by Alex Kidwell
But the water was chilly and clean, the half-moon reflected in the soft waves. Randall stripped off his pajama pants, waded into the shallows, and then ducked his head under the water. The sweat of his nightmare was washed away, the calm stillness of the lake soothing him. He swam out to the center with strong strokes and floated there, staring up at the sky, letting his mind still.
When he’d been younger, he’d believed that the lake was alive, that it protected them. Even though he knew such a notion was childish, Randall felt a little more comforted, just floating in the middle of the water, letting himself drift.
When he finally swam back to shore, he felt more relaxed than he had in days. It was temporary, he knew, it was nothing but a brief respite, but it was something. Nothing about his life had changed out there in the water, but at least now he felt a little less like he was being swallowed whole by it.
No one was awake when Randall left for work. The hours passed far too slowly, work sliding him into a kind of numb half awareness. He shelved books he didn’t have time to read, far too many paperbacks with half-naked people on the covers, he ate half a peanut butter sandwich alone in the break room, and when he was finally released, he went straight to the grocery store to tie on his apron and attach his name badge. The navy-blue polo the store required him to wear was unobtrusive enough he could get away with it both places. Of course, the library thought him to have an extremely limited wardrobe, but Randall would hardly be winning any fashion awards regardless, so his wounded ego was easily mended.
Bagging groceries was possibly the most numbing job Randall could imagine. It was just engaging enough that he couldn’t mentally drift off, while simultaneously being so repetitive that he couldn’t seem to grasp hold of anything to challenge him. By the time he dragged himself out to the car, Randall wished he could just curl up in the backseat and sleep.
But Victor was coming to take him out. And that alone was worth forcing himself to stay awake.
He ran in the door, later than he’d wanted because of traffic, and went straight to the shower. No matter how little time he had, Randall was desperate to wash off the sweat of the day. When he emerged a few minutes later, toweling off his damp hair, robe wrapped tight around him, he found Edwin and Anthony waiting for him with big grins. “So,” Edwin said, practically wiggling in excitement, “you have a date.”
“Have you two just been waiting for me to walk in so you can point that out?” Randall headed past them to his room, digging through his closet frantically for something to wear. “If you’re going to mock me, at least be helpful.”
“Being helpful is for people with fashion sense,” Anthony said sagely. “We don’t have any.”
Randall glanced over at Edwin in his ragged T-shirt and Anthony in his flannel. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Get out, you’re both horrible.”
He shut the door to the sound of their gleeful laughter. “Wear something that’s not a sweater vest!” Anthony called through the door.
“Shut up,” Randall responded. He looked down at the vest he’d pulled out of the closet, sighing and dropping it onto the bed. He chose a simple shirt instead, slacks, a tie. Dressing quickly, he glanced at himself in the mirror.
Oh, God, he was a mess.
He yanked open the door to find both Edwin and Anthony waiting for him, and gave them a panicked look. “This is bad, right?” His fingers ran over the tie, looking down at himself. “When did I get so fat? And I should just wear a bag over my head, right? God, why did I agree to do this? I’m not a date person. I look terrible.”
Anthony gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You look great, Randall,” he said. “I mean it. Victor’s not even going to care what you’re wearing.”
“Because I look horrible,” Randall agreed miserably. He turned on his heel and went back to the closet, digging through it, tossing clothes everywhere. “Maybe a different tie?” Or a different face.
Anthony was chuckling behind him, dragging Randall away from the closet. “No, because he’s so smitten he only cares if you turn up,” he corrected. “You think you’re nervous about clothes? The guy turned up in a three-piece suit earlier today.”
“He’s wearing a suit?” Oh, God. Randall immediately started undoing his tie. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Here.” Edwin was standing there with a tan sport coat, a deep-green tie, and a dark-blue shirt. “Put this on.”
“What—”
“Jed and I watched daytime television today.” Edwin nodded sagely. “Trust me.” He paused and wrinkled his nose. “Also, television is boring.”
