Rasul declined Jacob’s invitation to walk around with him at the Founder’s Day festival. Jacob was a bit relieved to simply go and enjoy it with his friends.
Jacob never heard anything further about Rasul’s ex and whether she was still a danger. A few times he’d thought about asking, but he’d always invented reasons not to. He wouldn’t let himself consider the possibility that perhaps he didn’t want to end their fake relationship.
He had enough problems without worrying about that, he told himself. Rebecca still nudged Jacob on the regular to officially declare he was running for president of the chamber of commerce, something he’d have to decide one way or another soon, as he had to put his name in by November 1. The vote wouldn’t be until May, but Clark had declared in 1980 that they should have a long period to get to know any potential candidates. In reality, it gave him and his friends more of a chance to beat them down.
One night when they were having dinner—at China Garden this time—he asked Rasul about it.
“Do I think you should run?” Rasul reached for the plate of beef and broccoli in front of him. “I mean, do you want to? That seems a more important question, or am I missing something?”
Jacob fiddled with his chopsticks. “It would be an advantage to a lot of us if I did, or if someone friendly to a broader set of businesses stood for election.”
“Do you want to, though?”
“I mean… yes? And also no. I want it to happen, I want someone progressive in the position, but I would prefer, to be honest, that it wasn’t me.”
“So let someone else do it. You don’t seem too excited about it.”
“People keep telling me I’d be a good candidate. That I’m dependable.”
Rasul snorted. “Well, you are dependable, but to me it sounds like they’re looking for a patsy.”
Jacob didn’t like how that sounded at all. “I think it’s more that they’re looking for a leader.”
“Well, fine if you want to be one. But I’m getting all the vibes like you’re not wanting this.”
“It’s less that and more that I don’t like how other people see me.”
“What—hot, articulate, delicious?”
Jacob nudged Rasul with his foot, but he couldn’t help a small smile. “No. Dependable, steady. Boring.”
“I don’t think you’re boring at all.”
No, Rasul really didn’t. He flirted with Jacob all the time, and Jacob knew he could have a real relationship with the man just for asking. He told himself that wouldn’t work, though. He told himself that every day.
It was becoming harder and harder to remember why he had to say no.
He tried to be content with their dates, with their conversations in his apartment when Rasul finished working for the day. Over tea in the evenings when Rasul didn’t have a class, they talked and talked. About how much Rasul liked his class, how intriguing he found his students, about how his writing was going. They talked about books too, what they’d read recently and books they’d read long ago. Rasul was rapidly making his way through Jacob’s personal inventory. He read voraciously, and quickly. Jacob had thought himself a pretty speedy reader, but Rasul put him to shame.
“It’s kind of a curse,” Rasul confessed one day as he picked up a new stack of titles from Jacob. These were from the bookstore itself, and he’d shelled out quite a bit of money for them. “I go through things so quickly.”
“You don’t have to purchase this many,” Jacob said.
Rasul winked at him. “I know, but I feel like buying a bookseller’s stock is a kind of flirting.”
Rasul made casual remarks about dating every so often, not so much as to feel like pressure but enough that Jacob couldn’t ever forget his fake boyfriend remained ready to be a real one at any time. Jacob still didn’t want to touch that, but he couldn’t help thinking about what it would be like. Essentially they were dating, though they weren’t having sex. That and the veneer their ruse put between them felt like a fragile safety to Jacob. It kept him from getting too attached.
Gus and Matt, however, didn’t buy it.
“You’re even more in love with him than you were before,” Gus said during a Mini Main Street meeting in Engleton’s back room. They sat clustered on the far end away from the heap of alterations, and Jacob ended up facing the line of custom suits in various stages of construction. “Except this time he’s not a fantasy. He’s right in front of you.”
“He’s behaving,” Jacob insisted, a little desperately.
“He undresses you with his eyes,” Matt countered, and Jacob had to concede this was true.
