AS they continued on, Remy filled the time with idle chatter about the streets and the sites they passed.
A few blocks from the bakery, Remy guided him to a shop with a busy front window, jammed with odds and ends, mostly clothes and accessories—an old lace dress, a stylish button-down matched with trousers, several pairs of shoes, some gloves, a fedora, and a cowboy hat.
Unconvinced, Ash obeyed Remy’s flourishing wave and entered before him.
Vintage clothing—some more gently used than others—filled every nook and cranny. Rows of hangers hung over more racks, and shelves loomed over them. Hats clung to any spare inch, and boxes of gloves, wallets, scarves, and bags were crammed wherever possible. Thankfully the space was clean and organized—to some degree.
The shop begged to be browsed and invited curiosity.
Remy grinned and wound his way between the tightly packed rows. He picked up a hat that looked like felt and had a round top and a large floppy brim which drooped when he put it on.
He struck a pose, hands on hips. “How do I look?”
“Like an eejit?”
“Oh good. For a second there, I thought I’d failed.” He took the hat off, put it back, then moved on. Ash followed, glancing round, eyeing the wares.
“Ooh.” Remy reached into the racks and pulled out a jacket which probably hadn’t been worn since 1987.
“What is that?”
“Glorious,” Remy breathed emphatically.
“That is not glorious. That is….” Ash flicked one shoulder. “It has shoulder pads.”
“So?”
“And what do you even call that color? Bogey?”
“Hmm, neon yellow-green?”
“That’s not a name. It’s a description.”
“Hey, yellow-green is an acceptable name for a color.”
Ash snorted. “Yes. I’m sure all the great artists use it.”
Remy held the coat up and gave it a look. “To be honest, I’m not sure any artist paints with this color.”
“I hope not.” Ash shuddered. “Not if they want to sell anything.”
Remy put it back and flicked through the hangers next to it. Ash’s gaze was caught by a collection of gloves on the opposite wall. They weren’t made for cold weather, but fashion. He especially liked a pair of lady’s white evening gloves like he hadn’t seen since his appearance on a period drama. Ash reached out and touched. They were soft, and when he flipped them over, he saw fine needlework, an intricate pattern winding from cuff to fingers. Beautiful.
“Ooh, pretty,” Remy enthused from over his shoulder.
“Yeah. Old-fashioned.”
Remy cocked his head. “I wonder how old they are. They look ooold.”
Ash snorted. “Yeah. Makes me think of my time on Highclere House.”
Remy laughed. “Oh man. You didn’t get to wear gloves like these, though.” He tilted his head to the side. “That would have been a very different and interesting story for the footman if you had.”
The corners of Ash’s mouth quirked, but he kept a straight face. “Very different. Not sure the grans of England would have been ready for that.”
“I think you’re underestimating grans,” Remy said with an arched brow. He took a step back and made a production of giving Ash a once-over. “I think you’d rock a turn-of-the-century corset and skirt. Very you. And you have the waistline for it.”
Giving in, Ash dropped the straight face and chuckled. He shook his head. “You know, my gran loves that show, was thrilled when I was on it. She was so proud. Only four episodes, but she brags.”
“What, and not about Zvi?” They drifted farther into the store.
“Nah. She’s veray proud of me for being ‘so famous,’ but she’s never seen my ‘beasties magic show.’” He naturally slipped into her brogue as he quoted her.
“She doesn’t really—”
“She does. Pats my cheek and everything when she says it.”
“Your grandmother sounds amazing,” Remy sighed. “Mine would not brag if I was working on a sci-fi show. Mostly because she only watches CBC and the local Quebecois public access.” He wrinkled his nose. “Not that I see her much. She’s near Quebec City, and Mom was always too busy to visit when I was a kid, and now… well, I can’t afford the trip.”
“I’m sorry,” Ash said softly. “Distance from family isn’t fun.”
