Love You So Sweetly

by Tara Lain

  “They don’t have sweet tea.”

  They both laughed.

  Antonio arrived from the back and gave Remy a guy hug. “I’ll bring your glasses to the table if you want to sit.”

  “That would be great. We’re both hungry.”

  Antonio led them to a cozy table for two against the side wall in the small back room. He placed their drinks on the table and explained the unusual menu of assorted pages to Harper, then left them.

  The place was full but not noisy. Harper looked around, huge eyes shining. “I like this place. It’s so cozy.”

  “Food’s good too. They’ll bring us some vermouth and pâté, and then you can choose soup or salad to go with your entrée. Insider tip. Their soup’s to die for.”

  “I love soup.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  Harper picked up the menu pages and started reading them like literature, and Remy made comments and recommendations. When their waiter arrived with the vermouth and pâté, Harper ordered the Cornish game hen, and Remy went for the baked whitefish. They both asked for the potato leek soup.

  Finally, they were alone with their drinks. Remy said, “So the bad patch?”

  “Oh.” Harper wrinkled his nose. “I’d been beating my head against the wall after graduate school trying to change the life of some great people in bad circumstances. Like in a lot of places in the South—and all over the country, I guess—people are unable to get work in the jobs they know and also unable to get trained to do the work that’s available. They don’t want to leave their homes and couldn’t afford to if they did. I was working for basically nothing trying to change an unchangeable situation, and meanwhile, my poor mother who’d sacrificed everything for me was still struggling to get along. I decided, nuts, it was time for me to get a real job and help my mom. And here I am.” He smiled but didn’t meet Remy’s eyes. They both knew he hadn’t addressed the Sylvan issue much at all. “And I’ll be frank. There are more fun places to be gay than rural Arkansas, although that was a minor issue in my decision.”

  Remy took a big breath. “That brings us to—”

  Harper chuckled. “Yes it does. Very tricky of me. How did I know I was gay? It’s a difficult question since in some ways it’s like asking how did I know my eyes were blue. But I get it. Our society makes it such a big deal to be gay; it feels like we have a moment when we realize we’re this weird alien thing instead of accepting it gradually as a part of our nature. So with that in mind, I guess I was twelve. My best friend was Cassie O’Malley, and she was going on about this boy, Raymond Chan.” He made his voice falsetto. “Have you ever seen such eyes, such skin? He walks like a rock star. His voice is like music.” He laughed. “Suddenly, I realized I agreed with every word she was saying. When I told her, she said, ‘Harper, are you gay?’ I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what that meant except that the kids used it as an insult, so I said ‘No. Hell no.’” He shook his head, and his smile faded. “Sad, isn’t it?” He shrugged. “But that started a cascade of inquiry and realization.”

  The waiter arrived with the soup. Harper took a taste and sat back with a huge smile. “Wow. I could get that administered intravenously.”

  “Yeah. I sometimes stop in just for a bowl of soup.”

  They scooped up soup in quiet companionship, but Remy’s thoughts kept skittering around. “Uh, can I ask what the inquiry and realization consisted of?”

  Harper met his eyes, and for a second his expression was quizzical, and Remy wondered if that was a question a straight guy shouldn’t ask. But Harper said, “Sure. Remember I was twelve, but I had a good idea I shouldn’t be asking my male relatives questions relating to the topic. Trust me, it’s damned hard to get real information. I was good at erasing search histories, so I prowled around online, which got me some pretty shocking results as you can imagine. Porn that left me scared—but also turned on. Then I discovered slash.”

  “What’s that?”

  He buttered some of the french bread carefully as he talked. “It’s fan fiction where the writers team up male characters from famous TV series, books, and movies. Like Kirk and Spock or Sherlock and Watson hooking up sexually and sometimes romantically. I loved them. Gradually, as I got a little older, I realized by my reactions that I was attracted to guys in real life as well as in books and movies. I came out to my mother, who was great, but she did advise me to be discreet since high school can be hell on gay kids. It was fine with me because I was on such an accelerated program, I didn’t have much time to socialize, and the only guys I was attracted to tended to be a lot older.”

