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KARL’S HANDS SNAKED over the mattress, air skittled over his naked chest, and he wanted to press Paul into him—keep them both warm. The edge of the bed curved into his palm . . . wh-what? Still half-asleep, he cracked his eyes open.
Of course. He was in his own room.
Yawning, he stretched and sat up, eyeing the empty half of the bed. Better this way. He couldn’t imagine how cranky he’d be without a wink of sleep. Dozy, he padded into the bathroom and relieved himself. After washing up, Karl went to leave but hesitated. Backtracking, he stopped at the door leading to Paul’s room. Inching it open, he peered into the room to see Paul curled on his side.
Karl thought about tip-toeing over there and sneaking in next to him, wrapping him in his arms like he’d imagined only minutes before. But Paul seemed so at peace. For a minute, Karl leaned against the doorframe and watched the steady rise and fall of his side.
Quietly, he shut the door and made his way back to bed, where a comforting sleep claimed him for the remainder of the night.
A ticklish breath on his neck and the murmur of his name awakened him. Paul kneeled at the side of his bed, a large cup cradled in his hands. A glance at the side-table clock he’d recently purchased surprised him by flashing 10:20. He sprung into a sitting position. How could he have slept in? It was a Monday. "Bananas!"
He flung the comforter aside, preparing to jump out of bed. Charlie needed to be dropped off hours ago. Paul was so late for work. Wait a sec. Why wasn’t he upset? For that matter, why hadn’t he woken him earlier?
A slow smile spread on Paul’s face. Karl registered the guy wasn’t in a suit. Rather, a faded pair of jeans and simple navy shirt. "Chill, Karl. Here, drink this." Paul handed him the cup.
A warm mouthful of coffee slid down his throat. "Thanks." It came out a question.
"You look like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. It’s all right, Karl, I dropped Charlie off to pre-school. He’ll have a short day while we shop for Thanksgiving supplies."
Karl set the cup on the side table. "You have the day off?"
"Yep."
"Why didn’t you tell me that last night?"
"It was a last minute thing. I don’t have much work scheduled for today, so I’m pushing it until tomorrow and taking today as a holiday."
"What made you want to give up one of your holiday days to shop? You know I would’ve done it."
Paul got to his feet and, gesturing for Karl to bunch over, sat himself on the bed. "Don’t be mad, but I-I came in here this morning. To wake you, thinking your alarm wasn’t working or something. But, well, you looked so out-to-it and cozy—I couldn’t bring myself to wake you." How the hell did Paul think he’d be mad for that? Crazy man.
Paul rested his shoulders back against the wall, looking out toward a gap in the curtains. "Well, I left you a note in case you got up, telling you I was taking care of Charlie. When I got back and you were still sleeping, something inside just signed-off the workday. Wanted to be with you instead."
"Damn." Karl felt like he would tear open at the force of the smile that erupted through him. Yes, through him. His whole body tingled, almost to the point of shaking. Exactly what he imagined a smile to feel like. "That’s so sweet."
Paul laughed, and each peal felt like it was undressing him further. Karl curled his knees up into his chest.
"It wasn’t really that sweet. Sweet would have been letting you wake up on your own. But I got impatient." Paul looked at him, grinning. "I can’t remember what I used to do to occupy myself. I was just sitting in the lounge flicking through books, itching for you to finally get your cute ass out of bed."
Karl twisted, moving so he knelt, facing Paul. He raised a cheeky brow. "Cute ass, huh? I would’ve gone for hot, but if cute makes you flush like that, then cute it is." He grabbed Paul’s hands and slapped them on his ass. "Can you think of any other descriptive words—"
Paul cut him off, attacking him with a passionate kiss that had them both suddenly horizontal. Each fought for dominance, laughing at each twist and turn. Wow, this felt good, and natural—different from the times before. No angst or hesitancy behind it.
Karl tugged at Paul’s buttons, quickly making him shirtless and evening things up. As he tugged at Paul’s zipper, hot breath rushed into his ear with: "No words can describe how f-fucking amazing you feel."
The slight stutter somehow made it not only hot, but also endearing. Like it was definitely Paul saying it—no one else would have been able to. Not like he did.
Karl felt so warm, and Jesus, was he turned on. Only he had to keep himself in control, they hadn’t done more than hand jobs, and at the rate they were going, Karl felt very much like skipping some steps.
He pushed back against Paul’s chest, breathing hard.
