by Anna Zabo
“They don’t.” I nodded to Carter. “Ian Meyers from props.”
“Oh, the miniature guy! I heard about your set.” He twisted his lips. “Bad break. Literally.”
“Well, I fixed it, with a lot of help from town.” I gestured to Simon. “So, I’m giving him a small tour.”
Interest flickered in Carter’s eyes, and he held out his hand to Simon. “Carter Samuels.”
Simon was still pale and somewhat wide-eyed, but he took the offered hand and shook it. “Simon Derry.” Soft, wondrous voice. He let go. All of Simon’s movements were careful. Yeah, starstruck.
“He and his wife own the comic and games place in town,” I said, as Carter took a sip of his coffee.
“End o’ Earth.” Simon’s voice sounded stronger now. Less overwhelmed.
A nod from Carter. “I’ve wanted to go in. Miss comics something fierce, but I wouldn’t know where to start with all the new stuff. I should research—” His wave encompassed the sound stage. “But I’m a little busy.”
I saw the gears grind in Simon’s head and watched the fear vanish—this topic he knew. “Well, if you tell me what you like, what you used to read, I can put together some books for you to try.”
A raised eyebrow from Carter. “Like a comic book sommelier?”
“Exactly.” Simon’s smile was stunning.
I wanted to drag him behind the sound stage and have my way with him.
Carter rattled off a few titles and why he liked them, and Simon whipped out his phone and jotted them down. I was trying hard not to laugh. Starstruck to salesman in no time flat. My lovely sexy Simon.
That’s when it hit me, a bit like a boom lowered too far. I was in love with Simon. Except I shouldn’t—couldn’t be. Not love love. Not long term. He was married—there wouldn’t be a long-term anything. I swallowed the gnawing lump just before the sound-stage door opened. “Mr. Samuels, we’re ready for you.”
“That’s their way of saying get your ass in here,” Carter said. “Nice to meet you, Simon. I’ll stop by your shop next time I’m in town.” A quick nod to me. “Ian.” Carter threw back the rest of the coffee, then tossed the cup in the trash as he headed into the sound stage.
Once the door had clanged shut, Simon deflated. “Wow. Did that really happen? Did I just meet Carter Samuels?”
“Yup.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets and pushed away my churning thoughts. “And charmed the socks off him so he’s gonna come in and buy comics from you.”
Simon turned red. “Oh, shit.” Then he laughed. “Lydia’s gonna kill me.”
I clapped him on the back. “Let me show you the rest of the place.”
Took a good part of the day to walk around the lot. We watched Natalya working with the stunt actors, and meandered through a few of the other outdoor sets. One of the sound stages wasn’t being used, and turned out that was the one where the sacred grove had been built.
“This is weird.” Simon walked around the altar like the floor was covered in eggshells.
It was eerie to be here after working so hard on the miniature version. “It kinda is.” But also wonderful. “You know, we did this.” I gestured to the set. “In a week!”
His grin took my breath and did nothing to ease the worry in the back of my mind. But damn, I was going to enjoy Simon while I had him, so I let it go. We were both here, now.
He must have seen something in my stare, because a moment later, we were tangled in each other, hands in hair, and kissing like we hadn’t made out in my shop. “We shouldn’t do this here,” I said, between taking his mouth and making him moan.
“Probably not.” He was breathless and hard against me.
“Because what I want is to fuck you on that altar, and I would get in so much shit if I did that.” I cupped his package and he rocked into my palm.
Simon groaned. “Killjoy.”
Oh hell, that only intensified my desire to bend him over the altar. But logistically—and professionally—so not a good idea. “Let’s go back to my shop.” At least there I could lock the door.
We hurried out of the sound stage. Simon seemed determined and sexy and vulnerable all at once and I wanted him so bad. If I focused on now, then I wouldn’t have to think about the future and the churn of my emotions. Lust was so much easier to unravel.
So, of course on the way back to my shop, we ran into Anna. She was walking with the assistant art director and the head of pyrotechnics. “Ian. There you are. Come with me.”
