Chapter Four

Stuart cruised into the currently empty loading zone near Malcolm’s building in Koreatown, turned the bike off, flipped up his visor, then fired off a quick text.

 

Here. Parked by optical place.

 

On my way down.

 

Stuart slid the helmet off and raked a hand through his hair so it wasn’t sticking up wildly. A businessman in a suit walking by paused for a fraction of a second and swept his gaze over Stuart. Stuart didn’t smile, but he did wink and enjoyed the hitch in the man’s step as he hurried by.

Stuart dismounted the bike and retrieved a helmet from where it had been stowed in the pannier, then returned his focus to Malcolm’s building. He hadn’t paid much attention the other night when he’d dropped off Malcolm. It was nice. Not luxury, but nicer than Stuart’s. Built of brick, it rose maybe ten or twelve stories and was mixed use with the optical place and what looked like a clothing shop on the ground floor.

A few minutes later, a smiling Malcolm stepped out. That smile wavered when his gaze dropped to the helmets in Stuart’s hands.

“We’re taking the bike again?” he asked, his voice rising a little.

This time, Stuart smiled. “Yes. I don’t own a car and you said you don’t, either. How did you think we were going to get there?”

“I thought we were going to hike in the Ramble in Central Park.”

Although it had lessened over the years, the Ramble had a reputation for gay men cruising and using it for a hookup spot. He had a feeling that wasn’t what Malcolm was angling for. “That’s not a hike. It’s a stroll in the park. We’re going into the woods.”

“I know there are hiking trails where I grew up on Staten Island, but I’ve never gone. I guess I’ve never really hiked. Not…like that.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Malcolm glanced down. “I see why you suggested long pants and sturdy shoes.”

“Good for the ride and the hike.” Malcolm’s clothes were more appropriate for the gym, but they’d do. “Be careful not to burn yourself on the exhaust. The polyester in those pants will melt and make the burn infinitely worse.”

“Right.” Malcolm cleared his throat. “So where are we going?”

“Surprise Lake, New Jersey. It’s about an hour ride if we don’t get stuck in traffic.” Forty-five or fifty if Stuart was riding alone but he didn’t want to scare the shit out of Malcolm; he already seemed nervous enough. Presumably about the bike, though Stuart wasn’t sure.

For the life of him, he still couldn’t get a read on Malcolm.

During the meeting at Under, Stuart had sworn an undercurrent of energy had passed between them. Malcolm had climbed on the back of his bike afterward, apprehension clear on his face, and wrapped himself around Stuart like a starfish. He’d kept his hips as far from Stuart’s ass as possible. His tight grip on Stuart’s ribs could certainly have been chalked up to fear of falling off the bike, but the way Malcolm had responded to Stuart during the ride had made him question if there was more to it. The noise of the engine and the helmet had made it impossible to talk. At every stoplight, he’d reached up to pat Malcolm’s hand and reassure him. Each time, Malcolm had softened a little, relaxed. Maybe it was sheer trust as he’d realized that Stuart was a skilled, controlled rider, but Stuart had hoped maybe it was something more.

He’d thought Malcolm would ask him up to his apartment and he’d be able to suss out Malcolm’s interest more. Instead, Malcolm had merely handed him his helmet, thanked him, and disappeared through the door without a backward glance.

So, Stuart had tried again. He’d asked Malcolm if he wanted to go for a hike and Malcolm had said yes. Malcolm had even taken a day off work. He assured Stuart he was doing Malcolm a favor because he had more vacation time accrued than he ever took, and his manager was always on him to use it up. But then nothing in the texts they’d exchanged since indicated this might be a date or whether Malcolm was straight or just plain not interested.

Stuart wasn’t going to push. He didn’t mind going for a hike with a friend. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so off his game with anyone though. Damned if he wasn’t frustrated but enjoying the challenge, too. Which was probably why he kept coming back for more.

“How’d the fit on the helmet feel last time?” he asked.

Malcolm shrugged. “Okay? I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”

“I want you to try both of them on.” Stuart had brought his new helmet and an old one. He handed Malcolm the new one and Malcolm put it on with the visor up. His eyes looked wide and blue as Stuart reached out to fasten the chinstrap, tightening it until it was snug but not digging into his skin.

“How does that feel? Is it squeezing your temples or painful anywhere?”