"Why are you stopping?" Paul asked, frowning.
"Because I don’t want to stop."
He chuckled and pulled him to close the gap between them again. "That makes no sense."
Karl smiled, but shook his head. "You don’t get it, Paul, I’m so hot for you right now, I want to fuck you until you scream."
Paul swallowed, hard and loud, his face brightening. He bit his lip.
Karl moved off him again. "But I’m not going to do that."
"Uh, I’m not ready for that . . . yet." Paul grabbed Karl and, in a smooth sweep, pinned him onto the bed. He nibbled at his ear. "But I have another idea . . . "
* * *
Shit. He was afraid he was going to be adjusting himself all day. He couldn’t stop thinking about just how hot they’d been together. And Paul’s hot, wet tongue. The way he’d circled and . . . He shivered. Again.
"You okay?" Paul asked, backing the Lamborghini into a parking space. Up on the top level of the lot, this time.
What a question. Hell yeah. And absolutely not. How on earth was he going to shop sporting this bulge? He should’ve worn loose pants. Stupid! He glanced at Paul. "Fiiine." The vowel came out a shudder. Why did Paul have to keep sliding his tongue over his bottom lip like that? If he didn’t know better, he’d think Paul was toying with him.
Maybe he was toying with him.
"Right, you have the shopping list?" Paul asked.
"You said you took it."
"When did I say that? I asked you whether you had it before we left. You said. ‘Right.’"
"What?" Karl shook his head, and climbed out of the car. "You said: ‘Have the list!’ As in I’ve got it, let’s go."
"No—" Paul’s door shut. "It was a question. Didn’t you hear my voice rise at the end?"
"Well, crap. Let’s just make it up as we go then. Most of the recipes are in my head anyhow."
Paul jammed the keys into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Karl looked from it to the large grin on Paul’s face.
"You rat." Karl snatched it off him, but there was a definite smile on his face.
"Just messing with you." Paul glanced around the parking lot. They were far from the nearest person. "Right." And Karl heard the sudden nervous twang. "Let’s do this, then."
Karl pushed the trolley down the wide but crammed aisles. He’d already bumped into two people so far and had one basket rammed into his side. This was no way to shop. There wasn’t the time to check out the quality of the ingredients. It was grab and go.
Paul wasn’t helping.
He darted around, keeping as much distance between them as he could. He’d even chuck things into the trolley, so he wouldn’t get caught between Karl and shopper X.
Strange, the contrast. How distant Paul acted in public, compared to how close—how very close—they’d been just hours before. And it hadn’t been just physically close. Open was a better word.
Karl watched Paul grab stuff off the shelves, only occasionally daring to glance his way. What went through his mind? Obviously, he was conflicted by this—them—but was there something more Karl could do to make him better with it? At the moment, the only way he knew to help was by allowing and understanding the need for distance.
It would just take time. And there were moments, no matter how fleeting, when Paul would extend a glance, or brush fingers against his. Before he’d snap back into distant mode. That boded well. Right?
But it was a little frustrating. Except that, if Karl thought about it, Paul acted exactly how he had with Will—before.
Will had been so patient. The first guy he’d had a relationship with who hadn’t also been in the closet. Also the first and only to yodel. Karl shook his head at the memories, re-focusing on how he’d acted in his past relationships. Funny, the contradictions. He’d not been out, but he’d always been the one to initiate something. Like a part of him didn’t care what people thought. As long as his parents didn’t know.
He’d been hot and cold. All over the place. So he had no reason to be even remotely frustrated with Paul.
Except that he was. He wanted to show Paul off, walking down the street hand in hand. And hell, he really wanted to kiss the grin that came over his face when the guy laughed at a joke on a cereal box.
But those feeling were ridiculous, because they’d only known each other, what, three months? And they’d only started this . . . thing four weeks ago.
Paul checked his watch and threw a couple of boxes into the trolley. He wanted to pick Charlie up after his lunch nap. Karl checked the time. Which was still a couple of hours off.
Karl stared at the silver watch-strap as Paul unloaded their shopping onto the belt, thinking how every time, before they did anything, Paul would take it off.
A trolley wheel met his heel. Impatient idiot.
Finally, they burst outside. Cool wind rushed over them.
"That confirms it," Paul said as they headed for the car, "I really hate shopping."
"This time of year, it’s lethal. Damn, I even think my heel’s bleeding."
