by Pat Henshaw
He sat for a moment, looking out at the fir trees around the cabin. He was smiling to himself, and I was about to ask what he was thinking.
“You were the first person in all that time who asked what my real name was,” he said, shaking his head. “Hell, even my buddies in high school and college never asked me. Everybody called me Stone since I was in kindergarten, I think.”
I was about to comment on how sad it was, but he spoke softly with a sigh.
“Until you came along, I was the person with no first name.”
I took his hand and squeezed it.
“If you tell me what your name is, it’ll be our little secret,” I assured him.
He laughed, low and hard.
“Nice try, Jimmy! Nice try.”
“What?” I was confused. What had I said? Nice try at what?
He pulled me in for a kiss and gave me a big smack on the lips.
“You’re not getting my name outta me like that. You’ve still got two more guesses,” he said with a smirk.
“Oh! Oh, I wasn’t trying to….”
He laughed again, and this time followed up with a really serious kiss.
As we settled back in our chairs, breathing a little more quickly than we had before, he added, “To answer your question. I was so damn mad at what’s-his-fuck that he was again making the rounds and had picked up some random squish and walked off with him, leaving you stranded, I figured it was time to make my move.”
“Make your move?” I asked, trying to keep up.
“Yeah, I’d wanted to move in on you for about three months, maybe more. But I’m not the kind of guy who breaks up relationships. I see enough of that from where I work,” he said grimly. “But you know, you’re the cutest, nicest, just best reason for a hard-on I’ve ever known.”
What? Me? I turned to him, to assure myself he was serious. My heart was so full, I thought I might explode.
“I just couldn’t let you go back to your place with him and his fuck of the night. I just couldn’t do it.” He was grim, almost angry. Maybe really angry. Then he smiled and shrugged. “You could have crapped all over me that night and I wouldn’t have cared. I thought it was time somebody did something nice for you, even if it was just helping you to the john and cleaning you up.”
“Thank you,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“You already told me,” he said, dismissing my thanks. Then his face and eyes grew really stormy. “The more I thought about it being your birthday, the more I wanted to kill the shit.” He turned to me. “And I don’t want to kill many people.”
“I know,” I assured him, wiping away the moisture from my eyes. What he’d just said was the nicest thing anyone had said to me in quite a while. Probably forever.
Then he sat up straight, pulled me into a quick kiss, and said, “You know what? We’re gonna really celebrate your birthday tonight, and I know just the place.”
“It’s not my birthday,” I reminded him. “Didn’t we already celebrate once?”
“Details. I’m not waiting another year in order to get this right.”
He got up, grabbed his cell phone, and marched through the cabin. I followed, a little alarmed at how excited he was. Now what was he doing?
He was calling someone from the front deck, the only place with good cell phone bars.
As I got near, he closed the door so I couldn’t follow him onto the deck. He was getting way out of control, I could tell.
But he wouldn’t let me onto the porch and was speaking softly, so I couldn’t understand him.
HE TOOK us to another log cabin-like building, The Sierra Bistro, where the specialty was gourmet food made by a former San Francisco chef who’d left the city to live a simpler life. The place was probably as big as Guy’s cabin and seated only a few people. There were no menus. Guy explained how the chef fixed what he wanted every night and the diners either ate it or didn’t.
“It must be hard to get a reservation here,” I commented, sitting down at a window table. The valley leading to Sacramento glowed in the tail end of sunset. As the darkness crowded out the day, tiny pinpricks of light started to fill the valley.
Guy shrugged. “I know somebody.”
“Yeah?” I asked as I glanced out the window, then back at Guy. Was he blushing?
“Yeah, the chef and I go way back,” he muttered.
“Way back?” I asked.
“To grade school.” He gave a little huff of a laugh. “We may even have been friends before then.”
The waiter, a teenage boy who turned beet red and then looked down quickly, stood at Guy’s shoulder.
“Can I get you a drink, Mr. Stone?” he asked.
“Yeah, Zack. I’ll have a beer. Whatever you’ve got on tap.” He looked up at the kid and grinned. “My boyfriend here’ll have a white wine. Whatever Adam suggests.”
Now the teen was staring at me. He turned back to Guy and his grin was really big.
“Wow. You got a boyfriend, Mr. Stone. Good on you,” he said before he turned and nearly ran into the kitchen.
Suddenly Guy was really blushing.
Before I could ask him what that was all about, a giant of a man walked into the dining room from the kitchen, and conversations stopped. He waved at the other diners as if telling them to go back to what they’d been doing as he stomped to our table.
He stood and studied me.
“Well, damn, Stone. You did good, buddy!” he all but yelled. “I’m Adam de Leon.”
He stuck out his hand to me and gave me an exuberant handshake.
“So you’re Stone’s boyfriend?” he asked, stressing the last word.
“Uh, yeah,” I answered, wondering what was going on. Didn’t Guy have any boyfriends before me? Or did he just not take them to Adam’s restaurant?
“And it’s your birthday we’re celebrating?” Adam roared at me.
I nodded, but added, “It’s not really my birthday. See….”
