“What?”
“The beach? I somehow imagined a beachside apartment building. That’s not Pono Towers.”
Micah shook his head. “The closest is about four miles. Ala Moana Beach. On Magic Island.”
“On a different island?” Buck asked, surprised.
Micah chuckled. “It’s not really an island. It’s a peninsula.”
Chandler sighed. Four miles. Beachside apartment fantasy not only quashed but done away with completely. But then looking into Micah’s dark eyes, he decided, at least right now, that didn’t seem so bad.
“It really is stunning. I’ll have to take you.”
“That’d be nice,” Chandler said.
“Looks like you burn easy, though. You a typical ginger that way?”
“Luckily not too bad,” Chandler answered. “I have to be careful, but I got some mixed blood in there. German as well as Irish and English. I’m the rare redhead that can tan.” And that reminded him of something. “You know… your name. Micah Ka…?”
“Keolu,” he added.
“That sounds Hawaiian.”
“It is. From my father.”
“Oh.” Chandler nodded. “But, you know, you don’t really look it. You’re not at all dark.”
“Yeah,” Micah smiled. “My haole side comes from my mother. Irish.”
“Haole?”
“It originally meant something like ‘foreigner,’ but nowadays it means ‘white.’ For a while there, it was a really offensive word. Like the N-word or faggot. I don’t know when it changed, when it went back to the way it used to be. I’m just glad it did.”
“Interesting,” he said. “White, huh?” Why, it almost sounded like a dirty word.
“Mostly it means something like ‘mainlander.’ Not of the islands.”
“I see.”
It was right around then that Chandler realized there was a Christmas song playing over the restaurant’s speaker system. “Silver Bells.” Shit. It’s Christmas time in the fucking city!
“Something wrong?” Micah asked, a note of concern in his voice.
Chandler sighed, slumped his shoulders. “Christmas carols.” He pointed to the ceiling.
“Christmas is right around the corner,” Micah said. As if Chandler needed to be reminded. “They’ve been playing them since we got here.”
Chandler sat up. “No. I’ve been listening to Hawaiian music!” He was sure he had.
“With holiday music thrown in,” Micah said. “Plus you probably don’t know some of our Hawaiian Christmas music. You don’t like Christmas songs?”
He wanted to say that he hated them. But the look on Micah’s face said that he did like them. And Chandler didn’t want to ruin the mood.
And did he really hate them?
“I think they overplay them,” Chandler compromised. “There’s a radio station that starts playing them after Halloween, for God’s sake. They used to wait at least until Thanksgiving. And it’s every song. Every single song. Not a Lady Gaga or Adele song in the batch.”
“You mean Lady Gaga doesn’t have a Christmas song?” Micah asked very seriously. “I thought everyone had a Christmas song. Coldplay has a Christmas song.” And it was only then, with the twinkle in Micah’s eyes, that Chandler saw he was pulling his leg. At least a little bit.
“You know, I don’t know if Lady Gaga does have a Christmas song,” Chandler said and reached for his phone. “Probably.” And remembered it was a flip-top and didn’t have a feature that allowed him to access the Internet.
Oh, that much at least was not going to work.
Funny, then, that’s when his phone rang. And checking, who should it be?
Why, it was none other than the devil.
Timothy Armbruster.
ELEVEN
CHANDLER EXCUSED himself—after a big swallow of wine—and took the call outside.
“You’re fired,” Chandler said into his piece-of-crap flip-top cell phone as soon as he stepped outside of the Eight Islands Bistro.
“I’m not fired,” Tim said from an ocean and half the United States away.
“You sure as hell are!” Chandler said, meaning it.
“Well, how’s anybody going to know?” came the reply. “Who are you going to call and let them know?”