Bickering, they loaded the car. Paul visibly relaxed as soon as the doors shut. He sank into the chair, and closed his eyes. "Let’s get this stuff home, and since we have some time . . . " Paul rubbed his lips together, a sneaky grin quirking a dimple. "We should make burgers for lunch."
Right. There in that grin lay the proof. The guy had definitely been toying with him!
Oh, he so was not going to get away with it.
* * *
Everything set. The turkey, the side dishes, the cranberry sauce. Dessert was in the fridge. Karl ran an eye down the list once more. Excellent, they were scheduled to eat at seven.
Paul, Gillian, and Tirone laughed as they set up the table in the lounge, and Karl smiled. The belly-deep sound Paul made had a zinging effect on his skin. The little hairs would stand on end when they were close—like the laugh physically passed through him as well.
Tirone waltzed into the kitchen and met Karl’s gaze with a sheepish grin. "Gillian keeps pinching me to find some matches. Paul said to try the kitchen, he wasn’t sure if there are any."
"Try the pantry." The guy had never outright apologized for his drunken behavior, but he’d said his apology over and over in the look he always gave Karl. Karl smiled back, trying to make it more comfortable between them again. He wanted to get on well with Tirone, because Paul thought highly of him. And he really did seem all right enough.
"You’re lost in thought there." Gillian’s voice came from his right.
"Ah, just making a mental note I’ve everything organized for dinner."
"Well, it smells incredible." She moved to the oven and peeked into the pots. "God, I haven’t eaten in forever in preparation for this."
Tirone snorted behind her.
She whirled around. "What was that for?"
"You stuffed an entire caramilk bar into that mouth of yours on the way over here."
"It’s not carbohydrates, it doesn’t really count. And you’re just upset you couldn’t have some."
"There aren’t any damn matches here. And I only wanted one piece."
"You made me promise you not to give you any!"
Karl chuckled under his breath. Took the gas lighter and handed it to Tirone. "Use that."
The two stalked out of the kitchen, their voices quieting between walls.
A shout rumbled down the hall. The sound had Karl’s heart racing. Charlie! He whipped out of the kitchen, and raced to him. Dropped to his knees, and swept the hopping boy into his arms. "What’s the matter?" He prayed the kid hadn’t twisted his foot or broken it somehow.
"My foot won’t wake up."
Karl let out a guttural (mainly relieved) laugh.
"Nathan told me yelling would work."
"I think he was yanking your chain." Jeez, kids were clever even at four. "It’ll be right soon, okay? Now, go wash your hands, dinner will be served very soon."
Charlie hobbled past him. When Karl turned around, Paul was standing there. He nodded and said something to Charlie, and when the boy was out of sight, latched his gaze on his. A smile played at Paul’s lips. As if, instinctively, they were both moving toward each other.
The doorbell ringing fizzled the—moment out. Paul glanced at the hand he’d just rested on Karl’s arm. Dropped it. "That’ll be Sue and Timothy." And he hurried away.
Sue, tall and elegant, didn’t strike Karl as particularly motherly. She was friendly enough, sure, but the long, pristine set of nails she had on her, made him wonder if she ever picked Charlie up.
Timothy, on the other hand, he had less problem imagining around kids. Though it was possible the bald spot had something to do with that. Just like his Pop’s. Or maybe it was the abracadabra type smile he donned. Sort of looked a match for Charlie’s she-sha magic. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Timothy had given Charlie the idea to begin with.
"How very modern of you to be a male nanny," Sue said, sitting herself across from Charlie as Karl prepared a plate of food for the boy.
"Um, well, this is a temporary job." Karl’s heart beat faster as he said that, and for some reason, he wished he could take it back. Instead, he smiled politely. "I hope to be a chef, someday."
Paul slunk into the seat between Karl and Charlie, taking over from Karl. "He’ll make an excellent one, and soon we’ll all be dining at his restaurant."
Timothy flashed him a mighty smile that Karl could have sworn was his Pop’s. An eerie moment passed over him as he wondered if maybe it was somehow. How stupid was he to think that might be a sign Pop wanted him to reach his dream? It was really stupid.
He believed it anyway.
Tirone patted the seat next to him, beckoning Gillian over. "I like you sitting next to me," he said so softly that Karl wouldn’t have caught it had he not been a) on Tirone’s other side, and b) listening. A pink tinge crept up Gillian’s cheeks. She lowered her gaze, and there was definitely a little smile there. Was she into him? Interesting.
