PHIL tried to be a decent manager. He never wanted to be one of those guys who enjoyed making their staff feel worthless, so he took the time to listen to his people, even when he privately thought they were complaining about nothing. (He couldn't change the rotation of the earth to stop the sun from shining in the windows, could he? All he could do was order thicker blinds, and he was sorry that spoiled the view, really he was, Sharleen.) He bought good coffee for the staff kitchen, signed any reasonable leave requests (and the odd unreasonable one when he was faced with tears, because being gay didn't mean he could cope with weeping women, whatever his friends thought), bought the first round every Friday, and always made sure they had a designated driver before he chose his own drink. He'd even been known to crawl around the back of a broken photocopier or help the IT minions heft equipment back to their basement.

But there was one thing he could not be nice about, one thing that drove him beyond all reason.

Phil needed caffeine to get through the day. Breakfast was strong milky tea, followed by coffee at his desk to start the morning, the first cup from the organic café by the bus stop, and then from the kitchenette at the far end of the floor midway through the morning and twice in the afternoon. Lunchtime, though, was for cola. Phil loved it: the cool metal sheen of the can, the first shock of it against his tongue, the sudden shiver of energy crackling through him as the sugar and caffeine hit his system. Sometimes he started his lunch break with it; other times, he waited, letting the anticipation build until he couldn't bear it and had to crack open the communal fridge and reach for his precious can.

Except today, it wasn't there.

Someone had stolen his cola.

He had to close the door and reopen it a few times to check. Then he emptied everything out of the fridge, desperately hoping it had just been moved to the back. But it was still missing, and he began to shove everything back in randomly, swearing more loudly with every cup of yogurt and little Tupperware box of sandwiches.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Phil recognized the voice, but for once didn't care. Under any other circumstances, he would have been embarrassed to be caught like this by Kester, of all people. Kester was the other reason Phil liked helping out the IT department. It was worth it for the smile of appreciation he got every time. Kester was all dimples, blond dreadlocks, and easy-going charm. He had a knack for putting frantic people at ease, even when the medical-supply database inevitably crashed during the peak of the flu-vaccine season, and he made their outdated equipment perform daily miracles. He also had a range of daring hobbies, Phil knew (not because he was a stalker, really, but because he'd asked). He liked to go on protest marches and spent his vacations crawling around the inside of abandoned mines and abseiling off mountains with unpronounceable names. (He'd shown Phil pictures of himself grinning brightly as he dangled off the sides of sheer cliffs on one of the many Fridays he'd tagged along to drinks with the orders department.)

In short, even though office rumour claimed he was bi, he was so far out of reach that he would never give someone like Phil a second look. That didn't mean Phil wasn't going to look at him, though.

Right now, that look was a glower. "Someone took my cola!"

"That sucks," Kester said, his soft mouth turning down in sympathy. "I'm sure it was an accident…."

"I drink it every day."

Kester's hand landed on his shoulder, warm and reassuring. "I'm sure it wasn't personal. Someone probably thought it was theirs. And, y'know, that stuff's really bad for you."

Phil narrowed his eyes. Of course Kester would think that. He was one of those vegetarian, clean-living, organic-health-food types. Usually Phil admired that, but not today. "I like it."

Kester nodded gravely and then removed his hand and headed for the kettle. "You want some coffee? I was about to make some."

"Thanks," Phil said, making an effort. It wasn't Kester's fault, and he would just have to cope for a day. "What are you doing over here?"

"Installing the database upgrade on everyone's machines. I did yours first, remember?"

He'd been heading to a meeting, but he'd taken a moment to appreciate the way Kester had brushed past him in the doorway. "Sure. Will it speed things up?"

"That's the plan," Kester said and reached out to the drainboard to pick up the pink “Kiss the Boys” mug, which had been a gag gift from Phil's sister. "This is yours, right?"

The coffee helped, even though the first sip revealed that Kester had forgotten to add sugar, but Phil was still irritable enough that he snapped at Lisa when she came to hover in his office door and flap about something to do with HR and photocopier paper he didn't care about.

He was still thoroughly disgruntled when he left the office. His sister, who had declared that being eight months pregnant and diagnosed with gestational diabetes were good reasons not to leave her couch, had asked him to pick up her prescription, which meant an extra forty minutes on his journey. By the time he got back to his ramshackle, lonely house, he was in such a mood all he could do was sink onto his sofa and feel sorry for himself. He was thirty years old, his life revolved around his job, and he was infatuated with a man completely out of his league. Wasn't that bad enough to satisfy the Fates? Why did they have to take his caffeine too?

 

 

THE next day, before he put his can in the fridge, he wrote his name on it in permanent black marker. A mistake was understandable, he supposed. If the mysterious drinknapper knew it was his, they'd probably be mortified. Perhaps they'd even come and apologize.

The morning went well. The phones never stopped ringing, but that was normal for early autumn, as doctors' offices began to put in their orders for the latest flu vaccine. Phil liked the fact that he was doing good, in a small way. He wasn't the scientist who designed vaccines or the doctor who administered them, but he played his part, as did every member of his team. He was helping to save lives.

His good mood lasted until lunchtime, when he opened the fridge and found his cola was gone.

"But it had my name on it," he protested to someone's pasta salad.

"What did?" Kester asked. "Your drink again?"

"I wrote my name on it," Phil repeated. "In really big letters."

"I'm sorry," Kester said, and it sounded heartfelt. At least someone understood his pain.

Phil closed the fridge door and leaned back against the counter. They'd never had a problem with this sort of thing here. There were no new hires. Why would somebody just start helping themselves?

He looked out over the twenty souls he supervised. Sharleen? No, she got migraines and made a point of drinking strange-smelling herbal teas. Lisa? Too prone to tears when someone snapped at her. She wouldn't have the nerve. Danielle? Too proud. She'd skipped lunch for a month when her husband got laid off, rather than ask for a raise. Tim? He vanished at the start of every lunch hour and came back with swollen lips and a smirk exactly an hour later. Gareth was too clumsy to sneak anything past anyone, and Kim was pregnant and off caffeine.

When Kester handed him a cup of steaming coffee, he was startled enough to ask, "Why are you here? You work in the basement."

"I missed natural light," Kester told him.

Phil looked at him in disbelief. The rest of the company referred to Kester's lair as the Batcave. It mixed strangely flashing stacks of technology with tatty sofas and old movie posters, all scented by the fumes of coffee and the never-ending stash of half-melted chocolate cookies Kester's minions hid behind the server. It was by far the most appealing workspace in the building.