“Thanks.” Remy gave a small smile. “Oh sweet.” Remy picked up a top hat and placed it on his head. “What do you think?”
“Ridiculous.” And handsome. “It’s too big for you. Good thing your ears catch it, otherwise it would fall over your eyes.” Ash nearly cringed.
Remy squawked. “My ears aren’t big.”
“They really are,” Ash said apologetically. Why was he still talking? “Sorry.” The brim forced Remy’s ears to curve downward in a stupidly charming way.
Remy huffed and adjusted the hat. “Well. I guess I won’t be going to you for any more fashion advice.” He didn’t look angry, though.
Ash put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head. “I guess I shouldn’t tell you, then, that you need a walking stick to complete the look?”
“Ooh, a cane.” Remy clapped his hands and looked around, apparently not holding a grudge.
Ash nearly sighed in relief. Not offended.
“Do you think they have one in here somewhere?”
Ash arched a brow. “Probably. But… you’re not actually going to buy that thing, are you?”
Remy turned back to him. “What? No. I wish.” He pulled the top hat off and flipped it over. “I proba—yeesh.” He put it back with exaggerated care.
Ash picked up the hat by the brim to get a look at the price tag. He whistled. Even he’d balk at dropping $200 on a hat, and he was comfortable thanks to Restraint and to his portion of his dad’s life insurance and settlement. “Yeah. No.”
“Right? Definitely not at that price. I’m just a poor grad student.”
They moved on, leaving too-expensive headgear behind. “What—” Ash licked his lips. “—are you studying?”
“Hmm? Myths and legends.”
Ash blinked. “You can get a degree in that?”
“Oh, sure. You can get a master’s in anything really.”
Ash snorted. “So, what do you do with a degree in myths and legends?”
“If I’m lucky, I’ll write a couple of best sellers and never have to work again. Worked for JK Rowling.”
Ash wrinkled his nose. “She doesn’t have a degree i—”
“So it’s in classics. To-mato, to-mahto.” Remy waffled a hand back and forth.
“Equally useless?”
Remy tossed his head back and laughed. His throat looked so long and his shoulders so broad as they shook. Ash blinked and turned away for a moment.
“Sorry.” He straightened. “That was probably too loud.” He smiled sheepishly. “I might have some tension regarding what the fuck I’m going to do when I graduate.”
Ash shrugged and picked up an old knitted hat. He studied the Fair Isle pattern. “No worries. I, uh, had a few moments myself after drama school.” He glanced Remy’s way. Or this morning when he considered his lack of a gig.
“Oh, shut up. Like you didn’t go to the Royal Academy and get the best pedigree an actor can get. Alan Rickman went there.”
Ash’s face heated. “And a lot of people you’ve never even heard of.”
Remy snorted. “As if that would happen to you. You’re too talented.” He wasn’t the first person to compliment Ash’s acting, but his tone was so sincere and vehement Ash believed it.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Remy waved him off. “I tells it likes I sees it.”
“But, uh, it takes a lot of luck, not just talent.”
“Maybe,” Remy said, but he didn’t sound very convinced.
They continued through the aisles in an easy quiet. At the back of the store, they found an old table covered with and surrounded by baskets filled with small doodahs. Remy leaned forward to look at the basket of scarves and mufflers under the table, and Ash inspected the contents on top. There was a smaller box with ornamental pieces—a fascinator, a tiepin, a cuff link, and a large circular item.
Ash picked it up. It was a ring, only a few inches across, off-white, and made from a natural material. Ash wrinkled his nose. Ivory, maybe? It was finely decorated. Patterns curved around the surface on one side, and on the other were several Chinese characters.
He wondered what it was for. Scarves, maybe? Might work to hold the ends together. Ash flipped it back over, traced the delicate patterns with his fingertips. It was smooth as silk and expertly made. He turned it a few times but found no further inspiration as to its purpose.
A choked noise interrupted his thoughts. Ash looked over. Remy stared at the ring in his hands. “Wha-what’s that?”