Malcolm seemed to consider that. “No.”

“I’m going to jerk it around on your head to see if it comes off.” He grabbed the rear of the helmet, pulling up forcefully as he tried to roll it forward and off Malcolm’s head. It stayed on, though Malcolm looked startled. “That’s a good sign. Try the other one.”

The older helmet seemed looser, so Stuart handed the new one back to Malcolm. “You can wear that one.”

“You’re very thorough.” Malcolm’s voice sounded muffled as he pulled the helmet back over his head.

“I don’t fuck around with safety on my bike or in the kitchen.”

Stuart settled the older helmet on his own head, mounted the bike, then glanced over at Malcolm. “Ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Malcolm continued to stand a few feet away, however.

“You remember the hand signals I taught you the other night?”

“One quick tap means stop when you can, several quick taps means stop immediately. If you touch my thigh, you’re checking in with me, and it’s a thumbs-up for I’m good, a thumb down for I’m not, and thumb sideways for neutral.”

“Excellent.” Stuart raked his gaze over Malcolm, who wore a heavy canvas jacket. “You think you’ll be warm enough in that? I could swap you my leather, if you want.” The wind on the highway would be numbingly cold if he wore canvas since he’d be taking the brunt of the wind even with the windscreen, but he didn’t want Malcolm to freeze either.

“I’ll be okay.”

Malcolm sounded confident enough that Stuart didn’t argue. Stuart’s torso should block the worst of it. If they rode together on any kind of regular basis in the future, Stuart would make sure he brought an old leather for Malcolm.

“Then get on the bike. New Jersey awaits.”

Malcolm let out a quiet snort. He approached the bike and swung a leg over, then settled behind Stuart. He wrapped his arms around Stuart’s chest. Stuart had told him last time that he could hold on to his hips, but Malcolm said it didn’t feel safe. And Stuart wasn’t complaining that Malcolm seemed to prefer having his arms around him.

He checked in several times throughout the ride to make sure Malcolm was okay and got a thumbs-up every time. Malcolm seemed a lot more comfortable riding pillion than last time, so Stuart pushed the speed limit, and it wasn’t long before they reached the parking lot near the trailhead.

“You warm enough?” Stuart asked.

Malcolm nodded. “I’m fine.”

Stuart stripped off his leather jacket and stowed it in the pannier before locking his bike. He’d been to Surprise Lake before. On a sunny April day with temperatures reaching the high sixties or low seventies, the hike would be pleasant. After a quick check to be sure everything was safely secured, they struck out on the trail. It wound through a rocky, wooded area and the path wasn’t wide enough for them to walk side by side in most places. Stuart took the lead and Malcolm didn’t protest.

The trees were beginning to leaf out, and the air was noisy with birds. In the summer, it was a heavily trafficked trail, but at this time of year—and on a Tuesday at that—it was quiet. Not many cars had been parked at the trailhead, so Stuart didn’t expect to see many other hikers.

“You didn’t grow up in New York, did you?” Malcolm asked when they’d walked a few minutes.

Stuart shot him a glance over his shoulder. “No. How’d you guess?”

“I don’t know any native New Yorkers who’d willingly drive to New Jersey to hike.”

Stuart laughed. Not many people made him laugh, but Malcolm had managed it a few times now. He liked that. “There was a lot of wilderness near where I grew up. I love the city, but I like to get out in the fresh air when I can.”

“It is nice here,” Malcolm said, and Stuart was inordinately pleased with the compliment.

The first three-quarters of the hike took them up a steep elevation that became a more gradual ascent before they reached a ridge overlooking the lake. Surprise Lake was small but pristine looking with blue, sparkling water and ringed by wooded areas and a rocky shore.

They stopped at an overlook to catch their breath and take in the view. Stuart knew from talking to Malcolm that he was active and studied yoga and assumed he’d be able to handle the moderately challenging trail.

Right now, Malcolm’s face was pink from exertion, and while his breaths had quickened, they weren’t too heavy, so Stuart thought he’d judged it well. “You doing okay?”

“I’m good.” Malcolm smiled. “That was invigorating.”

“Yeah, it gets the blood pumping.” Stuart shrugged off his flannel shirt then knotted it around his waist. When he looked up, Malcolm was staring at the tattoos revealed by Stuart’s short-sleeved T-shirt.