Adam grinned. “Yeah. Okay. I know. Stone explained it to me. Your birthday was shitty and you gave him a do-over.”
I started to protest because it sounded like Adam thought my shitty birthday was because of something Guy had done, but he’d turned to Guy, evidently done with me.
“Why you old bear,” he said happily to Guy. “Look what you lured into your lair. Look at him. He must be half your age, you dog.”
I started to protest again, but Guy didn’t seem to be upset.
“Yeah, I did good this time,” Guy answered. “Jimmy, this is Adam. He thinks he can cook. We’ll see. Oh, yeah, and Adam, this is Jimmy Patterson. Jimmy’s decided to domesticate me. No spitting, no swearing, and no socks with holes.”
I sat back in my chair, stunned, but also entertained. I’d never seen Guy like this with anyone but me. It was fun to watch.
“Well, you tell me how it’s going next time you see me,” Adam answered. He turned to me with a smile. “Nice meeting you. See if you can get him cleaned up so he wears a tie in here next time. This is a classy place.”
Since I wasn’t wearing a tie either—we hadn’t packed for going to a gourmet restaurant—I just nodded.
Adam stomped back to the kitchen, and Guy let out a loud laugh.
“You should see your face, honey!” he crowed at me. “You look like you’ve been poleaxed.”
I didn’t know what he meant, but I didn’t have anything to say either. It had all happened in such a rush.
Then the meal started in earnest. Our drinks arrived as did the first course of wild mushroom soup. We savored it, our eyes either on each other or on the sunset.
When we were finished with the soup, Guy put his hand on the table, opening and closing it, a clear sign he wanted to hold mine.
When we were firmly anchored, he said softly, “There was this guy in college I thought I loved. We were roommates for a while, then, I guess, lovers. Or at least I thought we were.”
I squeezed his hand. Having just gone through the same scenario w
ith Alex, I knew what he was talking about.
“You asked why I was so nice to you on the night of your real birthday. I saw what the shit was doing to you, and it tore my heart out.” He stopped and shook his head, still staring into my eyes. “I couldn’t let it happen to the hottest damn man I’d ever met, a solid, caring—I don’t know the words—wonderful guy who I’d have given my left nut to have just talk to me every day.”
He looked down, and I was feeling a full heart, just as I had before. Too many emotions were about to be my undoing.
“I don’t give a shit if you guess my name or not. I’m probably gonna tell you what it is in the end anyway,” he added.
I put my finger up to his lips.
“Don’t tell me yet. I still have two guesses,” I said as he licked my finger. I ran my fingertip across his bottom lip. “And don’t do things like that while we’re sitting here. I definitely don’t want to come in my pants.”
He grinned, and I put my free hand down.
“I just want you to know how much you mean to me and how much you’ve changed my life,” he said. “I joked around with Adam because I’ve known him for so long, but I don’t want you to think I take you lightly. I don’t want you to think I think this is all a joke to me. It’s not.”
“Don’t worry,” I answered with a tiny grin. “I’m just as serious as you are.”
He nodded as the teen took away our soup cups.
The dinner was the most romantic night I’ve ever had. The food lived up to its billing, course after course beautifully cooked and presented. Guy told me about Adam and his wish to create dishes people enjoyed, not ones they ate because Adam was famous.
Guy said Adam was a great advocate of the farm to table food concept, so everything we ate was grown or produced locally.
“The lamb’s his specialty,” Guy said as the entree was placed in front of us. “I don’t know what this other stuff is, but the lamb’ll be great.”
I recognized the kale and asparagus as well as the chunky mint chutney. It didn’t matter whether I knew what the dishes were or not since everything was just as divine as Guy had promised.
After the entree plates were removed, Adam came out of the kitchen to the applause of the diners. He waved the accolade away as he walked to our table.
“I don’t usually do this,” he announced to the room, “because I think it’s really tacky. But tonight I’m making an exception.”
He turned and beamed at me.
“Let’s all sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Jimmy here.”
“No,” I whispered. I’m sure I was beet red.
“Oh, yes,” Adam said and started a very off-key but exuberant rendition of the birthday song, ending with “and many more!”
“Now for dessert. Everyone gets to share your birthday cake, Jimmy,” Adam proclaimed as Zack came in carrying a three-layer masterpiece. Adam leaned in toward me and added, “It’s angel food because Stone said you’re an angel.”
I thought my face was going to melt off my head, it was so hot. I couldn’t look at anyone, since I was so embarrassed.
“Here, make the first cut, then we’ll divide it,” Adam said, sticking a cake cutter into my hand.
My hand was shaking so much Guy had to lean over and help me cut. It was almost like we were getting married.
Everyone clapped and then couple by couple came by to wish me a happy birthday. I felt like such a fraud, but Guy greeted them happily, schmoozing with those he knew and finding something to say to those he didn’t. He was letting me get myself back together, which was really thoughtful of him.
We went home with a box of cake for Felicity.
“Yeah, and it’s just like you to be thinking of her,” Guy agreed.
IN BED that night as we snuggled and sighed, I tried to thank him for the wonderful evening, but he was having none of it.
“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he scolded. “I’m just doing what boyfriends do for each other.”
