Leaning Into Touch (Leaning Into Series Book 4)

by Lane Hayes

  “Yes, of course! Thank you for returning my call. Finn couldn’t stop talking about you this morning. If you’re available to come by or—”

  “I’d love to,” I said quickly.

  Dante chuckled at my immediate reply. “How about Monday at ten?”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll be at work, but I can come over on my lunch hour,” I paused before adding, “if that’s okay with you?”

  “It’s a date! Meet me at the gallery on Folsom. You can take a peek at the space, and then we can head next door for a quick bite to go over your resume. Sound good?”

  “That sounds amazing. Thank you.”

  I stared unseeing out the window after we hung up. Wow. I’d dragged my feet about calling Dante, thinking I really needed to get my shit together before I approached someone like him for work. I wasn’t sure I was ready for prime time, and his galleries were the real deal. But he called me. Thanks to Finn.

  I scrolled for Finn’s number and typed a brief message.

  Dante called. Thank you for the referral

  My cell buzzed a moment later.

  Ur welcome. Good luck 2 u

  I spotted my silly grin in the reflection as I sailed through the glass door. It was funny how one phone call could erase unnecessary tension and shed a little perspective. My parents were fine. My current job situation was only temporary, and the man I’d had a crush on a year ago really was a good guy. Positive thinking and unrelenting optimism paid off. All I had to do now was check on my father and ideally, push all thoughts of Finn out of my head for good.

  3

  My father was excited to hear from me. When I suggested meeting for lunch or a cup of coffee, he insisted on taking me to dinner Saturday night instead. My plan was to kick back with my friends, watching basketball for as long as possible before heading home to change and hop on BART to make the journey across the Bay to hang out with my dad. I turned off my phone to conserve the battery and to avoid fielding any potentially anxious calls from my mother.

  I popped the cap on my beer bottle then flicked it at Zane who picked it up and leaned sideways to throw it at me close range. When he and Eric got married a year and a half ago, I was afraid our collegiate dynamic was doomed for good. The five of us had been through some major life events since graduation. We were a solid quintet. Eric, Zane, Nick, Grant, and me. Except now three of the five of us were in relationships. Eric and Zane and now Nick and Wes. Which left Grant and me the only single guys left.

  I worried we wouldn’t be comfortable hanging out the way we had since college, but our brotherhood bond seemed stronger than ever. They were in healthy relationships with partners who recognized that friends provided balance in life. In Eric and Zane’s case, it could have gone sideways immediately. It had to be weird for them, especially in the beginning. I couldn’t imagine nonchalantly watching basketball—next to a guy I wanted to blow twenty-four seven—with our mutual friends who knew us in a completely non-sexual way. I’d have a constant boner. But they seemed extremely…well-adjusted.

  That had to be Zane’s doing. Zane was a former surfer dude turned professional sailor from Southern California who raced sailboats with major sponsorship and sold boats in his spare time. His longish dark-blond hair brushed the collar of his shirt when he leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. It was hard not to notice that his blue button-down shirt complemented his twinkling eyes. Zane was a good-looking guy. He was tall, tan, and built like the water polo player he’d once been in college. Nick was equally handsome. He was taller than Zane and maybe a little leaner with dark hair and gray eyes that seemed to change to complement whatever he was wearing. We affectionately referred to him as our absent-minded professor because the guy was a freaking genius, who like most people with IQs in the stratosphere, didn’t always clue into social niceties with grace. Nick was an oddball at times, but he had a good heart. I was glad he found someone like Wes, who seemed to get his idiosyncrasies and appreciated Nick as he was.

  “Where’s Wes?”

  “He had a meeting with the sommelier at The Little Olive. We’re spending the night in the city and heading back to Napa after we all go sailing tomorrow. Is that still happening, Z?”

  “Of course. Be ready by ten. You’re coming too, right Josh?”

  “Huh? Yeah, sure,” I mumbled distractedly.

