From Brussels, With Love

by Emy Calirel

  “Um?” Trevor joined her near hanging T-shirts.

  “This is perfect.”

  Trevor looked where Hannah pointed, and groaned. The T-shirt she was showing him had the Atomium drawn on it, with brussels sprouts replacing the metal balls. Underneath was the store’s name in neon green.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Oh, yes. I am. I need you to get it for me, though. It’s too high.”

  “You’re high. I’m not getting it for you. You want to buy it, you do it on your own.”

  Trevor turned away from her but froze when she talked.

  “You realize I’ll just ask Jerome, right? And then, he’ll ask what’s so funny about it, and I’ll have to tell him about the infamous brussels sprouts story.”

  “You wouldn’t dare. You swore secrecy!”

  Hannah chuckled. “No, I didn’t. You just wish I did.”

  “Boo, you wouldn’t do that to your best friend. You love me,” Trevor pleaded.

  “I do love you, but that story is hilarious. Now, sprout,” she said, accentuating the hated pet name, “could you please get that shirt for me?”

  Trevor reached for the shirt. “You’re a terrible person.”

  “Mind the size! You wouldn’t want it to be too tight.”

  “It’ll end up at the back of the closet anyway,” Trevor mumbled. Still, he picked the right size before giving it to her. “Happy?”

  “Very. Thank you for your voluntary help.”

  “Everything all right? Found anything you like?” Jerome asked, surprising Trevor by coming up behind him.

  “I did,” Hannah said.

  Jerome glanced at the shirt, but Trevor spoke before Hannah could say more.

  “I’m getting one of the chocolate boxes.”

  “Another one?” Jerome asked, raising an amused eyebrow. “Those won’t be as good as the ones you got on Friday.”

  “You got chocolate and didn’t tell me?” Hannah asked.

  “They were for you, but you don’t deserve them anymore,” Trevor said, not looking away from Jerome. “I’m getting them for the box more than for the chocolate.”

  “Good answer.” The old man Jerome had been talking to was still standing near the register, and Jerome closed his eyes briefly when key chains tumbled on the ground. “This is gonna take me longer than I thought it would,” he said when he opened his eyes again.

  Trevor’s heart dropped in disappointment, but he nodded and forced a smile to his lips. “We’ll leave you to it. Let us just come and pay before we go.”

  Jerome shook his head. “It’s on me.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “Please,” Jerome interrupted. “Souvenir of your weekend in Brussels.”

  “Thank you, then,” Hannah said. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she told Trevor. “Bye, Jerome. It was nice meeting you.”

  “Likewise.”

  Trevor waited until Hannah left before he spoke. “I really enjoyed my weekend. It was all because of you.”

  Jerome’s smile was a little sad. “I had a great time too.” The man at the register started coughing, and Jerome grimaced.

  Trevor took a step back but was unable to look away from Jerome. “I should get going.” He wanted to kiss Jerome badly, but it would only make leaving harder. He finally forced himself to turn away after another step back.

  “Trevor?” Jerome called just as Trevor opened the front door. Trevor paused and looked over his shoulder. “If you’re done packing, you could always come around for dinner later. It won’t be fancy pizza, but I do a mean risotto.”

  “I would really like that. Eight?”

  Jerome licked his lips and glanced at Trevor’s mouth. For a second, Trevor thought Jerome might come closer to kiss him, but Jerome stepped back toward the register instead.

  “Eight is perfect.”

  Trevor left the store with a smile on his face and butterflies in his stomach.

  Chapter 6—Jerome

  BY THE time Jerome finally made it back home, he was exhausted but excited.

  “Hey, Maman, I need your help,” Jerome said as soon as his mother picked up the phone. “Can you talk me through the risotto recipe?”

  “The risotto recipe,” Brigitte said knowingly. “You’re trying to impress someone?”

  Jerome tied the apron around his waist before answering. “Just trying to make a nice dinner for someone.”

  “Start by getting the Tupperware of pot-au-feu sauce I left in your freezer, and defrost it in the microwave. Man or woman?”