“You have any ink?” He would have been shocked if Malcolm answered yes, but sometimes people surprised him.

Malcolm shook his head, still looking intently at Stuart’s arms. Stuart held one out, turning his palm up so Malcolm could see some of his favorite designs.

“You can look more closely if you’re curious.”

“I wasn’t sure if that would be rude or not.”

“Some people find it rude. I don’t.”

Malcolm stepped closer. He reached out, trailing his fingertips through the air over Stuart’s skin as he traced across a skull wearing a toque with a crossed chef’s knife and honing steel overlaying it. He didn’t touch Stuart’s skin, but the motion made Stuart’s arms pebble with goosebumps anyway.

“Like skull and crossbones, right?” Malcolm glanced at him with a curious expression. “For chefs.”

“Yes.” Stuart held out his other forearm to show off the butcher’s diagrams of cuts of meat for cow, pig, chicken and fish.

“I take it you’ll never become a vegetarian.”

Stuart smiled. “Unlikely. We’re heavy on meat at King’s and I have no argument there. I enjoy charcuterie too much to give it up, but you never know.”

“Charcuterie are prepared meats, right? Like salami and prosciutto.”

“Yes. Exactly. Bacon, ham, sausage, pâtés, confit…” Stuart continued. “Although, I do think if a chef can’t make a vegetable taste every bit as good as the cut of meat it’s next to, he’s failing at his job.”

“You’re really passionate about it. You must be, anyway, to cover your body like this.”

“I am.” Stuart paused. “The tattoos go farther than my arms. I could take off my shirt if you’d like to see the ones on my chest and back.” Somehow, he felt disrobing without asking first would be rude to do in front of Malcolm. He wouldn’t have thought twice with anyone else.

Malcolm hesitated for a second before nodding, and slowly, like he might spook Malcolm if he moved too fast, Stuart removed the black T-shirt. Malcolm’s eyes went wide.

Stuart spun in a slow circle, deliberately giving Malcolm time to take it all in. Stuart’s chest and abs were tattooed, as was most of his back. They were intricate pieces, many food-related, with a few designs woven throughout relating to his love of New York, bikes and other interests. The main piece was a detailed cluster of ingredients that stretched from his left hip, up his back, across his right shoulder and down his right arm. Spiky artichokes mingled with a wedge of melting brie cheese while delicate herbs wove around them before segueing into bumpy kale, vine-ripened tomatoes and split pea pods with curling leaves. Honey spilled onto a halved peach before flowing onto a hunk of crusty baguette. There was far more than that—more than Malcolm would be able to study now—and it had taken numerous sittings to get it all inked onto Stuart’s skin.

Stuart stopped when he was facing Malcolm again. Malcolm appeared fascinated, drinking in everything with his gaze as he stepped closer. He hovered his fingers across the words by Thomas Keller tattooed over Stuart’s heart, stretching across his chest from shoulder to shoulder. Stuart didn’t have to look down at them to know what they said.

 

When you acknowledge, as you must, that there is no such thing as perfect food, only the idea of it, then the real purpose of striving toward perfection becomes clear: to make people happy, that is what cooking is all about.

 

“Is that why you do it?” Malcolm looked him in the eye.

“It’s a big part of it, yeah.” Stuart’s voice came out a little husky.

“What else?”

“It’s who I am.”

Their gazes met and held for a long moment before Malcolm shivered, as if he were the one without a shirt.

There was something very unusual about the way he looked at Stuart.

It wasn’t childlike—Malcolm was a grown man—but innocent maybe. Like he was assessing him at a distance. It was…different. Not unpleasant, just different.

Stuart wondered if perhaps Malcolm was closeted. It seemed strange—from what Stuart understood of the crowd at Under, most of Malcolm’s close friends were gay or bisexual, so why would Malcolm not be comfortable coming out? Unless maybe his parents were conservative. Stuart certainly understood that. If Malcolm was closeted and trying to avoid his family’s suspicion, why would he work for a company like Corporate Equality? There was such a thing as hiding in plain sight, but that seemed risky and Malcolm didn’t strike Stuart as the risky type.

Which left the conclusion that maybe Malcolm hadn’t figured it out himself. Which was equally baffling. How could Malcolm not have figured it out? He spent all day working on LGTBQ+ rights issues and hanging out with gay and bi friends. How could he not have put the pieces together?