There was a strange tone to Tim’s voice. One Chandler wasn’t sure he’d ever heard before. No. Wait. He had. God! Years before. When they’d been in bed. Tim had been a very demanding lover. An image of a naked Tim came to mind, straddling him, his blue eyes staring at him intently through round glasses. He’d often commanded Chandler to do this and that, as if making up for how their relationship went when they weren’t having sex. After a while, it had all made Chandler too uncomfortable, and he’d ended that chapter of their lives even though the sex had been good.
All his life Chandler’s family had told him what to do. What he would do. Even his sister, although what she said usually—always—made sense. Actually helped him. She looked out for his interests. His mother and father looked out for the Buckingham name. What was good for Buckingham Industries.
“You made me fly coach,” he cried. “Coach! Have you ever flown coach?”
“Well, actually, I have. Many times.”
“They tried to poison me! I had no room. I thought I was going to lose my mind.”
“Over a plane seat?”
“Six hours of a plane seat! I couldn’t even stretch my legs out.”
“God, no!” The sarcasm was clear in Tim’s voice.
“Do you have any idea what it’s been like here? You set me up in a fourth-floor studio apartment.”
“That was what was free,” Tim said.
“In all of fucking Hawaii?” Chandler cried.
“I got you something discreet. In a building owned by your family.”
“What?” Chandler staggered back against the building.
“It was easy,” Tim said. “Move a file here, a decimal point there….”
“What? You mean like embezzlement?”
Tim laughed. “Not embezzlement. I’ve never taken a dime and I never would. But to do what you wanted? That cost money, and you don’t want your family to know anything. If a certain amount of money was taken from your bank account and a purchase of the same amount was made somewhere else, your mother and her people would figure it out. A plane ticket? An expensive meal? A condo at 3003 Kalakaua? They’d be waiting at the gate for you. Show up at the restaurant. Knock on your condo door.”
Chandler froze.
God. Tim was right. Of course he was.
“And the money that paid for my plane ticket?” he whispered.
“It’s yours. I didn’t steal from the company. You know I wouldn’t do that, right?”
He did. But right now his brain wasn’t working right.
“Chandler?”
“Yes,” he said. “I know that.”
“Good. Oh, and by the way. The bank account. I wouldn’t spend any of it. She’s already found it.”
She. His mother.
“Luckily it was a bank that has locations all over the country. She won’t think of Hawaii.”
Wait. No bank account? Then…. “Then, what do I use for expenses?”
Tim laughed. Laughed! “Chandler. You’ve got five thousand dollars! You can’t make that last a little while?”
“I have things I need. The apartment. It doesn’t have any furniture except for a few things I got from a secondhand store.”
“You got something from a secondhand store?” Tim’s voice was incredulous. “I’ll be damned. I’m impressed, Chandler.”
“Huh?” What was he saying?
“What made you think to go to a secondhand store?”
“I… ah… this guy….” Micah. “He took me. I was going to ask him to take me to….”
“Macy’s?”
“No!” As if he wouldn’t think of such a thing.
But wouldn’t he have?
“What about a car?�
� he asked.
“Not right now. Although I will tell you that you can easily pick up something for around a thousand.”
What? “What?” What the hell could he get for that? “For a thousand dollars?”
“It won’t be pretty, but it’ll get you where you need to go. Check on Craigslist. For something besides sex, that is. They sell all kinds of shit cheap on Craigslist.
“But your rent is $1,200 a month, so be careful.”
“Tim?”
“I am sending you a bicycle, though. That was easy. I even paid for it. You owe me.”
“A bicycle?”
“Warning, my old friend. It’s not a Stromer or a Cervélo. It’s a Schwinn.”
“A what?”
“Look. You’re not planning on being there all that long anyway, right?”
“Huh?” he asked again.
“I mean, you’ll come home like you always do. And you know why?”
What was Tim saying to him? What was his friend saying to him?
“Because you’re spoiled, Chandler. Spoiled fucking rotten. You say you hate being a Buckingham, but you don’t. You love it! You love having anything and everything you want. You love clicking your fingers and having people fall all over themselves to give you whatever you want.”