Kester blushed under his scrutiny, shifting from foot to foot. Then, sheepishly, he admitted, "You guys have awesome coffee."

"Help yourself," Phil said sourly and skulked off back to his office. It wasn't until he sat down that he realized he still hadn't told Kester he liked his coffee sweet.

 

 

THE next day he tried a Post-it note. He pondered the message all the way in on the bus and eventually settled on Hi. This belongs to Phil. Please don't drink it. You don't want to see me get grumpy! :)

It was firm but friendly, he thought, pressing the note gently to the can. Not too passive-aggressive, but it made its point clearly. Optimistically, he placed the can right in the middle of the fridge.

"What's the note for?" Lisa asked, coming up behind him with a cup of yogurt. She leaned in to look. "Is someone stealing food?"

"Just my drink."

Lisa nodded sagely, her feathery earrings bobbing against her cheeks. "That's how it starts. The last place I worked, someone used to take a bite out of every sandwich in the fridge. Just one bite."

"Let me know if that happens," Phil said, his heart sinking. "I'd have to take that to HR." He didn't want to bring that kind of trouble down on his people. HR worked to their own weird, humourless rules.

Lisa smiled, showing a few too many teeth. "Oh, I'll be fine. The trick is kitty litter. One bite and they won't risk my lunch again."

"Right," Phil said, regarding her with a sudden caution. "I'll remember that."

"You should," she said earnestly. "A man's caffeine is sacred."

Unnerved, Phil backed away. In front of his computer again, he took the last few minutes before the phone lines opened to e-mail Kester.

From: pcollyer@pharmaphoneline.com

To: kjarrod@pharmaphoneline.com

Subject: My staff are crazy

Lisa thinks I should seed my drink with kitty litter. Not sure this is the best way forward.

He wasn't expecting an immediate response, and as the phones began to ring, he forgot about it. It wasn't until he stopped for his morning coffee that he noticed Kester had replied.

From: Kester (kjarrod@pharmaphoneline.com)

To: Phil (pcollyer@pharmaphoneline.com)

Subject: Mine are crazier

They've been talking to each other in Klingon all morning. A man could get paranoid.

Phil took a leisurely sip of coffee and checked his watch. He had time to answer.

From: Phil

To: Kester

Subject: Klingons on the starboard bow

You don't speak Klingon? I'm disillusioned.

He was halfway through his cup, luxuriating in the rich flavour, when he got Kester's reply.

From: Kester

To: Phil

Subject: Re: Klingons on the starboard bow

No, but I'm fluent in Sindarin.

Seriously, could the man be any more perfect?

From: Phil

To: Kester

Subject: One Ring to Rule Them All

Does that impress all the Legolas fangirls? (Admit it, you didn't think I'd know that one).

He actually put his coffee down in anticipation of the reply.

From: Kester

To: Phil

Subject: My Precious…

Not so much, but I get my pick of the fanboys ;P Can I come and steal your coffee again?

Phil blinked at it. Was that deliberately flirtatious? He couldn't always tell.

From: Phil

To: Kester

Subject: One does not simply walk into Mordor

I've always been more of an Aragorn man myself :) And, sure, help yourself. I'm not going to stop you.

Then, in better spirits than he'd been in all week, he returned to work. By lunchtime, he was whistling as he made his way to the fridge.

But his can, and his note, were gone. In their place was a single bright-pink Post-it note. In a bold, sloping hand, it read, You're cute when you're mad. :) XX

Snarling, Phil ripped it out of the fridge and stormed out. He spent his lunch break sitting on the front steps of the building, trying to calm down. By the time Kester appeared beside him, he'd recovered enough to smile up at him. The man was pretty from any angle, but he looked ridiculously tall and heroic from knee height.

When he sat down, though, the first thing Phil noticed was his warmth. They weren't quite touching, but he could feel Kester's heat all along his side, a comfort in the cold October air.

"You okay?"

Phil shrugged. "I'm fine."

"You're pissed off," Kester said and nudged him with his shoulder. "I don't get it. It's just a drink."

"I look forward to it," Phil admitted and then hunched forward, embarrassed. He didn't want Kester to think he was that pathetic. "It's just one of those little things, y'know. The ones that help you through a long day."

"You need to find better ways to reward yourself," Kester said seriously.

"What do you suggest? Drugs and alcohol? Bad plan."

"You don't have anyone waiting for you at home, do you?"

"No," Phil snapped and then added in his own defence, "I used to. I was with my uni boyfriend for years, but I guess I just got too boring for him. His new guy was a pilot, and I couldn't really compete with international travel and a sexy uniform."

"He cheated on you?"

Phil went quiet. Of all the details for Kester to seize on, it would have to be that one.

"You deserve better."

Phil shrugged. Leon had been a bastard, no doubt, but he'd had a point. Phil's life was dull, and he couldn't see any way to change it. Some people just weren't made for excitement.

"How about going dancing? I know a few places."

"Not my thing," Phil said automatically and glanced across to see an odd look in Kester's eyes, as if he was disappointed with Phil. "Look, I appreciate the effort, but you shouldn't let me bring you down. It's not your problem."

Kester let out an exasperated sigh and stood up. "Let's get back to work." And, to Phil's surprise and slight disappointment, he vanished back into the basement without stopping for coffee.

 

 

THE next day his note was a little more pointed. I don't find this funny. Don't take things that don't belong to you.

At lunchtime he found another little pink square, stuck to an empty can. Can I take you, cutie, because you should belong to me? XX

His noise of frustration must have attracted attention, because when he looked up, Lisa and Danielle were both peering around the kitchen door.

"We saw the note earlier," Danielle said. "Someone thinks he's funny."

"Worst secret admirer ever," Lisa agreed with a couple of quick nods.

"Secret what?" Phil repeated blankly.

She smiled nervously. "It's kind of romantic, in really messed-up way."

"I don't want a secret admirer," he snapped. "I want to drink something cold and caffeinated and bad for me. Is that really too much to ask?"

"You could just keep a can on your desk," Danielle suggested with a slow shrug. "Or buy a mini fridge."

"I shouldn't have to," Phil protested and then frowned at them. "Wait—you saw the note earlier. Did you see who left it?"

Lisa shrugged. "Sorry. Everyone in the building uses this kitchen."

"They do?"

Danielle's smile was a little sly. "We have the best coffee."

