Library

Twenty-Seven

GREG

"Surprise!" the entire staff shouts when Greg enters Martin's Place. A metallic banner reading Happy Going-Away, Greg! hangs over their heads.

Weird phrasing. Weird feelings. Greg wants to rip down the banner and run away.

Or rather, run back.

He doesn't want to leave. Even if that still means he can't be with Julien.

Ever since he dipped out of Stryker's apartment on Sunday morning while Stryker was still sleeping, Greg's been stuck wondering how he can take it all back, even if his bartending gig is up on Indeed and his room in Rufus's house is up on Zillow.

Greg thought it was odd when he got the text from Augustine telling him to come in an hour later than usual, but he didn't want to make a big deal out of it since he is leaving them in a lurch. As far as he could tell over the past week, they weren't being inundated with applicants to replace him, and the few they did get weren't qualified enough. Greg swears he wasn't eavesdropping, but it's not a big restaurant.

Julien stands behind the bar, two acrylic drink dispensers filled with liquid and fruit before him. Greg's heart aches. But with no job and no place to live in Allentown, what's he supposed to do?

"Aw, thanks, everyone," Greg says to muffle the shouting in his head. Retreat! Retreat! Because that's not how he works.

When the academy spat him out after graduation, he booked a one-way ticket to New York City. Go! Go! When he got the offer to work at Martin's Place after credit card debt and Stryker's rejection ran him out of New York City, he packed up his life once again. Go! Go!

For once, he'd like the merry-go-round of his life to stop. He wants to get off his horse, plop down in one of those rocking benches (preferably next to Julien), and hash this out. This is wishful thinking, but maybe looking on the bright side doesn't always have to be a coping mechanism. Maybe sometimes it can be a strength.

Augustine steps forward, extends an ecru-colored envelope out to Greg. "We wanted to give you a proper send-off. A thank-you from us to you for all the amazing work you did here with us. We're gonna miss you, Harlow."

The card might as well be a brick. It weighs him down. He wants to tie it to his ankle so they can't drag him out of there at the end of the night. Of course, he's got one more shift tomorrow, but it's a quick one, and Fridays are too busy for all this.

The crowd steps aside, and Rufus and Jessica stand there. On their heads are pointy paper party hats. In their hands are noisemakers that unroll and whizz.

Greg wants to, but won't, cry.

Everyone lines up for a glass of sangria, conversations break off, and Greg gets a ton of pats on the back, lots of voicings of "good luck." He'll miss these people, especially because the smells and faces and everyday gossip have become commonplace and comforting. Will he find that at his new job?

Bar Deco has already begun advertising his start. COME GET SERVED BY GOODWITHHISHANDSHARLOW. When his new boss texted him the picture, he couldn't help but roll his eyes. In Allentown, he got to be Greg, and that photo illustrated that once he returned to New York, he'd be reduced to his handle once again. A personality. A body. A means to an end.

Martin comes around. "Let's get a little sangria in you before we send you on your way."

Greg had purposefully been avoiding the line. Everyone was limited to one glass, but he overdid it over the weekend. He needed to be sober, even if that would make the whole evening harder to endure. Plus, he didn't want to have to be served by Julien. If they could say goodbye from afar, it would be easier. Less painful.

"Eh, I—"

"I insist."

By the time Greg reaches the front of the line, Martin has disappeared and so has a good amount of the sangria. Nervously, Greg meets Julien's eyes. Arresting him to the spot. "You made the sangria without me..."

"I did," Julien confesses. "I came in early. I wanted you to be able to enjoy your celebration."

"I've been so busy packing that I forgot to even send over inspiration for the mix." Greg scratches the back of his neck so he has something to do with his fidgety hands. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I figured it out." Julien has the ingredient cards on their shiny metal sticks facing backward. He gives Greg the tiniest, sweetest smile. "Can I offer you some white?"

On the signage, above the list of wine, liquor, and fruits, Greg reads I'm Sorry for What I Said White Sangria. It's unmistakably Julien's handwriting.

