Ben's Bakery and the Hanukkah Miracle

by Penelope Peters

  “You know that’s not how it works.”

  Ben huffed a laugh and opened his eyes. “I know that.”

  Silence from the outer shop. Ben inhaled deeply, until he could feel the burn in his lungs. It felt good to let it out in a long sigh.

  “Just come to dinner tonight. We’re still your friends.”

  Ben threw the towel over his shoulder and came back out into the shop. “As it happens, I’m busy tonight.”

  Sheldon’s eyes gave him careful scrutiny, before going wide. Ben wondered what it was he saw. “Oh, really?”

  “Really,” confirmed Ben.

  Sheldon gave him a cursory up-and-down. “O-ho! Does this have anything to do with that strapping young hockey coach from the other day?”

  Ben could feel the blush rising in his cheeks. Argh! “Maybe.”

  “Am I out a thousand dollars?” demanded Sheldon.

  Ben rolled his eyes. “Probably not. They were running late to their tourney today, so I told him he could pay up this evening.”

  Sheldon frowned. “As your accountant, I have to express disapproval. You give away too much of your profits as it is. But as your friend, boo-yah, Ben. Good strategy for increased chances of romantic interaction.”

  Ben chuckled. “He’s been coming in every morning, anyway, Sheldon. I don’t think he’s exactly going to skip town without payment.”

  “You could bring him with you tonight,” suggested Sheldon slyly.

  Ben snorted. “He’s a hockey player. I don’t think he’s going to want to hang with a bunch of speed skaters.”

  “What, like we couldn’t teach him a thing or two?” Sheldon bounced on his toes. “Well, you go and get you some, Benny-my-boy. And if it doesn’t pan out – Vinnie Testa’s, seven-thirty. I know you love their eggplant parm.”

  I wonder if Adam’s going to be hungry, thought Ben, mind already jumping to a candlelit meal, just the two of them. Adam reaching across the table to hold his hand...

  “Or stay in,” said Sheldon, giving Ben a soft look. “I see your face going all gooey. We don’t want any of that during dinner.”

  “You love it,” said Ben, flushing again. Stupid blond coloring, he thought grumpily.

  “I would. The gang wouldn’t.” Sheldon tapped against the counter. “I’ll give you a bye for tonight—”

  “Oh, thank you,” said Ben dryly.

  “—but it’s the only one you get. Seriously, Ben”—Sheldon leaned in close—“it’s not good, living every moment in this building. When was the last time you actually left?”

  “You say that like I’m an agoraphobic,” said Ben. “Just because I live above my job doesn’t mean I’m afraid to go out.”

  “You’re not answering the question.”

  “It’s a stupid question. I went out this morning to deliver bread to Nona’s Diner. I went out yesterday afternoon for eggplant and strawberry jam. I went out the day before that—”

  “I meant, when was the last time you went out for a reason that didn’t have anything to do with this shop?” demanded Sheldon. Ben pursed his lips together. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Man doesn’t live by bread alone. Or pastries.”

  “Don’t you have an actual job to go to?” asked Ben.

  “You are my job,” said Sheldon.

  “I’m not paying you.”

  “Pro bono, my friend. But no less important in my heart.” Sheldon rested his hand on his chest. “Do you have any sesame buns left?”

  Ben sighed and leaned down to pull the last two buns out of the display case. “I’m only important as long as I have sesame buns.”

  “Not true. I also love your champagne strawberry scones.”

  Ben handed over the bag of goodies. “Be gone.”

  “No chance you’ll swing by tonight?”

  Ben paused. “No. But... tell them hello?”

  Sheldon feigned shock. “Progress! I’ll take it. Have fun with Hockey Boy. And remember, always use protection.”

  “Oh my Lord,” groaned Ben, dropping his head to the counter.

  The afternoon at least passed faster than the morning. It seemed like every time Ben looked at the clock, another half hour or forty-five minutes had sped by.

  Every time it did, he felt the familiar lurch in his chest as his anticipation racked up another notch. He didn’t think his customers noticed the way it took him a few extra seconds to count out their change, or how his cheeks felt permanently flushed, or how he startled every time a dark-haired man walked into the shop.

  He’s early, Ben thought, every time, and of course every time, he was wrong. Instead of being disappointed, however – he only became more and more excited and eager.

