by E. Davies
Meadery, I want to correct him, but this isn’t the moment. I told them I’m a winemaker so I don’t have to explain how honey ferments for the thousandth time.
Caleb’s dad seems easygoing, but I know why he’s asking. He’s trying to figure out if I’m a successful business owner or a madman with a couple of beehives, a crazy plan, and a bunch of debt.
The rest of the family is all watching me, too. It’s way worse than being on any stage. But I try to calm down and reassure myself that people understand a few mistakes in a performance as long as you entertain them.
I can do that tonight—I just have to figure out the right balance between making fun of myself and presenting myself as a serious candidate for Caleb’s affections.
“Really well,” I tell him with a smile. “I never thought I’d love it so much, but I do. Sales have been going up every quarter for the last couple of years.”
“That’s wonderful to hear,” Caleb’s mom—Michelle—tells me, and his dad nods approvingly.
“Yeah. Takes time for people to hear about it and try it, and then they get hooked and tell their friends… it’s a slow game, but I’m patient. Takes time to get things right.”
I deliberately look across the table at Caleb with those last words, a smile touching my lips.
Caleb blushes and meets my gaze like he’s thinking the same thing. Not that we took much time.
“But when the right thing comes along, you just know,” Lee says with a lilt to his voice that I’m certain is teasing.
The glare Caleb shoots him is only confirmation.
I politely smile and nod, then redirect the conversation to their careers, but it only lasts long enough to let me finish my roast ham and potatoes. By the time dessert is served, I’m in the spotlight once more.
“So, about your intentions with my little brother…” That’s Lee, grinning like the Cheshire Cat while his wife, Sarah, jabs him with an elbow.
I chuckle, trying to sound more confident than I feel. I’ve prepared an answer, but I didn’t even have to think about it. It’s the truth. “Whatever Caleb wants, Caleb gets.”
“Just like the rest of his life,” Eli shakes his head mock-seriously. “Our spoiled baby brother.”
“Hey. Whatever I got, you guys arm-wrestled me for. Or negotiated over. I earned it all fair and square.” Caleb’s cheeks are bright red, but he’s trying to stand up for himself at least, and that makes me happy.
“Hey, are you brothers?” I feign surprise and set down my fork. “Wow.”
“I know. It’s so hard to tell. Sometimes it seems like we get along,” Kelvin says.
“Well, he doesn’t seem like a weirdo or an online dating scammer, so my vote is yes,” Lee says with a grin at me. “But only since you like him, little brother. No, no, I’m kidding,” he raises his hand before his wife can elbow him again. “I just thought you might be too good to be true. But hey. Anyone offering to take him off our hands at last…”
I swallow hard. I can’t ride the wave of his incessant joking when he hits too close to home. I’m not out to hurt Caleb, and I’m definitely not a catfish. But… I kind of am.
“Lee,” Michelle scolds her son as she folds her napkin, but the others laugh. She looks over at me with a warm smile. “You’re more than welcome to our table and our family.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, and I manage a smile. Then I quickly compliment her on the apple pie and dig in, so I don’t have to say anything.
I’m hardly hungry, though. The nerves might have settled, but the guilt has replaced that weight in my stomach.
They’re all being so nice—maybe a little hard-assed, but nice nonetheless. Despite my fears, none of them have recognized me or asked me questions that forced me to lie.
Not-lying isn’t the truth, though. I’m only telling Caleb half the story.
I’ve got excuses for days.
It’s only been a week, after all, and I don’t just tell everyone I know. I don’t want Caleb’s family to blow my hard-won anonymity. I don’t want them assuming I’m some egotistic rich guy. I can’t tell Caleb the rest of the story right now for the first time in front of his whole family.
Excuses coming out of my ass.
I also don’t want to tell Caleb tonight, or tomorrow, or… ever. I want to just pretend that guy doesn’t exist anymore, that I’ve always been this one.