As dinner progressed, Karl studied them. The way they joked and wound each other up. Karl looked to Paul, who was piling up empty plates. He’d intended to throw him a what’s-going-on-between-them look, but the question disappeared as he found Paul’s large gray eyes already on him. Intent, focused. Karl held his breath as long as they shared their gaze. Now his heart tripled along. Even his palms grew clammy. All because—
Because it—this—them felt so important.
Paul cracked up and chucked a napkin at Tirone for spewing the funniest anecdote of Gillian and him on a bus to a business seminar. Even Sue lost a little decorum as she giggled. Everyone laughed, and so did Karl. But his had nothing to do with the joke.
And everything to do with how wonderful, how alive, he felt.
Charlie and Timothy spoke in hushed voices, curling their hands together as if planning on mischief. Karl got up and cleared some more plates, following Paul into the kitchen.
"It’s going well, so far, I’d say." Paul scraped the greasy leftovers into the bin and passed the dishes to Karl to stack in the dishwasher. Each time, making sure their fingers touched.
"Agreed. Say, what’s up between Tirone and Gillian? Felt like there might be something going on there?"
"Felt it too. The only ones oblivious are the two themselves. And Charlie. Maybe. Even Timothy chuckled and asked if they were going out."
Karl tested the chocolate and mandarin sauce to go over the walnut-lemon pie. Smooth. Not bad. Hopefully the others would like it. Reading him, Paul came over, inching a little closer than friendly. "Everything you’ve made tonight has been incredible, Karl. The best Thanksgiving meal I’ve ever had."
"Agreed!" Gillian’s chipper voice concurred. In a not-so-graceful move, Paul lunged toward the fridge. Thankfully, Gillian didn’t seem to think the resulting stumble suspicious. If Karl didn’t know what the fear of getting caught was like, he would’ve thought the scene comical. Okay, maybe he was chuckling inside. A little. But, damn, it was too cute!
"I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make a cranberry sauce like that," Gillian continued, "but in any case, I want the recipe."
"I’ll email it to you."
Paul fiddled around in the fridge (who knows doing what, he didn’t need to be in there), shut the door, and left. Gillian leaned back against the counter top. "Whatever it is, you do him good."
Karl took off the pot lid and stirred, frowning at the brown liquid to cover for the smile he felt pushing its way forward.
"It’s just . . . It’s been so long, actually, I wonder if I’ve ever seen him in such a good mood."
Karl shrugged. "I don’t think that necessarily has anything to do with me."
"Yes, it does," Gillian insisted. "You’re the only variable that’s changed in his life. I’ve been thinking about it more and more—it’s like he’s found a best friend. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Tirone and I love Paul, he’s a close friend, but, well, we were Laura’s friends first. But you . . . yeah, you and him didn’t have to be friends. But you are, we all see that." She grabbed the wooden spoon from him, wiped a finger through the sauce and licked it off, but her gaze remained focused on something invisible in the air. "Mmmm. He’s more relaxed, laughing more, jokey . . . I’m just glad for it. Thankful, too." Looking down, she realized the wooden spoon remained in her grip. "Oh!" She gave it back to Karl. "Oops. Reflex. There’s something about me and chocolate."
Karl laughed. Yep. Gillian was great. All the greater for thinking he might be part of the reason Paul was smiling more.
He passed her the pie. "Take that out. I’ll bring the sauce."
Karl placed the jug in the middle of the table. Sitting down, he scooted over, just close enough that his elbow knocked against Paul’s occasionally. Such a little touch, but each time hit him like an addictive rush. And though Paul kept his gaze ahead or at his pie, his eyes lit up a moment or he smiled. Best. Thanksgiving. Ever.
Everyone, including little Charlie, was clutching their gut by the time dinner had run all its courses. Karl crossed his fingers there wouldn’t be a birthday repeat. And that it wouldn’t be him starring the show.
Way past his bedtime, Paul decided it was time for Charlie to get to B.E.D. Before the monkey went down, Gillian and Tirone said their goodbyes.
"I don’t want to go to bed! I’m not tired."
Paul rushed a: "See you sometime next week!" and chased after Charlie.
Karl found himself wrapped in a Gillian sized hug. "Send me those recipes. Don’t forget."
"Lovely seeing you both again, Sue, Timothy," Tirone said, shaking their hands.