I checked my phone, and there was a text I hadn’t felt. Shit. “Sorry, I didn’t—” But Anna was already marching off. I started after her, but realized Simon wasn’t at my side. “Si.”
“I—” He seemed spooked.
I got it—we’d been about to fuck, and now Hollywood had descended in all its non-starry glory. “Hey, come on. I can’t leave you and I gotta go.” I tugged at his arm. “Plus, I think you’ll like this.”
His lips twisted, but he followed. Thank God.
We had to jog to catch up. “I didn’t see your text,” I said to Anna.
She flipped her wrist as if to brush the thought away. “It’s fine.”
We ended up back in my shop, gathered around the model. The art director grunted. “You were right. Better than before.” He eyed me. “We should put you under pressure more often.”
I must have blanched, because he got that gruff grin that let me know he was joking.
Except Simon hadn’t seen it, since he strode forward. “Hey, he worked damn hard for you people. Give him some credit.”
Anger had tinged his face red. I tried to stop him. “Si . . .” Now was not the time to go protective on me.
“No, I mean— You were there before opening every fucking day and worked straight through until after closing and we had to pry you away for lunch and dinner.”
I tried again, heat in my cheeks. “Si—it’s okay.”
“They ought to appreciate how lucky they are to have you.” He crossed his arms and leveled his gaze at me. “That’s all.”
The shop fell silent. Then Anna huffed a laugh. “We do, believe me.” She studied Simon. “Your passionate defense of his talent and work ethic, notwithstanding.”
The art director, who was normally pretty damn crotchety, wore the same smile as before. “I was poking fun.”
“Oh,” Simon said, and the anger slipped straight into horror. “I— Uh . . .” He loosened his arms.
The head of pyrotechnics merely seemed puzzled as she took Simon in.
Anna nodded at Simon. “Mr. Derry helped Ian during the week. And noted the problem with the altar.”
“That was my wife,” Simon said. “She’s better with the details. I’m—” He waved his hand.
“Plot focused?” She grinned.
Simon scrubbed the back of his head. “Something like that.”
Suddenly, I realized Anna was enjoying herself. Not at putting Simon on edge, but with the whole event. Like somehow the destroyed miniature set had made her week. “He paints better than I do,” I blurted out.
“I—”
“Do. And I’m the pro, so there.”
That quieted Simon down. He gave a helpless shrug.
“Wouldn’t happen to need a job?” That came from the art director.
Simon started and stared. “Wow. I own a comic book store. I can’t. But I would, if I could.” He glanced at me. “You weren’t kidding.”
“No,” I said. “I wasn’t.” About anything.
Anna raised an eyebrow at me, but after a moment turned back to the model. “We should figure out how we want to blow this up.”
I pulled Simon closer so he could overhear the discussion, and after a few moments of listening, he relaxed and leaned in. Most of it was jargon, but he remained enwrapped. When they finished and had a plan, they all stepped back from the model.
The pyrotechnics head rubbed her hands together. “I’ll have my people come over and start rigging it here, unless Ian objects. This i
s the closest building to the shoot.”
“My trailer is your trailer,” I said.
“Good.” Anna glanced at her watch. “Break time’s over for me.” Her shoes clipped a fast pace out of the trailer. She was followed by the head of pyrotechnics, but the art director lingered.
He pulled out a card and handed it to Simon. “Look, if you have any free time— If Ian says you’re good, then you’re good.” Then he too, was gone.
Simon stared at the business card and flipped it over in his hands. “Shit.”
“Hey, you okay?” I asked. He seemed a little green around the edges.
Simon fingered the card. “I want this. But I love End o’ Earth.” He took his wallet from his back pocket and slipped the little rectangle inside. “I need to think about it.”
I could imagine. I’d not had anything on my plate when Wolf’s Landing had called, but I knew friends who’d agonized over their career choices. And this was Simon’s store we were talking about—not any old job. “If you want to talk it over . . .”