  Because at some point – it would be Adam, early or not. Ben couldn’t wait. Except waiting was the only thing he could do.

  Does Adam feel the same? Is he watching the kids play hockey and wishing the countdown clock was going faster?

  The last fifteen minutes before closing tended to be either incredibly busy, with people trying to get their last-minute purchases in for the following morning, or it was dead as a doornail. Ben spent the afternoon uncertain which would be preferable. Busy would provide distraction from the ticking of the clock. Quiet would give him the chance to do any last-minute cleaning so that he could devote more attention to Adam.

  In the end, it was a little bit of both: only chronically indecisive Mrs. Horowitz, who didn’t mind that Ben bustled around her, sweeping the floor and straightening the chairs while she debated over chocolate chip cookies or strawberry babka. Mrs. Horowitz kept up a running commentary on the weather, her children, the dietary benefits of dark chocolate, the Red Sox, the number of ducks on the Charles, the horrible nature of college students, the relief of the Big Dig finally being done, the horrors of trying to ride the T in the 1980s....

  Ben spotted Adam across the street just as Mrs. Horowitz decided on strawberry babka. Adam’s head was down, and he was hurrying at a brisk clip.

  Passionate, thought Ben, with a spiky curl of pleasure in his stomach.

  “Ben?” asked Mrs. Horowitz. “Or do you think the chocolate?”

  “Strawberry, definitely strawberry,” said Ben quickly, dropping the broom against the wall and hurrying behind the counter. “I can wrap it up for you in a jiffy.”

  “I do hate keeping you past closing,” sighed Mrs. Horowitz.

  “Not to worry, you’ve got a minute left,” said Ben, one eye on Adam as he crossed the street, one eye on the strawberry babka as he slid it into a box.

  “You’ll have fruitcake next week, won’t you, dear? Not that the sufganiyot haven’t been fun, but you know how Hiram likes your fruitcake.”

  “Been soaking for weeks, Mrs. Horowitz,” Ben promised her, just as the bell above the door jingled.

  Adam’s cheeks were flushed, but the hair under his hat was damp with sweat, sticking to the nape of his neck. He glanced quickly around the shop, before locking eyes on Ben – but once that was done, he didn’t seem able to move a muscle, standing in the open door as the cold wind rushed into the shop.

  “My goodness, close the door!” exclaimed Mrs. Horowitz. “Though I think you’re a bit late, Ben’s about to close, aren’t you? It’s quite rude to show up just at closing and expect to be served. You should really plan your shopping better.”

  “It’s okay, Mrs. H,” said Ben, unable to take his eyes off Adam. “He’s here about an earlier order. Won’t take a moment.”

  “Well, if you’re sure, dear,” said Mrs. Horowitz, still giving Adam an evil eye. “I don’t want you to be taken advantage of.”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” said Adam solemnly.

  Ben’s stomach fluttered again. I rather hope you do, he thought as he finished wrapping up the babka and rang up Mrs. Horowitz. Especially as I don’t think you’ve taken your eyes off me from the moment you stepped in. Maybe you really have been watching the clock all day, same as I have.

  Maybe you’ve been thinking about what
“later” means, same as I have.

  Ben’s head was in a fog as he handed Mrs. Horowitz her change and followed her to the door, keys in hand. “Enjoy the babka, Mrs. H.”

  “I’m already looking forward to it. Take care, now.” Mrs. Horowitz flashed a final grimace at Adam, before stepping outside.

  Ben closed the door and locked it. His heart pounded in his chest, his stomach twisted and curled in on itself, and he could hear the rush of blood in his ears.

  “Um,” he said, hoping the slight stammer wasn’t immediately obvious. “I wondered – um – if you’re hungry?”

  “No,” said Adam, his voice low.

  “Good. That’s – um – good. I – um...”

  Ben turned around and went still.

  Adam stood directly behind him, close enough that all he’d have to do was lean forward an inch, and they’d be touching.

  “I—” began Adam. He stopped, swallowed, his throat bobbing.

  Adam’s apple, thought Ben, and a tiny bit of hysterical laughter bubbled up into his mouth, turning into a smile on his lips.

  Adam leaned down and kissed him, pressing Ben’s back into the glass door.

