The Hideaway Inn

by Philip William Stover

  I scoop up some water in my hand and pour it over my face. The water tingles over the parts of my cheek that his scruff brushed against. Kissing him has not only stirred emotions in me that I haven’t felt in years, it’s strengthened my resolve to see this through. There is something there. I know it might not happen overnight and he’s got this big tough guy act in lockdown but he can’t keep it up forever, can he? I can’t believe I’ve had to wait this long to have all these feelings again. I’m not about to let them slip through my fingers a second time.

  The early afternoon sun starts to sting so I slide off the rock and back into the stream. The sudden rush of cold finally makes my dick behave. I float on my back and stare up at the canopy of glowing green leaves blocking the sun from my eyes. It feels great to be exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Yes. That’s exactly where I want to be,” I say without really thinking.

  “Good,” Barry says. “FunTyme wants to move on this project. You could be back in New York by Labor Day. Think you can make the number attractive? I know this is a tight deadline.” I’m walking back to meet Tack at his truck after discussing orders with Kevin and Evan. I find a spot off the path from the office where I have enough of a signal to clarify what Barry’s just said.

  “End of August?” I ask.

  “Right. They don’t like to wait and they’ll move to another property if your numbers aren’t impressive by then. I’ll email you over some of the details of the prospectus. They’re just starting to look at how to structure some of this so it should give you a benchmark.”

  “Great.” I wanted to be out of here by the end of the summer anyway. This just means I’ll have to work a little harder to make sure I meet that deadline.

  “I know you’ll do what it takes. I’m about to board and I got my eye on the flight attendant for my laid over in Frankfurt.” He laughs like a fifth grader telling a fart joke and hangs up.

  I turn off my phone completely and put it in my pocket. I have too many worlds colliding and I don’t want another one to enter.

  I walk back to the truck and try to focus on what I need to do to make the numbers look good to FunTyme but thoughts of Tack creep back in. I take my hand and run it along the smooth finish of his truck and lean against the hood. The dam between my heart and my head that I’ve spent most of my adult life building suddenly cracks and I can’t stop it.

  The kiss. I touch the middle of my lower lip and brush the exact spot where we connected. How many times have I fantasized about his kiss—sat in bed as a teenager and tried to wish it into being?

  The feel of his mouth on mine.

  The moment his hands searched through the water for my waist.

  The way our noses gently bumped until our bodies were in sync.

  But what does it mean? Was it the ending to something that started a long time ago or was it an invitation to a beginning?

  “You ready to go?”

  I turn around to see Tack smiling at me. His hair has dried in such a way that it points in a dozen different directions. The sun is behind him so each point glows just enough to make it look like he’s wearing a crown. But I can’t help focusing on his lips. I finally kissed those lips today.

  I get in the truck without saying a word and he hops in and puts the key in the ignition. Before he turns over the motor he stops and turns to me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I look down at my lap and notice the folder of information Kevin and Evan gave me during our meeting.

  “The order? No, not until I make sure I can make the numbers work. I’ll review their wholesale catalog on the drive back.”

  “You think I want to talk about the order?” he asks. I know he wants to talk about the kiss but I can’t.

  “Of course, what else is there to talk about?” I look over at him, hoping I sound convincing but knowing he can tell I’m avoiding the conversation. He turns the key in the ignition, starts the truck and turns on the radio.

  This time Tack avoids the back roads and goes right to the closest highway without so much as a crack in his calm neutral expression. I keep my nose buried in the papers like I’m a religious scholar studying scripture. I’m grateful we are on the highway because it means he has to keep his eyes focused on the road and I can catch a glimpse of him every now and then.

  Maybe if I hadn’t just heard from Barry I would have talked about the kiss with him, but the fact is Barry just offered me the very thing I’ve been wanting. But that was before Tack picked me up on the side of the road and moved in with me. I was about to tell Tack that I have no intention of staying in New Hope when we were in the stream but then he kissed me again and logic tumbled away in the rapids.

  I steal a glimpse of his profile and then go right back down to my papers. The afternoon sun is beginning to show on his face. His usual creamy skin has just a layer of pink developing on his cheeks and the number of freckles over the bridge of his nose has doubled.

  Is there any possibility of seeing this through with Tack? He could never leave the country and once I sell the inn what would I do for work? There aren’t a lot of international real estate investment teams in between the candle shops and trinket stores in New Hope.

  “Do you mind if we make a quick stop?” Tack asks.

  “No, not at all.”

  “We’re going by the Kandy Kitchen and Jules loves their Scotchmallows.”

  The word Scotchmallow is like a pistol that fires off a memory.

  “You mean the candies that are marshmallow covered in caramel that taste like sweet clouds and are wrapped in wax paper and when you buy four you get one free?”

  The words shoot out of my mouth.

  “I see you have not forgotten them. Would you like me to get you one?” he asks.

  I want to ask him to buy out the entire stock but instead I say, “No. That’s okay. I’ll pass. Thank you.” I’m trying to establish my boundaries.