 

 

FRIDAY'S warning read: Stealing food is unprofessional. If this continues, I will be forced to report the losses to HR and you may face disciplinary action. It wasn't nice, but he'd had enough. It didn't help that he'd barely seen Kester in two days, though he'd heard him laughing with the girls outside his office. The man obviously thought he was a self-pitying whiner and had given up on him.

He wasn't all that surprised to find the little pink square and empty can in the fridge. Ignoring the crowd of witnesses who had gathered in the doorway, he plucked it out.

You can discipline me any time, big boy. We don't need to invite HR. ;)

Slowly, Phil crumpled the empty can in his hand and dropped it into the recycling bin. Then he made his way out of the kitchen, passing through the crowd without another word.

It took him all afternoon to cool off, but by then he was determined to turn the day around. He made his way down to the basement. Kester's minions, who he could only tell apart because one of them had breasts, both looked up as he came in, lips pursed in identical disapproval. Phil edged past them with a vague smile to pick his way to Kester's cubbyhole.

"Pub tonight?" he asked.

Kester jumped, shoving a pile of stationery behind his monitor. "Can't make it. Sorry."

"Oh," Phil said, feeling his heart sink a little further. The minions were still glaring at him. He wasn't sure what he'd done, but he obviously needed to fix it. "Er, I was planning to have a Lord of the Rings marathon tomorrow. If you want to join me…."

Kester looked up, his hazel eyes wide. Then he smiled and Phil relaxed. All was right with the world again.

 

 

HE was up early the next morning, jittery with nerves despite his efforts to remind himself that it wasn't a date. It really wasn't. He drove to the post office to pick up some packages for his sister, then bought beer and snacks after panicking briefly over whether they were organic enough.

When he found himself scrabbling through the bottom of his closet for his old date jeans, he had to stop and remind himself again that this was just two geeky friends enjoying a movie or three.

He wore the jeans, though, and the blue T-shirt Leon had always said brought out his eyes, and he ran his hand through his dark hair in an attempt to make it look deliberately tousled.

When the doorbell rang, his hands were shaking as he opened the door.

"I brought popcorn," Kester said cheerfully, strolling in. "Shit, what happened to your house?"

Phil glanced around. He was so used to it that he hardly saw the bare walls and joists any more. "I'm renovating. It was pretty much a shell when I bought it."

"You never said anything."

Phil shrugged, embarrassed. "It's a pretty dull hobby. The living room's through here. It's one of the few rooms I have finished."

He lost Kester for a few minutes, as he went to turn on the widescreen TV. When he turned around, Phil found him running his hand along the polished wood of the mantelpiece, his eyes thoughtful. "You did all this?"

"Yeah. I mean, it lets me afford a house, even in this economy. I got some help with the electricity and plumbing, and I'm just doing the rest bit by bit. I've always been good with my hands."

Kester grinned suddenly, but then the familiar haunting tune slid out around them and he made for the sofa instead. "Surround sound? Sweet."

It was easy after that. They stopped for lunch after the first movie, jostling each other in Phil's tiny kitchen as they quickly made sandwiches and argued movie versus book. Kester seemed to be in a good mood, more energized than he was at work, and Phil enjoyed every moment of it, from wrestling over the ketchup bottle to the way Kester moved him away from the worktop, his hands warm on Phil's hips.

They watched the second movie in an easy sprawl, the bowl of popcorn wedged between them. It was dark by the time the Ents marched to Isengard, and they were both bleary-eyed when the credits rolled. They stopped for half an hour to turn the lights back on and order takeout. Kester talked about New Zealand, the summer he'd spent with cousins who lived near Wellington when he was fifteen, and Phil, who had never fallen victim to wanderlust before, found himself saying, "I'd like to go there."

"We should do that," Kester said, and grinned at him. "Now, the ethical way to do it is to avoid flying and just work our passage on a freighter."

"No!" Phil said forcefully, and only then realized he was being laughed at.

Kester grinned. "Ten years ago, I would have done it without second thoughts."

"Ten years ago I wore eyeliner and a net shirt to work," Phil pointed out. "Things change." Then, at the look on Kester's face, he elaborated, "I was a bartender."

"I know," Kester murmured, but the doorbell rang and Phil went to get their food, wondering when he'd told Kester that.

Spooning the stir-fry and rice onto plates reminded Phil of his new plan to foil the cola thief, and he shared it with Kester, who promptly spluttered.

"I thought you weren't going down the kitty litter route!"

"I'm not," Phil said. "If it's an actual foodstuff, I'm on safe legal ground. Well, according to the Internet."

"Because there's no way that can go wrong," Kester pointed out and grabbed the plates to take back to the sofa.

Once they'd eaten and piled the plates on the floor, Phil had no hesitation in leaning back comfortably, even if it did mean knocking shoulders with Kester. After a day on the same sofa, he'd lost all self-consciousness. By now he was so caught up in the film that he leaned forward when the Rohirrim horns first sounded, not even realizing he was clutching Kester's knee. It wasn't until the charge ended that he noticed what he was doing and whispered, "Sorry."

"Shh," Kester hissed urgently, covering Phil's hand with his own.

The faint sense of embarrassment lingered, though, at least until Phil glanced over and saw that Kester was mouthing the lines along with the characters.

When the final credits rolled, neither of them moved, though Kester slid down a little farther against the back of the sofa and sighed. "Fucking love those films."

"Yeah," Phil agreed and then roused himself. "Shit, it's late."

Kester rolled to his feet with a groan, finally releasing Phil's hand. "I should head home."

Phil walked with him to his car, reluctant to let him go. "Thanks for this. It was a good day. I hope it wasn't too dull."

Kester blinked at him. "You're kidding. That was awesome." Then he paused and added, sounding bewildered, "You still don't get it at all, do you?"

"Get what?" Phil asked.

And Kester kissed him, the sweetest, most unexpected kiss Phil had ever had, pressed very softly against his lips.

He froze up, and when Kester pulled away, he was still so dazed he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"Er…," Kester said, and in the dim light from the porch, Phil thought he might be blushing. "I'll, um, see you on Monday."

"Monday," Phil echoed and stayed standing there as Kester got into his car and drove away. It wasn't until the lights faded around the corner that he managed to pull himself together enough to go back inside.

 

 

ON Monday, he was still smiling manically at perfect strangers, and he couldn't help whistling as he walked into the staff kitchen with a bottle of cola. Today he labelled it This is not the cola you're looking for, because he was in that kind of mood.

"Don't you think switching to bottles might tip him off?" Kester asked from behind him.

"This one's for real," Phil explained. "I'm lulling him into a false sense of security. Come Friday, I'll unleash the soy sauce."

