A SURPRISING crowd was gathered in the auditorium of the building, which from the façade, cornices, frieze, and quoin features outside, Charlie figured was built in the twenties. The inside had been renovated, he could see that, although probably a good twenty years ago.
There were a heck of a lot tables inside, and it almost made him dizzy trying to take it all in, especially when Gay was obviously not shopping. She was on a mission, and look out everyone when Gay was on a mission.
She wanted Charlie to meet her friend. The guy who made the gorgeous bowl.
The one who was just his type.
“Early thirties, pug nose, the most beautiful eyes!”
But no! There was no way. He’d made the younger-man mistake already. More than once, in a way. As in all those crushes he’d gotten on men who weren’t even slightly interested in him. And he sure wasn’t interested in anyone right now. Love had only left him hurt and lonely.
But weren’t you hurt and lonely when Kill-Joy was with you? came his Aunt Charlotte’s voice.
The thought shocked him enough that he stopped for a moment and almost lost Gay in the crowd. He had to jump forward, excusing himself a dozen times. The crowds didn’t part for him the way they always did for Gay. You had to stay at her side to benefit from her superpowers.
Suddenly she came to a stop, and he almost crashed into her. Would have if she hadn’t abruptly done a little half spin and pointed at him with a sweeping wave of her hand.
“Tory,” she said in a loud voice, as if introducing an act on stage. “I would like you to meet my dear, dear friend Charlie Brooks.” She turned her head and looked at him. “Charlie, this is the artist I told you about—the adorable one, I might add—Tory Phillips.”
With a sigh, Charlie turned from her and looked at the slim young man behind the table, big tousled hair, oversized Christmas sweater, and….
“Why, hello, Charlie! I’m pleased to meet you. Any friend of Gay’s is a friend of mine!”
Charlie froze.
He couldn’t breathe.
He was looking at about the cutest. sweetest young man he had ever seen. He—Gay said his name was Tory, and what a nice name—was about five foot five, a few inches shorter than Charlie (something he loved in a man; all the better to lower his head for a kiss—God!). And those eyes! Bright, flashing eyes. He couldn’t tell if they were green or brown, as if they were some wonderful new color. He’d have to get closer to see exactly what color they were, and he didn’t dare do that (and God. even his eyebrows were sexy, thick and brown—who knew eyebrows could be sexy?) with a head of hair just as thick, piled high like soft-serve ice cream (what had made him think a silly thing like that?). And oh, that smile! So sweet. Everything about Tory (even his name) sent a wonderful little shiver down Charlie’s spine.
He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss that mouth and—
Whoa!
Those eyes. They were looking back at him. Looking in a way that… that couldn’t be… couldn’t….
His eyes went wide.
He literally couldn’t move.
Charlie panicked.
He wanted to run. Run as fast as he could.
Because good God, Tory was looking at him. Not just looking. He seemed to be… well, looking into him.
He had to get out of here!
Why? his Aunt Charlotte asked. Why on earth?
Because…. Because….
Because what?
Because I can’t do that again, he told her. Not ever.
You can’t what?
He trembled. I can’t take a chance.
Well, why on earth not?
Because I could get hurt!
Getting a little ahead of yourself there, aren’t you, my boy? Putting the carriage ahead of the horse?
He almost laughed then. Of course she was right! Just because Tory was looking at him didn’t mean he was interested, did it? He was a merchant selling his wares, right?
Aunt Charlotte didn’t answer that one.
But of course, she wasn’t really there, was she?
So what do I do, then?
He took a deep breath.
And said the only thing he could think of to say.
“Salt and pepper shakers?”