He took a breath. “Not right now.” His smile was small, but real. “Have I told you lately that you’re amazing?”
Warmth flooded through me. Not lust—no, this wasn’t hot passion but a mix of heady happiness and flickering hope. “Not in the last few hours.”
A bigger grin, and he pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around me. Comfortable. Familiar. “Ian Meyers,” he said. “You’re absolutely amazing.”
My chest hurt and the corners of my eyes. No one, not a single one of my lovers, had ever said those words, not the way Simon had. He believed it. No lie in his soulful blue eyes. “Thanks.” My voice was a mess. “You are, too.”
A lackluster response, but maybe he didn’t care because he held me tighter. No kissing, no groping. This wasn’t the frenzy of lust we’d had before.
Nope. This was love, and I was doomed.
Simon drove me back to End o’ Earth and we were both damn quiet in the car. My mind churned, flitting from lust to fear to anger at myself for having gotten into this mess, to sadness because eventually I was going to lose Simon. I’d never had him, to begin with. From the very start, he’d been on loan. I couldn’t be mad at Lydia. Hell, if she’d been a guy, I’d have suggested a threesome.
Though in some ways we’d done that, even if we hadn’t all been in bed together. I scrubbed my face.
“You okay?” Simon spoke softly, his concern so evident, so loving.
I should say something. Maybe break it off now, but I didn’t want to. I hated lying. Did anyway. “Yeah. Tired. I think the past week is catching up with me.” Well, that was partly true. My stomach twisted.
He didn’t say anything and remained focused on the road. Soon, we were parking behind End o’ Earth. He shut off the car, and we both climbed out. I met his gaze and the worry was still there. I hoped he didn’t ask how I was again, because when he looked at me like that, I couldn’t lie.
“Gonna come in?” He nodded toward the shop.
This time, the truth came out. “No. I think I need to go home and decompress for a while.”
He studied me. Maybe he saw through to the despair I was trying to hide. “Do you want me there at the shoot tomorrow?” Those were the words he used, but I swear his tone said, “Are you breaking up with me?”
My lungs and head ached. I had no way to process the pain and hurt buried in Simon’s voice, except I knew I didn’t want him upset. “Of course I do!” I wanted Simon to see the end result of all his hard work. He deserved to be there. I took his hands in mine. “Please come tomorrow.”
His smile undid me every time. This one was no exception. That flip in my chest, that zing down my limbs. He gave my hands a squeeze. “Pick me up at the shop? Still need to check with Lydia, but I’m a hundred-percent sure it’s fine.”
“Of course I can pick you up.” My fear slid away. If I stared at Simon, at those deep eyes and that lovely grin, all the what-ifs vanished. “Is seven okay? It’s a busy day for you.”
“Oh yeah. All the hard work’s done in the morning. By evening, the new comic rush has petered out.”
“Seven it is.” I stepped in and kissed him. Like always, the way he opened to me, those little noises, the warmth of him set my heart racing and lit my nerves. Simon wrapped his arms around me. We fit together like two puzzle pieces, his body molding to mine. Perfect. Always so right—until we parted—which we always did.
Simon stepped back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It was a ridiculous thing to do, but I grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles like some kind of weird-ass knight. “Tomorrow.”
I didn’t think his grin could get wider, but I was wrong. Our hands slipped apart, and he backed toward the door to End o’ Earth. I gave him a wave and headed around front to my Mini, still stuffed with my supplies and tools. I should take them back to work.
Wolf’s Landing. My job.
But End o’ Earth had started to feel like home, just like Simon had started to feel like my boyfriend, not a friend with benefits.
My head was too screwed up, so all I did was head back to my place. Maybe I needed sleep. I hoped I only needed some rest.
How did you tell a married man you were falling in love with him? And what would that mean for him? For Lydia? For me?
Yeah. I was fucked. I didn’t know what to do.