  If Adam had tasted like cinnamon-maple that morning, he didn’t taste like it now. Rather, Ben could taste cherry chapstick and cold air, a faint hint of coffee and the tiniest tang of onion. It ought to have tasted terrible. It didn’t. Ben chased the kiss, wanting more of it, trying to dig under all the flavors to find the one that was Adam’s alone.

  Adam’s beard against Ben’s face was almost as impossible to quantify. It was both soft and coarse, tiny hairs catching on Ben’s skin as Adam bent his head one way, but then soothing the irritation as he moved back to the other, mouth working against Ben’s lips.

  “Ben,” groaned Adam into Ben’s mouth. Ben’s heart leapt in his chest, just as the shop was briefly illuminated by the headlights of a passing car.

  He pressed his hands against Adam’s chest, pushing him away. Adam’s mouth left Ben’s with a pop.

  “Wait,” gasped Ben. “Not here.”

  Adam’s eyes were dark; Ben grabbed his hand and pulled him to the back of the shop, hitting the light switches to plunge the shop into darkness just before they passed into the kitchen, where everything was pristine, nearly ready for the next day’s work.

  Ben had every intention of pulling Adam straight through – but Adam appeared to have other plans. The moment they were in the kitchen proper, he stopped, yanking on Ben’s hand to pull him flush with his body.

  Adam kissed him again, this time cradling Ben’s face in his hands, holding him close as he ravaged his mouth. Ben clung to Adam’s arms, feeling the muscles under his coat.

  He didn’t even take off his coat, thought Ben hazily. It was a heady thought – that Adam couldn’t even wait that long.

  “Okay,” he breathed into the kiss. Half of what he said was swallowed up by Adam’s mouth. “Here’s good. Here’s great.”

  “Good,” said Adam, leaving a line of kisses down Ben’s jaw. Ben giggled at the way Adam’s beard tickled. He let out a gasp when Adam pulled just far enough away that Ben could still feel his breath on his skin. “Is this all right?”

  “Yes.” Ben reached up on his toes, desperate for Adam’s lips on his skin again.

  “Just... I’ve been thinking about this all day.” Adam’s voice was a growl. Ben’s gut reveled in it.

  “Me too. Every time a dark-haired guy walked in—”

  “You thought it was me?” Adam nipped at Ben’s jaw. Ben let his head fall back, his stomach fluttering. He giggled again, and Adam pulled back again. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “No,” gasped Ben. “Your beard tickles. Never kissed a guy with a beard before.”

  Adam nuzzled him again, so lightly that his beard only barely grazed over Ben’s cheek. “You like it?”

  “So much.” Ben turned his face, finally able to catch the bit of smooth skin on Adam’s throat.

  Adam’s whine came from deep in his throat. “Ben – can I—?”

  His hands were at the button on Ben’s jeans; there wasn’t a need to finish the question. “Please,” gasped Ben. The next thing he knew, his pants were no longer so constricting. The floor was no longer under his feet, either. Adam gripped Ben by the ass and hauled him up, his pants loose on his hips. Ben let out a soft cry of surprise, right before Adam deposited him on the tall metal worktable. Ben had to look down to see Adam, whose face was flush with his chest. Even in the half-lit kitchen, the stark desire on Adam’s face was breathtaking. Ben rested his hands on Adam’s shoulders as the flutter in his stomach intensified.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  “Defiling your kitchen,” replied Adam, settling himself in between Ben’s thighs and pulling Ben closer in. Now Ben’s cock was right up against Adam’s stomach, the flat planes of it still somehow soft enough to cradle Ben’s thickening, hardening length. Ben groaned as Adam surged up for another deep kiss.

  “There are,” Ben gasped, “about a thousand fantasies for this kitchen.”

  “Are there?” Adam’s hand slipped under the waistband of Ben’s boxers. His fingers grazed against him, sending shockwaves of electricity up Ben’s skin, straight to his brain.

  “Oh, fuck,” groaned Ben, wanting to fall.

  Adam chuckled, but didn’t say anything. He wrapped his hand around Ben’s cock, and began to pull – long, slow strokes, the most delicious and perfect massage. Adam’s thumb rubbed against the slit, slick with precum. Ben wanted to cry, kept muttering curses under his breath, trying desperately to remember to breathe.