He turned around in time to catch Kester's smile, fond and indulgent, and couldn't look away from his mouth. He needed to say something, though, because he'd fallen down badly before, so he cleared his throat and said, "So, um, Saturday. That was great, really great. We should do that again."

"Yeah?" Kester said, and he was definitely blushing now, his cheeks pink. "Tonight?"

Phil wanted to say yes and almost did, but…. "I can't. I'm going over to my sister's." He held a hand up to explain, because that sounded weak. "She's pregnant, her husband's stationed in Afghanistan, and he won't get leave until the baby arrives."

"Is she okay?"

"Sick and miserable, but nothing worse. Tomorrow though?"

"That would be good," Kester said, wetting his lips, and Phil wanted to kiss him so much he was halfway across the room before the sound of approaching voices stopped him in his tracks. He contented himself with squeezing Kester's arm quickly and then fled, his palms tingling just from that touch.

He floated through the morning, and wasn't even that perturbed at lunchtime by the empty bottle and the note that said, Sorry, I felt a great disturbance in the Force and needed something to give me strength. You weren't there to lean on, so I took your drink. XX

Then, mid-afternoon, one of their suppliers announced they were going into receivership and the week went to hell. Phil didn't even have time to leave a note on Tuesday's bottle, because the phones were already ringing off the hook when he made it in at seven thirty, and every cup of coffee he made went cold before he could drink it.

That day's pink Post-it note read, Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line. You've been awesome today. XX

"I don't get that one," Phil said aloud, obscurely disappointed.

Kester, who had turned up on schedule, plucked it out of his hand. "It's The Princess Bride."

"Never seen it."

Kester looked appalled. "Seriously? Now I know what we're doing tonight."

Phil had almost forgotten their date in the mayhem, but his spirits lifted. "What time do you want me?"

"That's a loaded question," Kester murmured, edging closer. "How about seven? I'll e-mail you the address." He started to lean in, and Phil moved to meet him.

"Phil!" Sharleen bellowed. "Head office, line one!"

He was so busy for the rest of the day that he lost track of time. He took a moment to check that Kim was okay after he spotted her running for the loo for the sixth time in an hour.

"When they call it morning sickness, they're lying," she said, with a grimace. "Mine just keeps going all day."

"Take off early," he told her. "Redirect your calls to me and I'll cover."

"Phil, it's crazy today."

"And I don't want to see you getting sick because of it. There are more important things than work in the world."

"Don't let HR hear you say that," she advised, but left anyway.

It was well into the evening by the time the phones went quiet. Phil, who liked the peace, finally got a chance to start on all the other work on today's to-do list. Before long, he'd completely lost track of time.

He was roused by a soft knock on his office door and looked up to see Kester standing there, looking worried.

"It's seven thirty," he said, his voice a little tentative.

Phil inhaled in horror. All these years of yearning and he'd blown it this fast. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I completely lost track of time." He shot to his feet, pushing piles across his desk in a frantic search for his keys. "You're right to be angry. I'm useless."

Kester's hands closed over his shoulders, warm and firm. "I'm not angry."

"I didn't mean to forget. I just needed to get everything sorted out so people can cope tomorrow. I shouldn't have—"

He was cut off by Kester's mouth, fitting gently against his as Kester pulled him close. For the first few moments, he kept trying to apologize, but then Kester's tongue slid between his lips and he couldn't do anything but sink into the kiss. It sent shivers down his spine, made his knees weak and his head spin, until he felt like he was floating away.

Then Kester shifted slightly, his knee slid against Phil's, and Phil belatedly realized that he was hard and that Kester's thigh was now pressing firmly against his cock, and he did want to stop kissing because then they could get out of here and go somewhere that wasn't entirely surrounded by glass windows.

He pulled back, but he couldn't bring himself to let go, so he just rested his cheek against the side of Kester's head and breathed in.

"Your ex really was a complete bastard, wasn't he?" Kester observed.

Phil tensed. "It wasn't all his fault. He was frustrated that I'd changed. I used to be fun."

"You haven't changed," Kester said firmly. "You were always the kindest person I knew." Phil leaned back to look at him, startled, and Kester continued, not meeting his eyes. "You, er, probably don't remember me, but I was a floor up from you in Hickman Hall. I was a year behind you, we had different majors, and the dreads were green then, so, yeah."

Phil did remember now. Leon had called the kid Elfboy, and they'd had their first fight about it, one he'd thought was about cruel nicknames but was actually about how Leon didn't like him ogling cute young hippies. He bit that memory back, though, and said, "You harangued the college authorities until they installed recycling bins. I went to the sit-in in the admin building."

"And you brought your friends. I appreciated that," Kester told him, mouth curling up ruefully. "You should have seen the room I got assigned the next year, though. First floor on dumpster alley."

Phil couldn't help laughing a little. "I didn't think they actually used those rooms."

"They didn't. I had the corridor to myself and threw a lot of parties. Happy days."

"Yeah," Phil agreed, shaking his head a little. It seemed so long ago.

Kester leaned in to murmur, "I had such a crush on you."

Phil shivered at the brush of lips against his ear, and stammered, "Me? Why?"

"You were such a nice guy," Kester breathed, nuzzling more kisses against the side of his neck. "I remember you from my very first week, looking out for us. And, hell, I'd barely peered out of the closet, and there you were, out and gorgeous and perfectly comfortable in your skin. Of course I had a crush."

It wasn't just tiredness and sweet kisses that were making him feel so giddy. Phil could feel a slow flush of happiness rising through him. How had he missed this?

"First day I got here, when I came over to fix that broken monitor, there you were, all flustered and grateful. It felt like a second chance."

"I had no idea," Phil managed.

"Now you do. So, dinner and a movie."

Phil disentangled himself slightly to stare at his desk in dismay. "Er, this stuff…."

"Anything that really can't wait until tomorrow?"

"I don't know," Phil muttered, shaking his head and trying to gather his scattered thoughts. "I can see the light at the end of the tunnel."

"Leave it. Tomorrow's another day."

So he let Kester shuffle him out of the building, closing the office behind them as they went, and then they drove away through the lashing rain. Kester's small apartment was close to the office, at the top of an ugly complex, and from his windows Phil could see the city undulating over the hills, its lights blurred by the rain on the glass.

He sat at Kester's kitchen table while Kester cooked, trying and failing to help several times, until he was pushed down onto his chair with a kiss and a glass of wine and told to stay put. He wasn't even sure what the food was, but it was aromatic and hot and tasted good, and they talked easily, about college and life since, movies, sports, and other easy things.