Randall took the clothes. “Why did you watch, then?”
Edwin shrugged. “Jed and Redford wanted to relax. We went for a run and then swimming and then tried to fish, only there wasn’t anything biting and they had no idea what they were doing. Jed just kind of poked the water with a stick. I think they got tired.” Giving Randall a grin, he shoved his shoulder. “Now go get dressed. Victor’s been pacing outside for the past ten minutes.” They left, and Anthony shut the door behind them.
Randall studied himself in the mirror after he got dressed again. He ran a hand through his hair, adjusted his glasses, and wondered if it was possible to be any more nervous than he was right then.
It turned out that yes, it was. Because when he heard Victor coming up to the door, all the butterflies that had been beating around his stomach turned into a cyclone that twisted him up completely. Letting out a shaky breath, Randall forced himself to wait for the knock, going over to let Victor in.
Victor was indeed wearing a three-piece suit, the perfectly tailored kind that only came with significant money. There was even the chain of a pocket watch hanging out of the pocket of the gray pinstripe waistcoat, a burnished silver to match the rest of the suit. Despite all of that, Victor looked just as nervous as he did.
He also looked incredible. In the middle of all his worry, Randall felt a smile start, a giddy little lift to his gut that made it impossible to not grin.
“Are you ready?” Victor asked. The once-over he gave Randall was obvious, his gaze darting up and down the length of Randall’s body. “You look fantastic, by the way.”
Randall ducked his head as he exhaled a laugh. “I think that word’s being used up by you, actually. You, uh. Yes. You look very good.”
“Oh my God, you two.” Jed and Redford had apparently shown up to watch the show. Jed smirked widely at both of them, sprawled out on the couch with Redford’s legs on his lap—Randall’s door was only just visible from the living room, and they’d obviously deliberately placed themselves on the one couch with viewing access. “Just kiss or nerd bump or whatever it is you people do and get going.”
Victor decisively took Randall’s hand. “Do be quiet, Jed,” he said carelessly and turned back to Randall. “Shall we take our leave of this rabble and go somewhere with good company?”
“I think that sounds perfect.” Randall squeezed Victor’s fingers lightly, and they walked down the hall and toward the front door. Edwin was grinning at the both of them, and he darted up to give Victor a big hug.
“If you hurt him, I have teeth, and I will rip your throat out,” Edwin informed Victor cheerfully.
“Edwin!” Randall gave him an exasperated look, gaze going to Anthony. “Could you please, Ant?”
“What?” Anthony just looked deeply amused. “Oh, right. Edwin, don’t threaten people. It’s rude.” He reached out to shake Victor’s hand. “If you break his heart, we really will wrestle.”
“Okay,” Randall sighed. “That’s enough testosterone for the day.”
“Hey.” Jed whistled, stopping Randall in his tracks. “Fur boy. You hurt the princess and I’ll find my explosives. Got it?” He gave them both a charming smirk. “Have fun!”
“Dear God, can we leave now?” Victor groaned. “We’re leaving. Come on, Randall.” Still looking faintly perturbed at Edwin and Anthony’s threats—and perhaps more especially at Jed’s ge
sture of protectiveness—Victor tugged Randall out the door.
The moment they were outside, Randall started laughing. He couldn’t help it. “You might not believe this,” he told Victor, shaking his head, “but that actually went better than I’d expected it to.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Victor huffed. In less of a hurry now that they’d escaped outside, they walked toward Jed’s Jeep.
“The first boy who came to take me out, I was eighteen.” They both climbed inside the Jeep, snapping on seat belts, getting themselves settled. “Edwin bit him. Twice. Needless to say, we never made it on the date.”
As Victor started up the engine, he smiled. “I’ll consider myself lucky that I remain unbitten, then.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Randall murmured, looking out the window rather than at Victor. “I wouldn’t think a little biting this evening would be so bad.”