Ash shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Oh,” Remy squeaked and then cleared his throat. “Once upon a time, I took a History of Sex course, which was mostly a history of things humans make because of it—art, writing, sex toys.” He looked at the object again.
Ash looked at him blankly. Then down at the… thing. “What, this?”
“I’m pretty sure.” Remy’s lips quivered.
“But it’s a ring.”
Remy pressed his lips together, then unclenched to say, “Yeah. But I’m pretty sure it’s an old Chinese cock ring.”
Ash’s heart stuttered and nearly stopped when Remy said “cock.”
Wait. What?
Ash looked down and noted the width of the opening. It would be appropriately sized to fit some—
Ash carefully but quickly dropped the ring back onto the table, and Remy gave in to his laughter.
Ash’s face burned. Oh God. Why did a clothing store have antique sex toys? Why did Ash have to pick it up? Or Remy recognize it? Buggering fuck!
“You should—” Giggle. “Oh man, your face,” Remy gasped.
Ash continued to burn. Why didn’t floors ever open up and swallow people?
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so insulted by a cock ring, and that includes my ex with the hair trigger.”
Ash’s mouth dropped open. He stared.
Remy laughed and covered his face with his hands. “Sorry. Just, the look on your face.”
Recovering somewhat, Ash glared. “Dick.”
Remy’s eyes widened. He giggled again, pressing one hand to his mouth to stifle the noise. Appalled at his accidental wordplay, Ash scowled harder, which only made Remy’s laughter worse. His eyes, visible over his hands, were tearing. He looked ridiculous. Ash’s lips twitched, and suddenly he too was laughing—big gasping laughter that shook his shoulders and shut his eyes. For a moment, he could hardly breathe as the hysterics took over.
Lightness filled Ash’s almost-aching belly. It had been too long since he’d laughed like this—with unrestrained childlike abandon. He even forgot to worry about anyone watching.
“Oh God.” Remy wiped his flushed cheeks, and his eyes sparkled.
Ash wrinkled his nose and rubbed his nape, once again aware of his surroundings.
“So….” Remy smiled at him. “You gonna buy it?”
“What? No!”
“Too bad.” Remy picked it up and looked at the price tag. “Hmm, wonder if my old prof would want it.”
Ash’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
Remy snorted. “As a lecture aid, not to use, you dork.” He looked back at the ring. “Fuck it. They want five dollars. Totally worth that.” He slipped it around his long forefinger and gave it a spin.
Jesus. Who was this man?
“Ooh, spats.” Remy picked up the black-and-white leather shoes and admired them from all angles. “Darn. Wrong size. Check out the wing tips, though.”
Ash did and wondered if he should mention he owned a similar pair. They’d been given to him by a stylist before a charity event. He never liked wearing them; his feet looked huge. Give him a pair of Chucks or Blundstones any day.
“Right.” Remy sighed and put the shoes back. “Maybe it’s time to head out?”
He bought his cock ring and made light conversation with the clerk—“Yes, it is very pretty. Very detailed. Obviously ornamental, yeah.”—and then they made a dash for the door. They held out until they were stood on the pavement and then gave in to the laughter again as they stumbled away and out of view.
They were still chuckling when they found a store where Ash could buy some souvenirs for his brother and his family.
Remy cast him dubious and judgmental looks as Ash made his choices.
“Really?” he asked when Ash picked up a mug with a picture of a beaver, and the captioni read “I don’t give a dam before coffee.”
Ash smirked. “Really. It’s for Etta.”
Remy laughed. “Far be it from me to argue, but sounds like a dangerous prospect.”
“This?” Ash waggled the mug. “Nah, she’ll love it. Not that she’s not dangerous, mind. She’s tossed me onto the ground on more than one occasion for being a bawheid.”
“Now that,” Remy laughed, “is something I’d love to see.”
Ash winked and headed for the checkout.