"I'm sorry, Greg." Julien has his hands clasped in front of his chest, as if nearly begging.

Once again, A man! Apologizing! Groundbreaking! Twice in only a matter of days. This time means more, though.

"When I said we didn't need you anymore, I was saying it from a place of surprise and hurt. I don't say that as an excuse. I rationalized it by assuming you were looking for permission to leave and were giving me polite notice on the end of our sex pact, but the truth is..." Julien flips around the sign beside the receptacle of red. It reads I Want to Make It Right Red Sangria. "Can we take a walk?"

Greg wavers, cheeks still burning hot from Julien's sweet signs. His hesitant heart reminds him that the walk could end in an epic goodbye, one last conversation before letting go. The thoughtful gesture doesn't mean reconciliation.

Not yet, but still hopeful, Greg agrees.

JULIEN

While nodding to Uncle Martin and Aunt Augustine who hold each other out on the makeshift dance floor, swaying to a slow song Rufus is playing, Julien leads the way outside. He tries not to entertain thoughts that he could have what they have, with Greg.

This impending conversation could chart several different courses, and despite his preparation and what he feels in his heart, his head has to be practical, quickly unfolding a safety net below the tightrope of emotions he's walking.

The spring air has a slight, pleasant chill to it that cools Julien enough to speak again after a deep, audible breath. "The truth is, Greg, that this has been more than a sex pact for me for a while now. I've grown to trust you and really look forward to the time we spend together, both around and outside of work."

Afraid that he might read too much into Greg's expressions, Julien fixes his gaze ahead on the stone facade of the old YMCA as they saunter down Main Street, keeping step despite their stride differences. Around the corner, Julien spies the large glass library with its Japanese zen garden to the right. It's all rocks and flowing fountains and cherry blossom trees that have finally reached peak bloom. If he's going to get his heart broken, he wants to do it surrounded by beautiful pink flowers.

The nearest stone bench is spotlighted by the dipping orange sun, so Julien takes that as a sign to sit there, gesturing for Greg to join him before producing a crumpled-up card from his coat pocket. "This is what I was originally going to put for the red sangria."

The card that reads I Really Like You Red Sangria is dwarfed in Greg's large hand. "I appreciate the alliterations," Greg says with a growing smirk.

"I thought you would." Julien's cheeks heat up again as he launches into his explanation. "Honestly, a similar thing happened with Colin before you came to town. I was starting to entertain feelings for him beyond our hookups, but I was too scared to say anything, then all of a sudden, he was moving away. I didn't want to make that same mistake again. Not with you. Especially because...because my feelings for you are bigger, scarier. Boy, sorry, if this is a weird awful word vomit."

"Julien." Greg places his hand on top of Julien's, which rests on the space of stone bench between them. Julien never wants to be without that warm, reassuring touch. "I'm listening. It's not weird or awful. Truthfully, it's wonderful."

Julien dons a smile that puffs out his cheeks, totally unselfconscious. "Does that mean...?"

"That I like you, too? Yeah, yeah it does. I was going to tell you before you left for Texas." Greg shifts away, a display of something akin to guilt.

"I was going to tell you when I got home..."

A laugh launches out of Greg that infects Julien, too. "A storm of bad timing, I guess."

"A storm that's only continued. Here I am, finally telling you that I like you in the middle of your going-away party." Julien's eyes land on a willow across the way, which mirrors his posture in this moment, all hunched over. Instead of feeding into his shrinking instincts, he straightens up. He knows how he feels and whatever the blowback, he can handle it. "But," he says, voice more assertive now, "I had to tell you. I know you're leaving and that Stryker is back in your life."

"He's not," Greg interrupts. "That was a lapse in judgment to say the least. I fell back into a comfortable habit. Yeah. That's what he was to me, a habit. But I've kicked it. And if I could, I'd kick New York. Straight to the curb." He digs his shoe into the rocks in a show of frustration.