  “Man.” Jerome followed her instructions. “But don’t get any ideas. This is not a thing and won’t become a thing.”

  “Why not?”

  “He was only here for the weekend. We had a good time, but he’s leaving tomorrow morning, and then that’s it.”

  “Why are you making him Ingrid’s recipe, then?”

  Jerome put the microwave on and leaned back against his kitchen counter. “Because he’s a fancy guy, lots of money, and I like him. I want to impress him enough so that he’ll remember me.”

  “You could always keep in touch for that.”

  “We didn’t even exchange last names or phone numbers. After tonight, it’s over, and it’s better that way. I don’t need another relationship right now.”

  Brigitte sighed deeply. “You shouldn’t swear off love because you got your heart broken.”

  “Betrayed,” Jerome mumbled, playing with his necklace.

  “I know you got hurt badly, but not everyone will betray you. Sometimes love is worth it—look at your mother and me.”

  Jerome’s heart ached at the mention of his mama, and he had to blink away the sudden wetness in his eyes.

  “I miss her,” he said quietly. He always missed her. Had missed her every day since she had passed away almost two years before. He wasn’t numb from grief anymore, but nothing filled the ever-present hole in his life.

  “I know, mon grand. I miss her, too, but if her death taught us anything, it is that life’s too short not to grab it while we have it. Don’t waste opportunities.”

  Jerome swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Can we please just cook?” he asked, going to open the microwave when it beeped.

  He didn’t want to cry tonight or to introspect. He just wanted to enjoy dinner and sex with a gorgeous man and forget about the outside world for an evening.

  BY THE time Trevor knocked on his door, at 8:00 p.m. sharp, Jerome was showered, dressed in a nice-fitting black shirt, and ready for their evening. He had even had time to clean up the apartment. The first night it hadn’t mattered, but this time, he wanted to leave a good impression.

  He turned off the heat under their meal before opening the door, a smile already pulling at his lips. Trevor wore black suit pants, a blue shirt that brought out his eyes, and his jacket. He held out a bottle of wine to Jerome. An already opened bottle.

  “Did you bring room-service wine?” Jerome asked, stepping aside.

  Trevor shrugged out of his jacket. “It’s the best I could find, and they brought it to the room already opened. I had to fight Hannah to get it to you still full.”

  Jerome put the bottle on the counter and, unable to resist any longer, came closer for a kiss. He had intended only a brush of lips, but Trevor closed his arms around Jerome, pulling them flush together. Before he knew it, Jerome had his fingers tangled in Trevor’s hair, and he was tasting the mint in Trevor’s mouth.

  “Later,” Jerome whispered when they separated. “We need to eat dinner first, or it’ll be ruined.”

  Trevor nodded but kissed Jerome once more before he moved his hands from Jerome’s back to his hips to push him away. “It smells amazing.”

  Jerome’s whole body buzzed, and he had to force himself to let go. He poured them wine to distract himself. He turned back around to Trevor standing in front of one of the frames hanging on the wall.

  “Did you draw this?” Trevor asked, accepting the glass of wine. A drawing
of a bright yellow-and-red Leo Belgicus stood before them, its black background and golden frame faded from years of direct sunlight.

  Jerome took a sip of his wine before answering. “My mother got it for me when I was a kid. She was a historian and specialized in Belgium’s history.” Jerome took in all the small details of a picture he already knew by heart. He wasn’t sure if it was his conversation with his mom earlier or how at ease Trevor made him feel, but he kept talking. “It used to hang in my room at home, but I brought it back here with me after she passed. I didn’t want to put a photo up, and this reminds me of her.”

  Jerome was highly aware of Trevor’s gaze being on him instead of on the picture, and his chest tightened. He was grateful when Trevor didn’t offer him pity or meaningless condolences.

  “Is your mother the reason you know so much about Brussels?”

  “I don’t know half of what she did, but yes. It comes from years of following her around and listening to her talk at the dinner table.”