Sue nodded. "Likewise. Don’t wait so long to visit us next time. We like it when Laura’s . . . " she stopped, collected herself with a little lick to her bottom lip, "friends pay their respects."
Timothy stepped closer to his wife, patting her arm. The life and buzz zapped out of Gillian, she paled and her gaze dropped to the carpet. Tirone smiled, promised to visit Laura’s grave over the weekend, and cradled Gillian to his side as they left the apartment.
Karl, Sue and Timothy trundled back to the table. None knew a single thing to say. Maybe he could excuse himself to clean up. Or would that be rude? Hurry up, Paul. Come on. He risked a tentative smile, but the light mood that had aired the evening had rapidly thickened.
Karl scratched the back of his neck. "How long are you staying in the city?"
"Paul has organized us a room here at the hotel for a couple of nights. After that we go back."
"Is it a long trip?"
"Four hours, depending on traffic."
Silence. The awkward kind.
"Karly!" came Charlie’s screech.
He stood up, pointed toward the sound. "Better see what he’s up to." He tripped over a chair, quickly straightened it and dashed out of the room.
"He’d like a bedtime story," Paul said when he reached the boy’s bedroom. "But I said only if you felt like read—."
"Absolutely." Karl took a stack from the bookshelf. "I’ll be out soon."
Charlie yawned one page into the first book. "Stay awake, little buddy, we’ve got a load of books to read."
He nodded, but by the end of the first story, Charlie was out to it. Karl gently set the books on the shelf and snuck out of the room.
Karl heard upset voices as he approached the lounge. He hung back in the kitchen, cleaning things up, but it was hard not to overhear. All right. A part of him was curious.
"It’s just not right. It’s incomprehensible. How could people throw a party in a cemetery?" Sue’s voice hitched and rose. "They stuffed plastic cups between the flowers we planted and the gravestone. And there were even used—used . . . " Karl could only imagine what she’d been about to say, the thought disgusted him too.
Timothy spoke next, and the sadness in his voice formed a lump in Karl’s throat. "There’s not much we can do for Laura now, except give her the respect she deserves. It hurt very much to see . . . "
A sigh. Paul’s? "I’m sorry to hear that."
"And people are forgetting her," Sue chimed in, her voice slipping in an agony that stunned Karl. He stopped cleaning the Culinary Heaven pan. "Even our friends. They don’t mention her anymore. Almost like she never existed."
"Sue, love, Paul would never forget Laura. He loves her like no one else. He’s done good by us all. He’ll always be there for her. It’s okay."
"I’ll go clean up her plot tomorrow morning," Paul said, a hollowness to his tone.
A pause. "No need, Paul. Sue and I scrubbed it the day we got the call, and we checked up on it yesterday."
"But you should go anyway," Sue said. "Laura would like that. I planted her favorites, some marigolds."
Karl rested his head in his hands as he heard that. Marigolds wouldn’t survive the winter, no matter what they did. His gut twisted until he needed to burp. How was Paul doing right now? —Karl didn’t even know Laura.
Didn’t even know her. Paul rarely said anything about his marriage. Karl didn’t even know what she looked like. Where did he have her pictures? What did he do with all her things after she passed? Were there still things in each room that held a memory for the both of them? He swallowed, thinking again of Paul’s watch.
Karl couldn’t bear to hear any more of what they said. He shuffled off to his room and came back with music blasting and earphones on, trying his best to get back that numb feeling he’d had about Laura’s death before. It hadn’t meant anything to him. Yes, it was tragic, but he’d never felt any pain. But now—
Now, hearing pristine Sue broken, he couldn’t help but wonder how much pain Paul held bottled up inside too. That hurt the most by far. Paul was a wonderful man; Karl didn’t want him hurting inside.
And truthfully, though he despised himself for the thought, he hated that there was someone special enough that they had the power to break his heart.
Paul schlepped into the room. Karl yanked the headphones around his neck and stepped toward him. They met each other’s gaze. Paul’s lashes struggled to hold back tears. Oh God. Karl went to hold him, but Paul shook his head, blinked rapidly, little drops splashing with it. He twisted suddenly and left.
Music still burst out the headphones. He pulled them off, clutching tight. Like, what the—? He loosened his grip. He understood. Really. Paul just needed some space. It’d be fine. Absolutely.
Yeah, it’d all be fine.
Just fine.