Anthony beamed. “It’s butternut squash, and I load it with the spices that are usually used in pumpkin pies. I hold back on the sugar, though, so it remains a savory course.”
Desmond said, “Awesome. Thank you.”
By the time the server delivered a cannoli to each of us to complete the meal, we were both nearly too stuffed to eat it. I said, “I don’t know if I can wedge in another bite.”
Desmond asked, “Does the trainer endorse meals like this?”
“Um, this counts as one of those occasional splurge days that we write off. It doesn’t count when we’re reconciling the diet books.”
Desmond reached up, pulled his glasses slightly downward on his nose and winked across the table at me. “That’s good to know.”
By the time the meal came to a close, we’d been at Anthony’s restaurant for over two hours, and it felt like twenty minutes. Mindful of Maeve’s suggestion, I said, “I’d really like to see you again, Desmond.”
“That’s a mutual desire. I have a suggestion, and I hope it’s not too quick.”
“Try me.”
“Two nights from now I have a pair of tickets to a performance of the Nutcracker by the city ballet. Would you like to join me? They are some of the best seats in the house.”
I grinned. He struck right at my interest in anything connecting to the holidays. I said, “That would be fantastic. Would you like to have dinner before?”
“Of course, but this time I get to choose. “
I said, “Perfect.”
As we prepared to leave the restaurant, Anthony hugged us both, and I helped Desmond into his coat. I glanced at Anthony, and he quickly caught my hint. “Oh, yeah, right. I think my sous chef has a question in the kitchen.”
As Anthony left us alone, I wrapped Desmond tightly in my arms and stared into his eyes. The first kiss was awkward as always, but if we could handle the hugs, I knew that we could sort out the kisses, too. He tasted better than all of the dinner’s courses put together.
We pulled back from the first kiss and stared into each other’s eyes again. Desmond gripped both sides of my face and shared one more fiercely passionate kiss before we said goodnight.
As we both stepped outside to find our way to our cars, I noticed the snow starting to fall across the beam of the street light. I hoped a white Christmas was on its way.
14
Desmond
The morning after the date was the best morning I’d experienced in months. Usually, I rolled out of bed with about twenty minutes to spare before leaving for work. I dashed in and out of the shower, sucked down a cup of coffee, and stuffed a slice of toast or half a bagel into my mouth on the way out the door.
Fortunately, life was more leisurely when I awoke after spending the previous evening with Vincent. The university semester was over, and I slept in until almost 10:00 a.m. I initially woke up at 9:00 and lay in bed counting my holiday blessings. Surely, I was one of the most fortunate men alive.
Dinner the night before started in a slightly awkward fashion, but by the time it wrapped up, I couldn’t wait for my goodnight kiss with Vincent. I drove home without worrying about whether I’d receive a call the next day. We already had our second date planned. I didn’t have to face the Nutcracker performance alone.
After hauling myself out of bed, I padded out to the kitchen wearing my warm winter pajamas. I started a cup of coffee brewing and pulled an ambitious slate of ingredients out of the refrigerator. I decided to put together a classic breakfast of eggs, bacon, and potatoes with green bell pepper added for seasoning.
As I started to chop the peppers, I thought it was far too quiet in my apartment. Turning on the TV, I found the cable channel playing nonstop Christmas songs. Singing along with classic carols, I nearly danced my way back to my cooking project.
After I rinsed the potatoes in the sink, my cell phone chimed with an incoming text message. It was from Vincent. He said:
“Good morning handsome. Thank you for the best first date ever!”
My body shivered in response all the way to my toes. I typed back:
“I slept in late.”
After hitting send, I decided that I should send something a little more enticing. I typed:
“I woke up with the taste of our kiss still on my lips.”
While I waited for a response, I asked myself out loud, “Why, Desmond, where did you find that romantic animal inside you?”
Vincent sent a tease, too:
“And my fingertips are still vibrating from the sensation of your body wrapped tight in my hug.”
I didn’t prolong the back and forth, and instead merely indicated my happy anticipation of our next date in a little over twenty-four hours. Vincent told me that Maeve was waiting for his instructions, and it was time for him to uphold his evil reputation.
I hummed along to “Let It Snow” as I fried the potatoes in a smear of vegetable oil. While waiting for them to develop a crispy crust, I received another text message. I thought Vincent must have forgotten something, but I was wrong. It was Jerry. He said:
“Second day on board the cruise ship, and here’s my cabin mate.”
He followed the text message with a photo that I presumed to be Alan, the biologist. I nearly dropped the phone. I saw a stunning blonde-haired man staring into the camera. He wore only tight-fitting swim trunks almost as revealing as a speedo. I spread my fingers across the screen enlarging the image for a close-up.
I dashed to the window in my living room. I knew the world must have turned upside down if I was dating a muscle man and Jerry had someone who looked like a surfing God.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw nothing new or unusual in my neighborhood. A light dusting of snow lay on the ground, and my neighbors shivered as they hurried down the sidewalk.
The phone chimed again, and Jerry asked:
“How was your date?”