  He pulls over in front of the square brick building with white benches on each side of the door and the pink and white striped awning that goes across the entire building that hasn’t changed since I was a kid. I keep studying the wholesale catalog until I see out of the corner of my eye that Tack is in the shop.

  I watch him through the window looking over the sweets and pointing to different confections. Tack is a good dad. It sounds like he really understands Jules for who they are and he’s thoughtful stopping off to get them a treat. It makes me melt inside knowing Tack is so kind with his kid. I know Tack’s dad never really showed him any affection.

  I’ve never been involved with a guy who has kid. On the surface it seems like it would be a total hassle but listening to Tack talk about his child didn’t make it sound like a hassle at all. I liked hearing about Jules and the challenges of raising a kid and how Tack meets those challenges. It wasn’t a turnoff. If anything, it made me more attracted to him.

  “Stop it,” I say out loud. It doesn’t matter. I’m not getting involved with Tack. I’m selling the inn and going back to New York by the end of the summer. Not to mention, I would be a disaster as a stepdad. I’d demand quiet when I’m studying an annual report and lose my temper when I didn’t get it. I wouldn’t know how to talk to a kid at all. I’m barely able to have normal conversations outside of a business setting. I’d be snarky and flip or overly condescending. Still, Jules sounds like an incredible kid and I wonder if I might be able to rise to the occasion.

  Tack comes out of the shop and I take my little fantasy and shove it as deep down as I can so it doesn’t percolate to the top of my mind again. He gets in the truck and puts two paper bags on his lap. “These are for Jules,” he says, placing one in the back. “These are for you,” he says, smiling at me and handing me the bag.

  I look inside. A Scotchmallow and all its caramelly goodness sits wrapped in wax paper at th
e bottom of the bag.

  “See,” Tack says, starting his truck and pulling out of the parking lot. “I’m not such a bad guy.”

  No, Tack. Maybe you aren’t at all. Behind him the afternoon sun creates a halo that makes his sweet face look even more angelic. Even the solar system is on this guy’s side.

  I look inside the bag again and notice a bright pink piece of paper. I pull it out and ask, “What’s this?”

  “Oh, it’s a flyer for the Annual Fudge Fest. They’ve been doing it for years. I thought your sweet tooth might enjoy it.” He starts the truck and pulls out of the parking lot.

  The flyer has puffy lettering and so many exclamation points it can be heard on the other side of the river. It announces: “Twelfth Annual Kandy Kitchen Fudge Festival. Come one, come all. Labor Day Weekend.”

  Labor Day. I’m planning to be out of here by then. I quickly put the flyer back in the bag next to the candy. Suddenly I’ve lost my appetite.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tack

  “What are you doing?” I open the door to my bedroom and through my barely awake squinting eyes spot Vince on his knees hammering on the bathroom door. We’ve stayed up way beyond midnight every night for the past week working together to get ready for the re-reopening. Each night I want to follow him to his bedroom when we’re done but despite my best game he remains unwilling to talk about what’s happening between us.

  He turns to look at me and then quickly turns back to the door like he has seen something he shouldn’t. I’m only wearing a pair of boxers but after our skinny-dipping session I barely think we can return to modesty.

  “I’m fixing the door,” he says and keeps banging. “It won’t close because the hinge has been painted over so I took it out, stripped it and now I’m putting it back.”

  “Really? Hammering. That was the item on your list you thought best for the morning. Maybe that could be an afternoon event.”

  “We don’t have much privacy around here and I thought you might appreciate a door that closes.”

  Quite the opposite. There’s a spot at the table by the window where I can get a nice view of Vince as he moves from shaving at the sink to hopping in the shower. I’ve been using that image to get through our daily meetings where I flirt as hard as possible but try not to cross the line. I feel like I’m testing the brakes of a race car.

  Vince is squatting on the floor and his ass sticks out like a balloon on a carnival dartboard. There’s no way anyone would call this guy Skinny Vinny now. I get he’s worked hard to have the quintessential masculine physique but it also makes me sad. Does he think people like him for what he has attained? His gym body? His considerable bank account? I wonder if anyone in New York really sees him the way I do. I wonder if Vince will ever let me really see him. He can’t keep up this macho bullshit show forever. Can’t he see how it’s keeping me out when all I want to do is get in?

  I kneel down next to him. “Let me help you. You hold your hinge in place and I’ll just hammer away,” I say, staring at his ass the entire time I’m talking.

  “Thanks. I’ve got this and you’re right. I should do this later.” He stands up, leaving me on the floor. I extend my hand signaling that I want a hand getting up. I don’t need it but it’s fun to torture Vince this way. I can see how hard he is resisting me and I can also see how bad a job he’s doing. Vince extends his arm but quickly looks to the side to avoid eye contact. It doesn’t matter. As soon as I grab his hand, I feel it and I know he must too.

  After all those years our physical connection has finally been activated and there is no way to stop it. We both know it. The only difference is I’m not trying to resist it. I’m sure this impromptu fix-it job is one more attempt to keep us apart but it’s going to take more than a bathroom door to stop me.