  “What are you doing tonight? Have dinner here,” Eric said as he set a ginormous plate of nachos on the coffee table. “We were gonna grill steaks and make a salad. Simple but good. Zane’s a master griller and…”

  I made sure Eric saw my eye roll before I tuned him out and dug my phone from my back pocket. Never mind. Being the fifth wheel sucked. If Grant was here I might not have noticed that we’d become an unwittingly non-romantic couple at these gatherings. That was probably unfair. No doubt I was inwardly freaking out about my impending dinner with my father. I thought I was fine, but I was beginning to worry about my own reaction if he confided he’d met another woman. I had to snap out of my plummeting mood, I mused just as Zane snatched my cell out of my hands and held it in the air. “Hey!”

  “Hey, yourself. Why the long face, Joshy? Our team is winning and you’re grumpy,” he observed, narrowing his eyes as though that might help him figure me out.

  “I’m having dinner with my dad.”

  “So? Your dad is cool. What’s wrong with that?”

  “He is, but…my mom thinks he’s seeing someone.”

  I didn’t have to say anything more. That’s how well these guys knew me. They knew my parents. They’d been there for me when their marriage imploded and when they divorced during my junior year of college. They were my cheerleaders when I buckled under the pressure of the relentless engineering curriculum at the same time and decided to change my focus to Art History instead. They didn’t ask what the fuck I was thinking dropping a lucrative discipline to study moldy landscapes in a museum. They knew I was unhappy, and they encouraged me to follow my passion. Nonetheless, it didn’t make the awkward explanation about my parental woes any easier to share.

  Eric adjusted the volume on the TV and sat beside Zane. I loved all my friends, but Eric was the most naturally empathetic of the bunch. He had a way of letting you know you had his undivided attention and any resources you needed, including the shirt off his back if necessary. He was an inch or two shy of my six feet, and like me, he was a regular kind of guy. He had brown hair, brown eyes, and even features. Nothing truly exciting. However, Eric’s larger than average brain and gigantic heart made him stand out.

  Me…I had a good sense of humor. Usually.

  “How do you feel about that?” Eric asked gently.

  “Fine. I was surprised for sure, but I want him to be happy. It’s not right to be alone for so many years,” I said before adding, “says the only single guy in the room.”

  Zane smacked me with a throw pillow and Nick tossed a tortilla chip at me. I tucked the pillow to my chest and offered Eric the chip before chomping on it noisily.

  “So, you’re worried about your mom,” Nick commented.

  I didn’t blink an eye at Nick’s rare show of compassion. He still had a tendency to barrel through situations and conversations without filter, but lately we all noticed he tried a little harder to understand what wasn’t always readily apparent. No doubt we could thank Wes’s calming influence for his more frequent bouts of sensitivity.

  “Yeah. She’s freaked out. She was baking when she called.” I nodded as my friends let out a collective groan. “I know. I don’t get my parents. They have the weirdest relationship. They’re buddies. They still talk all the time. I thought they’d moved on and that we’d all grown out of the notion they’d get back together one day.”

  “Maybe she’s mad he didn’t tell her first. Finding out from someone else probably threw her off,” Eric suggested.

  “That might be it. Give me my phone, Z. I’ve gotta get going.” I caught my cell when he tossed it to me and turned it on bef
ore standing up to stretch. “What I don’t get is, why me? I’m not a neutral party. I’m their kid. They’re supposed to be the adults here. Not me.”

  “You’re thirty-two,” Zane reminded me, lifting his beer bottle in a mock toast.

  “Sure, but—” I glanced down at the flashing messages on my display and froze. “Oh, shit.”

  “What’s wrong now? You’re stressing me out. If you’re going to pace, make yourself useful and grab some more beer,” Nick snarked.

  “I’m late. Dad said he’s in town and he made a reservation at a restaurant in the Haight”—I checked my watch and widened my gaze in alarm—“in fifteen minutes. Geez, I thought we were going to order pizza and hang out at his condo. I think this place is fancy.”

  “What’s it called?” Eric asked.

  “The White Horse. That sounds familiar,” I muttered absently as I grabbed my jacket and smoothed my hair down as best I could. I was wearing a ripped T-shirt, worn-out jeans, and a pair of dirty white Converse. I was dressed for lounging, not fine dining. Fuck.