  The soup bowls got whisked away, and the entrees appeared. They both dug in.

  Harper moaned, a sound that went right to Remy’s private parts. Harper said, “I sure understand why you like this place.”

  “I’m glad. I love turning people onto Dizz’s.”

  “You can turn me on anytime.”

  The words sat there in the middle of the table. Harper didn’t seem to realize he’d said what he had because he went right on eating heartily. Remy swallowed and tried to pretend that the whole conversation hadn’t stiffened parts he needed to be soft, and vice versa when it came to his feelings and judgment. But his mouth got away from him. “So I’m guessing you finally found those guys you were attracted to.”

  Harper chewed and managed to smile at the same time. “Yes. When I went to college, I was barely sixteen, and one of my TAs was interested in furthering my education.” He grinned and went back to his stuffed Cornish hen.

  Remy gazed at him. “But wasn’t he a lot older?”

  “Um. A bit. He was, like, twenty-one or something. But he was very educational.” His chuckle defined the little-used word “prurient.”

  Remy’s imagination wouldn’t have been allowed on the small screen. He had about ten thousand questions—if you like having guys suck your cock are you gay? Does anal sex hurt? Can gay men get it up for women? And on and on—but he was too chicken to ask any of them. He managed to get down his last bite of whitefish.

  Harper leaned forward with a brimming fork. “Before you quit eating, try this.”

  Chapter Nine

  REMY STARED at Harper’s extended fork laden with game hen and all the stuffing goodies like it was a pill that would make him taller. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle another bite of food. But this was Harper’s fork. Oh dear God.

  Remy opened his mouth. In went the fork. Some hyperimaginative piece of Remy’s mind thought what he could taste was not game hen, but Harper. Sweet and succulent and full of flavor. Remy chewed and smiled, a good way to cover the fact that he could probably orgasm from his own fantasy. “Um, good.”

  “Yes. This is freaking amazing. Was yours just as good?”

  “Pretty much.” Not even close. “So, they have great desserts if you’d like some.”

  “No thanks. I’m mostly a sweet tea and Creamsicle guy.”

  “They make an amazing coffee drink with booze and other goodies in it.”

  Harper’s eyebrows rose. “Hmm. That sounds promising. Want to split one?”

  “Oh, okay.” He flagged the waiter and asked for the special coffee.

  It arrived shortly and sat between them on the table, steaming and looking creamy.

  In it were two small straws. Oh God.

  Like a dating couple in a malt shop in the 1950s, Remy alternately sipped from his straw and watched Harper’s lips wrap around the straw and suck. Which was sexier? Toss-up.

  And that was way inappropriate. He sat back and let Harper drink his fill.

  Remy said, “They’re pretty famous for that coffee.”

  “I understand why. Maybe I should start making this kind of coffee for you. It would bring a whole new dimension to the workday.” He made a noise like a giggle that suggested maybe the wine and the liquor-laced coffee had taken a toll.

  The waiter brought the check, and Remy slipped his credit card on it.

  Harper said, “I’d like t
o pay my part.”

  “Not a chance.” He met Harper’s big blue eyes. “There are fewer benefits to being a really rich guy than you’d think. Getting to buy a meal for a friend without worrying about it is one of them.”

  “Well, your benefit is my benefit in this case. Thank you very much.”

  “My pleasure.” Boy was that the truth.

  “I’ll tell you what. How about I take a look at your kitchen and make recommendations as my treat to you?”

  “Seriously? When?”

  “Now?”

  Remy opened his mouth and closed it. Be responsible. This man’s attached. He doesn’t think you’re interested in him. Wait, am I interested in him? Oh fuck, wake up. Still, the fact was he really wanted some ideas to get him out of his house funk. If that happened to coincide with other things he wanted, so be it. He’d have to be a grown-up. “That would be amazing. My house isn’t far from here.”