I typed back:
“Perfect. Please say hi to Alan for me. He’s a catch!”
Hurrying back to the kitchen, I caught the potatoes just in time. Two minutes more and I’d have burned them.
I scooped the potatoes from the pan and put the skillet back on the heat to prepare for the next ingredients. After sipping my coffee, I sang along with the words I knew in “Frosty the Snowman” while I scrambled the eggs.
My phone was working overtime. It rang. It wasn’t a text message. It was an actual phone call. The number was unknown, but it was local, so I decided to answer it.
The voice on the other end asked, “Hello, is this Desmond Hollingsworth?”
“Yes, it is. May I ask who’s calling?”
I tapped my fingers on the kitchen countertop expecting a solicitation for contributions to one of six different nonprofit organizations I supported.
My eyes opened wide when the caller said, “I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Sal Whetstone. He would like to speak with you. Do you have a few minutes available?”
“Umm, well, yes, of course. I think so.”
The thick, rumbling voice was instantly familiar from our encounter in the restroom at the Holiday Extravaganza. Sal said, “I’m sorry to disturb you. I understand that this is an odd time of day to call. Did I interrupt anything significant?”
I didn’t want to admit to crawling out of bed as late as 10:00 a.m., so I said, “The university semester is over. I have the day off, and I was enjoying a relaxing morning. I can talk. You didn’t bring anything important to a halt.”
“Oh, good, good. I know that we met under, well, unusual circumstances at the Holiday Extravaganza.” I chuckled to myself remembering the look of shock on Sal’s face when I emerged from the bathroom stall. “And I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for me to get back to you.”
I said, “Only a few days.”
“Well, yes, of course. I wanted to tell you that I fear that I made a grievous mistake at the event.”
I felt my entire body tense. The word mistake implied to me that he thought he
should have kept the date with Vincent. I prepared myself to inform him that his error in judgment was a permanent one. It was too late. That ship already sailed. I asked, “Mistake?” and waited for Sal to try to claim his auction prize.
“Yes, mistake. I realized that I should never have bid on any of the bachelors in the first place.”
I blinked and wandered into the living room confused about the point of the phone call and the conversation. If he regretted bidding for Vincent, he’d already taken care of that mistake. He was out a large donation to the center, but in the overall scheme, it was a drop in the financial bucket for a man like Sal.
I asked, “What does that have to do with me?”
“I should have asked someone else out on a date, and my nerves got the best of me. I was tongue-tied, and I didn’t handle myself well.”
Is he asking me to be his wingman? I said, “I assume that it’s not too late. All sorts of holiday magic might happen during these next five days.” I contemplated what kind of enchanted events might occur with Vincent in my arms.
“Are you available for a date, Desmond?”
It took a few seconds for the words to register in my brain. I didn’t notice the direction my legs were taking me, and I collided with the back of the sofa and tumbled onto the floor sending my phone sliding across the floor toward the kitchen.
I heard a tinny voice calling, “Desmond! Desmond! What happened?”
Scrambling for the phone, I tugged it to my face while I nursed a pained knee with my other hand. “Are you asking me out?”
“Yes. Did you answer? What did you say? I know this is out of the blue, but I found you infinitely intriguing.”
A dozen simultaneous thoughts flashed through my head from permanent financial security to running my fingers through Sal’s perfect salt and pepper hair. I wanted to ask him why, but I knew that was out of bounds.
I started to answer his question in the affirmative when suddenly a vision of Vincent’s handsome face flashed into my mind. His lips were poised for a kiss. I failed to answer Sal’s question. My lips moved, but no sound emerged.
“Desmond? Are you sure that you’re okay?”
“I, uh, yes, I’m fine. I think I am. This is sudden.” I knew my next words were likely to toss dreams of a beach home in Hawaii on the scrap heap, but I said it anyway. I told myself I was a man of integrity, and I couldn’t get Vincent out of my head. I asked, “Can I think about it?”
Sal’s response wasn’t helpful. He said, “Of course, you may. I know that you’re likely busy with so many projects right now. Everyone is busy at the end of the year. Let me leave you my private number to call, and I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
As I hung up the phone, I sat in stunned silence. I wondered what happened to Sal’s aunt on the west coast. He didn’t mention her at all.
15
Vincent
I followed along at Desmond’s side as we entered the massive facility that served as the home of the city ballet. I wanted to stop and take in all of the spectacle. A spectacular crystal chandelier and rich red carpeting decorated the lobby. Unfortunately, Desmond hurried me along and said, “We need to get to our seats. We’re running a few minutes late after our unfortunate encounter with cowboy Hank.
I chuckled softly. Desmond warned me in advance about Hank, a percussion player in the symphony. He stopped us in the lobby with a wink that was obvious to anyone in a twenty-foot radius. Hank poked at Desmond and said, “Hot colt there at your side, eh?”
Desmond tried to rush past Hank and ignore him. Ever the polite date in public, I stopped and said, “You didn’t introduce us.”
Desmond visibly cringed as he said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought the two of you met at the extravaganza. Pardon me for my mistake. Vincent, this is Hank. He pounds on things to make music.”
