Chapter Five

JUSTIN WOKE UP with a start as a shrill sound penetrated his sleep, and sat up awkwardly in the chair, nearly sending it tumbling backward. He swore under his breath and fumbled with his cell phone, staring blearily at the screen.

“Trish,” he said, answering it, and rubbed his forehead. His head was throbbing, which was especially unfair considering he hadn’t drunk a drop of alcohol last night. “What’s up?”

“Are you just waking up?” his sister inquired.

“No,” Justin lied. “I’m at the store.”

Technically, that was true. But she was right; it was already half past eight, and he had to open up soon.

“Fine,” Trish said, sounding sickeningly chirpy. “Dave and I are going to the Christmas farmers market this afternoon. Want to join us?”

“I can’t. I’m working.”

“On Christmas Eve? I really don’t think people are going to be shopping for electric drills for their holiday presents.”

“You never know,” Justin said, stifling a yawn. The pale morning sun peeked through the venetian blinds behind him, and for a moment, he found himself mesmerized by the lazy dance of dust motes in the rays of light.

“Come on, Justin. We barely see each other as it is.”

Justin sighed. She had a point, but he knew that being around all that holiday cheer was going to wear on his nerves. He needed to pull himself into shape if he wanted to get through Christmas dinner, because bailing out on that wasn’t something his mother would let slide unless he was lying in a hospital bed. Considering Elliot was also supposed to be there, that might have been a preferable alternative.

“I’ll let you know in an hour or so, okay?” he said.

“Sure. There’s no reasoning with you before you’ve had your morning coffee anyway.”

Justin made a rude sound.

“Talk to you later, Mr. Grinch,” Trish singsonged and disconnected.

Justin stood up, rubbing his neck and trying to dispel the multitude of aches that came with sleeping slumped in an office chair. Good thing no one had been around to hear his snoring.

Trish was also right about his coffee habit, one he wasn’t ready to kick. He really needed something to clear the fog from his brain and help him focus on the day ahead instead of dwelling on the events of last night, the mere memory of which had him cringing.

He grabbed his wallet, his cell phone, and his jacket and made a beeline to the only place he actually wanted to be.

 

THE BELL CHIMED as Justin pushed open the front door to Vintage Brew, which was decorated with a heart-shaped holly wreath around a trans pride flag decal. As the name suggested, the interior had a quaint, old-world feel, with oversized armchairs and spindly coffee tables. Brass pendant lights hung low above the long live-edge counter. Even the cash register was a real antique, though Elena used the very modern computer touch screen next to the heavy-duty industrial coffee maker.

She waved when she spotted him. Fully into the swing of the holidays, Elena wore a red Santa’s hat and a green silk square scarf tied in an elegant bow around her neck. She must have owned hundreds of them, because every time he saw her, she sported a different color or pattern.

Despite the early hour, the small coffee shop was already packed with people eager to get their caffeine fixes before a final mad dash of Christmas shopping. Justin waited in line patiently until finally greeting Elena.

“You look like death warmed over,” she remarked as she concocted his usual large vanilla latte. Her dark hair was slicked back into a neat bun, emphasizing her chiseled cheekbones. “Rough night?”

“Not in any good way,” Justin muttered, handing her a bill. The state of his wallet was beginning to signal he should curtail his small luxuries spending if he wanted to be able to purchase things like food and gas till the end of the month. That didn’t serve to brighten up his mood.

Elena threw him a commiserating look as she handed him a Styrofoam cup. “Do you want a Danish with that? On the house.”

Justin shook his head. He was grateful for the offer, but he knew all too well that a small business like Elena’s couldn’t afford to be extra generous with their profit margin.

“I’ll take two of those Danish,” a quiet voice said behind him. “And one Americano.”

Justin spun around so fast he almost spilled his latte, coming face-to-face with Elliot.

The yellow ambient lighting softened his features, but there were shadows under his eyes that spoke of a less than restful night. He was wearing the same camel-hair coat from last night over a sweater a slightly darker shade of brown than the one he’d worn yesterday.

Elliot moved to pay for his order, and Justin automatically stepped aside, unable to take his eyes off him. A million questions raced through his mind, but he held them off until Elena handed Elliot his food and coffee. She raised her eyebrow in silent inquiry and tilted her head in Elliot’s direction when he’d turned away. Justin shrugged helplessly, but then Elliot had his attention.

“Can we sit down for a minute?” he asked, and, once again, Justin was unable to refuse.

A small round table in the corner, beneath a murky gilded mirror, offered enough privacy and was still thankfully unoccupied. Belatedly, Justin realized he hadn’t said a word in greeting, and now it was awkwardly late to start trading “good mornings.”

