by Anna Zabo
I took another second to catch my breath. When this day was through, I was going to need a beer. Company too. Preferably the tall and lanky kind. Maybe nothing would happen other than flirting, but I wanted to know what was going through his mind. Or body. Whichever.
I dug out the set plans, my notes, and found an open space on the table. Simon returned while I was rooting through my supplies for paint. I had to have a bottle of the color I’d used under everything. Except I didn’t. “Damn.”
Simon’s warm hand on my back nearly made me jump out of my skin. “What are you looking for?”
“Paint.” It came out higher than it should have. “I, uh, used this particular sepia brown under everything, and I could have sworn . . .”
His fingers drifted down my back and fell away. “You wouldn’t happen to remember the name?”
No. But I had lists for that. A few flips of the pages in my notebook, and I’d found it. “Here.”
He took in more than the paint color above the tip of my finger. “This is high-end stuff.”
“Dude. This is Wolf’s Landing.”
A little red in his cheeks. “Right. Hollywood. Sometimes I forget.”
“Is that good or bad?”
He peered back at me, eyes the same shade as a morning sky. “Both, I think. It’s weird. A lot of you guys have become local-ish. Settled in. That’s good.”
“And the bad?”
“I don’t carry this brand of paint.”
Yeah, that could be a problem. “We’ll make do.”
He stepped up to the model and peered closer. “I bet I can match the color.”
Wouldn’t you know, he did. Nearly perfectly. There was a touch of red in the brand he carried, but in some ways, that was better. We rebuilt the upright columns that acted as tree trunks and fixed up the altar base until it was as good as new, then started painting the whole contraption. Simon’s color contrasted better when I added gray on top. While I touched up the paint, I set Simon to piecing together the shattered remains of the trunk texture. I’d spent so damn long to get those trees to appear real, especially in the flickering light that should play off them . . . right before the whole set blew up. I wasn’t going to waste that work.
He hummed to himself. Nothing I recognized—might not have been anything but random notes—but it was pleasant and sweet, and I wondered if he puttered around his house like that, making up little tunes under his breath.
That led to visions of Simon, bare-chested, wearing nothing but a low-slung pair of gray sweatpants in his kitchen. Man, did I want to see that. There was nothing like slim hips in sweats that begged to be slipped off.
Oh yeah. I had it bad.
“I do love puzzles,” Simon murmured, as he poked at pieces of tree bits on the table. He straightened and stretched his back. “I think I’m done.”
“Nearly there, myself.” I put a few final touches on the base, then stepped away. It looked decent too. Still a lot to accomplish, but my stomach told me we were close to dinnertime, and my watch confirmed. Nearly five thirty.
Not bad for a half-day’s work.
On the other table, Simon had arranged the bits and pieces of cracked tree trunk material, and it did kind of seem like a pieced-together puzzle, had the maker been a sadistic bastard. Which I guess I was, since I’d asked him to figure out how they all went back together.
“There’s parts missing.” He pointed out some spots where there were noticeable gaps.
I chewed on the inside of my mouth, arms tingling, and nodded. “There’s going to be, anyway.” I waved at the model. “The bases for those trees aren’t exactly the same as they were.”
“I’m surprised you don’t use real bark.”
He wasn’t the first to suggest it. “It looks wrong. Ridges are too big, since it’s actual tree-sized and not miniature.”
Simon snickered.
“What?”
“You drive a Mini.”
I stared at him.
“A miniature guy . . . who drives a Mini.”
Oh my God. “I . . . uh.” Never crossed my mind.
“No . . . Don’t fuck with me. You didn’t buy it because of that?”
“I didn’t! I got it because it’s cute and yellow and gets good gas mileage!”
We couldn’t stop laughing, and God, Simon was amazing. Dimples, laughlines, and a bright smile. His hair was disheveled and all I wanted to do was brush it out of his face.
Of course, we were still in his store, and of course that’s the moment when we weren’t alone anymore.
