Domestic Do-over

by Kate McMurray

  “You’re still upset you lost the house,” Brandon said softly.

  “I… yeah. I am. I just think these old houses should be preserved, not stripped down and made to look like every other house in Brooklyn. One of the fun things about this borough is how eclectic its architecture is. Because you’ve got brownstones and big brick apartment buildings, but also houses with vinyl siding and old mansions and ranch houses that look like they should be in the suburbs. You’ve got beach houses near Coney Island and gorgeous old homes on the Prospect Park Gold Coast and, hell, the Grand Army Plaza arch and the Brooklyn Museum and Plymouth Church. There’s so much character everywhere. You can’t just come into this city, into Brooklyn, and make it look like a Restoration Channel show, you know?” Travis paused and realized he was thirsty, so he took a sip of his beer. “I’m speechifying.”

  “Keep going.”

  “I just think….” Travis took a deep breath. These old houses were his passion. He found joy in fixing them, in breathing new life into them. When he’d struck out on his own, he’d started billing himself as an expert in restoration, not renovation. He’d spent hours and hours learning about architectural styles and vintage materials and Victorian design. “I just think that the whole point of your show should be to restore these old houses, make them look the way the original builders intended, within reason. Modernize, sure. But show the country what Brooklyn is, how it looks, how the people live. You know?”

  Brandon nodded slowly. “I do know. And I love that house. Sure, I wish I hadn’t rushed to say yes, but honestly, there was no other option for me. I really wanted to get my hands on the house.”

  Travis’s emotions were too close to the surface. He’d already given too much of himself away. He sipped his beer and was surprised to see it was nearly gone. He sighed and wiped a bit of condensation off the bottle with his thumb.

  “The thing about this neighborhood, about Argyle Road, is that it’s like another planet,” said Brandon. “You take that turn off Church Avenue and suddenly you’re transported into an entirely different place. My first impression of it was that it was like walking back in time. I want to respect that.”

  “I appreciate that.” Travis downed the rest of his beer and reached across the island to put the bottle in the sink.

  Brandon ran a hand over his back. “I love that you care about this stuff so much. It shows me you were the right person for this job.”

  Travis’s eyes stung—stupid emotions—so he blinked a few times and nodded.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t,” Travis said. “I’m still bitter about losing that house. But there will be others.”

  Brandon looked thoughtful for a moment. “There will be,” he said, sounding a little dreamy.

  Brandon reached over and cupped Travis’s face. He smiled before moving in to kiss Travis. Travis opened his mouth, accepting the kiss, grateful that Brandon was so kind and so sweet and understood exactly what Travis was saying. Travis wasn’t one for grand displays of emotion, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel things. And a year ago, he’d felt his whole life plan slip out of his hands.

  But maybe he was getting it back now. Sometimes being with Brandon made it feel that way.

  Brandon pulled away slightly. “I know that feeling—wanting to plant roots. I never had that. I grew up in a hotel.” He sighed. “The first piece of property I ever owned was the house I bought with Kayla, and even then it wasn’t home. We had separate bedrooms. Part of me always knew it was temporary.”

  Travis put a hand on Brandon’s shoulder and touched their foreheads together. “We’re a mess.”

  Brandon laughed softly. “I know. I’m just trying to say, I get it.”

  Travis closed his eyes for a long moment. Brandon did get it. And Travis felt vulnerable, which he hated. It kicked up old anxiety. He would have answered any question Brandon had asked of him, but he didn’t generally dig very deep below his own surface. He didn’t like exposing that much of himself to another person. Explaining the reasoning behind his tattoos was one thing; expressing his emotions was another. He’d been with other men before, but he didn’t love them, and he was slow to trust.

  But he trusted Brandon.