  “What about that one?” Trevor glanced toward the sketch of a lion sitting in front of the carpet of flowers at Grand Place. Small, almost illegible inscriptions were written all over it.

  Jerome cleared his throat. “That one I did. Should we start dinner?”

  The way Trevor looked at him, it was clear he knew Jerome was bailing, but to Jerome’s relief, Trevor didn’t push. Jerome served them before sitting across from Trevor at the table.

  Jerome held his glass up for Trevor to clink against. “To your last night in Brussels. Let’s make it a memorable one.”

  JEROME WOKE up to the shrill of a phone ringing. He groaned and rolled over, his arm connecting with a warm body. Before his mind could catch up, the body moved and the shrill stopped.

  “McGill,” Trevor said, his voice rough. After a beat of silence, the atmosphere in the room shifted and Trevor jumped out of bed. “Fuck! Can you bring my luggage with you to the airport?” Light flooded the room, forcing Jerome to close his eyes against the sudden brightness. “I’ll take a cab and join you there directly.”

  Trevor hung up and threw his phone on the covers. He was frantically moving around the room, gathering his clothes.

  Jerome sat on the bed, rubbing his eyes. He checked the time on his phone and winced. Five in the morning was way too early.

  “I forgot to set the alarm.” Trevor jumped on one foot as he put his pants on. “My plane is leaving in two hours.” He looked panicked as he put his button-down on, catching his arm in the sleeve in his haste.

  “You buttoned Monday with Tuesday,” Jerome said, forcing himself to move from the bed.

  Trevor froze and frowned. “What?”

  “Your shirt. You buttoned it wrong.”

  Trevor looked down at himself and cursed. “I’ll fix it in the cab. I can get one at the station, right?”

  “Yeah. First left, then straight ahead.”

  Trevor nodded and patted his pockets before he threw his jacket on top of the wrinkled shirt.

  “I need to go. Thank you for everything.”

  Before Jerome could react, Trevor rushed out of the apartment. The front door had barely slammed shut behind him when there was a knock, and Jerome went to reopen it. A second later Trevor’s hands were on Jerome’s cheeks, their lips crushed in a bruising kiss. Jerome reached for him, his hands grabbing Trevor’s jacket, but Trevor stepped back way too soon. Jerome stared at him, dazzled. Trevor kissed him again softly before he turned and jogged down the hallway.

  Jerome closed the door and made his way to the coffee maker in a daze. His apartment was a disaster, with dirty dishes in the sink and on the table and Jerome’s clothes all over the floor. They hadn’t even made it to dessert, the two small chocolate tarts still on the counter next to the risotto leftovers.

  The troubles at the store aside, Jerome’s weekend felt like a dream, his only proof it had happened the tingle still on his lips and the aches in his body left by a night of passion.

  A COFFEE and a shower later, Jerome felt more like himself, and he started the task of cleaning up his place. He had some new designs he needed to work on, but he couldn’t focus in a messy environment. He pulled down the bedcovers, ready to go down to the laundromat to wash the sheets, but a dull sound made him stop. He looked around the floor in search of what had fallen from the bed and cursed when he saw Trevor’s phone.

  He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Given the time, Trevor was probably about to embark, so it was too late to go to the airport to meet him. He had seen Trevor unlock his phone over the weekend, so Jerome gave the pattern a try. After three failed attempts, the screen finally unlocked and Jerome went to the last communication to dial Hannah’s number.

  “Yes?” Trevor answered, sounding frantic.

  “I think we have a problem.”

  “Jerome? Oh, thank God!” Trevor exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for my phone everywhere. I’m about to embark. I can’t miss my plane, but I really need my phone. My agenda and all my contacts for work are on it.”

  “If you send me your address, I’ll go to the post office right now and send it to you express. You’ll get it tomorrow.”

  The last call for Dublin drifted over the phone, and Trevor cursed. “I don’t have your number.”

  “Trevor? I have your phone. Just text it to yourself.”

  “Right. Of course. Okay.” Trevor took a deep breath. “Leave the bill in the package, and I’ll pay you back. Thank you so much.”