“Someone’s happy.” The woman who spoke was slightly shorter than me but elegant, unlike either of us, even in her jeans and plaid button-down. Long black hair that wasn’t at all like my short mess. She had a bohemian look to her.
We, on the other hand, looked like guys who’d spent the day painting a model.
“Hey!” Simon lit the fuck up when he saw her, more than he should for an employee. Or friend. “I thought you were working tonight?”
I swallowed my breath and my heart. Oh shit, no. I couldn’t have been wrong. No way.
“Oh, I am,” she said. “Still have about two hours left on the lettering job. But a girl’s gotta eat.” She peered at me, her smile warm and inviting. “And I wanted to meet your friend.”
I didn’t want to meet her, because she was acting like a girlfriend and I wanted to take Simon out for a beer. I didn’t want to know who she was, because I had to spend the next week working next to a man who moved like sin.
I must have hidden it well enough, because Simon’s toothy grin was aimed at me. “This is Ian Meyers, the miniaturist I was telling you about.”
At least he was talking about me? None of this felt right, though. My lungs were tight.
She reached out her hand and I took it. Warm fingers, but my blood was going cold.
“Ian, this is Lydia, my wife.”
Fuck. Fucking hell. “Great to meet you,” I said, and it sounded pretty good, despite the tumble in my head.
“Likewise.” She was as charming as her husband. All good cheer and happiness.
We let go of each other’s hands.
Great. Just . . . great. I really picked winners, didn’t I?
After Simon and I cleaned ourselves up in the End o’ Earth’s tiny staff bathroom, the three of us headed down to Cougar Den, the nearest bar. Well, I shouldn’t say three. It was Mr. and Mrs. Derry and me, the gullible and foolish third wheel. But the tavern had a good beer selection and decent food, both of which I needed. Especially the beer.
Seems like everyone did. We ordered a round of local brew for one and all. I doubted either of them had the same thing running through their minds.
Married. Fucking dude didn’t wear a ring! Lydia did, though. A silver band with some etching on the side. It wasn’t until the waitress brought us water that I recognized it. “Is that a Stargate?”
Lydia smiled as if she had no idea I’d spent part of the afternoon imagining her husband naked and under me. “Good eye.” She glanced at the ring. “Do you want to see it?”
I kinda did, and maybe she could tell, because she pulled the ring off and handed it to me. Yup. Little miniature Stargate wedding band. Nice detail and the symbol band even rotated. There was a date inscribed inside. Quick math told me they’d been married ten years, which made me wonder about Simon. Gay? Bi? Trapped? Happy? He’d sure gotten a boner a few times, flirted like he wanted my cock, and yet here we were at a bar with his wife. I played with the spinning part of the ring. “Is this official merchandise?”
She coughed. “No. It was before the whole geek-ring trend became . . . well, a trend.” A little color came to her cheeks. “The guy who made them doesn’t anymore.”
“There are official ones now, if you ever need one.” Simon closed his menu. “Before Lydia was into—” He stopped and got this adorably sheepish expression. “Well, back when we met, Lydia was into Stargate.”
I handed the ring back t
o Lydia. “Before?”
Now they both looked sheepish. Huh. I wanted to prod, but the server came to drop off our beers and take our order. To top off the weirdness of the night, they both ordered bacon cheeseburgers, which I desperately wanted . . . so fuck it, I ordered one as well. They both ordered fries. At least I got mine with onion rings . . . wouldn’t be kissing anyone tonight.
I also wasn’t letting them off the hook for earlier. “Before?” I repeated.
Lydia’s face gained color, and she glanced around the bar. “Before I was into Wolf’s Landing.” Low voice. “Stargate was my passion before that.”
Which meant Wolf’s Landing was her passion now. “Oh.”
Embarrassment tightened her features. “I’m sorry. I try not to mention it, especially with people—” She waved her hand.