“Tim? Timothy?” It was all Chandler could say. The things Timothy was saying!
“Guess how sorry I feel for you that you had to fly frigging coach?” Tim said. “Or that you have to stay in a studio apartment for a while.”
“I… I….”
“I gotta go, buddy. You’ll be hearing from me. Or if you get tired of what you’re doing, you can always call your mom.”
“Tim!”
“Buck up, Mr. Buckingham.”
And with that he hung up.
TWELVE
MICAH CHECKED his phone to see the time. What was taking Buck so long? The call seemed important, and Micah wondered what it could be. Just as he looked up, he saw Buck coming back into the restaurant and was taken aback by the sudden change of emotion in Buck. He seemed distressed, confused, angry—all rolled into one.
“Hey, Buck,” Micah asked, concerned, “Is something wrong?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Buck said and all but collapsed in his seat. He slammed his little cell phone down, and Micah couldn’t help but wonder if he’d broken it.
“What is it?”
Buck didn’t say anything.
“You can tell me.” Micah was worried. The day had started off with the unfortunate occurrence in the elevator, but that had led to him meeting this cute, nice guy. And yeah, it was silly fast, but there was just something about him that Micah wanted to find out more about. Buck seemed lost, like he needed help, and Micah found he was more than happy to do that for him. His heart had been fluttering all day, and he hoped Buck felt the same. He thought Buck did.
They’d been flirting, drinking good wine, eating food that Buck seemed to really enjoy. The evening had been perfect, and Micah wanted nothing more than to invite Buck back to his place.
But now this mysterious phone call had completely changed Buck’s attitude. What could he do? What was wrong? He wanted to help. He wanted Buck to let him help. “Please tell me,” he said.
Buck shook his head. “It’s complicated. Really complicated.”
What could Micah say? “If you want to talk about it—about anything—let me know.”
Buck nodded absently, almost as if he barely remembered Micah was there. Not the best feeling after how everything had been going.
Then quite suddenly Buck grabbed his glass, slugged it down, and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Micah nodded nervously. He didn’t know what to make of yet another mood swing. He wanted to be comforting and understanding and hoped Buck would reveal what was on his mind.
Buck jumped up and hailed the waitress, and then without even bothering for her to bring the check, he tossed what looked like four twenties on the table and with a nod of his head, said, “Come on!” and headed for the door.
Micah stared for a second at the money, so casually thrown onto the table. He shook his head in disbelief, followed Buck out of the restaurant, and found him leaning against the truck, arms crossed against his chest.
“Back home, then?” Micah asked.
Buck nodded. Stiff. Silent. Finally he sighed and looked at Micah. “Sorry. Yeah. Home.” He shook his head. “Home,” he said. Then quite suddenly he raised his eyebrows and all but growled. “You still offering that wine? I could sure use some more.”
Micah’s eyes went wide. Another mood swing! He was afraid Buck would just want to go back to his own place and be alone. But now? Micah’s heart started to race again. “Y-yes.” Micah stumbled over his words a little. “I’ve got the wine if you’re up for it.”
“I’m up for it, believe me!” He gave Micah a devilish smile.
Micah couldn’t help but smile back. He actually felt himself blushing. He’d expected the ride home to be long, silent, and awkward and their date (was this a date?) to end with a simple “good night.” He was thrilled that Buck wanted to take Micah up on his offer.
Once they were back on the road, Buck turned to him and said, “Sorry about the drama there. I just got some unexpected news. Can we have a do-over? Just forget that part? I’m really not a drama queen.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” said Micah, his cheeriness returning. “We got you a great bargain on some furniture, went to a nice restaurant, had some good food and wine and some sparkling conversation, and now we’re heading home for….”
“A nightcap?” Buck asked. And this time he really did growl.
“Sounds like a perfect ending to the day to me,” he said, eyes flashing.