“But,” Remy said, as they left the store, “bawheid?”
Ash wondered if he should admit to the Scottish love of balls-based insults. Maybe not. “Bawheid’s an eejit.”
They ambled along aimlessly, and Remy swung his small bag with his antique cock ring back and forth. He did it distractedly, unconsciously, like a kid; it made Ash grin.
When it grew closer to tea, Remy pulled him into a restaurant with “the best wings, dude.”
They settled at a table in the back corner. Ash placed his gifts at his feet. “Right.” He eyed his menu. “What’s good?”
“The wings.” Remy shifted happily, apparently eager, and Ash lifted his eyebrows. “Of any flavor. They’ve got great spicy options, including a five-alarm one, if superspice is your thing. But the barbecue and honey garlic are amazeballs too, if you like something milder.”
“Sounds good.”
Twenty minutes later, Ash reassessed. Wings were a terrible idea. Despite their deliciousness, they had one major drawback. Remy wrapped pink lips around his left thumb and sucked it clean of sauce. It hypnotized. It was disgusting, of course, but Ash couldn’t turn away, even as it made his stomach flip and fill with butterflies and his skin tingle with heat. Apparently, quiet, discreet eating wasn’t something Remy did.
“You enjoying your wings?”
“Huh?” Ash blinked and refocused. Remy’s green eyes danced, and they seemed to sparkle, even in the dim light. Ash hadn’t known anyone actually had eyes that color. No one in his family had anything but muddy brown.
“The wings.” Remy’s lips quirked.
Ash coughed. “Oh, yeah. Veray tasty.” He picked up a wing and waved it in demonstration. Then he took a bite.
Shite! Fucking buggering bloody hell! He’d grabbed one of the superspice ones. Blinking rapidly, he tried to ride it out.
Remy had suggested they share the sample platter, and Ash had avoided the spiciest, knowing his pale-Scot taste buds might not be up to scratch.
He grabbed a fry and shoved it into his mouth. It helped some… barely.
“You okay?” Remy stared at him wide-eyed and bit his lip.
“Aye,” Ash wheezed and nodded. “I, uh, didnae mean to brave one of those.” He coughed.
For a second, Remy’s shoulders trembled and his lips pressed together. Then he gave up and burst into laughter. “Your face.”
Ash scowled. “I’d like to see you do better.” A fool’s bet, of course.
Remy selected one of the fiery wings, then ate it all in one go. His eyes watered a bit, but he kept on.
Ash pouted. “No fair. We don’t do hot in Scotland.” At least not in the native fare.
Remy arched a brow. “Canadians aren’t much better.”
Ash studied him. He was willing to bet Toronto had as many options as Vancouver for takeout and groceries.
“But I didn’t grow up in Toronto,” Remy countered with delight. “Born in Quebec, and let me tell you, French Canadians don’t do spice.”
“Well, you learned to eat it somewhere.”
Remy wrinkled his nose. “Mom is an excellent cook….”
Ash snorted and regarded Remy for a moment. “If you were raised in Quebec—”
“Oh. I wasn’t. Mom moved us to Ontario when I was a baby.”
“Oh. Here?” Ash tilted his head, curious.
“Nah, further east. I came here to do my master’s.” He shrugged. “Never lived in the GTA before—Greater Toronto Area.”
“I know what it is.”
“You really have gone native.”
Ash snorted and didn’t respond to that. “Do you like living here?”
“Hmm.” Remy licked his thumb clean and shrugged. “It’s all right. I like that it’s big, that no matter what you’re into, you can find something to do any given week. But, I don’t know, I’m not connected to the city. Maybe too much non-Torontonian Ontarian bias,” he laughed. “You may have noticed Ontario is divided: people who like Toronto and everyone else.” He winked.
Ash snorted. He’d learned that within his first year living this side of the pond, even all the way out on the west coast. “You think you’ll stay here after you finish uni, then?”