With people like me, who worked for the show. My stomach lurched. “It’s okay, you know? To be a fan. Bunch of people on set are, too.” Absolutely true. Couple folks had jumped at the chance to work on the show because they loved the books to pieces. Including me.
“I know.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But there’s the whole thing about not shitting where you live.” She met my gaze. “I live here. So does Levi Pritchard and Carter Samuels and Hunter Easton and a bunch of other people. I can’t imagine what it’s like with all the fans coming through. They don’t need that from me.”
Right there and then, I decided I liked Lydia. She was real and earnest and cared. Sure, she was also married to my walking wet dream, but I couldn’t blame her for getting there first. “Hey, they need people to adore what they do, too. That’s part of why they do it.” I reached over the table, took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. “Just because you live here doesn’t mean you have to stop loving Wolf’s Landing.”
Man, the light in her eyes, and that little smile. If she’d been a guy, I’d have been all over her. As it was, it warmed my heart. No wonder Simon was with her. I let go and took a swig of beer.
Lucky bastards. Both of them.
She wet her whistle with a swig from her own bottle. “So, how’d you guys make out today?” Her focus shifted between the two of us.
Simon scratched the back of his head, as if he, like me, had zoomed right in on the words make out. “Well, I puzzled together some broken tree bits and Ian painted. But I don’t know . . .”
He still had lovely blue eyes, and my body still responded to them, even if my brain slapped married all over that. “It was a good start. It’s gonna be a long-ass week, but I got more done with your help than I could have alone.”
They both smiled and parts of me zinged in ways I didn’t understand. Good people. A hot guy. A married guy. His cool wife. None of it made sense.
I was so damn grateful when the burgers came, because they gave us all a chance to stop talking. But food only covers the lulls in conversation for so long. This time, I wanted the control. “When does the shop open tomorrow?”
Simon had a mouth full of fries, so Lydia answered. “Ten. But I’ll be there, probably before eight.”
“Takes that long to open up?”
“Only on Wednesdays—comic day.” Which tomorrow wasn’t. She continued. “But my studio’s in the back of the shop, and I need to finish this coloring job, so I’ll be in early.”
“Wait, you work in comics?” Talented, too? Kill me now and put me out of my misery.
She picked up a fry. “Freelance. A little lettering here. Some coloring there.” She smirked. “And like everyone, I’m working on my own graphic novel.”
No way she was getting off that easy. “About what?”
Simon giggled, but said nothing. A moment later, he jumped. “Ow! Hey!”
“Don’t you start, Si.” There was laughter in Lydia’s words.
“He’ll love the idea, I’m sure.” Simon poked his fry at me. “It’s tons of fun.”
His grin still pushed all my buttons. “What?”
“It’s . . . pirates. Space pirates.” She looked mortified.
“But with tall ships and lasers!” Simon had the glee of a kid with a thousand SweeTarts. He flinched when Lydia kicked him under the table again.
I could buy that, actually. I mean, why not? “And? What’s the story?”
Lydia got quiet. “An older woman searching for her little sister she had to leave behind when their planet was taken over by the Tsar of the neighboring system. She was conscripted into the Navy, rose through the ranks, then broke away. Became a buccaneer and started her search.”
Simon had been right. This was something I’d love. “Got queer characters?”
That made her laugh. “Oh yeah. Queer. Poly. People of color. Basically, I rage wrote this idea from all the stuff I loved but never saw. And now—”
“She’s making it.” Simon finished. The way he watched her . . . damn. He wasn’t trapped. That was a man who loved his wife.
Why did such wonderful, beautiful people have to find each other? How did they? Because I needed to take some notes on that shit. I wanted Simon badly, but that wasn’t going to happen, given his marriage. I might have been gay, but I totally got why he was into Lydia. Hell, I wanted her as a friend.
The conversation shifted and for a little while, Simon and Lydia talked shop—literally—and I got a small glimpse into running a comics store. Same pain points as any other business. Overhead. Margins. Scheduling. In some respect, I was glad for my paycheck. There were plusses to not being your own boss too.