Micah pulled the truck around back when they got to Pono Towers. It would be easier to get Buck’s new furniture upstairs from the rear entrance.
He was just moving to get one of the chairs out of the cab when Buck said, “Well, fuck.”
What now? Micah thought. “What is it?”
“I forgot about this stuff.” He rolled his eyes. “How fast can we get this part done? I’m not feeling at all butch.”
“There’s not that much. Bet we can do it in just a couple of trips.”
“All right.”
And there really wasn’t that much. Between them they got the table, three chairs, including the koa chair, and the three boxes of dishes and kitchenware, plus some bedding, to the service elevator. Micah carried the koa chair. It was a very heavy wood, and he found he wanted to do it himself. To be the perfect gentleman.
Although a lot of what he was feeling right now wasn’t very gentlemanly.
The only problem was the way Buck kept eyeing the elevator.
Well, of course he was! After earlier today, it didn’t surprise Micah in the least.
“This is the reliable elevator,” Micah assured him. “We use it every day. It’s never broken down.”
Buck’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “If you say so.”
“Trust me.” Micah gave him a smile.
He got a small nod in reply, and then, with a visible shudder, Buck followed him inside the elevator.
Thank God nothing happened. Except getting them where they needed to be.
After that it didn’t take them long at all. They got everything out of the elevator and into Buck’s place in record time. And it was nice how even just the few pieces made the place look more like a home.
“It’s the chair that does it,” Buck said. “It really is wonderful.”
“It suits you. Beautiful.”
Buck blushed. “It reminds me of you. Big and strong.”
Micah blushed in response. “Oh, please.”
“Please what?” Buck asked, stepping close and looking up at Micah.
Micah gulped, looking down into Buck’s blue eyes. He felt himself moving closer. And then quite suddenly, “Wine?” Micah blurted.
Buck’s eyes flas
hed dangerously. “Sure. Sounds good.”
THIRTEEN
MICAH OPENED the door to his apartment, turned on the lights, and invited Chandler in. The Plaza it wasn’t. But somehow, even though there wasn’t a lot there, it suited Micah in its starkness and masculinity.
There was little color in the room, save for the brightly colored curtains and a few floral paintings dotting the walls. There was a small folding table acting as a makeshift desk, cluttered with paperwork and a laptop. A small, boxy TV sat on top of a squatty dresser against the wall. In the corner, a surfboard stood collecting dust, and there was a snorkel and fin set leaning against it.
Surfboard? Snorkel? Interesting. It made Chandler curious.
In the end, though, he found that was the last thing he wanted right now. Wine. That’s what he wanted.
And to see what Micah looked like without his clothes.
“Wine?” he asked and then remembered to say, “Nice place.”
“Aw, thanks,” said Micah. “As you can see, I don’t entertain much.”
Micah went to the kitchen and pulled out a couple of glasses from the cupboard. He uncorked a bottle of wine and poured, handed one to Chandler.
It wasn’t Chateau Barbanau’s Rosé Provençal L’Instant, but it was nice. A red. Pinot noir, he thought. Actually not too bad at all. Sexy aftertaste.
He looked around for a place to sit.
“Oops!” Micah set his glass on the counter. He dragged the table and chair aside and grabbed a handle that was sticking out of the wall. It revealed a fold-down bed, full size, and Micah lowered it to the floor.
Well, I’ll be damned, Chandler thought, and wondered if he might have one like it.
“Sorry. I’ve just got the one chair,” Micah said, sitting on the bed. He motioned to the chair.
Buck decided to ignore the offer and sat down next to Micah on the bed instead.
Close.
“A toast?” Micah asked. “To new beginnings?”
New beginnings? Chandler wondered. What did that mean? Then he just figured, what the hell? “New beginnings,” he said.
They clinked glasses and drank, and then everything that Tim had said, had done, hit him again. That fucker, he thought. That fucking fucker.
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