  I squeeze his hand on the way up from the floor but once I’m standing he releases his grip and I don’t let go. He turns to look at me and I smile at him, letting him know this is okay. We don’t have to fight this any longer. He doesn’t immediately pull his hand away and I take that as progress. Last week he would have snapped away on impulse. I raise my eyebrows just a bit to let him know resistance is futile.

  “Did you get to finish that appetizer recipe you were working on? The one with the goat cheese?” he asks, switching gears purposefully.

  “I did,” I say.

  “Great. Why don’t you get dressed and we can go downstairs to do a tasting?”

  “No need.”

  “You can’t go downstairs dressed like that. It’s...it’s...” he stammers, looking my body up and down. I don’t preen but I also don’t make any attempt to cover myself up.

  “It’s what?” I ask, looking down at my naked chest, wondering if he can see the growing erection in my boxer shorts.

  “It’s unhygienic. What if the health inspector did a spot inspection and they see my chef dressed like he’s auditioning for a male strip club revue?”

  I casually stretch my arms over my head in a way that I know accentuates the taut features of my midsection. “You mean Toby Horowitz? That health inspector? We played baseball for years together. This ain’t nothing he hasn’t seen before. He’s on his third wife. He won’t care. Unless the sight of my body makes it difficult for you to focus?” I ask, my voice full of playful mischief.

  Vince’s eyes linger on the patch of hair in the center of my chest for just a few seconds longer than I imagine he wants them to linger. Then he snaps out of it and shakes his head. “Wait a minute, Toby Horowitz became the health inspector for Bucks County?”

  “Yeah, I know. Kind of a shock, right?”

  “You mean the Toby Horowitz who I personally saw pick his nose and eat boogers multiple times during biology.”

  “Same guy,” I say and nod my head. “But it proves my point.” I grab a T-shirt that’s hanging from a hook behind my bedroom door and pick up the first pair of basketball shorts I see on the floor.

  “What point is that?” Vince asks.

  “People can change and some people can even stop picking their nose.”

  Vince lets out a laugh. I’m making progress so as a gesture of goodwill I throw on the shirt and we head downstairs.

  * * *

  “What do you think of this?” I ask, holding a forkful of my latest creation just in front of Vince’s mouth. “It’s roasted garlic and turnips from Iron Bridge Farm and goat cheese from Kevin’s goats with black sesame seeds.”

  He opens his mouth and I slowly put the white sticky mess directly onto his tongue. We both pretend there is absolutely nothing sexual about what I’m doing.

  “It’s delicious. That. Whatever that is. That goes on the menu but keep it away from me or I won’t stop eating.” He throws his head back in surrender. “Ugh. Why is that goat cheese so fucking good? Last night I woke up at 3 a.m. and came down for a spoonful.”

  I give him a smirk. “A spoonful? Half the container was missing this morning.”

  “Was it?” he asks innocently.

  There is a gentle silence between us. Vince’s eyes are searching mine and I dive right into his. Maybe this is the moment to leap right over his walls and go deeper into those piercing inky eyes that I want to lose myself in. I’m about to test the sturdiness of his resistance when the creaky kitchen door interrupts my offense and Anita rolls in. She rolls right past me and up to Vince.

  “Where the hell are the pride flags? What did you do?”

  “You took down the pride flags?” I ask.

  “They were worn and faded,” Vince explains.

  Anita gives Vince a look like she doesn’t completely believe him. “I just came back from the printer’s with the new menus and I had them print up a one page version for the both of you.”

  “I don’t need a cheat sheet. I think I can remember everything on the menu,” I say with an unfiltered sarcasm
.

  “Am I the only one who can keep things going around here? Leave it to the Indian woman in the wheelchair to keep the ship from sinking,” she says and rolls over to the desk where she keeps invoices and receipts.

  “Tomorrow is the Tinicum Fourth of July Festival,” she says, waving an overstuffed folder at us. “You two have already agreed to hand out our new menu for the grand reopening next week.”

  “Oh, right,” I say, realizing this is the perfect opportunity to unleash my secret weapon. Vince might be able to resist my charm but I also happen to be the dad of the most amazing kid in the world. “The festival is Jules’s favorite thing each summer. There’s a petting zoo that they love and last year they made some kind of wand with sparkles and streamers at the kids’ craft table. It’s my day with Jules already so this is perfect.”

  “Great, looks like you are already going so it won’t be a problem. I’ve got some errands to run, so I’m sure you don’t need me,” Vince says, making it clear that he does not want to be involved.

  “Do you see how many menus I have printed? In color. I got a deal but they still cost a fortune. You are both going,” Anita says, handing the folder off to Vince.

  “Fortune, did you say?” he asks. I’ve been trying to appeal to his bottom but Anita is making more headway with his bottom line.

  “Fortune,” she says. “The festival is one of the biggest in Bucks County and the timing couldn’t be better. In case you forgot, we have the restaurant reboot or re-reopening or whatever you want to call it coming up.”