Then Kester put on his movie, and this time there was no awkwardness about where they would sit. Phil leaned back against Kester happily, relaxed a little more…… And promptly fell asleep.

He woke up an hour later, a cushion under his cheek and a sheet thrown over him, and was mortified. The living room was dark, but he followed the sound of quiet music into a small study, where he found Kester focusing intently on a computer screen. He didn't notice Phil, so he lingered to appreciate the man before him: his handsome face and slim body, the strong line of his shoulders, and his quick hands. He wanted those hands on him, as soon and as often as possible.

Then Kester looked up and smiled at him, and the embarrassment came flooding back. "I'm so sorry."

"Lucky I know what kind of week you're having," Kester joked. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," Phil said, some of the tension easing from his shoulders, and he crossed the room to lean against the back of Kester's chair. "I'm sorry I missed the movie."

"We can watch it another time," Kester said, lifting his face, and Phil smiled. He hadn't blown it, then. He leaned down to meet Kester's mouth, sinking into the kiss softly. He lingered for a long, delicious moment and then failed to bite back a yawn.

Kester collapsed into laughter, and Phil groaned, covering his eyes with his hands. "Oh God. Sorry."

"Don't apologize." Kester chuckled, pulling his hands down. "You look shattered."

"This is why I need my caffeine," Phil grumbled, but he didn't resist when Kester stole another kiss. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm next to useless. Rain check?"

Kester sighed. "Sure, as long as I can keep coming over to steal coffee. You okay to drive home?"

"I should be."

"You're welcome to stay." He added hurriedly, "Not for sex, not unless you want…. You can just sleep."

"That's good of you," Phil said, suddenly nervous again. He wasn't creating the best impression.

"Not because I don't want you," Kester elaborated, leaning forward fiercely. "But I want to give this a proper chance, so I won't rush. There are some things you have to take your time over."

"Then I should definitely go," Phil admitted, flustered. "If I stay after that, there's no way I'll just be sleeping."

Kester blushed, and he was still blushing when Phil finally made it out the front door and back into the rain.

 

 

HE went through the rest of the week in a quiet daze. It made him startlingly efficient, perhaps because there wasn't any space left in his mind for anything except work and Kester. He still missed his lunchtime cola, but he had learned to expect the silly notes. By Friday, he almost forgot to mix up the soy sauce and lemonade into an empty cola bottle.

A plan once concocted, however, had to be completed, and he placed it carefully in the fridge and tried not to grin too evilly as he strolled back to his desk.

He spent all morning waiting for a shriek of disgust to reveal the culprit. He didn't hear anything, and by lunchtime he was wondering if the villain had been too busy to get to the fridge. When he peered inside, aware that the usual audience was gathering, the bottle was the first thing he saw.

Then he looked again, and noticed the shiny label.

Someone had replaced his fake cola with a brand-new bottle.

He took it out with a grimace, plucked off the note. and read Mmm, tasty. Try this instead.

"Is that…?" Lisa breathed.

"Diet," Phil said flatly, lifting it up for her to see. "And decaf."

"Dude just declared war," Gareth breathed.

 

 

SATURDAY morning found him and Kester at the end of Phil's yard, in the pile of rubble that had once been a tool shed, with six different-sized bottles of cola perched on the debris.

"What's the new plan, then?" Kester asked, looking dubious.

"Time to build a trap."

Kester looked alarmed. "Please don't get arrested. I don't want to have to visit you in prison."

Phil rolled his eyes. "Not that kind of trap."

"What kind are we talking about, then?"

Phil held up his hand, revealing his secret weapon. "Cola thief, meet Mentos."

A slow grin spread across Kester's face. "I've always wanted to try this."

"The trick is going to be getting the time delay to work," Phil said, rolling up his sleeves happily. It was a bright autumn day, the air crisp with a last touch of frost lingering in the shade. "So, first we need to work out the standard reaction time." At Kester's amused glance, he added sheepishly, "Engineering major, remember?"

"Which explains why you're so good with your hands."

Phil knew Kester was only saying that to make him blush, which it did, but he couldn't help smiling across the rubble at him. He smiled every time he saw Kester now, because just the thought of him warmed him from the inside out. He knew he was wearing his heart on his sleeve (Lisa and Danielle had taken to meeting each other's eyes and giggling every time Kester wandered in), but he couldn't stop himself. With anyone else, he would have been looking for the catch, but this was the sort of miracle only a fool questioned. Phil wanted to enjoy every moment of it and do everything in his power to make it last.

The first bottle went up in a wild plume of foam, and they both stumbled back. Kester was whooping appreciation, and Phil let the laughter bubble out of him. By the time he'd trialled three different ways of suspending the mint cunningly in the cap of the bottle, they were both splashed with bubbles and giddy with laughter.

Then the last bottle, balanced a little too precariously on a flat slab, slipped a little and began to tip, still spewing out froth.

It got Phil in the face and, while he was still spluttering and flailing, it swung around to splash Kester. They both dived for it, and by the time it had sprayed out its last, they were coated in sticky brown foam.

"Look at you," Kester managed, grabbing Phil's shoulder for balance as he laughed.

"You're as bad," Phil protested and then winced. "Your shirt's going to stain– we should get it in the wash."

"Trying to get me naked?" Kester asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Phil felt the traitorous blush rise in his cheeks again, but he managed to drawl, "Well, I wouldn't object, but it's a genuine offer, if you want to shower and borrow a shirt."

Kester looked down at the splotches over his grey sweatshirt and grimaced. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind." He swung an arm around Phil and began to lead him back toward the house. "Man, why did I never do that when I was twelve?"

"The Internet hadn't yet told us it was possible," Phil said, leaning against him. He smelled good, the sticky sweetness of the drink merging with a lingering hint of sweat and wood smoke. "Have you been burning things?"

"My neighbours don't stop grilling outdoors until the snow starts. The smell gets into every—oh!"

Phil chuckled into the curve of Kester's neck, where he had just pressed a quick, nipping kiss. "It smells good on you."

Kester's breath caught again, and he shivered against Phil's side, his hand clenching Phil's hip. Oh, one of those places. Delighted, Phil let him make it to the back door and then turned to press him against the glass as he brushed slow teasing kisses across that spot, making Kester quiver and gasp. Plastered against him, Phil could feel the hard line of Kester's erection against his own thigh.