"You don't want the job?" Julien senses his heart reinflating slowly.

Greg shakes his head. "I don't want the job or the city or the too-small-too-noisy apartment. I don't want to pack my stuff into brown boxes and wait hours for subway cars that aren't coming. I don't want to leave Martin's Place, and I don't want to leave you."

Hot salty tears rim Julien's eyes instantly. It's everything he's ever longed to hear, packaged in a way he never imagined hearing it, from a man he couldn't have ever expected to be real. He sniffles, blinks back what he can before saying, "I don't want you to leave, either."

Greg leans forward and wraps Julien in one of those only-Greg-could-give-them hugs. "I'm sorry I sprang the interview on you. Since I'm working my way out of the debt hole I'm in, I was scared that their shiny hourly rate might be my only chance at doing it in the near future, but I think you've shown me that sometimes there are even better options beyond the obvious."

If Greg weren't holding him so tightly there in the zen garden, Julien fears he might float away like one of the pink petals on the spring breeze from how light he feels. "How so?"

"I mean, since you came into my life, I've taken up painting, gotten on a new medication. I've tried different kinds of wines and even more different kinds of sex toys." Greg leans back so Julien can see his full expression. The way his words brighten his features—cheeks lifting, eyes lightening. "I had this wrong perception of New York City. That it's the place where you go to make it, to prove your parents wrong about you. When you tell people you live there or post about living there, you get treated like you're top-shelf when really, right now, you're well liquor. Call liquor at best. And my journey to premium doesn't need to look the way I thought it would when I was eighteen. I have a whole new vision." Greg takes both of Julien's hands in his.

"What does that vision include?" Julien asks, hoping to hear that it includes them together.

"Making social media content to help the restaurant, but not for monetization. Doing it because I love it and not because it's easy cash flow," Greg says to start. "Maybe using my mixology know-how to write a recipe book. Finally put down all those TikTok concoctions on paper so they can reach more people in a more tangible way."

"That would be amazing." Julien squeezes Greg's hand.

"It would be," he says, nearly wistful. "The last piece is planting roots in a place where people get me. Allentown and Martin's Place have really started to feel like home but..."

Julien scoots in closer, undeterred by Greg's hesitancy. "I think the boss would be thrilled by your change of heart, and if he isn't, I'll remind him that I might own this place one day, so I should get a say in who works here."

This idea doesn't scare him as much as it used to because, as Carlos reminded him, being a sommelier is like making wine, it's a process—from picking to fermenting to bottling. You can't rush the steps just to get it to market. The best wines, like the best careers and relationships, take time.

"But Rufus has already listed my room for rent. He's got people interested."

Julien reaches deep within and chooses to make a leap of faith. "I think I know a guy who can offer a reasonable rent payment and wouldn't mind sharing his bed with you." OCD be damned. For Greg Harlow, he will, for the first time, learn to cohabitate. He knows it will be chaos—that boxes will be everywhere for a while. That, over several weeks, he and Greg will need to sift through every item Greg owns and see which can stay and which can be donated. There's no reason to have two colanders or two plungers. But Julien's got his medication and a great therapist. A little disorganization for a little while will not plummet his life into anarchy.

Greg's smile crests across his face like an unclouded sunrise. "I would love to live with you, Julien."

For the first time, Julien hears his name like a classical song. Like Greg's voice is an entire string section, and he's instantaneously composed the world's most beautiful music out of three simple syllables. "Does that mean you'll stay?"

"I'll stay," Greg whispers. "I'll always stay."

Julien kisses Greg in the fading sunlight right as a wind whips through and pink petals fall off the tree and float around them in lovely, heart-stopping swirls.

When the kiss disconnects, Julien stands, holds out his hand to Greg, and says, "Let's go tell everyone your going-away party is now a welcome home party."

Greg rises, grabs Julien around the waist, and lifts him clear off the ground, prompting another kiss that catapults them into a new chapter of their relationship.

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