It was intriguing to say the least.

Stuart slipped on his shirt again. The sun felt good on his skin, but he didn’t like to expose the tattoos to the sunlight unless he’d slathered them with sunscreen. He wanted to keep the vibrant colors bright for as long as he could. “Shall we get going again?”

“Sure.”

They walked along the ridge for a while before the trail began to descend again. There was a rocky face where Stuart had to get down low and scramble over it. When he’d made it down, he turned back to see how Malcolm was doing. He’d made it about halfway down and had paused, as if assessing his best route down.

“You see that dip in the rock to your right?” Stuart called out to him. “That’ll give you solid footing. Don’t be afraid to get on your butt and scoot down. There’s no shame in that.”

Malcolm did as Stuart had instructed, though he didn’t quite need to scoot to make it. “Sorry,” Stuart said when Malcolm was standing beside him. “I should have warned you what this was going to be like.”

“No worries.” Malcolm brushed his hair away from his forehead. “I like the challenge.”

Stuart glanced down at Malcolm’s footwear. “If we do this again, you might want to think about investing in a good pair of hiking boots.”

“Maybe.” Malcolm sounded a bit skeptical.

Stuart wasn’t sure if the hesitation was because Malcolm wasn’t enjoying hiking, didn’t want to go out with Stuart again, or something else entirely.

Now Malcolm looked at Stuart’s feet. “Yours aren’t hiking boots, are they?”

“They’re tactical combat boots from a military surplus store,” Stuart admitted. “Practical and they look good on the bike, too.” He flashed a grin at Malcolm, who gave him an enigmatic half-smile in return.

A man Stuart had once dated had teased him about caring so deeply about his appearance. That guy hadn’t understood how much it signaled to the world who a person is or who they wanted to become. Then again, the man he’d dated wasn’t a straight, married Mormon carpenter turned gay atheist biker-slash-chef, either. People from Stuart’s past wouldn’t recognize him now. Which was really the point.

“You ready to keep going?” Malcolm asked.

Stuart nodded and turned away. Malcolm fell into step behind him, and for a while, they hiked in silence, with only the sounds of nature accompanying them. Ten minutes down the trail, they passed an older couple who greeted them before resuming their conversation about birdwatching.

Stuart nodded at a signpost as they walked by it. “This segment we’re on overlaps with the Appalachian Trail. In a bit, we’ll curve around to go to the Greenwood Lake overlook. If you keep going straight, you’re heading south on the Trail.”

As they continued along, a rocky stream cut across the path with a boardwalk over it. Some boards were rotted, and the water was running fast from the recent rains. Stuart stopped on the other side of the boardwalk and held out a hand to Malcolm who hesitated—just long enough for Stuart to notice—before he took it.

Stuart frowned as they started to walk again. Malcolm seemed to be avoiding touching Stuart if he could help it. Like when he’d examined Stuart’s tattoos. His fingers had been a mere fraction of an inch away from Stuart’s skin but never made contact. Another thought popped into Stuart’s head. What if Malcolm wasn’t so much trying to figure out his sexuality but had an aversion to being touched? Could someone have hurt him?

That didn’t quite fit either. Malcolm didn’t seem afraid of Stuart or nervous to be around him. He’d touched Stuart readily enough on the bike and hadn’t hesitated to come out alone to the woods.

Malcolm was an enigma, that was for damn sure.

They ascended again, and the next time they reached a rocky slope, Stuart paused and looked at Malcolm. “Would you rather go first so I can help spot you? Or do you want me to go so you can watch what I do?”

“You can go first.”

Having hiked the trail before, Stuart had already gotten a feel for how to navigate it and he scrambled up the face quickly. He waited at the top, watching Malcolm’s more measured ascent. Malcolm moved carefully, but he wasn’t tentative.

“Ever gone rock climbing?” Stuart asked.

“At a gym a few times. I enjoyed it.”

“Maybe we should go sometime. It would be good for another da—” Stuart cut himself off. “Day out.”

He’d nearly said date, but he was even less sure that this was one now that they were out on it.

 

* * * *

 

“Thanks.” Malcolm took a few sips of the water bottle Stuart had packed in the saddlebags before he handed it back to Stuart. “For the water and the hike. That was fun.”