Jacob wasn’t sure what he wanted from Rasul any longer. Initially holding him at bay felt like keeping himself safe, but at this point Rasul was so entwined in his life his departure would leave a void. He told himself it was smart to limit how intimate they were because it would make things less painful later, but with every day that passed, he was less sure that was true.
Plus it was clear Rasul was holding back, that if allowed, he’d make their polite, nicely intimate friendship flame with passion well beyond the bedroom. There were more and more flares, Rasul’s eyes lighting up as he seized on something he loved or bounced a plot point off of Jacob. All Jacob had to do was lower the gate and that intensity would come rushing at him.
The worst part was that Jacob wanted it. It made him remember aspects of himself he’d left behind in Chicago, when he’d transported himself back to Copper Point after his parents’ deaths. But he wasn’t that person any longer. And Rasul was never going to stay here. So why stir that part of him back up?
He did his best not to think about it, instead focusing on those custom suits in Engleton’s back room as he walked home, and again as he lay in bed. They looked nice—still conservative, but something about them really drew the eye, even unfinished. They must feel amazing too.
Impractical for him, since he’d never have anywhere worthy of wearing them. Still. They were nice.
As September bled into October, when Jacob walked the distance from his store to Gus’s for a Mini Main Street Meeting Matt had called, the leaves whipped around him in an increasingly bitter fall wind, mirroring the feelings of his insides.
I want him. I want to try this. I don’t care that it’s temporary. I want to ride the ride.
Gus and Matt were already in the back room discussing something, but they took one look at Jacob as he came in and called a time-out.
“You look… intense.” Matt frowned at Jacob, then at Gus. “Did something happen?”
“I want to date him for real.” Jacob sank into a chair and collapsed forward on the table.
“I’ll get the whiskey,” Gus said and disappeared into his office.
Matt patted Jacob’s head. “You lasted longer than I thought. It’s okay. We’ll walk you through.”
Jacob downed the shot Gus passed to him. “I can’t date him. It’ll be a disaster. Don’t you get it?”
Gus sat beside Matt and threaded his fingers together. “No, hon, we don’t. Why would it be a disaster? He’s clearly into you, and you’re into him—have been forever. What’s the problem here?”
Matt had poured him a second shot of alcohol, and Jacob downed this too. “It’s temporary. I’m going to get my heart broken as it is. I have to mitigate the damage.”
“Why is it temporary?” Matt gave himself a little whiskey, but he drank it more slowly. “I mean, I know he’s only here for a short time, but it’s not like you couldn’t—”
“He’s going to go back to his exciting life of traveling the world and being with exciting people in exciting places. And I’m not exciting.”
Gus folded his arms over his chest. “I take great issue with that self-assessment. I suspect Rasul would too.”
Jacob snorted. “He called me Mr. Rogers when we first met.”
Matt blinked a moment, then nodded. “Oh, the sweaters.”
Jacob, always a lightweight, waved a drunken hand angrily. “H
e doesn’t know why I wear the sweaters.”
Gus remained patient and annoyingly sober. “You do know you could tell him?”
Snarling, Jacob poured himself more to drink.
“Careful,” Matt warned. “Clark will have a field day if you drink yourself into the ER.”
“I can’t tell him.” Jacob drank slightly slower this time. “I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want to open that door. I want to remain in my nice tidy life. I like my life. I love my shop, love my friends, my routine. I wasn’t unhappy at all before he showed up.”
Gus’s expression softened. “But you are now?”
Jacob sagged. “I tried not to be. I couldn’t help it.”
“What do you think would happen if you told him some of this? Any of this?” Matt asked.
“We’d have sex. Wild, intense sex all over my apartment and maybe the shop.”
“That doesn’t sound bad,” Gus pointed out.
“And then he’d leave when the school year was out, and all over my safe space that I love so much, I’d be surrounded by sadness. His new book would come out, and instead of being thrilled for its release, I’d be too emotional to even put it on my shelves. I don’t want this.” He slammed his hand on the table. “I didn’t want him to come to Copper Point at all. I just wanted things to continue as they were. But I don’t think they can ever go back anymore. I think I’m going to be sad when he goes no matter what. And I don’t like it.”