I sputtered at the thought. We were boyfriends. Real boyfriends. I sighed.
“Maybe some boyfriends,” I said, “but none before you as far as I’ve experienced.”
“See? We were meant to be,” he answered smugly.
“Meant to be,” I agreed on a sigh.
“So,” he said, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me in closer to him, “what’s tonight’s guess?”
I sighed. I couldn’t think of any royalty who might be too embarrassing for other people to know and who had initials that couldn’t be used as an alternative. I wracked my brain, but no good guesses emerged.
Then at the last moment before I forfeited my guess, a perfectly awful name came to me.
“Are you really….” I took a break and let the suspense build, then I sat up and sang, “Are you the Duke of Earl?”
Guy started laughing before I finished, and I joined him.
He could barely get his “Are you kidding?” out.
Once we returned to cuddling and were supposed to be settling in for sleep, he erupted in a giggle.
“Too much,” he whispered finally. “You’re just too much, Jimmy. God, I love you.”
9
AFTER THE bombshell of the night before, we didn’t have time in the morning to talk about Guy’s use of the “L” word.
The sheriff called as I was in the bathroom relieving myself.
“They say they have the culprit,” Guy reported when I got back to the bedroom. “They want you and Felicity down at the sheriff’s department as soon as you can get there. I think they want to know what kind of charges you want to file.”
So we galloped through our showers, got dressed for work, and ate a hasty breakfast. We both knew we needed more time to explore what Guy had said and whether I was going to respond.
Guy made a few phone calls, then announced we would pick up Felicity and go to the sheriff’s office together.
Felicity was back to her regular self as she got into the truck, squishing me against Guy. He playfully grabbed my kneecap and pulled it as if shifting gears.
“So how was your relaxing day off?” she asked.
I glanced at Guy at the same moment he was eyeing me. We both grinned.
“Perfect,” I said. “Couldn’t have been any better.”
She sighed. “That’s great. Now all you guys have to do is find somebody for me.”
Guy leaned in and looked over at her.
“Okay. I think I know a guy, if you don’t mind somebody kinda rough.”
“How rough?” she asked. I could hear a note of interest in her voice.
“He’s a contractor. Builds and remodels custom homes in the foothills with his brothers. Real nice. Real smart,” Guy added.
“I don’t care about smart, but nice is good,” Felicity said with a shrug. “You want to fix us up? We could double with you.”
Guy glanced at me, and I nodded. If Guy thought this man was nice, then he had to be.
“We can go to Tommy’s Roadhouse,” Guy said with a laugh. “See what the lay of the land is there these days. Maybe Meliss has changed his mind about stuff. About us.”
I doubted it, but I didn’t think Tommy would be causing any more trouble for a while. If he knew how much money his wife spent at Penny’s, he’d be livid, but it served him right for being nasty.
“So, got a guess as to who trashed the coffee shop?” Guy asked us.
“If you know, you better tell me,” I threatened.
“Nope. Not a clue,” he answered. “But I got a couple a guesses and hope I’m not right about them.”
“Who?” Felicity and I asked at the same time.
“Not gonna say,” Guy answered. “Don’t want you to think bad about anybody just because I named ’em.”
He made sense. Since we were about to find out anyway, it didn’t really matter if we knew now or in a few minutes.
“So I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said turning to Guy. “What did Tommy’s enforcers do when they
went to the bar?”
“Not much,” he huffed. “They walked in about two steps, all macho and pumped muscles. When they figured out the Clampus guys were all over the place, they tried to leave before anybody saw ’em.”
He started laughing out loud.
“Charlie, who’s a few inches taller than me and a few pounds heavier, walked up to Ernie, who’s one of those really hot-looking Italians. Charlie poked him in the chest and told him it wasn’t the night for ‘his kind’ to be in the bar.” Now Guy’s laugh started somewhere in his belly.
“When Ernie puffed up like he and his boys were going to answer, Charlie gave him the evil eye. This is particularly effective because Charlie has a scar running from his hairline down through his eyebrow. He looks real fierce when he’s scowling.”
Guy waved his hand, erasing the image. “A course, Ernie knows Charlie ’cuz everybody who lives around here knows everyone else. Charlie and him go way back, like we all do.”
He stopped talking and scanned the parking lot for a spot.
Felicity leaned over me and nearly screamed, “Then what happened? Don’t stop now.”
“That’s what Jimmy tells me every night,” Guy muttered, and my face heated. Felicity ignored us.
“Well, anyway, Charlie told him he’d have to fix his own car and bike the next time anything went wrong. Since Ernie has fancy European gear, he backed down pretty quick, Charlie told me.”
Guy looked over at me.
“They may not be the coffee drinking types, but the Clampus boys are wonderful protection,” he assured me.
By then we were walking into the sheriff’s department and headed for his office.
Sheriff Campbell ushered us in and shut the door. He went through the charges we could file, and Felicity and I looked down the list and chose the most serious ones.
“If you’d like to talk to the prisoner for a minute, you can,” Campbell said. “He wants to talk to you. He says you ruined his life.” Campbell shook his head as if in disbelief. “It’s your choice.”