“Neither would I,” Victor agreed slyly. “Now, before I start driving in any particular direction, do you have a preference for type of restaurant? Are you allergic to anything?”
Randall shook his head. “We don’t often eat out, so I’m afraid my input will be limited. I’d prefer it if some sort of meat was available, but it’s not a necessity. I really don’t expect anything, Victor.” Randall relaxed back into the seat. “Fast food would be fine with me.”
“Well, we’re certainly not going to go through a drive-through.” Victor seemed appalled at the very idea. “We’ll have Italian, then. There’s a place in town I’m quite fond of, and I think you’d like it.”
“That sounds good,” Randall agreed. His entire experience with Italian was when he tried to make pasta at home, only to have Edwin and Anthony pick out the meatballs and leave the rest. It would be interesting to have something authentic. “How was your day? I hope Edwin didn’t annoy you too much. I think he gets lonely sometimes.”
Victor seemed to hesitate before looking over at Randall, a small smile curling at the edge of his lips, different from the ones he usually wore. This one seemed more content. “Not at all. He finds Jed and Redford far more entertaining than me. I went back home briefly to get some things, but other than that my day was fairly uneventful. Yours?”
“Long,” Randall admitted. He absently rubbed his hands together, watching the traffic out the window. “But not worth speaking about, really.” They were headed back toward the city, and Randall found his gaze increasingly drawn toward Victor, the lights of the vehicles flashing across his face, lighting him in sporadic vision. “I’ve been looking forward to this, though. I, uh—” He briefly smiled. “—honestly didn’t think we would ever be going on a date.”
“Neither did I,” Victor admitted. “Everything was… very confusing for a while. But I’m glad I got my head straightened out.”
A smile touched Randall’s face, and he daringly reached out to lightly brush his fingers along Victor’s knee. “Well, here we are. I think we’ve had enough of talking about the past. I’m much more interested now in just you.”
“Well, we’re nearly at the restaurant,” Victor replied. “Why don’t I save that topic? I’m not actually that interesting, and I should probably save my good lines of conversation for the actual date.”
“This isn’t the date?” Randall asked, eyes crinkling in amusement. “My God, I am out of practice. I forgot the pre-date ritual.”
“I suppose this could be counted as the date.” Victor looked over at him briefly, obviously not wanting to take his eyes off the road for too long. “But driving in Jed’s Jeep is hardly one of my good ideas.”
“It’s kind of bumpy,” Randall acknowledged. “But our car sounds like the muffler is going to drop out. Anthony’s fixed it a thousand times. It’s really amazing it still runs. So this isn’t half bad.”
Victor turned the Jeep around a corner and leaned forward over the steering wheel, peering ahead to look for a place to park. “I hate driving,” he said absently. “I have cars, but I never use them.”
Randall glanced over, eyebrows lifted high. Cars. As in multiple. As in, yesterday Randall dug through Edwin’s sock drawer looking for enough change to get a loaf of bread, and Victor was talking about more than one car. “You should hire a driver,” he managed, wondering exactly how rich Victor was. Randall hadn’t actually thought much of that before, but maybe it was relevant.
“Goodness, no, I live close enough to where I need to go that I can just walk. Any driver would be bored stiff for weeks on end.” Victor grimaced as he pulled the Jeep into a parking spot, sitting up to try to see over the hood to make sure he didn’t bump into anything. He looked relieved when he was done. “Right, then. Just in time for our booking.”
The restaurant that Victor directed them toward looked small and tasteful from the outside, the windows glowing with low lamplight, vines crawling over the white stone walls. A waiter, impeccably dressed, greeted them as soon as they walked in the door. The outside, it turned out, belied what was inside. The interior was only just bright enough to see, lending it an intimate air. Every person dining, to Randall, looked like something out of a movie—perfectly made up without being ostentatious, their taste revealed in more subtle smaller diamonds and expensive cufflinks.