  “Great.”

  Remy signed for the check, and they both risked their lives skirting the highway to get to the parked Prius.

  Once inside the car, Harper barked a laugh. “I could probably live here a hundred years and never get used to the traffic.”

  “Yeah, it gets worse all the time.” He pulled into the flow of traffic and then turned right up the hill so he could get pointed in the opposite direction on the highway. “Tell me about where you’re from.”

  “Windy Pines? It’s not exactly where I’m from. I mean, my mom and I moved around a bit, but it’s the place I feel the most at home.” He got a soft look on his face. “It’s a tiny town and not real close to any big city, so it’s tough for people to live there when the employers move out, which they have.” He exhaled slowly. “It may not be a town for much longer.” Remy felt the weight of Harper’s glance. “Actually, they had two MercedMarts nearby, but I’m told both of them are closing.”

  Remy nodded. “Yes, I know John Jack’s having to close a lot of satellite stores. It’s all part of the same shift in retail that’s impacting everything.” He sighed. “That’s why I’m so anxious to get a breakthrough in online ordering.”

  Harper shook himself out of some reverie. “But I’ve been doing all the talking. What about you? Are you a dedicated Californian, or is some Arkansas still hiding in there?”

  “Pretty West Coast, I’m afraid. My folks got moderately rich in Arkansas and moved the main operations to California, where they got very rich, when I was still young. I grew up accepting waves outside my front door and way too many cars on the eight-lane highways. I can’t imagine living in a small town.”

  “Oh.”

  Remy shot Harper a glance and caught a flash of something. Disappointment? Remy rushed on. “Not that there’s anything wrong with small towns. I’m just used to the stress.” He laughed.

  Harper didn’t say anything, and Remy weirdly felt like he wanted to apologize or change his mind, but he turned on the radio instead.

  It only took a few minutes until they turned right and wound down the road to Remy’s house. When they got out of the car, the smell of the ocean and the crashing of the waves below the cliffs in front of them filled the senses.

  Harper inhaled and closed his eyes. “Wow.”

  Remy wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, it’s quite a location, but don’t get your hopes up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on.” He led the way around the winding path to the front door, slipped in the key, and pushed it open, then reached in and turned on the glaring overhead light in the barren entry. Random stripes of three different colors of paint decorated the walls, and underfoot were bare subfloors where Remy had ripped up the old carpeting and not been able to decide what to replace it with.

  Harper made a full circle, his eyes behind the big glasses kind of owlish. “Oh. I didn’t know you hadn’t moved in yet.”

  Remy sighed. Maybe this was a crappy idea. Now that the moment was here, he hated to admit the truth. “I’ve lived here for nearly a year.”

  “But—”

  “I know.”

  “You’re a busy man. Why don’t you hire someone to do it?”

  Remy gave him a glance and cocked his head toward the great room. “Come on in.” He walked from the entry into the primary living space, found the one lamp he had sitting on the floor beside the big sectional, and turned it on. Then he walked to the kitchen, which had once had an island but now had only a refrigerator, a microwave, and a sink. “Would you like wine, beer, iced tea? It’s not sweet tea, but I’ve got sugar.”

  “Tea would be great.” Harper stood staring around the kitchen from where an island might have been, and Remy could imagine him sitting on a barstool looking comfortable. Remy didn’t usually think about how uncomfortable his place was for other people, even Felicity, but right then, he’d have liked to be able to wave a hand and make it all beautiful and cozy.

  Remy set two glasses on the counter that held the microwave, filled them with ice and tea, then added sugar and stirred. He handed one glass to Harper and walked to the sectional, the only place to sit in the huge room.

  Harper sat holding his glass since there was no place to put it but the floor. He gazed at the huge wall of glass, which was all black since it faced the ocean. “I’ll bet this is quite a view in the daytime.”