“Maybe. To be honest, it’s about getting work. Basically I plan to go to whoever is willing to pay me.” He wrinkled his nose. “That’s still months away, though. Right now I have to worry about my thesis. Word of advice, if someone tells you it’s a great idea to write a paper comparing different cultural treatments of werewolf mythology, they’re wrong.”
Ash snorted. “Are you not enjoying it?”
Remy shook his head ruefully even before Ash finished speaking. “I liked the topic—that’s why I picked it—but everyone gets tired of their thesis. And mine might have been a bit overambitious, even after I decided to focus on film and TV. I’ve been consuming basically all I can in the last year, and trying to chart out the various depictions and attitudes.” He shook his head. “Did you know Mexico had a fondness for werewolf films?”
“No.”
“Well, they do, and I’ve watched many an hour of subtitled and badly dubbed movies to see what they have to say on the topic.”
“And?”
Remy grinned. “You gotta read the thesis for that.”
Ash snorted. Silence stretched between them. He ate another fry to occupy his tongue, but it still blurted out, “Was Restraint part of your research?”
“Dude, of course! No way I could talk about recent trends in North American media without including Zvi. Especially since Restraint went more shifter with their mythos, tossing out the moon stuff and focusing on the full shift and blending the human and wolf instincts.”
That had always been one of Ash’s favorite things about the character. Even in the later series, when Zvi had mostly been rehabilitated, he’d still put heavy emphasis on scent when interacting with others and tended to be more at ease when social hierarchies were clear. Half-man, half-wolf, Zvi was never at the mercy of it, never afraid of it. Ash wouldn’t have loved Zvi the same if he’d been a monster.
“He’s a big part of the whole section about using mythical monsters to expose humans as the true monsters. Not sure it’ll make the final cut, but that’s basically what Zvi is about, right?”
Ash inclined his head, his cheeks warming. He said the first thing that came to mind. “Who… what else you got in there?”
Remy munched a fry and considered. “Lately I’ve been focusing on comparatively recent stuff. Rewatched the Oz episodes of Buffy, did a marathon of the ’80s films—Teen Wolf, American Werewolf in London, The Howling—oh, film three of Potter, new Teen Wolf.” He wrinkled his nose. “Some of it’s been fun. Some of it’s terrible.”
Ash laughed. He couldn’t imagine consuming so much TV for research. “Why werewolves?”
Remy took a long drink of his iced tea, apparently considering the question. But surely others had asked him?
“I like werewolves? I mean, there are some pretty great stories out there.” He shrugged. “I guess I liked how in a lot of those tales, they’re born or made different. They can’t help it. And not everyone can see how different they are at first, but no matter how hard they try to blend in, they always know they’re not like everyone else.” He shook his head. “Anyway, there’s a lot of queer comparisons, and when you get a really good story, like Zvi, where his true ‘otherness’ comes from what other people have imposed on him? Well. I could really transfer all my gay angst onto that.”
And there it was again. Remy simply dropping his sexuality into casual conversation, as though he had nothing to lose and no worries about how Ash would react to it.
“Oh.” At a loss, Ash poked at his unused knife.
“Such as it was.” Remy waved a hand in the air. “I mean, not that it didn’t feel big and important, but looking back… I had it pretty good. Whiteish guy in Canada with a loving mom who honestly doesn’t care? I didn’t have too much to worry about when coming out, not compared to others. Still. I had my share of dramatic-sixteen-year-old moments.” He smiled. “Anyway, Nisha and I were big into sci-fi when we were kids, and we were always drawn to the misfit characters.”
Ash stared at him. He couldn’t imagine being so… open. “How can you—? Aren’t you worried about someone reacting poorly when you tell them?”
Remy stared at Ash for a long beat, his expression somber. Then he nodded once, decisive. “Sometimes I definitely hold back. But sometimes you get a feel for people.” He shrugged. “I refuse to be afraid all the time. Besides, I’ve never met you before, but it’s not like I haven’t heard you say some queer-friendly things. Which I guess could have been PR, but I didn’t think so.”
