Twenty-Four

 

 

Two hours later, it feels as if twice as many have passed. After a quick trim from his barber, Sebastian heads toward the office on Ninth Street. He parks himself and his trusty backpack on an ivy-patterned bench and props his crutches against the gray stucco wall. He cradles a small bamboo plant tied with a red ribbon.

Soon, the man he’s been waiting for steps out of the building’s white-framed entrance.

Sebastian points to the building’s awning, which reads Dr. Garden in gray block letters. “Very impressive, Doc,” he says.

A pinkish hue spreads across Reid’s face, and he bows at the waist. “At your service.”

Sebastian giggles. Just as he imagined it, Reid sports a variation of his signature costume: moss cargo pants and a beige button-down worn open like a jacket, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Once again there are noticeable smudges of grass and dirt on the front of his white T-shirt. Sebastian’s lips dance from trying to contain a smile.

“I see you got your ears trimmed,” Reid says. “Looks great.”

“Thanks.” Sebastian’s face grows warm as he finger-combs his hair, a bit of length on top, the sides shorter. “Just a touch-up.”

“Cute,” says Reid, as he sits next to Sebastian. He points to the bamboo plant. “Did you arrange that yourself?”

“Not exactly.” Reid. Even inside, Sebastian loves to say his name. “Korean deli, Twelfth Street.” He adjusts his cast leg and sits up taller on the bench.

“I see.” Reid’s dimples deepen as his mouth turns upward.

Sebastian looks to the sky, then directs his eyes on the patch of grass in front of the bench. “Chloe’s well.” He exhales, hoping to release the tightness in his chest. “She asked me to send her love.”

“The feeling’s mutual. You know, I’m really glad she’s okay. She’ll do just fine with the baby. We’ll all help out.”

Sebastian grips the edge of the bench. That Reid cares as much for Chloe makes Sebastian want to kiss him. “And the other thing is—”

“Is what?” Reid offers in a breathy, lower register than his normal baritone.

“I . . . I don’t know.” Sebastian closes his eyes. Something dances inside him. He looks to his left, focuses on four tall, rectangular boxwoods so green they appear as if they’d live forever. “Actually, I do know.” He clears his throat. “Just like me, you also have a weakness for certain things.” He retrieves a small box of chocolates from his backpack.

“Oui oui, monsieur,” Reid says in his baritone. “This is the good stuff.” He sniffs the brown box. “La Maison du Chocolat,” he adds, reading the label.

Sebastian’s breath lurches, trapped in his throat. “And this is for luck,” he says, raising his other gift. “Here’s to good things all around.”

Reid takes the bamboo plant. “I don’t know what to say.” He ducks his head shyly. “I’ll treasure it, Sebastian.”

Sebastian shrugs. “Seb is fine.”

“Seb?” Reid leans toward him. “Really? You don’t mind?”

Sebastian nods. “Cross my heart.” His chest rises with ease and satiates itself with the warm spring air. Along with the boxwoods, daffodils, and daisies, impatiens also live gracefully in the terra cotta enclosures that border Reid’s house of design; coupled with other sensations, they form a cacophony of smells.

“Well, Reid,” he says. It feels fantastic to say his name out loud.

Reid sets the box of chocolates and bamboo plant on the bench. “Yes, Seb?” he offers with a wink.

Inhale. Exhale. Sebastian coughs the frog from his throat. “I’m here because I want to know that you . . . I need you to understand.” He scoots forward on the bench. To his surprise, Reid’s eyes actually are steel blue, not the aqua color he thought they were. Sebastian shakes his head; people aren’t always exactly what imagines them to be—and certainly not always what he tells himself they are. He chuckles at the thought: Maybe Technicolor is sometimes overrated.

“You okay?” Reid asks.

Sebastian looks down at his hands. “I know it’s only been three weeks that we’ve known each other.”

“Time’s relative.”

Sebastian catches his breath; the hand that caresses the base of his neck sends an un-choreographed jitterbug through his entire body. He opens his eyes. “I’m fantastic.”