He'd forgotten how good it felt to tease someone like this, especially when Kester's fingers tangled in his belt loops to pull him closer, his back arching as he rubbed himself against Phil. His eyes had fallen closed, and his teeth were caught in his lip, so Phil slid his hand in between them to palm Kester's cock through his jeans, shaping the denim against that hard line until a groan broke out of him.

Phil leaned in and breathed, "I need you to take your clothes off."

Kester blinked at him, eyes hazy, and Phil grinned and opened the back door, circling them into the utility room. He tugged up the hem of Kester's sweatshirt, pulled it off him, and threw it into the washing machine. "Come on. You don't want that stain to set."

"You're so selfless," Kester murmured, wetting his lips, and stripped off the rest of his clothes in one fumbling rush, then emptied his pockets and kicked his shoes aside. He had a nipple ring, a small gleaming loop that shifted as his nipples immediately pebbled in the cold air. Phil couldn't look away from it, his mouth going dry, until he belatedly remembered to strip his own shirt off and toss it in as well. He turned to toss in a scoopful of laundry detergent, and Kester's hands slid around his hips, thumbing open his fly as he pressed against Phil's back.

"I wasn't going to go this fast with you," he breathed into Phil's ear and then sucked on the lobe, making Phil jerk against him.

"Third date," he managed to answer and turned around to meet Kester's mouth as the washing machine began to thud behind them. This kiss was mindless and hungry, their mouths slipping against each other as their tongues entwined.

"I have a bed," Phil offered as Kester shoved his jeans off and closed his hands around Phil's hips, jerking him closer. The sudden hot press of Kester's erection against his, through the thin cotton of their boxers, made him groan. "Oh yes. Oh fuck."

"Upstairs," Kester insisted. "Now, or it's going to be here."

They made it to the bedroom in a stumbling, hot-handed rush, leaving the last of their clothes tangled on the floor behind them. Kester threw himself back onto the bed and Phil crawled over him, marvelling at all that golden skin against his dark sheets. Kester looked so good, with his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving and his beautiful thick cock rising off his flat belly, the head flushed and swollen.

Phil kissed him on the mouth first, deep and slow. He slid down to that spot on the neck again, this time with a nip of teeth that made Kester let out a choked cry. Then he got his mouth over Kester's nipple, teasing the ring with his tongue.

Kester's hand closed around his cock, startling him, and he thrust into that tight hold, the touch sending fire up his spine. It almost killed him to pull away, but there was something he wanted more, and he slid down to press his face into the curve of Kester's thigh, breathing in the scent of musk and sex. Then, raising his head enough to meet Kester's eyes, he licked slowly up Kester's cock with the flat of his tongue.

"Oh God, Phil!" Kester was shaking under him, and Phil felt triumph rush through him. He'd forgotten how much he loved this.

He fastened his mouth over the head of Kester's cock, tasting him. He felt every quiver as he ran his tongue across the head, dipping down to brush the frenulum before he settled in to suck, closing his hand around the base of Kester's cock to jerk him off.

Every choked cry made his own cock throb, and he hummed a protest when Kester suddenly pulled back, sliding out from between Phil's lips with a wet plop.

"Going to come. Phil, please. I want…."

Phil kept his hand where it was, stretching out along the bed to kiss Kester's clumsy, yearning mouth. He traced soothing circles on Kester's balls as he finally remembered to say, "I like to be on the bottom. Is that okay?"

Kester's eyes were wild. "Yes, oh, yes. I've wanted you forever. Please, oh, keep touching me. I want—I…."

He was stunning, coming apart like that, and Phil felt the rush of it. Deliberately, he lowered his body onto Kester's, pressing their entire lengths together. He almost lost track himself then, overwhelmed by all that warm skin. He held it together enough to ask, "Fuck me?"

Kester's breath shuddered out, but he gasped, "Yes. Yes."

Phil lunged for the bedside table. He'd bought a box of condoms that morning, afraid he was jinxing himself, and now his fingers were clumsy just getting the plastic wrapper off the box. Kester, plastered up against his back, chuckled and grabbed the lube out of his hand. A moment later, his thumbs were pulling Phil's cheeks apart. When he blew gently on Phil's hole, Phil fell forward in shock. He caught himself on his hands and gasped again when Kester's finger slid down his crack, slick and cold.

"You okay there?" Kester murmured, pressing a kiss to his hip.

"Fuck me," Phil begged.

Kester groaned and his finger pressed in. Phil arched back, his whole body going taut with the desperate need to be filled.

Another finger, scissoring out to stretch him, and Kester's breath was coming fast. Phil sobbed as Kester suddenly found that spot inside him, thrills shooting through him. "Now, please, now. Oh, oh."

Kester's finger pulled out, and Phil heard the crinkle of foil. Then Kester was turning him around and shoving a pillow below his hips, gasping, "I need to see you. I need to see it's finally you."

"It's me," Phil said, reaching out to drag him near. "Please."

He felt the first nudge of Kester's cock, the broad head breaching him in one stretching moment of pleasure and pain. Then Kester was in him, the fleeting pain already fading into pleasure as he pressed slowly forward. As he bottomed out, Phil pushed up to meet his kiss.

It was only a sweet clumsy brush of lips against lips, but it shot through Phil like lightning. By the time their mouths parted, he was rocking up against Kester, his hips jerking involuntarily. Kester smiled at him, his whole face bright with joy, and pulled back slightly.

Kester pushed in hard, and Phil let go of everything else but sensation, feeling each thrust rock him as he wrapped his legs around Kester's hips. Kester moved in him with a fierce, exultant force, every thrust that brushed against his prostate sending more thrills rushing through him. Phil knew he was keening out his pleasure, but he could barely hear his own voice above the thunder of his pulse as he clung to Kester, his hands sliding off his sweat-slick shoulders.

He knew when he was about to come, felt it gathering in him, and opened his eyes in time to see Kester staring down at him, his eyes wide with awe and his mouth open, before the orgasm boiled up through him in a blaze of white and gold.

He felt it when Kester stiffened and then slammed forward in a final jerk; felt the kisses scattered across his shoulder as Kester buried his face in his neck; the slow shudder as Kester pulled out and then came back to curl around him, but it was all through a haze, still floating on aftershocks. It wasn't until Kester breathed, a note of worry in his voice, "Hey," that he managed to even bring his arms up to lock around Kester's warm back.

"Hey," he answered with a slow sigh. "Wow."

Kester relaxed, pulling a corner of the quilt up half-heartedly to wipe them clean and then cuddling closer, his leg sliding between Phil's until they were completely entangled. "Yeah?"

"You can't have your clothes back," Phil told him, still dizzy. "I'm keeping them so you can never leave."