He’d said queer-friendly things? Ash had the urge to cock his head like a bewildered puppy. Sure, he was careful not to sound homophobic, but he stayed away from the topic as best he could. He’d never been very publicly opinionated about anything, really. People didn’t want him to be.
“Still.” He looked away. “What if I wasn’t alright? Aren’t you afraid of being hurt?”
“Sure. Which is why I tend not to announce it on quiet street corners in the middle of the night.” Remy smiled, but then after a beat, he dropped it. “Look. Not all the world is kind, so I’m careful, trust me. But generally speaking, there isn’t much danger—given my situation—for me to tell someone in public in the middle of the day. If you’d reacted badly, I could have walked away, and we’d never see each other again. That would have been it.”
Ash chewed his lip and considered Remy’s open expression. It still sounded so… risky.
Remy stared back, his gaze searching. Wordlessly, Ash shifted his hips and scrunched a napkin.
Finally Remy spoke. “Everyone is different, but…. For me, I know I can probably make things a little easier on others who are less secure than I am. If my saying ‘I’m gay’ means someone else feels comfortable enough to say it back, or if it helps to make it more normal to hear? Well, I’m going to do it.” He shrugged again but didn’t quite achieve nonchalance. “I wish everyone felt comfortable enough to admit it, if it’s true, but until then… I’ll do my best. You know?”
Ash tore a few pieces off his napkin.
Across the table, Remy picked up and gnawed another wing, apparently content to sit in silence. Ash pushed a fry around his plate and wondered what Remy would say if he knew about him.
The Eurhythmics’ “Who’s that Girl?” started playing. Ash jerked, as did Remy. His eyes went wide, and he scrambled to get his hand into his pocket and yank out his phone. He swiped it clumsily and brought it to his ear.
“Nisha,” he said too cheerily. “Hi. How are you?” His tone shifted to tentative. “Oh? Twenty…. That late, huh? … Um, so the thing is, uh, remember how I went to the ROM this afternoon? Well, I kinda—” Whatever her interjection, it made him blush. “What? No! Of course not. I met someone from out of town, and they were kinda… lost. So I gave them a hand, and then I guess I lost track of time.”
He licked his lips, leaving them shiny, and then answered more slowly. “Yes. But that’s not why—” He harrumphed. “It isn’t.”
His cheeks turned pink. “Yes.” He was silent for a long moment. “Yes, tomorrow, I promise. I’ll make it up to you.” He hung up and slid his phone back into his pocket. Then he hunched his shoulders and avoided eye contact.
“All’s well?” Ash asked.
“Yeah.” Remy took a gulp of his Coke. “I totally forgot Nisha and I made plans to meet up for drinks tonight.” He gave an oops face. “It’s a good thing she’ll forgive me after a couple of beers. Also listening to her bitch me out.”
“She owns the Donna wig, aye?”
Remy’s eyes widened a wee bit, and he nodded hard. “Yeah. She’s my con buddy. Well, actually my everything buddy. I’ve known her since we were babies, complete with embarrassing photos of us bathing together.”
Ash bit back a smile. Remy must have been an adorable child, all big eyes and wild hair. “So you’re close, then.”
“Oh yeah. She’s the greatest. We’re actually living together—well, for now. She and her true love are talking cohabitation.” His shoulders slumped a little, but his smile didn’t dim. “She got degrees in something much more useful—computer design and marketing. So she’s working in tech and making, you know, money. She’s also stupid smart and kinda my hero.”
Ash would have sat and listened to Remy talk about his best friend in glowing terms for as long as Remy wanted, but his phone buzzed in his pocket, buzzed again, and then a third time.
Damn. Only one person sent him texts in rapid succession like that. He glanced at his watch and winced. It was almost nine, and he’d told Etta he wouldn’t be out late.