  “You can’t go there like that. I don’t think they’ll let you in without a collared shirt,” Nick said.

  “You can borrow one of mine,” Eric offered.

  “It wouldn’t fit, babe. Mine will be big on him, but it’s better than popping a button. What color do you want?” Zane asked as he moved toward the hallway.

  “Purple. I don’t care. Do you have a belt too? And maybe some hair gel. I look like I got stuck in a dryer on a permanent-press cycle.”

  “Yeah. You do. I’ll be right back,” Zane agreed.

  I tossed my coat aside and slipped my T-shirt over my head then called for a ride and typed a quick text to let my dad know I was on my way.

  “What about deodorant?” Eric asked.

  “You’re joking, right? I’m not wearing your deodorant. Do I smell?”

  Nick sniffed around me and made a gagging noise before nodding like a puppet. “Er, get the guy some aftershave too.”

  “I’m on it.”

  I fixed Nick with an exasperated look. “Is it really that fancy?”

  “Yep. Wes and I were there for a fine wine and food pairing dinner last week.” Nick furrowed his brow and gave me a funny look. “Honestly, I’m surprised your dad suggested it. I thought he liked loud bars where the waitresses wore see-through tank tops and served hot chicken wings with lukewarm beer.”

  “He does. I don’t get it. This is what I mean. Everything seems upside down. Between my job situation, my folks, and Finn, I—”

  “Finn? What the fuck? I thought that was over last year,” Nick said just as Zane and Eric returned.

  “It was. I—never mind. I’ll explain later. I have to get going.” I shoved my arm into the blue checked shirt Zane held for me and busied myself with the long row of buttons, studiously avoiding eye contact.

  “Josh, don’t get involved with Finn. He’s too…complicated.” I blinked at Eric’s cryptic tone.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Sure, because he’s got someone—” Nick sputtered. He waved furiously at the thick cloud of cologne Eric sprayed at us while Zane chuckled beside him. “Jesus, Er! Back off!”

  “Leave it alone,” Eric said sternly before turning to me. “Just remember…you can’t solve your parents’ issues, your job with Grant is a temporary thing, and there are a ton of fish in the sea. But most importantly, you’re not alone, Joshy. We got your back.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled, touched by the sincerity in his voice. “How do I look?”

  “Like you put on your big brother’s shirt after you fell into a vat of Versace for Men. Don’t get huffy. The vibe is perfect for a date with your dad…or your grandmother,” Nick snarked.

  I flipped him off and moved to the door. “Wish me luck. I’ve got a weird feeling about this.”

  No wonder I had a weird feeling. The White Horse was not my kind of restaurant. I’d grown up in a working-class section of Oakland. A big night out in those days was a trip to Applebee’s after my Little League games. My scholarship to an elite university exposed me to a gentrified crowd who’d grown up knowing which fork to use when they sat down at a table set with ten pieces of silverware per person. Of my closest friends, only Eric and Grant had privileged upbringings, but over the past decade or so we’d all conquered the mysteries of fine dining without embarrassing ourselves.

  But my dad? No way. He liked finger foods like pepperoni pizza, greasy cheeseburgers, and ribs slathered in barbeque sauce. Basic grub, not fine cuisine. Something was definitely going on. The hostess escorted me through the hushed dining room. If I’d been meeting anyone else, I might not have noticed the opulent crystal chandeliers, crisp white tablecloths, and the museum-quality landscapes decorating the wainscoted walls. With every step, I heard the soundtrack from Jaws playing loudly in my head. Fuck. He didn’t bring his new girlfriend, did he? It made more sense that he’d try to impress a new woman in his life than the son he taught how to make fart noises with his armpit.

  When the hostess gestured toward a table for two next to a private room, I breathed a sigh of relief. And then another one when I saw Dad. He looked fantastic. He stood to greet me with a giant smile and immediately wrapped me in a bear hug. We were roughly the same height and had the same lean build. I even had his wild hair, though his was shorter and liberally threaded with silver. For a man pushing sixty, Jeff Sheehan was in great shape.