He got a snort of laughter for that, and Kester lifted his head to smile at him. "If I'd known you were in the market for a naked houseboy, I'd have applied years ago."

"Can't afford one," Phil replied, letting his fingers wander across Kester's back, learning the lines of him. "No wages for you."

"Slavery. Kinky. I like it."

Phil chuckled. "Not sure what I'd use a slave for. Except sex and making coffee."

"Doesn't sound too demanding." Kester cuddled down again, his head on Phil's chest. "Though you drink too much coffee. You might have to settle for just the sex."

"I like coffee," Phil grumbled and then relented. "I like you more."

He got thoroughly kissed for that, with Kester settling on top of him lazily, his hair falling in rough soft lines around their faces. It lacked the urgency of earlier, but it felt so good, their bodies moving easily against each other, and Phil's cock began to stir again.

"Fine," Kester murmured at last. "I'll let you keep the coffee, but the cola's still bad for you."

"I thought you were my slave," Phil protested, working his hand in between them to wrap around both their cocks. "Shouldn't I be giving the orders?"

"Order away," Kester almost purred. His cock was swelling against Phil's palm and he rubbed against Phil warmly. "Just don't stop doing that. Mmm."

Phil forgot everything else and set to work to see what new noises he could provoke.

 

 

HE tried to look discreet and professional on Monday morning, but he knew his body language was shouting "I got fucked!" It didn't help that Kester had a parking space, and they got out of his car just as Sharleen and Danielle walked in, peering at them gleefully over their paper coffee cups.

"Good thing we're both out," Kester said with an easy shrug, but he squeezed Phil's hand before he vanished into his basement.

Phil put up with the flurry of wolf whistles and applause he got when he walked into the office. He was in too good a mood to care. The only thing that wasn't perfect in his life right now was the cola thief and, with luck, he'd catch the villain before the end of the day.

He set the rigged bottle in the bottom of the fridge carefully and made sure he propped his door open so he'd hear the screams.

Unfortunately for Phil, midway through the morning somebody slammed the door to the stairwell beside the kitchen. The bang must have jolted the wall enough to knock over Phil's bottle, because thirty seconds later the fridge exploded.

Phil's afternoon featured an unpleasant meeting with HR, and he was still smarting when he closed his computer down at five. Luckily, Kester was waiting for him on the front steps, and he slid his arm around Phil's waist with a sympathetic smile.

"You're still standing."

"Only just," Phil said, but as he leaned close, he felt better. "Licking my wounds."

"Want me to kiss them better?" Kester offered and then glowered over Phil's shoulder at someone. "What do they think they're staring at?"

"We are out in public."

"Yeah, and my boyfriend's had a bad day." Then he hunched his shoulders, looking abashed. "I mean, that's probably a bit forward, but you know I—"

"I like it," Phil said, his heart swelling.

Kester kissed him quickly, just a light brush of lips. "Good, good. Um, just so you know, I'm probably going to do that right here every day until everyone gets over it."

"Fine by me," Phil said gravely. "I know you like your missions for social justice. Just promise me, no sit-ins in HR."

"Promise," Kester said. "Come home with me."

Phil grimaced. "I have to go and pick up another package for my sister. After that?"

"Any time. How many packages can she get?"

Phil shrugged. "Eight and half months, and mean to boot. Mine is not to reason why."

He did ask Lauren, though, as he found himself putting together her crib in exchange for crappy coffee and big-brother points.

"Free shit," she said from where she was settled on the sofa.

"Nice language, Mommy."

"Fuck you, Philip. I found all these mom-and-baby clubs to join online. Free advice and samples and competitions to enter. Look what I won!"

She pointed imperiously to the mantelpiece, and Phil went over to have a look. It looked like a mechanical eyeball on a stand.

"Um," he said. What did he know about baby stuff? "Looks, er, like a fun toy."

"It's a baby monitor, dumbass. You plug the camera in above the crib and get a live feed to your smartphone. And I've got three bags of nappies, socks, and lots of hats. Babies have to have hats now, did you know?"

"Nice," Phil said absently, eyeing the baby monitor. A cunning plan was forming. "Can I borrow this for a day or two?"

 

 

A LITTLE ashamed of himself, he didn't even tell Kester his new plan. He knew he should just let it go. It was only a drink, after all, and he should just forget it and enjoy all the good things life was giving him.

But stealing was wrong, and he wanted this over now. It was spoiling his happiness.

Sure enough his drink was gone at lunchtime, with a note that read, Sorry you got into trouble, gorgeous. :(

Phil managed to repress an evil laugh as he retreated to his office to review the video. He fast-forwarded through it, looking for anyone who opened the fridge.

What he discovered left him frozen in his seat with disbelief. His hands were shaking around his phone, so he put it down and replayed the clip again, hoping against hope it would change and offer some innocent explanation.

"Phil?" Lisa was standing in his doorway, looking worried. "Your phone's been ringing for five minutes."

"Right," Phil said and passed her his smartphone as he picked up the call. He dealt with the customer on autopilot, registering her gasp as she watched the video. When he put the phone down, she was staring at him in horror.

"Oh. My. God," she said.

Phil took his phone back and, for the tenth time, watched Kester's pixelated but unmistakable figure open the fridge, take out the cola, and pour it down the sink.

"My boyfriend's a pharmacist," Lisa blurted out. "I can get you laxatives if you want to spike his drink."

"No," Phil said. "Thanks, but…. No. I—" His throat closed up. He should have known it was all too good to be true.

Lisa hugged him, which was deeply inappropriate, but he couldn't bring himself to protest. He pulled away, thanked her, and got back to work. It wasn't until she'd gone that he realized the whole office would probably know by the end of the day.

Kester turned up at his door five minutes later. Phil ignored him when he said hello and when he spoke again, his voice suddenly unsure. He didn't go away, though, so without looking way from his screen, Phil said, "Go to hell."

"What?" Kester said, and Phil knew his lovely eyes must be wide with shock. He didn't look, though.

"Perhaps while you're there, you could retrieve all my missing drinks."

"Shit," Kester whispered. "Phil–"

"Go away."

Kester went, and Phil finally let himself drop his face into his hands and rub his fingers under his eyes. They were watering from staring at the screen, he told himself. It wasn't because Kester had just been having fun at his expense. It wasn't because his heart hurt in his chest, and his head pounded, and he could still feel the ache from where Kester had fucked him the night before. It wasn't that at all.