He pulled his phone from his pocket. “My turn.” He thumbed at the screen.
Where are you?
Have you been murdered?
… are you having sex?
Please tell me it’s the last one.
Ash scowled, tilted his phone so Remy definitely couldn’t see, and tapped out hastily, No and No. Got caught up. I’ll be back in under an hour.
“Sorry. Etta, reminding me we’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”
“Ah.” Remy nodded. Then, “Do you mind if I ask something personal? I won’t share it, I’m just curious.”
Ash considered him. “I may not answer.”
“Fair. Some of the fans think she’s your girlfriend. But you two aren’t dating, are you.” It wasn’t really a question.
Ash had heard the rumors and knew he benefited from them. So long as he had a plausible excuse for his not dating anyone else, his secrets were safer. And since Etta didn’t care what his fans thought of her, he’d never done anything to address the speculation. But….
He didn’t want to deceive Remy.
Ash shook his head. “No.” He’d never dated anyone and certainly not Etta. “She’s a good friend and a great bodyguard slash companion”—Remy’s lips quirked—“but that’s all.”
Remy nodded, then smiled. “Well, I guess we better get the check, because I’m pretty sure I don’t want on her bad side.”
Ash nodded. “Yeah, she knows aikido and tae kwon do, and her current obsession is kickboxing.” There was a reason, as a man over six feet, he’d been confident writing bodyguard on her employment contract.
Remy whistled. “Damn. Now I really want to get you home on time. I’m starting to worry for my own safety.”
“As you should. She protects me from creepy fans,” Ash said, straight-faced.
Remy chuckled and waved down their server.
“One bill,” Ash said to Kayla, their waitress, and pulled out his credit card.
“No way—”
“Let me? I’m not in uni.” He smiled, then added to soften the blow, “And I can write this off. This is a business trip.”
Remy arched a brow. “This isn’t exactly a business dinner.”
“No. But my accountant adds up all the money I spend on these trips and does magic with the numbers. No reason to deny her extra fun.”
After the bill was paid and they stood on the pavement once again, they stared at each other in awkward silence.
“So…,” Remy said.
“Can I give you a ride?” Remy cocked his head, and Ash blushed once again. “A driver will be here soon to take me back to the hotel. I could give you a lift home.”
Remy shook his head. “I’m like thirty minutes away from here.”
Ash shrugged.
“I couldn’t ask you to pay for that. And you’re like ten minutes from whatever hotel you’re staying at if it’s near the convention center.”
Ash shrugged again. “It’s a car service. I’ll be charged for an hour even if I don’t take the full thing. Might as well use it.”
After a beat, Remy finally nodded slowly in agreement.
When they got into the town car, the driver, Ray, asked where to, Remy gave an address, and Ray nodded, clearly familiar with it.
“You know,” Remy said, casual, “I’ve never been in a service car like this before.” He ran his hand over the plush leather seats. “Fancy,” he whispered and winked.
Ash’s lips trembled. He wasn’t sure why such a silly moment made him want to laugh so much. “I guess so.”
Remy smiled, leaned back, and then folded his hands over his belly. “I could get used to this.”
“Well, once you’ve made it big on the Times best-seller list, you can afford a driver whenever you want.”
“Oooh, good point,” Remy said happily. “Hmm. Just gotta figure out what I’m going to write about. Vampires are passé, so best to avoid them, I think.”
“Well, after all that research, wouldn’t it be logical to write about werewolves?”
Remy hummed and turned to look at him, his head lolling on the headrest. “You think I should write about them, Mr. Werewolf?”
Ash smiled. “I only played one on TV….”
“Yuk, yuk,” Remy said but not unkindly. He looked pleased. “So I shall write about werewolves…. Oh! I should write a book for kids—or preteens. The Harry Potter of werewolves. Maybe she goes to werewolf school.”