“Yes,” Reid says as he gently massages the base of Sebastian’s neck, “you’re definitely fantastic.”

Sebastian’s torso buckles as his body pitches forward. He stops the fall by gripping onto Reid, who, in turn, loses his balance. They nearly wipe out but seemingly, in unison, regain their footing. Sebastian feels certain of his grip around Reid’s shoulders, and Reid’s bear hug, too, as they guide each other toward the stucco wall.

“Shall we dance?” Reid says.

Sebastian chuckles. “Who’s Fred and who’s Ginger?”

Reid shrugs. “I’m versatile.”

Sebastian raises his brow. “So am I.” He places his palms on Reid’s shoulders. A round of devilish giggles spread from the center of Sebastian’s body and echo in the air. He gently traces Reid’s features with his fingers before leaning in for a kiss. Reid’s mouth is warm; his lips are slightly chapped but cushiony enough for comfort. On second thought, Sebastian realizes as he applies more pressure, Reid’s peppermint taste offers much more than a comfortable feeling.

They move together, arms wrapped around each other as if choreographed to sway in a slow dance. After a few beats, Sebastian pulls back and nuzzles his head into Reid’s chest. Inhale. Reid’s scent is even more defined now: he smells of a day’s worth of sweat and a hint of citrus, like a freshly planted garden.

Reid strokes Sebastian’s hair. Sebastian’s eyes widen with the tingle that rises through his body. He swallows hard and gently yet firmly reminds himself (and, once again, his hard-on) to exhale.

The embrace they share feels as solid and warm as the memory of the blankets Sebastian’s parents used to cocoon him in at night; as cozy as Arthur’s furry, twenty-pound frame spoons against him; as safe as the hugs he exchanges with Chloe. Sebastian’s heart pulses at an allegro pace, and a glimmer of dread and dizziness courses through him. But he closes his eyes, commands the fear to subside and, with eyes raised to the sunny sky, offers a smile.

His arms draped over Reid’s shoulders, their five o’clock shadows married, Sebastian squeezes tight. He whispers, “I can’t tell where all this will lead.”

“I know,” Reid says. The calluses of his landscaper hands feel sandpaper-rough as he rubs Sebastian’s hand. In the sunshine, the sun-bleached hairs on his arms glow a coppery hue.

“But I promise I’ll try,” Sebastian offers, looking directly into Reid’s eyes. “It might be slow, but I’ll try to be open to wherever this takes us.”

“We’ve got time,” says Reid, interlacing his fingers with Sebastian’s.

“There’s something else. I finished the number for the recital.”

“Excellent!” Reid dances his fingers against Sebastian’s palm. “I knew you would.”

“Really?” Sebastian says. The pressure of Reid’s grip excites him, makes him feel wanted, needed.

“You know, Seb, we’re a lot alike.”

“What are you talking about?” Reid is certainly no drama queen. Sebastian can’t imagine Reid would ever be as neurotic or insecure as himself, nor live in one fantasy world after another.

“I mean it, Seb.” Reid strokes Sebastian’s hair. “I create and doctor gardens, and you create and doctor dance numbers.”

“Oh.” Sebastian chortles.

“No, really,” Reid says, his brow pinched into what seems like his serious face. “Think about it. Dance numbers, landscape projects, all of it. Some take longer than others to realize, but in the end, we’re both able to give them just what they need to grow as healthily as possible.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian says. For being such a know-it-all, he never thought of it that way.

Reid rests his palms on Sebastian’s chest. “Thank you for what?”

Sebastian’s heart flutters with his breath cycle. He wants to offer gratitude to Reid for still wanting to take a chance but decides those particular words can wait. Instead, he says, “The bamboo and chocolate. Thanks for liking them.”

Reid’s smile extends to his steel-blue eyes. “What’s not to like, Seb?”

“Exactly.” Sebastian grips him tighter. “What’s not to like?”