Kester e-mailed him twenty times that afternoon, and he deleted them all unread. He crept home early, rationalizing it with the memory of all the overtime he'd worked the week before. He ignored the way his phone was shaking its way across the kitchen table and set to work on sanding the floor in the spare room, a job he'd been putting off for months. When the doorbell rang, he looked out the window to see Kester pacing back and forth along the front walk and ducked down out of sight. It wasn't even that hard to block out the shrill of the doorbell. All he had to do was crawl into bed, pull a pillow over his head, and try not to smell the lingering scent of sex and sweat that clung to the sheets.

He managed to walk into the office with his head held high the next day, though he knew everyone was looking at him. Mid-morning, he heard raised voices and stood up to go and defuse the situation.

Then he heard Lisa declare, her voice shrill with hostility, "You don't get to drink our coffee! You go away, or I'm going to get every person in this building to open all the attachments in their spam folders. I mean it!"

Phil wasn't quite sure whether to be moved or mortified, but her threat obviously worked, because no one showed up in his doorway.

He deleted another fifty e-mails that day and then slunk off to his sister's for the evening, certain Kester didn't have her address.

Lauren let him skulk in her living room and eat cookies. She even offered him one of her banana-and-pickle sandwiches and put on Star Trek so they could both ogle Chris Pine. She didn't push him to explain, though he knew that wouldn't last.

The next day, he got an unexpected summons from HR.

"I know who took my drinks, and I'm not filing an official complaint," he said as soon as he crossed the threshold. "You don't need to follow up on it."

He got a beady-eyed stare and a finger pointed at the chair. "Do sit down, Mr. Collyer."

Phil sank into the chair, trying to bite back his defensive reaction. He hated everything about this room, from the dusty slats of the blinds to the motivational posters framed behind the desk.

"Mr. Collyer, I must remind you that you are expected to inform us of any long-term medical conditions. If you wish for your insurance to cover—"

"What?" Phil said, genuinely baffled. "I don't have any medical conditions."

He got teeth bared in an approximation of sympathy. "While lifestyle-induced conditions may be embarrassing, denying the truth—"

"I'm not ill!" Phil protested. "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

For the first time ever, he saw signs of discomfort. "I have been reliably informed… . Perhaps there has been some misunderstanding… ."

"About what?" Phil demanded.

By the time he'd gotten an answer and convinced HR he was in perfect health, Phil was furious. Everything made a skewed kind of sense now, and it enraged him even more than the original theft. He stormed through the office, dimly aware of everyone's eyes turning toward him as he took the stairs to the basement with his fists clenched.

The minions both started up as he slammed in, but he strode past them without hesitation to plant his hands on Kester's desk and roar, "I am not diabetic!"

Kester's initial look of shock faded, and his mouth twisted stubbornly. "I saw your prescription."

"It wasn't mine!" Phil bellowed. He hadn't raised his voice in years and was surprised by how liberating it felt. "It was my sister's!"

Kester's mouth fell open. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he cleared his throat and said weakly, "Oh."

"I can't decide which is worse: that you tried to control my health without even asking, or that you thought I was stupid enough to drink something that would kill me!"

"Phil—"

"Go to hell," Phil snapped and meant it. He turned and shoved his way back out of the basement, past Kester's aghast minions and the crowd around the doorway—Lisa and Tim and Sharleen and even HR, all staring at him as if he'd grown a second head.

 

 

HE spent a second evening on Lauren's couch, even though she smacked him around the head and called him a whiny diva.

Phil ignored her. He'd been flattered that Kester was attracted to him, but he'd thought he liked him too, despite his boring life. He'd thought Kester respected him.

"It's just a fucking drink, Philip," Lauren told him. "Get over it and give me back my baby monitor."

Everyone seemed to be avoiding him at work, possibly because he snarled whenever someone gave him a pitying look. This was why it was a bad idea to sleep with co-workers, even if you were a sad loser who never met anyone else.

Kester didn't come by, not even to steal coffee, though one of the minions sidled in with a mug and had some sort of silent eyebrow-twitching exchange with Lisa.

"If you keep scowling like that, you'll scare the baby," Lauren told him, "and then she'll grow up thinking all gay people are mean and grumpy. You're damaging her social conscience."

"Do you want this crib assembled or not?" Phil snapped back. "He lied, and I thought he was—" He choked on that. I thought he was the one. I thought I was starting to love him.

"Philip," Lauren said quietly, and there was a note in her voice that made him feel like the younger sibling. "It sounds like he meant well. Sometimes you have to look at the intentions, not the outcome."

 

 

ON Saturday morning, he was surprised by a ring at the door. He glanced out the window warily, but it was only some delivery guy.

Phil opened the door and just stared. The guy was holding three twenty-four packs of cola. He rolled his eyes at Phil. "Grocery delivery."

"I didn't order anything," Phil said.

"Yeah, we figured as much." The guy shook his head. "You've got someone weird in your life, man. Me, I just send the girlfriend flowers when we've had a fight."

"Er…."

"Let me in, will you? These things are heavy and I've got a hell of a lot more in the truck."

Bemused, Phil showed him to the kitchen and then went to help him with the next load. By the time they were done, the kitchen table was stacked high. At a guess, Phil reckoned there must be at least two hundred cans there.

"Sign here," the guy said and shook his head again. "Seriously, what the hell is wrong with flowers?"

"Flowers are nice," Phil said blankly and followed him out to the porch. Once the truck had backed away, he looked up and down the street, pinching himself slightly.

It only took him a moment to spot Kester, hanging back on the other side of the road. Phil lifted his hand and saw Kester's tentative smile as he started to walk toward him.

"I'm sorry," Kester said as soon as he was close enough. "Don't hate me. I couldn't stand it."

"I don't hate you," Phil said and realized it was true. The apology was just as absurd as the original crime, and it soothed the raw edges off his pride. This was Kester, after all, and he always threw himself at a cause. He'd made a mistake, but at least his heart had been in the right place. He was brave and passionate and a little crazy, and those were all things Phil loved about the man.

Kester looked sheepish and miserable, his hands shoved in his pockets. "Is there any chance? For you and me?"

"Yes," Phil said because he couldn't bear to actually see that misery. "Yes." And he moved forward without thinking and wrapped his arms around Kester as tightly as he could.

Kester looked up, hope flaring in his eyes. "Really?"

"Really," Phil promised and then added, because he couldn't quite hold it back, "I'll need someone to help me drink all those cans, if nothing else."

"Cola's bad for you," Kester said instantly.

"That's all right," Phil promised. "I'll steal yours."