It was something he would have loved watching from a distance. Just seeing how people interacted had always been interesting. But walking among them, being led to his table, Randall was suddenly aware that his clothes weren’t nearly that well fitted, that his suit coat was something he’d gotten from a clearance rack. He didn’t fit in here at all. His hair was messy, he was awkward, and this was not a world he knew how to handle.
The waiter took them to a cozy corner table that overlooked a courtyard. Victor pulled Randall’s chair out for him and sat down opposite him. Randall noticed that he unbuttoned his jacket as he did so, a casual motion by the very rich used to not wanting to crease their suits.
Victor looked satisfied with the restaurant, but when he looked over at Randall, that expression faltered slightly. “You’re uncomfortable,” he surmised. “Oh, Randall, I’m sorry, I should have picked better. We can go elsewhere, if you like.”
“No, of course not.” Randall looked down, frowning, fiddling with his tie. “It’s fine. I just haven’t ever been someplace this nice. I, um, I don’t think I’m dressed right.” He felt ridiculous. Worrying about his clothes, honestly. “I would just prefer not to embarrass you.” Randall gave Victor a crooked, rueful little smile.
“Nobody minds what you’re wearing, Randall,” Victor said gently. He nodded to the other patrons, who all looked far more interested in their meals or their dining company. “Only the snooty rich would look down on you, and I don’t socialize with that lot.”
“Okay, this is going to sound terrible, but when you say rich”—Randall glanced over at Victor—“you don’t just mean ‘I have a savings account with more than ten dollars in it,’ do you?”
“It’s family money, mostly.” Victor looked a little uncomfortable talking about it. “Built up over generations. My mother’s family was one of the first settlers in America. My father’s family is well established in Manchester—that was where I spent most of my youth. I’ve added some of my own through stocks, a few book sales, and a couple of properties I own. Let’s just say that if I had children, neither they nor their children would have to work if they were smart with their money.”
Okay, so more than ten dollars. Randall gave that a moment to sink in. He’d honestly never really thought about money like that. Not in anything other than the vague acknowledgement that he needed to have more. Especially now. But he honestly didn’t care if Victor had a thousand dollars or a million or ten million.
Although he did wonder what it’d be like.
“So you want children?” Randall asked with a half-hidden smile, changing the subject and ducking his head to glance through the menu.
Victor’s frown seemed unsure. He too was looking at the menu, but he only gave it a cursory glance, as if he’d
been here enough to know what was offered. “I’ve never thought seriously about it,” he admitted. “No further than being wary of passing on my genes.”
“I don’t know if that’d be a bad thing.” Randall reached out to take a sip of his water, slowly starting to regain some of his self-confidence. This was better. This was just him and Victor, talking. He’d always enjoyed that. “Beyond the fact that a child having your smile could never be terrible, the part of yourself you’re concerned about seems to diminish by further generations.”
“Flatterer,” Victor said fondly.
“Oh, I don’t flatter,” Randall assured him, a bit of teasing in his expression. “I only speak truths. That’s one of my wolf qualities, didn’t I tell you? Attractive men only get the truth.”
Victor seemed bemused. “Really? Not even only after asking four times, like the Coyote of myth? I’m very lucky, then.”
“You are,” Randall hummed in agreement. They shared a smile, and Randall went back to perusing the menu, searching through the heavy parchment pages for something familiar. “Do you have any recommendations?” he finally asked, glancing upward, careful to keep his eyes below chin level so Victor didn’t accidentally meet his. “I’ve had bad spaghetti before, but that’s about all my experience with Italian food.”
Victor waved the waiter over in response and ordered for them both in fluent Italian. His accent wasn’t the best, but since Randall knew enough to be conversational in the same language, it was obvious to his ears that it was at least occasionally practiced. And there was something incredibly attractive about Victor at that moment, easily taking control of the situation.
“I thought we’d go with a number of smaller dishes,” Victor said to him once the waiter had left. “So we can share, and you can get the full experience of how excellent these chefs are.”