“What are you doing here?” he blurted out instead, taken aback at his own bluntness.

Elliot flinched, but his tone when he answered was carefully neutral.

“I was going to get you coffee, but you beat me to it.”

Justin stared at him.

“How did you know where I buy my coffee?”

“You mentioned this coffee shop yesterday when you were talking to Dave,” Elliot said.

“I did?” Justin honestly didn’t remember, but he had to admit he’d spent a good portion of the evening flustered about his mother’s impromptu invitation.

Elliot nodded. “I see why you like it. It’s a charming place.”

“You wouldn’t know why I like anything anymore,” Justin said sharply.

There was a small pause. Elliot looked pained, but he gave a small nod in concession. “I guess that’s true.”

For a few minutes, they drank their coffees in silence.

“Did you…patch things up with your boyfriend last night?” Elliot asked carefully.

Justin’s heart lurched at the reminder, and he shook his head.

“No. All said and done, he cheated on me. It’s not something I can forgive and forget.”

At least, not until Elliot had come barging into his life again (or reappeared in it unobtrusively, as it were), but he wasn’t about to say so out loud.

“It was wrong of me to storm off the way I did,” Elliot said, lowering his cup. “I should have hung around long enough to make sure you were safe. I’m sorry.”

The chagrin in Elliot’s expression dulled Justin’s bristle.

“Mark wouldn’t have hurt me,” he said. “He might be flighty, but he’s not a violent person. I wasn’t in any danger.”

“Still,” Elliot said. “I couldn’t have known that, and it wasn’t thoughtful of me. Can I apologize with a pastry?”

He pushed one of the two Danish he’d bought across the tabletop. After a moment’s hesitation, Justin picked it up.

“Sure. Thank you.” He sighed. “This wasn’t how things were supposed to go last night.”

“Was that the reason you asked me over?” Elliot asked softly. “Because you were mad at your ex?”

“No,” Justin said.

He picked at his Danish, avoiding looking at Elliot. He could really do without explanations or deep analysis of his actions. The point was moot anyway.

Elliot regarded him silently for a moment, leaning his elbow on the table, holding his cup. A TAG Heuer watch peeked from beneath the edge of his sweater sleeve, as slick and tasteful as the rest of him, and Justin was suddenly and acutely aware of how shabby everything in this town appeared in comparison—himself included.

Last night, Elliot was lost and grief-stricken, but the light of the morning once again transformed him into the cool, collected professional Justin had met yesterday afternoon, his vulnerabilities effectively hidden behind the armor of expensive clothes and quiet aloofness. To believe, even for a second, that a man like that, polished, successful, and accomplished, would want anything to do with someone like Justin, who hadn’t even shaved and changed that morning, was ludicrous. The fact that Elliot had been tempted to take a roll in Justin’s crumpled sheets last night could be explained by nothing other than dampened spirits and sorrow, of which Justin had taken advantage.

His stomach roiled unpleasantly at the thought.

“I’m glad to see your father is doing so well,” Elliot said, startling Justin out of his grim musings. “How long has he been in remission?”

“Almost two years now. It’s hard to know with these things, but we’re hopeful. He’s lucky to have been diagnosed at an early stage.”

“That’s good. Have you ever thought about moving—”

“No,” Justin said. It came out harsher than he meant it to.

Elliot said nothing.

“I’m managing the store now.” Justin rubbed his forehead, messing up his tousled hair even more. “I can’t just walk away from my responsibilities.”

He did more than manage the store. He was also the only salesperson, cleaner, and back-office administrator since he couldn’t afford to pay anyone else to do those jobs. Not that he was so stellar at them, either.

“You open up at nine thirty, right?” Elliot asked, glancing at his watch as he set down his empty cup. “There’s still plenty of time left. Would you like to take a walk with me? I could use some fresh air before I go back to packing.”

Justin hesitated. He’d already proved his judgment was given to lapsing hopelessly when it came to being around Elliot. But there was no harm in taking a turn around the block in broad daylight, was there? Whatever craziness had come over them both yesterday was gone, dispelled by the winter sun and common sense.

“Okay,” he said.

He finished his coffee and they headed outside. The cold air hit Justin’s face, and he wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. Elliot moved closer but stopped short of touching him.

Justin pretended not to notice and tugged the collar up tighter around his neck. Elliot pulled on leather gloves and fell into stride beside him.

The silence between them was much more companionable than it had been earlier. Justin could almost imagine they were teenagers again, taking the long way round to school while animatedly discussing the latest movies, TV series, or comic books, with the occasional bit of gossip thrown in.