Hank offered his hand for a shake, chuckled, and said, “Desmond, keep the rope cinched tight on this one.”
I wrapped an arm around Desmond’s shoulders and said, “He’s the one that will make the other men envious of me.”
I’d found the magical words. After seeing that his poking and prodding had no impact, Hank laughed and snorted and wandered off to harass other acquaintances.
As we shuffled through the dense crowd toward the entrance to the auditorium, Desmond asked, “Was that a true statement? I appreciate that you figured out how to get rid of Hank, but I don’t want it to be a lie.”
I said, “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks about you and me. I know that I’ve got the rarest gem in the city, and it’s the best Christmas gift I could ever imagine. I’ll remember these days between our first date and Christmas morning for the rest of my life. Hopefully, we’ll share stories about them at each other’s side for the next seventy years.”
Desmond tugged on my elbow and pulled me off into a corner underneath a stairway that rose to the cheaper seats on the next level of the auditorium. He pushed up on his tiptoes, and we kissed.
My body quivered with excitement as our tongues touched. I whispered a question. “Can we go to a broom closet and skip the ballet? I’m sure that it’s fantastic, but it can’t hold a candle to you.”
Desmond pushed his glasses back up his nose and said, “You steamed them up. I hope it’s not the last time.” He pulled them off, pulled a small cleaning cloth from his pants pocket, and rubbed in small circles on the lenses before returning them to his face.
After we found our way to our seats, I was restless and looked behind, above and to the side of my seat. I said, “This place is awesome. It’s so incredibly beautiful.”
“You act like you haven’t been here before.”
“I haven’t. It’s all new to me. This is my first time seeing a ballet other than on TV.”
Desmond said, “I know that you told me that, but so many other performances take place here. Are you sure that you’ve never been here?”
“Do they hold rock concerts or raves?”
With a chuckle, Desmond said, “No, I don’t think they do.”
“Then I’ve never been here. It’s a new experience. I’ll have to figure out places to take you that you’ve never seen. We can expand your horizons, too.”
“The baseball stadium.”
I shoved Desmond’s shoulder. “Get out! You’ve gone to a game before, haven’t you? I think I’ve been to at least fifty of them through the years.”
“No, and ouch.” Desmond held a finger to his lips and whispered, “Shh, it’s about to begin.”
I worried that I would get bored at the ballet, but the dancing was fascinating, and the music was gorgeous. That was only window dressing. Having my fingers intertwined with Desmond’s was enough to keep me happy and content for hours. He gripped my hand firmly. I think he understood that I had a nearly irresistible urge to let my hand explore.
After the final curtain came down, I said, “I know it’s cold outside, and you said that you need to get home a little earlier than you first expected, but can we have a few minutes together in my car?”
Desmond grinned at me and said, “It would be rude to turn that offer down, wouldn’t it?”
“I might never forgive you.”
“Well, in that case, I must say yes.”
As we walked with the crowd in the direction of the parking garage, I said, “Hopefully, it won’t be too cold in the car. The garage offers some protection. I’ll wrap you in my overcoat to keep us both warm.”
As I climbed into the driver’s seat and Desmond joined me on the passenger’s side, he said, “Once this overhead light goes out, I don’t think anyone will notice.”
“Not that I care so much.”
I couldn’t wait to taste Desmond’s lips again, and I pulled him close to me over the awkward gear shift in the center of the front seat. Our tongues touched, and I sucked lightly. My mind raced several steps ahead wondering what it would be like to wake up in the morning with Desmond in my arms.
Desmond moaned softl
y and twined his tongue with mine. I slipped my right hand under his shoulder and began to knead at his slim chest. My kisses started to trail down the side of his neck.
To my surprise, Desmond suddenly pulled back and said, “We really should slow this down a bit. I don’t want to push forward too fast. Is that okay with you?”
The abrupt shift in mood surprised me. I asked, “Did I do anything wrong? I don’t want to push into anything that you don’t want to do.”
Desmond shook his head. “No, it’s been a tremendous evening. This second date is almost as good as the first. I…I just want to take it slow is all.”
Despite the dim light in the car, I saw a slight cloudiness in his gaze. There was something more on Desmond’s mind, but I didn’t want to dig any further. I worried that I might break the evening’s spell. It was possible that he was only tired and nervous about taking the next steps forward.
Running my fingers along the line of Desmond’s upper cheekbone, I said, “I have an invitation for tomorrow morning. I hope that you can make it.”
“Tomorrow morning? What’s going on tomorrow morning?”
“You know Maeve. Her partner, Dot, runs a bakery, and she’s hosting a last-gasp Christmas Open House. Santa will be there, and all of the goodies are selling for half price. I went last year, and it draws a huge crowd. They asked me to help out. I’d love it if you could be there, too.”
Desmond raised an eyebrow, and the expression was as adorable as always. He asked, “Does the personal trainer endorse indulging in the Christmas goodies?”
“For one day, yes. I prescribe an extra set of reps the day after.”
Desmond said, “I’ll do my best. I can’t promise quite yet, but I’ll plan to be there.”
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