  Adam’s beard scraped against his shirt; his breath was warm huffs that Ben could feel through the fabric. Ben could barely keep his head, making terrible attempts to kiss Adam, missing consistently and kissing his head, his ear, the corner of his eye instead.

  Ben came in a frantic, furious rush, fingers tightening on Adam’s shoulders. The moment the first splash hit Adam’s hand, Adam reached up and kissed him, sucking every cry into his mouth.

  “Was that one?” whispered Adam as Ben gasped for air.

  Ben let out a wordless laugh, sinking into Adam’s embrace. His heart still pounded in his chest, his limbs were still shaking. He didn’t want to talk yet – he didn’t want to face having to clean the worktable, either.

  He didn’t want to have that conversation, the awkward shuffling and inability to look each other in the eye that surely was coming.

  What he wanted was to get down on his knees and reciprocate – and what he didn’t want was to do it on the honeycomb-patterned kitchen mats, which would probably completely destroy his kneecaps and make walking an impossibility for the rest of the week.

  Ben leaned his weight on Adam’s shoulders and slid easily off the worktable. His jeans still hung loose on his hips; that was all right, he wouldn’t be wearing them much longer anyway. He caught the curious confusion on Adam’s face – the way it made his eyes crinkle at the edges was gorgeous.

  “Come on,” he said, taking Adam by the hand and pulling him straight through the kitchen and into the back alley. The chilly evening air was a shock to his warmed and slightly sweaty skin. The shiver that went down his spine almost felt good, even if the freezing air in his lungs didn’t.

  Should’ve grabbed my coat, thought Ben ruefully, but no way was he turning back now, not when Adam followed him so willingly.

  “Where—?” began Adam.

  It was stupid, probably, to take Adam upstairs. Ben pulled the door to the kitchen shut anyway.

  “It locks automatically,” he explained. Adam followed him up the rickety steps, waiting on the landing patiently as Ben unlocked the door to the tiny apartment above.

  The entryway was warm and snug, dimly lit by one of the lamps that Ben had put on a timer when he’d first moved in. Ben only had enough time to make sure that he hadn’t left any clothes in a heap on the floor, or that the sink wasn’t filled with dishes, when Adam pushed him
up against the wall, kissing him soundly even as he shed his coat to fall to the floor.

  A flash of what they must have looked like downstairs – Ben in ecstasy on the metal worktable, Adam still in his coat pulling him off – was so ridiculous that Ben wanted to burst into laughter.

  It gave him a surge of impassioned adrenaline instead. He pushed back on Adam’s chest, pleased to see how his eyes were glazed over.

  “My turn,” he said saucily, and sank down to his knees on the much more comfortable plush carpet.

  “Oh, fuck,” groaned Adam, stumbling as he hurried to unbuckle his pants and yank them down. He fell backwards, knocking the low shelving that held Ben’s shoes. Several pairs fell to the floor, not that Ben cared a whit. The only thing that mattered was the way Adam’s cock curved a little bit to the right, the way the head was deep purple, the veins rising on the shaft. The skin was taut, and Ben didn’t want to wait a second to see what it tasted like.

  But.

  Ben looked up at Adam through his eyelashes. “I’ve got condoms in a drawer somewhere. Do I need them?”

  Adam’s breath was ragged, which was exactly the compliment Ben liked best. “Only if you want,” said Adam hazily. His laugh was a bit hollow. “You’re not the only one who hasn’t had a date in a while. I’m clean.”

  “Thank GD,” said Ben, right before he licked a wide strip up to the tip of Adam’s cock, swirling his tongue around the bulbous head. Adam cursed as his hand fell on the back of Ben’s head, jerking away just as quickly.

  “Yeah,” gasped Adam. “Sorry, didn’t mean—"

  “Go on,” urged Ben, and licked him again. Adam’s fingers curled in his hair, still refraining from pressure, but somehow managing to tug lightly anyway.

  Ben worked up Adam’s cock, licking and sucking tiny marks up and down, enjoying the way Adam’s voice rose and fell, his breath coming in short gasps as his fingers continued their trembling against the back of his head, sliding down to his neck. Ben could feel his own arousal growing in his still-loose pants.

  Should have gotten naked already, thought Ben. Though that might be a bit much for a first date.