  Travis pulled away slightly but kept his hands on Brandon. How could it be that this man had so quickly worked his way under Travis’s skin? How could it suddenly feel as if life had possibilities again just because he’d joined the cast of this ridiculous television show? And how could a man like Brandon—a sexy, passionate man, a sweet man, someone who clearly felt things deeply—how could this man be looking back at Travis with such affection in his eyes?

  “Thanks for listening,” Travis said.

  “Of course. You okay?”

  “I’m fine. I don’t… do this a lot. Talk about my feelings.”

  “I got that impression. I won’t hold it against you.”

  The smirk on Brandon’s face defused some of the tension. Travis let out a breath and tried to relax.

  “So. Wanna go to bed?” Brandon waggled his eyebrows.

  Travis laughed, and it felt like relief. “I thought you’d never ask, baby. Forget this emotional crap. Let’s have sex.”

  TRAVIS DRIFTED off to sleep, leaving Brandon with that itchy feeling in his legs, as if he could run a few laps around the block.

  He didn’t want to leave Travis, though, so he lay there, mulling over his thoughts.

  What Travis had said about his grandfather’s house, about wanting to build a home… Brandon felt that in his gut.

  He and Kayla had made five seasons of Dream Home and would have made many more had Kayla not been discovered with Dave in that restaurant. It had been a popular show and a lucrative enterprise. Brandon and Kayla had fronted most of the money for their projects, but the Restoration Channel had thrown in money here or there to keep the show going. And so Brandon and Kayla had snapped up lots of shabby houses in the New York exurbs, a couple hours’ drive from the city but in a far less densely populated part of the region. They’d made good money doing it, especially when they’d bought into up-and-coming neighborhoods. But the New York winters got to Kayla, so they’d been looking to move the show to Orange County, California, where there were plenty of old, shabby houses in otherwise nice neighborhoods, the perfect opportunity to flip houses for a profit.

  And he’d been happy, to a point. He loved the work, and he loved working with Kayla. They’d owned a gorgeous house near Poughkeepsie: four bedrooms, a completely open first floor, a modern kitchen with all the bells and whistles that Brandon hadn’t had much time to cook in. But those bedrooms allowed Brandon and Kayla to each have their own room and each have an office, and the arrangement worked for them. They really were like roommates. Neither minded when the other brought someone home, which was how Kayla’s relationship with Dave had had the room to thrive. And Brandon had periodically brought men home, but he was so paranoid about the network finding out he was gay that no one had lasted longer than the third date. And truth be told, most of the men he’d gone out with had found his arrangement with Kayla too strange and complicated to want to navigate.

  The end of the show could have been the doorway into the next phase of Brandon’s life—one in which he could be open about who he was and search for a romantic partner. He was staring down forty now and was beginning to worry that his whole life would pass him by before he’d truly lived it, that he’d never fall in love or have a family or do any of the things he wanted. But now he was back where he’d been, albeit beside Travis, at least for now.

  Travis wanted a home, one he had a hand in designing. Brandon wanted the same thing. This apartment was only intended to be temporary until he could decide where he wanted to live more permanently.

  And that house on Argyle Road…. Despite everything, Brandon still loved it. He loved the charm of it, loved the layout, the size, the design, the neighborhood. He loved the finishes they’d picked out, especially those ba
cksplash tiles that he knew Travis would love too. It was almost a shame, after all the work and thought he’d put into it, to sell that house.

  So what if he didn’t sell it?

  Brandon was so surprised by the thought, he hopped out of bed, then walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of water.

  But… what if he kept the house?

  What if he moved into it? Well, the house wasn’t just his. Sure, he had a significant financial stake in it, but he’d been thinking of the house as his and Travis’s. Travis had done quite a bit of the work himself. His literal blood, sweat, and tears were in the house.

  Brandon shook his head. It was a dumb idea. The only way to recoup his losses on the house was to sell it. That had always been the plan.

  But he could buy out Restoration’s part of it. It would set him back for a bit, but there would be other houses to flip. Hell, Virginia had been sending him almost daily emails about houses in the neighborhood that were on the market. His per-episode salary would keep him afloat while he figured out his next moves.