  “Josh! It’s good to see you, son. Sit, sit. Tell me how you are. Your mother sounded worried about you, but I can’t see why. You look terrific. And you smell nice too,” he added with a wink.

  The blush was automatic. I thanked him but was spared a prolonged conversation about my appearance and overly fragrant self when a waiter approached with a cocktail menu. I ordered a gin and tonic and promised to peruse the wine list and dinner menu before turning my attention back to my father.

  “When did you talk to Mom?”

  “Yesterday. She said she was worried about you and then she suggested I take you to dinner…if you called. Reading in between the not-so-invisible lines, I understood you were given instructions to contact me.” His eyes twinkled merrily as he leaned forward. “Am I right?”

  “Yeah. Except she told me she was worried about you,” I said in a passive-aggressive tone that would have made my mother proud. In my defense, I decided there was no need to rush into an interrogation. I might as well enjoy a drink or two before the conversation potentially turned caustic.

  Dad chuckled. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “You seem fine. What are you doing in the city?”

  “Visiting a friend.”

  Oh boy. That was my opening. I wasn’t ready, though. I needed liquid courage. And more time. I thanked the server when he delivered my drink and took a quick sip. Nope. Still not ready.

  “I was geared up to take BART to your place and chow down on frozen pizzas. This is…unexpected.”

  “Vive la difference! Tell me about your new job and your plan to eventually rule the art world after a brief stop in the real estate biz.”

  I snorted at his lame attempt at humor, but I felt the tension ease from my shoulders because I recognized this guy. My dad was famous for telling a story incorrectly as a ploy to get others to engage. A typical dinner table discussion when I was a teenager would begin with me giving monosyllabic answers to well-meaning queries about my day. Dad would let a few slide before he’d make up some ridiculous story about hearing that I’d been randomly chosen to take over for the star quarterback at the big game on Friday night. My jaw would drop in dismay before I gave him the real story…the boring one, about what really went on in my humdrum world. Crazily enough, we’d both walk away smiling.

  I gave him the highlights of my tumultuous week, silently congratulating myself for making it sound like I’d landed on my feet when the truth was I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. We ordered a bottle of Conrad’s finest Pinot with our dinners and chatted about
everything from my sisters and their families to Opening Day for the Oakland A’s. Somewhere between the caesar salad, a scrumptious filet mignon, and my second glass of wine, I forgot this wasn’t just supposed to be a pleasant father-son dinner. It was a fact-finding mission. Except, he seemed happy and like the good ol’ dad I knew and loved. I was beginning to think my mom’s concern was way off-base when his cell rang and then vibrated.

  He gave it a cursory glance and was about to continue ranking pitchers in the National League, but he did a double-take at his screen instead. His entire face changed. Everything about him changed. His posture, his expression, the tilt of his head. His eyes lit up and took on a dreamy sort of look that spoke volumes without him uttering a word. In that one instant, he looked twenty years younger. And he looked like a man in love.

  I gulped and reached for my water.

  “I apologize, son. Let me answer this real quick. Where are my glasses?”

  “Your suit pocket?” I offered, looking over his shoulder as the door behind him opened.

  I studied the strangers gathered under yet another crystal chandelier around a long rectangular table in a book-lined room. It was a warm, inviting atmosphere. Someone was giving a toast and—

  Whoa. Was that…? It couldn’t be. Holy fuck.

  That’s why this place sounded familiar. Finn mentioned it the other night. That had to be his party next door. I craned my neck around my dad who was squinting at his phone. The back of the man’s head looked familiar, but I had to see his profile again to be sure it was him.

  “There!” Dad declared, setting his readers on top of his phone.

  He pulled out his credit card and signaled to our waiter that he was ready for our bill. When he handed it over without opening the leather-bound folder, my senses went on high alert. His odd choice of restaurant was one thing, but not going over the itemized list to double-check that there were no discrepancies was completely out of character. My father was an accountant, for fuck’s sake. He never walked out of McDonald’s without studying his receipt first. It was a quirky trait we all teased him about when we were growing up. He’d just smile good-naturedly and assure us we’d do the same thing one day when we had families of our own to feed.