“Werewolf school? What does one learn at werewolf school?”
“Hmm. Good question. How to Control the Shift? Lunar Cycles 101? How to Cook Rabbit? Fleas: How to Avoid Them and How to Remove Them?”
Ash’s shoulders shook. “How to Howl?”
“Oh yes, definitely. Must-have for any young werewolf.” Remy nodded seriously—if lazily—and tapped a finger to his chin. “Scent Marking: How to Pee a Little Bit?”
“Cats: Friend or Foe?”
“When Not to Lick Your Privates in Public?”
Ash let out a bark of laughter. “You definitely win.”
“Oh good. I was worried about matching wits after I lost the dad-joke contest.”
“I’m sure you were.”
“Oh, I was. I’m known for my fantastic wit.”
“Uh-huh.” Despite his skeptical tone, Ash didn’t doubt it.
“Yup,” Remy said softly. He closed his eyes for a moment and hummed happily.
His eyelashes formed dark uneven crescents fluttering against his cheek. As they passed by storefronts, the changing lamps altered the shape of the shadows, and Ash contemplated the way the neons made Remy’s tan skin more golden. It struck Ash of a sudden that he would never see him again.
Once Remy left the car, that would be it. Ash didn’t have his number or email. There would be no more trips to charity shops or bakeries, and he would never get the opportunity to say hello or to send him a holiday or birthday card. This was it. The full extent of their acquaintance would span a weekend—or just over twelve hours, really. Ash’s gut said it would stay with him. He wouldn’t forget Remy, but he wouldn’t ever see him again.
Remy still hummed softly. A couple of the bars sounded familiar, but Ash couldn’t name the tune. Maybe he should ask what it was.
Or maybe he should ask for his number. Or an email. They could stay in touch. Ash was an adult. No reason he couldn’t simply ask, couldn’t say, “Remy, I like you. Why don’t we keep in touch?”
But… there was one glaringly obvious reason. Fame, at any level, changed the rules when it came to meeting people and making friends. Ash was not mobbed every time he went out in public, but Remy was a fan. And though Ash stayed positive that Remy would never share today with the internet, he really had no way of knowing. Maybe Remy was a lie and he’d been saving up the details to tweet later.
Ash shouldn’t ask him, shouldn’t say anything.
But the thought of never talking to Remy again, not even once….
“We’re here,” the driver said and pulled the car to a stop.
Ash looked out the window and noticed they were at the entrance to a community of neat wee row houses. He blinked, then shook his head. Had he really wasted their last twenty minutes—
“Well, this is me.” Remy was turned in his seat, facing Ash, and smiling. “Today was fantastic. Thank you. I had a great time. Total dream come true. Thank you.” He unbuckled, opened his door, and gave a wee wave. “Toodles. Oh, and safe flight tomorrow.” Then he stood and stepped out of the car.
Ash’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his lips sealed shut. He swallowed and tried to think of something, anything, to say. Thank you too? Goodbye? Don’t go? Tell me your number before you leave me forever?
Remy leaned down and peered through the open doorway. “Thanks for the lift. Both of you,” he said more loudly for Ray. “Have a good one. Bye.” Then he smiled one last time and closed the door.
Ash watched, mute, his lips forming the word goodbye several seconds too late, as Remy walked away from the car, his movements fluid and upbeat.
“Back to your hotel, sir?” asked Ray.
Ash nodded, not sure his voice would work. His hand fell from his chest—useless to touch the coin now. He craned his neck to watch Remy for as long as possible, until he disappeared behind a house and the car pulled Ash out of range.
And he was gone. For good. Out of Ash’s life. And Ash had nothing, not even an address, since Remy had only given them a community, and Ash didn’t hold out any hope for finding a listing for a student.
So. That was it. The end.
Ash sat back in his seat, closed his eyes, and tried to will away the stone pit lodging itself into his stomach. There was no use dwelling on what-ifs.
If only he knew how to stop.