  It was such an out-there idea. He needed to sell the house. He had no business thinking about buying it… or thinking about moving Travis into it with him. They’d just started seeing each other. There was no way the first good sex Brandon had had in a while would pan out to be the kind of commitment in which they shared a house. Life didn’t work that way.

  Unless it did.

  He put his glass in the sink and tried to push the idea out of his mind. He and Travis were barely even dating. Thinking about living together was a ridiculous thing to even contemplate.

  When he got back into bed, Travis stirred and said, “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

  “Mmm.”

  Travis rolled onto his side, his back to Brandon, so Brandon took that as an invitation. He slid alongside Travis and put his arm around Travis’s midsection, then pulled him close so that they spooned together. Travis sighed, and it sounded happy. Brandon kissed the top of his head and held him close. He wasn’t sleepy and didn’t imagine he’d be able to drift off now, but holding Travis, he felt content.

  This was the way things were supposed to be. Brandon should have a man in his bed, someone he could see himself loving and sharing his life with. Maybe Travis wasn’t that man, but this was still something Brandon hadn’t even known he’d been missing. Or maybe Travis was that man, and they were working toward something. Brandon didn’t know now, but as the sleepless night wore on, the idea of buying the house on Argyle Road and making it his own home started to seem less silly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  AS HE arrived at the Argyle Road house, Brandon was still riding the high of fantasizing about buying the house coupled with some spectacular early morning sex with Travis. Travis had snuck out to both go home and change and to not make it seem as if they were arriving at the site together. Travis was clearly irked by the subterfuge—and probably by having to get up early—but Brandon had insisted that showing up at the house together would look suspicious.

  So maybe not everything was bliss. But Brandon still felt good. Travis had beat him to the house and was already at work mudding some of the drywall in the living room. He smiled at Brandon when Brandon walked into the room, and that made warmth spread in Brandon’s chest.

  So Brandon was sleep-deprived and a little giddy, but happy about things with Travis. On the other hand, he was consequently so tired, he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be filming today. He walked to the back of the house, hoping to find Erik to ask, but he found Kayla instead.

  “Ah, there you are,” she said.

  “Hi. I thought you were flying back today.”

  “I am. But my flight doesn’t leave for….” Kayla glanced at her watch. “Six more hours. I wanted to grab a word with you first.”

  “All right. On camera or….”

  “No, privately. There’s a cute little coffee shop on Church. Can we go there for a few minutes?”

  “Sure. Let me just let Erik know.”

  Leaving the set ended up being a lot more complicated than he’d anticipated, even though Brandon had no particular agenda for the day. Erik had been hoping to film Brandon helping Travis out with the drywall, but after some persuading, Erik let Brandon go.

  Viewers didn’t really care about drywall. Thirty seconds of Travis mudding would get the job done.

  Still, it was almost a half hour later before Brandon and Kayla were seated at a corner table in a coffee shop. Brandon sipped his latte. “What did you want to talk about?”

  Kayla looked around. “No paparazzi here.”

  “They don’t generally lurk around coffee shops in Brooklyn neighborhoods this far from Manhattan.”

  Kayla nodded, then reached into her purse and came back with a small jewelry box. “I wanted to give this back to you.”

  Brandon took the box and opened it. It was Kayla’s engagement ring. The ring had once belonged to several generations of women in Brandon’s family. Brandon had wanted to give the heirloom to Kayla as a gesture of good faith that despite the unusual nature of their marriage, he was committed to the life they were building for themselves. That was naïve, in retrospect. But Brandon’s attachment to the ring was more symbolic than anything else, especially now that he and his mother were estranged. Brandon had frankly forgotten that he’d given the ring to Kayla at all.

  “Uh, thanks,” he said, placing the box on the table.