But that’s unrealistic. My parents are going to want to meet Caleb when they next visit. They usually remember to call me Tag now, but no way can I ask them to keep my secrets.
Or before then, someone with a good memory for faces will spot me and it’ll all be over. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened in the last four years, but I’ve also kept to myself for most of that time.
The family’s conversation is back to the deck outside, which gives me a great reason to say nothing and let them argue out dimensions and types of lumber.
I have to tell him soon. Crap.
I hate that idea. I hate giving him a chance to think less of me for selling my soul to the machine, and I hate admitting what happened to me.
It wasn’t just my choice to leave. But the way I got kicked out? Downright humiliating. It made the news, the founding singer of the up-and-coming rock band of the decade being kicked out on stage in a live, intimate concert.
It was as much a surprise for me as the fans that night. I did the professional thing—unlike those assholes—and went along with it. Pretended like I had a say in it, because I knew damn well the lawyers would find a way to screw me over if I didn’t.
But as much as it scares and embarrasses me, how much worse can it be than Caleb bringing me to meet his family or facing down his stage fright? It’s not like I can take this secret to my deathbed.
The only way to assuage my guilt is to promise myself that this is just the first meeting. The trial run. The next time I see Caleb’s family, I’ll come clean about everything.
That means telling Caleb first, and if I don’t put a deadline on it now… I think I never will, until it’s too late.
“Tomorrow night.” Caleb’s words shake me out of my reverie and I blink at him, looking around like I didn’t just tune the fuck out. “Bees and Beats,” he adds with a wink at me. “Not my name.”
I grin sheepishly and raise my hand. “Guilty. I’m awful at naming things.”
“It sounds fun, though. And we’ve got to try more.” Lily points at the empty mead bottles on the table. I brought two, but they were gone in a flash with compliments all around. “We’ll get Leanne to look after the kids again?” she asks Eli, who nods.
Oh, God. Within moments, every person around the table promises to show up tomorrow. This time, instead of Caleb being nervous, he’s proud and excited and I’m shitting a brick.
Tomorrow night.
That’s when I’ll tell Caleb, after the poetry reading. When I’ve shown him that I can pull out all the stops to support him, and I’ve shared the work that truly comes from my heart instead of the bland stuff everyone’s heard on the radio.
When he sees for certain that the whole rock star persona is gone, and I’m just Tag now. The guy who loves him and wants to give him everything he’s ever dreamed of.
I’ll prove how I feel about Caleb first, and then I’ll tell him the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. In the meantime, I’ll just pray that I don’t scare him off forever.
21
Caleb
“I think that went great.”
I’m a little bit tipsy, so I’m glad Tag is doing the driving again. I could get used to being ferried around in his white pickup truck. It’s not a pumpkin carriage, but it feels pretty damn close.
We’re heading to his place now so I can practice my performance. I think it’ll be more flirting than practice, but that’s A-OK with me. I should try to pick up more anti-stage fright tips, but I’m too giggly and high from the relief of how well dinner went.
I roll my head to the side and gaze at the man, trying
to find words for my admiration. He handled everyone so brilliantly tonight, from Eli’s scrutiny to Lee’s merciless teasing.
I’d like to think I’m pretty straightforward, but my family is a handful. And if Tag can handle them, he can handle anything.
“Mmhmm,” Tag murmurs, his eyes on the road. He throws on his turn signal as he pulls out of the little suburban street where my parents live, heading for his place.
“You’re not scarred for life?” I reach across the seat to poke his thigh gently.
“Nuh-uh.”
“Give it time. Once they get dirt on you, they’ll never let it go.” I giggle, he smiles, and I relax.
I’m glad he likes my laughter. It always seems to make him smile. He doesn’t get uptight about me not being the manliest man on the planet. Same with my lisp—it’s stronger when I’ve been drinking.
Everything I used to think would scare off a big, strong guy like him just seems to enchant him.
And I’m just as smitten with everything Tag says and does. I’m so happy that I get to spend another night with him. The world seems like a better place all of a sudden.