He reached for the whiskey.
Gus pulled the bottle away and rose. “I’ll go get him some coffee and a glass of water.”
“I’m sorry.” Jacob ran a hand through his hair. “This was supposed to be a meeting for you, Matt.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He leaned forward on the table. “Can you explain something to me, Jake? If you know you’re going to be sad no matter what, why not dive in and have a good time while he’s here?”
“Because the very thought terrifies me.” Jacob hugged his glass. “Heroes shouldn’t come to life. He should have stayed up on his pedestal where he belongs.” He reached for the bottle again, but of course it was gone. “I want to settle down with someone nice, maybe get a dog. I’ve assumed I’m a little too late for a relationship like that, but I have friends, so I always thought I was okay. Except now I’m not. I don’t know that I’ll ever feel okay again.”
He wanted more alcohol, but they wouldn’t give it to him, not until he had water and coffee. They listened patiently while he rehashed the same complaints over and over, doling out alcohol enough to get him drunk but not enough to kill him.
Then, like the friends they were, they poured him into Gus’s car and took him home.
“Do you want me to stay with you?” Matt turned around in his seat. “Because I can. I’ll just set an alarm with enough time to go back and change.”
Jacob shook his head, carefully. “No. I’ll be fine. I’ll stumble through the shower, fall into bed, and have a headache in the morning.”
Gus glanced at him in the mirror. “Call us, okay? If you need anything. Always.”
“I know.” And Jacob did. He was grateful.
He lingered in the small parking lot behind the store as they drove away, first waving them on, then letting the chill permeate through him as he stared across the greenbelt park behind the businesses on his side of Front Street. He could smell the bay in the distance, its cold waters feeding into the frigid Lake Superior.
It had been a night like this, the Lake Michigan version, when he’d received the call about his parents.
What would his life be like, he wondered, if his parents hadn’t died? Would he have landed on this path anyway, only through a different route? Would he be happy with someone in a suburb, fighting over whose turn it was to mow the lawn or walk the dogs? Would he be disillusioned with life?
Would he have met Rasul? Would he have even cared who he was?
Am I happy with my life now? I always say that I am. I am lying, though, even to myself?
How could he possibly find the answers to those questions?
The wind picked up a bit too much, and Jacob decided it was time to go inside. He hurried up the stairs as best he could, almost falling down twice. That was the last thing he needed, to break his leg on his back stairs. He’d forgotten to bring his phone. He wouldn’t be able to call for help.
I wish I had someone waiting here for me. I wish I weren’t facing these questions alone.
He was fumbling with his key at the lock when the door opened. Startled, he looked up at Rasul, face framed by a pair of dark glasses.
You’re not alone, he told himself, then thought, no, I can’t just as quickly, and took a step backward.
He hit the railing and lost his footing, and for a terrible second he thought, This is how I’m going to die, falling drunk off my staircase because the man I’m in love with surprised me by being in my apartment.
Then strong arms surrounded him, righting him. The smell of Rasul enfolded him, undoing his defenses.
“I don’t want to be alone,” he said out loud, and sagged into Rasul’s sturdy chest.
Chapter Eight
THE SOUND of someone on the stairs had shaken Rasul out of a deep trance, but a glance at the clock drew him back to reality. Ten thirty? It was ten thirty? He’d known Jacob was going out, so he allowed himself some leeway to stay later, but he hadn’t realized it had gone this long. He’d been focused all afternoon ever since his phone call with Elizabeth, which for the first time in years wasn’t full of tension and threats but problem-solving and plans. Even the Adina news had been good: she was back online and singing the praises of Korean skin care products, never mentioning Rasul at all. He was close to the midpoint of his story, trying to weave everything to the big reveal where Adam finds out Milo has been consciously jumping universes with him, so he kept pushing himself a little more and a little more, until the sounds on the stairs.