When the tab for dinner finally came, I grabbed it, over both their protests. “Hey, you guys are doing me a huge favor. Least I can do.”
After I got my card back, we left and fell into an awkward silence on the street.
“Um,” Lydia said. “I need to head back to the shop.”
“I’m parked there,” I replied. “So I’m heading that way.”
Simon gave one of his little shrug-and-smile deals. “I’ll follow.”
But which one of us was he following?
As it turned out, we walked in a row, with me in the middle. Nothing at all symbolic about that. My confusion raced back.
Married. Hot. Shit.
When we got to the shop, Lydia paused by the door. “Do you mind hugs?”
“Love ’em.” Nice of her to ask, though.
She folded her arms around me. “Great meeting you, Ian.”
I patted her on the back and enjoyed the warmth before we broke apart. I didn’t get a lot of physical contact from anyone, to be honest. Hugs from friends? I liked those.
Of course, this meant I had slotted Lydia into friend already. I laughed at myself. Only I would end up liking the wife of the guy whose bones I wanted to jump. Speaking of which . . . Simon looked at me and raised a brow, the question pretty obvious. So, I hugged him too.
Hugging the guy you want to fuck while he was off-limits? That’s damn good as well. And maybe I lingered a little longer than I should have. Been a little harder than appropriate. Or maybe he did and was too. Shit.
Simon gave out a small sigh and let go. “See you tomorrow.”
“I’ll probably be here about eight thirty, if that’s okay?”
Lydia nodded. “Come around to the back of the building and ring the bell. I’ll let you in.”
“I’ll be in around nine thirty,” Simon said. “I’m working the morning shift, but I can help when there’s a lull.”
“Or I can take over, and you can have him for the day.” Lydia smoothed a hand down Simon’s arm. “Let’s see how much of this job I get finished.”
I nodded because it seemed the best idea. “Tomorrow, then.”
We said our goodbyes, and I climbed into my Mini. Simon’s joke came back to me, and I chuckled, but sobered quickly.
He’d been so damn flirty. They were so damn married.
On the drive back to my apartment outside town, I ran the whole day through my head. I had no idea what to feel at all.
I followed Lydia into the store. I’d biked
over from our house, so I had to grab my wheels to get home, and I wanted to make sure everything was fine with Ian’s set. Most of our customers knew not to touch what was on the tables in the model area. But still.
Plus, I’d caught the look in Lydia’s eyes. She wanted a conversation.
Jesse had taken over from Dexy, and he nodded. “Boss-people.”
Lydia rounded the counter and gave him a playful bump with her hip. “We’ve got names, you know.”
Jesse grunted, but his smile said everything. This was an old, old routine. He focused on me. “You heading out?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Been here since opening. Gonna be here to open tomorrow.” I tried not to work too many shifts in a row. That shit could burn you out.
“I’ll hold down the fort, then.”
“If you need anything, I’ll be in back.” Lydia met my gaze. “Got a minute, Si?”
“Always, for you.” Yup. Conversation time. Probably about Ian. Everything about their interaction had told me she liked him, which was good. Still, I always got nervous about these talks. We headed into the employees/storage area and then a little deeper into the tiny room she’d claimed as her studio. It had a high window along one wall and her work covered pretty much every free surface.
I closed the door and leaned against it. “You like him.”
“Of course I do. You have fantastic taste in men.” She flopped into her chair. “He’s charming and pretty and he’s a certified geek.”
Yup to all of those. “I didn’t tell him I was married.” Which I should have, but that would have shut down the flirting . . . and I liked that part.
“Figured that out pretty quickly when you introduced me.”
I winced. Ian had held it together, but I’d been around the block long enough that I knew what shocked and confused looked like. “There hasn’t been any time. We just met.” I’d been trying to figure out how to say something—anything—about it to him.
“Sweetheart, I’m not chastising you.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I’m trying to apologize. I should’ve thought before bounding over and pulling you away for dinner.”