They walked down the street to the little park tucked away at the intersection of Main Street and Jackson Avenue. Snow lay piled on the ground, on the benches along the pathways, and beneath the bare trees, their dark branches silhouetted against the bleak sky. The green-gray surface of the little pond, not yet frozen over, rippled gently with the wind.

Unexpectedly moved by the serene, almost sedate beauty of it, Justin stopped to admire the subtle play of moving shadows and flickering light on the water. Unlike Elliot, who’d always gravitated to bright, saturated colors, Justin appreciated a more muted, even monochromatic, palette.

“Reminds me of Bruegel’s scenery,” Elliot said before Justin could form the same thought, both of them gazing over the pond and the trees beyond.

“Give or take a dozen people.”

“Not much chance of seeing this much snow in California.” Elliot ran his gloved fingers on the wrought-iron rail that circled the pond, gently sweeping the snow gathered there to the ground.

“You never did like the winter.”

“I’m beginning to see the appeal,” Elliot said.

Justin felt Elliot’s gaze on him. Like yesterday, the intensity of his regard sent a jolt of electricity down Justin’s spine, making his heart beat faster. He staunchly ignored it, though he knew his cheeks must be heating up.

“What gallery do you work at?” he asked, mainly to change the subject.

“Joyce Weber, at the Downtown Art District,” Elliot said. “It’s a relatively new one, but we have quite a number of interesting exhibits featuring diverse local artists.”

His face became more and more animated as he spoke, and Justin found he enjoyed listening to him go into more detail about curating exhibits and managing various public programs. It was clear Elliot both loved his work and was good at it—if the popularity the gallery was experiencing was anything to go by.

Justin had never been interested in the business side of the art world. He didn’t have the knack for it. He’d always been drawn to the stories behind the great masterpieces, the minutia of the artists’ lives, the secrets that could only be glimpsed on old canvases. When he was a kid, he’d devour biographies and speculative fiction based on the mysteries surrounding historical paintings. It was a big part of what inspired him to pursue his own art—mostly charcoal drawings, sometimes oils and acrylics.

It was something he’d missed in the recent years, that immersion in a world of shapes and hues. Sometimes, his fingers itched for a pencil to capture a perfect moment when the shadows fell in all the right angles to create an image of stark beauty. Just like now, with the weeping willow’s branches barely brushing the murky water, straining to touch its reflection like a deciduous version of Narcissus. But even when he’d given in to the urge, he never actually finished the project. He was always too tired, or simply too disaffected to do more than a quick sketch and tuck it into a folder, never to be completed. The spark simply wasn’t there anymore.

And in any case, what was the point? He was never going to study to become a real artist. He might as well focus on his duties rather than wasting time.

“That sounds great,” Justin said after Elliot finished telling him about the new mixed-media exhibition he was setting up at the start of the new year. He meant it, too; he was glad at least one of them was doing well.

But there was one thing he couldn’t quite shake off, even after Elliot’s enthusiastic accounts of his professional accomplishments.

They started down the narrow path that wound its way around the small park back to the main entrance. It was nearly time to open the store, and, despite Trish’s mocking, Justin was still hoping for an influx of last-minute shoppers before closing early.

“What you said last night,” Justin began when they’d reached the intersection. “About not being happy where you are.”

He didn’t pose it as a question, but Elliot took it as such anyway. His mouth curved in a little grimace as he stared at the gravel path.

“Do you know that feeling, when you have everything you’ve ever wanted, but there’s something missing at its core?”

Justin nearly scoffed. It certainly wasn’t a situation he could relate to. Aside from his father’s recovery, he hadn’t gotten anything he’d wanted. But there was genuine pain in Elliot’s voice, and he couldn’t place his bitterness above his friend’s misery.

“What is it that you’re missing?” he asked with a weird sense of trepidation as if something important hinged on Elliot’s answer.

There was another long pause.

“I don’t know,” Elliot said, but the words didn’t ring true.

He didn’t say anything else, and Justin didn’t press him, stomping down on his own disappointment.

“You’re coming to Christmas dinner tonight?” he asked instead.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yeah. I do.”

They stopped on the edge on the curb. From here, Justin had the perfect view of Main Street, the morning traffic picking up among the neat rows of Victorian-style brick facades.

“Then I’ll be there.” Elliot briefly touched his hand, and Justin’s skin pinpricked despite the leather gloves. “See you tonight.”

Without waiting for a response, Elliot turned and walked away briskly, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders against the wind. Justin stood there for a few long moments, watching him until he disappeared from view around a corner.