Then he opened the door, smelled the alcohol coming off Jacob, and nearly lost him over the edge of the railing.
“Easy, babe,” he cooed, his tone belying the panic he knew at the thought of Jacob careening to his death before his eyes. “I got you. Come on inside.”
“I’m not your babe.” Jacob said this, but he clung to Rasul’s shirt front and put his head on his shoulder. “Why are you here?”
“I’m sorry. I got caught up writing and lost track of time. I’ll go, but let me make sure you’re okay first.”
“I’m fine. Just drunk.” Jacob righted himself and glanced blearily around the room. “There aren’t any dishes in the drainer. You didn’t eat. Why didn’t you eat?”
“I was really on a roll. I’ll eat now, if it’ll make you happy.” He led Jacob to the table and sat him down. “Would you like to eat with me?”
Jacob made a noncommittal noise but sat obediently where Rasul planted him. Rasul hadn’t even finished indexing the fridge, though, before Jacob spoke. “I can’t believe Rasul Youssef’s half-finished novel is sitting here on my kitchen table.”
“Rasul Youssef’s novel is half-finished only because of your kitchen table. And you.” He grabbed a few vegetables from the crisper and a brick of fried tofu. “What about some stir fry over noodles?”
“Are they right? Are you actually interested in me? If I asked you to take me to bed, would you do it?”
Whoa. Rasul set the vegetables on the counter and came back to the table, sitting in the seat nearest Jacob. “This is a conversation I would like to have, but perhaps we should have it when you’re not drunk.”
Jacob blew a raspberry and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “If I were sober, I wouldn’t have it.”
“True.” Crossing his arms over his chest in a vain attempt to slow his galloping heartbeat, Rasul considered Jacob carefully. “I am interested in you. Very much. I’d go to bed with you if you crooked your finger at me.”
Jacob looked Rasul dead in the eye, his gaze hot and intense. Lifting his hand,
he crooked his finger at Rasul.
Rasul shivered and took hold of it. “Not while you’re drunk. Not like this.”
Jacob regarded Rasul with frustration. “I thought if I kept you at arm’s length I’d be okay, but I’m not. I’m never going to be okay again.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jacob sagged toward the table, pushing Rasul’s laptop away. “I want to tell you some things.”
“I’m listening.”
It was a long time, though, before Jacob spoke again, and he didn’t look at Rasul. “I told you I discovered your first book in the hospital while my parents were dying. I don’t know what would have happened to me if I hadn’t gone to the gift shop when I did. You don’t understand how much you were with me that day, or rather, your words were. They changed everything.”
Rasul laced their fingers together. “Tell me. Because I want very much to understand.”
Jacob stared off into the distance, lost in the past. “Chicago had been in the deep throes of fall, but a freak snowstorm had raged down from Canada into Copper Point, making the lake road hazardous. My father had been going half the speed limit, trying to keep track of the lanes, but the oncoming car came at full speed, right into them. The other driver died on impact. My parents were gravely injured, my mother lucid enough to call for help before slipping into a coma alongside my dad. They were transferred to Madison immediately, and in a bit of irony, I drove like a bat out of hell to get there before they died.”
His face became incredibly sad. “They were excellent parents. Fully supportive of everything about me. When I moved into my first Chicago apartment, they came down to help me set it up. They never pressured me to come home, but when I needed to touch base, they welcomed me back, eager to hear about my adventures. Before they died, I was struggling a bit. Someone I’d thought I could have a relationship with turned out to be someone bad for me—nothing dramatic, only a disappointment. My work wasn’t fulfilling me like I thought, and I was getting depressed. For the first time, my parents urged me to take a vacation and come home, saying they’d help me figure things out. I didn’t go. I said maybe in a few months, but right now I couldn’t afford it. I was about to admit I should go anyway, that only they could shake me out of my bad place, when the accident happened.”
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