Malcolm did appear to have had a good time. He seemed even more relaxed than he had before and there was a quiet contentment on his face.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Stuart guzzled water, then handed it back to Malcolm. “You finish it.” He shrugged his leather jacket back on. “You ready to head out?”

“Sure.”

“I’m pretty hungry. I know a nice place around here where we could stop if you want.”

An uneasy expression crossed Malcolm’s face. “I could eat. My budget is tight right now though.”

“My treat,” Stuart offered. When Malcolm hesitated, Stuart gave him another option. “Or, go to my place and I could throw together a simple meal.”

That seemed to relax Malcolm. “You don’t mind cooking on your day off?”

“Not if I have someone to cook for.”

 

* * * *

 

“Wow, this place is small,” Malcolm said as he stepped into Stuart’s apartment. “Like, really small. It makes Kyle’s old place look huge, and the speakeasy crew always referred to it as the shoebox.”

Stuart chuckled and shut the door behind him. “Speakeasy crew. That’s great. And yes, this place is small, but I value privacy over space.”

Malcolm let out a small sigh. “I have a roommate. My brother, Jackson.”

“Oh? What’s that like?”

He shrugged. “We get along fine. It would be nice to have more privacy, though. Jack’s girlfriend used to be over a lot, but she moved to a new apartment and now they stay there instead. It’s just weird because I’m always wondering when they’ll stop by so it’s hard to fully relax.”

“That doesn’t leave anyone with much privacy.”

“When they are there, I try to clear out periodically so they can have some time alone.”

“Are they respectful when you have dates over?” Stuart asked. He kept his tone casual as he stowed the old bike helmet in the closet by the door. He took the other from Malcolm and placed it in its usual spot on the dresser.

“Dates? Uhh, no, I’ve never brought anyone back to that apartment.” Malcolm shrugged out of his canvas jacket and handed it to Stuart without meeting his gaze.

Damn it, Stuart had hoped that would clear up a bit about Malcolm’s orientation, but no such luck. Once the jacket was out of the way, he unclipped his wallet chain from his jeans. “Come on in. Make yourself at home.”

There wasn’t room for a couch and a bed, so Stuart had gone with a bed, which, thankfully, he’d made that morning. He’d even changed the sheets, in case this had been a date and had gone well. Whatever it was, he was sure he and Malcolm weren’t going to be having sex tonight. He’d had a nice time anyway.

Malcolm took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Toilet’s that way.” Stuart pointed to a door across the room. “I’d offer to let you shower, but, as you can see, the rest of the bathroom’s here in the kitchen.”

Malcolm’s eyes widened. “I’m good.”

“Just as well.” Stuart rapped his knuckles on the wooden butcher block countertop he’d built and installed over the tub. “This functions as counter space.”

Malcolm stood and examined it. “Clever.”

“Thanks. I was pleased with the way it turned out. Rather brilliant, if I do say so myself.”

“You made it?” Now Malcolm sounded impressed.

“I did. I’m handy with wood and tools.” Shit. He hadn’t meant for that to sound like innuendo. “I mean, I grew up doing woodworking. My dad’s a carpenter and he owns his own business. I started in his workshop when I was small and even worked for him when I was old enough.”

“But you decided to become a chef?”

Stuart hesitated. That was a whole lot of history he didn’t want to delve into right now. “I’ve always loved cooking. I decided to strike out on my own and make it a career.”

Malcolm nodded but didn’t ask any further questions. Stuart liked that about him. He also liked that he felt comfortable bringing Malcolm here. He didn’t bring a lot of people over, in part because of his fear of people snooping. Stuart trusted Malcolm, however. If he went in the bathroom and shut the door, Malcolm wouldn’t poke around his dresser or pry into Stuart’s personal belongings.

Which was a good thing because if Malcolm was closeted or otherwise unsure about his sexuality, he really wasn’t going to be able to handle what Stuart had stashed in the bottom drawer of the dresser.

Stuart rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands, then opened the refrigerator door. “Okay, I don’t have a lot of food right now, but I always have eggs on hand. How does a cheese omelet sound?”

“Perfect.”

Stuart turned his attention to the ingredients in front of him. In the words of Thomas Keller—the ones he had etched into his skin—there was no such thing as perfect food. But hopefully his cooking would make Malcolm happy.