“I might treat you tonight,” Tag says suddenly as he stops at a red light.
I bite my lip as a prickle of heat works its way through me. “Mmhmm?” I try for my most seductive response.
Tag laughs. “Oh, no. I’ve corrupted your sweet, innocent mind.”
“Corrupted me, sure. My mind was never sweet or innocent, though.” I conspiratorially hold a finger to my lips. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Jesus.” Tag rests a hand on his head for a moment, and then lays it on the seat between us. He actually looks guilty as the light changes and he pulls away. “I didn’t realize you were that much of a lightweight.”
I pout at him and put my hand in his. I wish I’d slid into the middle seat instead of this one. The truck is huge and it feels like we’re a mile apart. “Don’t worry, I’m not that drunk. Just high on life. On… you.”
I can’t find a better way to express the fact that every time he speaks, a choir of angels seems to point to him and tell me, That one. Hold on to him.
Yeah, I plan to.
“Oh.” Tag can’t hide his smile. “Okay.”
I smile all the way back to his place, and once he’s parked and he sticks his head in to check on Queenie, the two of us head out to the tasting room.
“We could do it in the house, but it feels more like a bar in here. Plus, we’re alone.”
“I’ll do it anywhere with you,” I giggle as I squirm against him, shivering cold. I knew I’d be getting straight into the truck so I didn’t wear my jacket today, and it’s getting freaking cold out at night. “Alone or not.”
“Jesus, Caleb. You’re going to distract me if you’re not careful.” Tag slips his key into the lock and turns it, then pushes the door open and holds it for me.
I wink. “Good.” Then I make a show of grinding past him in order to step through the doorway, ignoring his groan.
But despite my wild fantasies, he doesn’t grab me and fling me to the floor to go to town.
Not yet, anyway. We’ve got time.
“You brought your poetry?” Tag asks, flicking the lights on. Then he closes and locks the door behind us. Damn it, he really does want to practice. At least I won’t be self-conscious if it’s just him here.
“I did.” The folded pages are shoved into my back pocket. I’ve been squirming on them all evening at supper, but I didn’t want to put them on the table in case I forgot them—or Lee decided to do a dramatic reading.
Tag sinks onto the chair at one of the tables. “All right. Find somewhere comfortable to stand.”
I frown and look around. “It’s not going to be the same without a stage.” My eyes land on the bar top, but before I can say a word, Tag grabs my arm.
“Not a chance.” He actually seems genuinely worried, which is really sweet.
I grin at him. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Bodily harm,” Tag nods. “Full body cast. Try performing in one of those.”
“That’s okay, you can hold my pages and turn them for me.”
His eyes light up with amusement. “May I? Thank you.”
“As long as you stay out of my spotlight.”
Tag tips his head back and laughs richly, his eyes sparkling as he shakes his head slightly. The fondness on his face makes me glow with pride. I did that. I made him happy.
“Oh, I…” Tag says, and then he abruptly stops. His eyes go a little bit wide. Then he quickly carries on. “I really like you.”
Fuck. I think he nearly said it. And he’s not the only one.
It may be fast, but does that really matter? We’re both adults, even if I’m not very experienced. We each know what we want. Why drag it out with doubts and second-guessing? I’d rather lock that shit down.
I already know Tag is everything I’m looking for in a guy. Total dreamboat. And it makes me ridiculously happy that he nearly slipped up and said it—the L-word. I’m sure of it.
“I ‘really like’ you too,” I say with a huge, silly grin that I can’t stop. I might be teasing him just a little bit. Then I pretend to cough. “But I can’t read with such a dry throat.”
Tag leaps to his feet and strides for the bar as I beam at his retreating back. “What can I get you? No, wait. I have an idea. I can make you something. A surprise.”
I lean my hip against the nearest table as I unfold and flatten out the pages, smiling to myself. “Is that the surprise you promised me?”
“Huh? Oh, no. That’s something else.”
