lazy to cook. I’d never been in there though, and the idea appealed to me.

“I’m not a fancy kind of guy. I love pizza and beer and wings. But I don’t want to go to Randy’s,” I add hastily, just in case he thought I wanted a night out where I work.

“No Randy’s. Understood.”

“You don’t mind I don’t want fancy French cuisine?”

“I just told you I like going to the local dive bar,” Dean points out. “I think I can cope with pizza. Besides, Gustoso do a great lasagna.”

“You’re a man after my own heart.” I lean down to kiss him.

We stay just as we are for a while, not even bothering to watch TV, and I’m amazed at how content this feels. I look over at one point, and I swear Dean has fallen asleep, although when I tease him about it later, he tells me I’m lying, and he was wide awake all time. I give him the only response he deserves to that. “Ya-huh.”

December 10th

I huff as I throw my phone onto the kitchen counter. Yet again, Randy wakes me up to ask me to cover someone else’s shift this evening, this time because Shelley’s son is sick. I feel like every night I have free is taken over covering other people. Randy says it’s because I don’t have family, and everyone else has kids or older parents. I never used to mind, because the money was always useful, but now I have my own commitments, and I hate letting my man down at the last moment.

I pick up the phone and sigh as I hit Dean’s number.

“Hi there.” His soft drawl does exciting things to my dick even as annoyed as I am.

“Hey.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” he says.

“It’s not,” I snap.

“Don’t tell me, Randy needs you.”

I let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He sounds resigned. I’m surprised he’s not angry. It’s what? The third or fourth time since we met that I’ve had to cancel at short notice. “We can rearrange.”

“It’s not okay,” I grumble. “You don’t deserve this.”

I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t dump me for being the useless boyfriend of the year.

“It’s all right, Echo. It’s December. People get sick, and it’s always busy.”

Great, now he’s trying to pacify me when it should be the other way around.

I’d asked him to take me to Gustoso after we’d discussed it the other night. I seem to have spent December working or staring at my four walls. Admittedly I got to stare at the walls with Dean which made it a lot more fun, but I just needed to go somewhere else. I left Dean to book the table on my next day off…today. At least that was the idea.

“What time do you have to start?” he asks suddenly.

“Five. I told him I wasn’t going to cover all afternoon too.”

“Then let’s go for a late lunch. That way you’re not working on empty all night. Wait a minute, I’m just going to use the other phone.”

He’s the only man I know who still has a landline, saying it makes him feel connected in the way a cell phone doesn’t.

Then I hear him speak again.

“Hi there, it’s Dean Hobart. I know I booked a table for later, but we can’t make that now. Would you have a table free at two? You do?” He broke in a smile that clutched at my heart. “That’s great. We’ll see you then. Definitely the lasagna and whatever Echo loves. You know him? He’s a regular? Fantastic.”

“Back again. Two it is,” he says.

“You know I might have wanted to order something different,” I grumble.

“And yet you always order the same pizza,” he coos.

I slump against the counter. “You know me too well.”

“You’re tired and grouchy. You want familiar to make you feel better.”

Dean is right, dammit. I would have ordered the same pizza I always eat.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promises me.

You know what? He can take care of me today because one day I’ll be there for him.

“I’ll meet you at Jake’s at one-forty-five,” I suggest, meaning the statue of Jacob Collier, the founder of Collier’s Creek. “I’ve got chores to do that I’d been putting off until today.”

“See you at one-forty-five,” he says. “I’m reading at the library in…gotta go! I’m going to be late!”

And he’s gone. I’ll train him to be on time if it kills me. Which means I’ll be calling him from one to make sure he meets me on time.

I run around the Creek all day, shopping first, then visiting Aunt Hebe, and finally sending parcels with small presents to my two sisters and my brother. I never bothered with my parents. I don’t even know why I bother with my siblings, but I guess I want them to remember they have a brother who they loved once upon a time, even if they hate him now. I don’t even know if they receive the gifts, but I can hope.

By the time I reach the statue, my mood has dropped again. I sigh. I feel like I’ve been nothing but on and off crankiness. But the sight of Dean, wearing a long navy wool coat and a matching cream hat, scarf, and gloves, makes me smile. He looks dressed for the office, not to read to a bunch of toddlers.

I check my watch. One-thirty-five. “You’re early,” I call out.

“I’m on time for you,” he says, his smile happy when he sees me. He looks around, then kisses me on the mouth. “I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

“Thank you for thinking of me.” I cup his jaw, kiss him gently, then I link arms with him, and we head to Gustoso.

The restaurant is run by an Italian couple who for some reason settled here. I have no idea why. But then, haven’t I done the same thing?

Mrs. Tomoso hugs Dean as soon as we enter and bursts into a heated discussion. This is when I discover my boyfriend can speak Italian. Maybe not as fluently as Mrs. Tomoso, but I’m just staring at him.

He catches my gaze and flushes. “I’ve spent a lot of time on my own.”

The woman turns to me. I greet her in very basic Italian, but she looks pleased at my attempt. Thankfully her English outweighs my feeble Italian.

“I can say hello and what can I get you in ten languages, and that’s it,” I say.

“Helpful when you’re a bartender,” Dean agrees.

I look around. Christmas decorations hanging from the ceiling are interspersed with empty Chianti bottles and dried sausages. She shows us to a table in a corner, and we sit. I notice the place is empty, and yet we’re sitting right at the back, near the restrooms. I frown, not sure I like the implication.

“I don’t like being on show,” Dean murmurs. “They always sit me here to give me privacy.”

That’s nice of them, but maybe in future I can persuade Dean to come out into the light a little more. I’m not keen on sitting near the restrooms, no matter how clean they are. I liked the table by the window, currently decorated in starlights.

Dean follows my gaze. He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. “Baby steps.”

I nod, stroking the back of his hand. My man needs time. I can give him that. “Baby steps.”

Then Mrs. Tomoso comes toward us with appetizers.

My belly snarls just at the idea. “I’m so hungry,” I confess.

Dean gives me the brightest of smiles. This man makes my world light up. Can I keep him?