  “No problem. Have a safe flight.”

  Jerome was about to hang up when Trevor called him back.

  “Wait, wait! Jerome!”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a business card tucked at the back of my phone case. You can send the package there.”

  “All righ—”

  Trevor hung up before Jerome could finish his sentence.

  Jerome easily found the card. It was thick and good quality, black with Sidelux written in shades of blue on one side. On the other, Trevor McGill, Project Manager was written above an address in Dublin and a phone number.

  Jerome put it in his pocket and was about to turn off the phone when he paused. His mother’s words and his weekend with Trevor replayed in his mind, and on a whim, Jerome added his own phone number to Trevor’s contacts. Trevor hadn’t hinted at wanting to keep in touch, but his goodbye kiss had been earnest and it was clear he liked Jerome. This was Jerome’s last chance to give Trevor the opportunity to reach out, and he couldn’t pass on it.

  He hesitated over taking a picture of himself as well, but decided against it. He turned off the phone and went in search of a box to send before he could make even more of a fool of himself.

  Chapter 7—Trevor

  GETTING BACK to reality sucked. Trevor stared at his screen blankly, his mind wandering once again to his weekend with Jerome. He had barely had time to go home to change that morning before he had needed to be at the office for a meeting, and his two days in Brussels felt like a dream.

  He rubbed his tired eyes and drank more coffee, forcing himself to refocus on his work. He was just getting started when someone knocked. He could make out Ronan through the opaque door, his muscular build unmistakable, and the rest of Trevor’s good mood flew out the window. He hated himself for caring so much, and yet it still hurt every time he had to see the redhead.

  “Enter!”

  As usual, Ronan looked absolutely gorgeous in his well-fitted suit. Trevor focused on the scowl on Ronan’s face and the anger and pain in his own heart.

  “Where’s your bloody phone?” Ronan asked as soon as he passed the door. “I tried calling you all morning.”

  Trevor leaned back against his chair. “You should have sent an email. I don’t have my phone with me today.”

  “How come? You always have your phone with you.”

  “Not today. I forgot it in Brussels.”

  Ronan frowned. “What?”

  “Brussels, capital of Belgium. You need to bru
sh up on your geography,” Trevor said, fidgeting with the pen he was holding.

  “What the hell were you doing in Belgium? What about the clients and the rest of the team?”

  “I was on vacation.” Trevor’s frustration was growing, but he tried his best to rein it in. “Everyone but you uses emails anyway.”

  “This is so unprofessional! How can you even—?”

  His patience ran out and Trevor stood up, slamming his pen on the desk. “Be very careful how you’re going to end that sentence. I’m still your boss and you’re seriously stepping out of line.”

  Ronan froze for a second before he threw his hands up. “You don’t even know anyone in Belgium!”

  “And how would you know?” Trevor crossed his arms on his chest to hide the shaking in his hands. “You’ve never bothered to ask or care who I fucking know and who my friends are.”

  Ronan took a step back. He glanced down the hallway before closing the door.

  “Come on, T,” he said quietly, his old nickname on Ronan’s tongue hitting Trevor like a blow. “Don’t be like that. You know I care, but you and I weren’t working. Never really did.”

  “I wasn’t the one who wasn’t committed. How’s the new accountant?” Trevor sneered.

  Ronan paled and his voice was uncertain when he spoke. “Don’t. Please, Trevor, I know you’re bitter, but don’t say or do anything you would regret. You know we would get fired if anyone knew.”

  He looked truly scared, but it wasn’t of any comfort to Trevor. Drained, Trevor uncrossed his arms and sighed.

  “You should go back to your desk. Send an email if you have something work related to say. If it’s not work related, I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Trevor.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me. I’m not that much of a bastard to push you or the accountant out of the closet, or such an idiot I’ll ruin my own career. Now get out. I have shit to do.”

  Ronan hovered for a moment before thankfully leaving without another word. Trevor dropped on his chair as soon as the door clicked shut. His forehead on the smooth surface of his desk, he linked his fingers behind his head and groaned. He missed Brussels.