  Remy nodded.

  “So this is way more than a kitchen problem. Want to tell me about it?”

  Remy sat back and sipped tea. What the hell was I thinking? He’d told himself he wanted Harper’s advice on how to build out the kitchen, but….

  “I found this place about nine months ago and was so excited.” He wiped one hand, cold and damp from the glass, across his neck. “I said I wanted something of my own that I could fix up my way. But then I got stuck.”

  When Remy didn’t go on, Harper said, “Stuck how?”

  “I don’t know exactly.” He even sounded exasperated to himself. “I was pretty sure I didn’t want something traditional, like my mama’s place, but when I’d look at modern or contemporary stuff, it felt too cold and uninviting. I couldn’t—can’t call in a decorator because she’ll ask what I want, and I don’t know. I can’t even figure out where to start.” He looked at Harper and assumed his expression must be pleading because that was how he felt. “I’m not an indecisive person, honest.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “But I can’t create something that expresses me when I don’t know what I want.” He shook his head. “So it just sits like this.”

  Harper looked around with his big, glowing eyes, even if they were lighted strangely by the lamp on the floor. “It sure has potential.”

  “Really? So what would you do with it?”

  “For me or for you?”

  “You.” He turned up his lips in a half grin.

  “With your budget or mine?”

  Remy laughed at Harper’s mischievous expression. “Mine.”

  “Ooh.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. After another glance around, he hopped up and started pacing the great room, then wandered into the space that Remy called the dining room, although it could be almost anything. After taking that in, Remy turned the corner to the kitchen space, or rather what was left of it with its missing breakfast bar and ripped-out cabinets.

  Still eyeing the walls and windows, he walked back to where Remy sat. “Okay.” He kind of danced across the room and slapped his hand against the wall that separated the kitchen from the great room. “This would come out. I’d build a large island here—” He delineated a rectangle on the floor. “—and make this the dining area with a long parsons table that could seat lots of people but doesn’t have to be full to feel cozy.” He waved his arms in the air above the imaginary table. “Big rusticish chandelier here.” Pointing at the sectional that Remy was sitting on, Harper said, “We could move that back, closer to the windows, and add a new couch on this side.” Again, he waved an arm in open space.

  At the wall in front of the sofa, he
said, “Big, low cabinet here with your giant TV over it, maybe have a unit built in to hold it so you can make it disappear when you want to. A large coffee table goes in the middle of the square and a big, comfy chair over here.” He walked around, drawing in imaginary furniture. “Table and lamp. Another table and lamp. Picture, picture.”

  He started toward the kitchen. “Come on.”

  Remy jumped up and trailed after Harper, who never stopped talking. “So on the other side of the island, the cabinets will be two finishes, light maple on the top and dark-stained maple below. The island has a waterfall edge in quartz with hanging lights over it.”

  He kept conjuring, but Remy mostly watched, a smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t that he could see his house taking shape, exactly. It was more like he could see Harper in the house he was describing.

  Harper looked at him, head cocked. “What? Am I breaking your budget?”

  “No. Keep going. There’s more.”

  Harper danced down the hall, stopping in each room for a minute to describe some imaginary use—the guest room, the office, the gym. Of course, none of the rooms had furniture or any real identification, so he was making it up.

  He rounded the corner to the master bedroom just as Remy got a second’s prevision of what he was about to see. “Uh—”

  Too late. Harper burst into the bedroom and stopped. The frown on his face when he looked back at Remy said it all. Surprise, and not in a good way. Maybe a hint of disappointment. “Is this where you sleep?”

  Remy nodded and tried not to stare at his shoes. The room always looked bad, with its torn-out carpet, exposed tacks, half-painted walls, and practically nonexistent furniture. But that morning Remy had been especially stressed and had left bath towels and pieces of worn clothing draped on the unmade bed, uh, mattress, and littering the floor.