“Oooh.” I shiver with happiness this time. “You spoil me.”
“Not nearly as much as I want to,” Tag assures me.
I blush, biting my lip and watch him focusing on pouring things into a cocktail shaker. I have no idea what he’s making me, but I’m okay with that. He knows what I like, and I trust him to choose something good.
“Hold on, I need something,” Tag mumbles and hurries out of the tasting room while I laugh.
“What on earth…”
When he returns, awkwardly opening the door with his shoulder, he’s got a brown egg in each hand. “Farm fresh,” he says, holding them up with a big, winning smile.
I can’t stop my laughter, but I’m completely enchanted. He could have just blended mead with some soda or something, but he’s going the whole nine yards.
“Egg white? Or are you skipping ahead to breakfast?”
“Nothing says this can’t be breakfast,” Tag waggles his brows as I giggle again.
“Mmm. Good point. Now I know what to order with my toast and poached eggs.”
After a little more shaking and stirring and pouring and stealthy tasting that I pretend not to notice, Tag emerges from behind the counter with two tall, elegantly curved glasses.
I catch my breath at the elegant presentation. The glasses are filled with some reddish-pink cocktail with foam on top, and he’s even put a cherry on the rim of each glass.
“Thank you. What’s it called?” I ask, taking the glass and gently clinking it against his for a toast.
Tag catches my gaze and holds it, and suddenly I can’t blink or look away. The depth of feeling in his eyes almost hurts. “Hmm… I think…” he murmurs, but I can tell he’s already decided. “I think I’ll call it The Poet.”
I could just about cry. I bite my lip, finally tearing my gaze away from his so that I can carefully sip.
Oh, God, it’s incredible. Cherry and almond wash over my tongue first, followed by a bite of… lemon? It’s foamy and playful and perfect.
Tag is sipping from his own glass, watching me anxiously for my verdict.
“I love it,” I murmur and look straight at him, hoping he knows what I mean: I love you.
Tag’s cheeks flush. “Good,” he murmurs, and I’m not fooled by his steady voice. “Now, how about you practice?” His hand shakes as he sets his glass on the table and clears hi
s throat.
I shake my head. With so many thoughts of Tag running around my head, I don’t want to pull away from him and practice performing. That’s a problem for tomorrow night. “It’s not the same. I can read anything out to you. Being on stage is a different experience.”
“Hmm.” Tag acknowledges my point with a little nod. “Come here, then.”
I scramble onto the chair next to him and set my papers down, swapping them for my cocktail glass. “Plus, I don’t want to be parted from this cocktail.”
This cocktail. Not you. But he knows what I mean. Tag runs his hand down my thigh gently, taking my hand.
“I’m glad you like it. Now, did you want to find out what my surprise is?”
I bite my lip and look him up and down, trying for a comical yet sexy expression. “Oh, yes, please.”
Tag cracks up again and leans in for an affectionate kiss. “Okay. I don’t do this for just anyone. In fact… I haven’t done it in a long time.”
There are so many inappropriate jokes that I can’t choose just one. By the time I push them all to the side, Tag has stood up and taken down the guitar from the wall.
“You’re kidding. You play?” I gasp. I thought it was just ornamental. This is insane. My life is a movie. He’s made me a custom cocktail and he’s about to serenade me with a guitar. I’m literally melting into happy goo.
“Don’t judge me if I screw up. Literally, it’s been years.”
I shake my head. I doubt I’d notice anyway, but it doesn’t matter. He could be the worst guitar player in the world and the pants would still magically melt off me.
But he’s not the worst. In fact, he’s really good. So good that I almost forget to drink my cocktail because my jaw is hanging open.
His fingers dance along the chords like he was born to it, and he hums a little bit here and there. The melody flowing from his fingers is soft but filled with meaning.
I can’t stop staring. “Jesus,” I whisper when the last note finally fades. “You’re talented.”
Where the hell did he learn to play so well? Who was he, before he became a beekeeper in the woods?