  “It seemed like the right thing to do to return it. I know you and your mother barely talk these days, but still, I feel bad. It was all my fault this thing between us blew up.”

  “Kayla….”

  “No, it was. I was careless. I forgot where we were and that there would be people who recognized me around. Who even watches the Restoration Channel? Well, a lot of people, it turns out. I just…. Dave and I were getting serious and I wanted to show him some affection, and I just wasn’t thinking.”

  “You know what, though? I think… I think you did me a favor.”

  “What?”

  Brandon took a deep breath and fingered the ring box. “You deserve to be with Dave, to really be with him instead of having a husband holding you back. I deserve to find someone I can love too. I know we had an arrangement, but I couldn’t let myself really be with anyone else while I was still married to you. I know it sounds dumb, but besides the lack of sex, I took our commitment to each other seriously.”

  Kayla reached across the table and covered Brandon’s hand with her own. “I know you did, sweetie. I did too, for what it’s worth. But Mama needs some sugar sometimes.”

  Brandon laughed. “I know.” He sighed. “But I can’t help but think that you got the short end of the stick here, at least in the media. Everyone thinks you cheated on me. Restoration bought you out of your contract.”

  Kayla shrugged. “You know what? I’m okay with how things turned out. Dave and I are going to settle in Orange County. I want to keep flipping houses, but I don’t need to do that in front of a camera. Don’t get me wrong, I loved doing the show, and I’m so happy to have had that experience, but after a few years in the spotlight, I’d rather lead a quiet life. I want to get married and have children. And I don’t want those future children to be on camera, but Restoration would expect that. Besides, Dave doesn’t want to be on TV even a little. It’s really better this way.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m happy, Brandon. Don’t worry about me. Dave and I are great together, and I want to live with him in a nice house on the beach and have his babies.” She grinned.

  Brandon shook his head. “This is not at all how I saw this going.”

  “How long could we have really stayed married?”

  That was the question, wasn’t it? Brandon had never been foolish enough to think marriage would cure him of his homosexuality—he’d never harbored any hope that he’d develop an attraction to Kayla, whom he loved like a sister—but part of him was determin
ed to make the arrangement work. He’d wanted to build a successful brand, of which his marriage and business partnership were the cornerstone, and failure was not an option. The marriage clinched the deal with the Restoration Channel and made his father happy, and Brandon had never let himself think beyond that. But of course, Kayla was right. This careful image Brandon had invested years of his life into building up had always been destined to topple over.

  Kayla looked at the table and said quietly, “I would have ended it eventually. I want to marry Dave and have a real marriage, not a fake TV one. Even if I hadn’t met him, you would have met someone eventually. That plan we made, it was good for the show, but it wasn’t a good life plan.”

  “You’re right. You deserve to be happy. And now that we’re not married anymore, I feel like I have permission to find something real too.” He sighed. “But I miss you. I miss having you around. I miss your friendship. I miss talking to you every day.”

  “You can still do that, you know. They have these newfangled things called telephones.”

  “I know. But it’s not the same.”

  Kayla smiled. “I love you, you know. I miss our friendship too. Let’s be better about talking regularly, okay? Even if it’s just texts on the fly between you adding grout to tiles and banging Travis.”

  Brandon rolled his eyes. “I will.” Then, feeling inspired, he slid the ring back across the table. “You can keep this, if you want. It doesn’t…. I wanted you to have it. It has nothing to do with my family.”

  Kayla stared at the box. “It is a beautiful ring. I always liked it.”

  “It’s yours. Call it a friendship ring.”

  “Oooh, like in elementary school when you and your BFF got those necklaces where one of them said ‘Best’ and the other said ‘Friends’? Well, in my case, my best friend and I got necklaces that had the word ‘Best’ above ‘Friends,’ so when they were divided in half, hers said ‘BE FRIE’ and mine said ‘ST NDS’ so we called each other Be-fry and Stinds for a while. Good times.”