Around six-thirty in the evening, I headed in back to check on Lydia. Dexy had the register and the burst of new comic day traffic had died down. Had people stopping in and asking about models too. Probably the after-effect of having an honest-to-God Wolf’s Landing prop sitting in the shop. Was good to see other folks interested in that side of the business besides the hard core gamers and model builders.
Lydia sat at her computer, her drafting tablet resting at an angle as she drew. On the screen was another one of her fandom creations—this one Wolf’s Landing. After this week, it was all on our minds. This was a silver wolf running beneath the moon, with the two men silhouetted against the wolf’s bright fur: Gabriel Hanford and Max Fuhrman. “Oh, now that’s nice!” I stopped right behind her chair.
“Thanks!” She leaned her head back and beamed up at me. “New composition. Like one of those old ’80s-style wolf T-shirts.”
I knew the ones she meant, though the ’80s were slightly before our time. We’d been born by then, but missed out on the era. Lydia loved the retro stuff, however. All of the music and movies. “This is better. Streamlined. Modern.”
“Not too cheesy?”
I laughed and kissed her forehead. “You never do cheese.”
When I pulled back, she glanced at the time. “You getting ready to head out?”
“Yeah.” Off to watch the model I’d help build get destroyed for the greater good of Wolf’s Landing. And to see Ian. I was concerned about the latter.
Lydia knew my moods. She put her pen down and rotated her chair. “Is something wrong?”
I fiddled with my watch. “I think something’s bothering Ian. But I don’t know what.”
She chewed on her lip. “I’m assuming you asked.”
“I did. He said he was fine.” And then he’d kissed me. “And then he was fine, but . . .”
She caught my hand. “Si. I’ve seen the way Ian looks at you. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Heat to my face. “I hate this part, you know.” The awkward fumbling stage when all the emotions come out.
She gave my hand a squeeze. “You’re in love with him.”
Yeah, there it was. “I’m in love with him. He’s—” I gave a little sigh. “Well, you know.”
She laughed. “I do.”
“I love you. More than ever.”
“Know that too.” She stood and wrapped her arms around my neck. “You’re not very good about hiding your emotions.”
Heart on my sleeve. Pretty much always. “What if—”
She pressed a finger to my lips. “None of that. You go have fun with
Ian and see your work set on fire. Spend the night and connect. Tell him how you feel.”
“Okay.” I spoke around her digit. Seemed like a reasonable plan. Except for the part where I was sure Ian would tell me he wasn’t interested in anything as complex as a long-term partnership in a poly arrangement.
Lydia shook her head, and replaced her finger with her lips. A warm, sweet kiss. “Go. Because if I know Ian, he’s early and already waiting for you.”
My heart flipped, both because of the thought of Ian already being here, and that Lydia loved me enough to push me out the door when I was being weird and insecure. I went, and she had guessed correctly. Ian stood in front of the new comics racks, peering at the titles and pulling at his shirt sleeve as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
I gave Dexy a nod and rounded the counter to join Ian. His smile as I approached was shy—hesitant—and all my fears poured in.
He gestured to the rack. “I have no idea where to start again.”
“You know, I could be your comic sommelier, too.”
His shyness vanished. “You’d do that for me?”
God, if we hadn’t been standing in the middle of the shop, I would have kissed his expression right off those lips. “Of course I would!” For him above anyone else.
“I’ll have to think about the comics I liked way back when. I read a lot, but some were closer to my tastes than others.”
Yeah, that was pretty much true of everything. “You get older, and there’s less time to separate the wheat out.” That’s where I could help. Tailor a sampling to a person’s—to Ian’s—tastes.
“Exactly.” Ian pulled out his phone and checked the time. “We should get going. Anna won’t hold the shoot for us, even if we did make the set.”
“Lead on.”
We took his Mini and he sped along the winding roads almost like he’d lived here forever, but then he must have driven this path too many times to count. Soon enough, we were pulling up to the gate, where I got a visitor’s pass. Ian drove in, parked in his spot, and we got out. It was still light—summertime after all—but the sun had nearly set and evening was creeping across the sky as we headed toward where Ian said they’d be shooting.