All That Glitters

by Kate Sherwood

  Liam, on the other hand, was reeling. “Ben. Go see him. You think—no, we’ve been through this. I should respect his wishes.”

  “Has he repeated his wishes lately, or are these just the ones you heard fifteen years ago?”

  “There was a lot of ‘fuck you’ at the cemetery. And I think he told me to go away. He definitely said I was an asshole.”

  “But that could have just been the shock talking.”

  “And today he kept muttering, ‘Why are you here, why are you here.’ It didn’t sound like he was all that happy about it.”

  “Well, he’d just rammed into Laura Doncaster’s cruiser. He probably wasn’t thinking too clearly.”

  “Is this real? Do you actually think this would be a good idea, or are you just trying to fuck with both of us?”

  “Liam?” Calvin said quietly. “How do you feel right now? Excited, nervous, apprehensive but eager? Maybe even some butterflies?” He found a seat on the other side of the picnic table and casually speared some lettuce onto his fork. “When was the last time you felt this way at your job?”

  “So—wait. Was all this stuff about visiting Ben—was it just a test? A trap? You were trying to get me worked up about something so you could prove I’m not worked up enough about my career? Or do you actually think I should go see Ben, and you just threw the work stuff into the conversation because you’ve always got to be clever and talking about two or three different things at the same time?”

  “What do you want the answer to be?”

  “Aw, fuck you, Yoda, you’re not my shrink and I’m not playing your games.” He speared a potato and chomped it, and his hostility melted away as the rich, garlicky butter washed over his taste buds. He groaned in pleasure. “Son of a bitch, I missed these potatoes.”

  “The potatoes missed you too.”

  “Wait. The potatoes missed me?”

  “Yeah, that didn’t work. I was trying too hard—you got me inspired with the ‘Yoda’ business, and the thought of three different meanings when I’m usually sweating just to have two. I meant—damn it, Liam. Ben loved you. He’s gotten past it—it’s not like he’s been sitting around pining over you, not by a long shot. But he loved you, and he’s missed you. You guys were good friends before you were anything else. Maybe it’s possible for you to be good friends again. If you have the balls to give it a try.”

  Liam looked for the trap but he couldn’t find it. “Maybe,” he finally agreed.

  “Okay. That’s enough for tonight. Now you can tell me about your glamorous, outrageous life in the big city, with plenty of anecdotes, hopefully including some about celebrities, and I will listen and enjoy without even the hint of a question about whether your life there is as meaningful as it should be.”

  “And you’ll tell me gossip about everyone in town, hopefully with no mention of celebrities, and I’ll listen without wondering if there’s a hidden meaning or moral to your stories.”

  “Sounds good.”

  And with only a few glitches they managed to stick to their conversational plans.

  Liam strolled back to the B&B shortly before midnight, not drunk but certainly not in any condition to drive, still pleasantly full from the meal, and overall feeling more satisfied, more at peace, than he had in years.

  It was probably just the alcohol making him feel that way, but he’d been drunk plenty of times in the past fifteen years. He could give the credit to the steak, but he’d had lots of steak.

  Damn. It was the potatoes. The buttery, garlicky wonders.

  It wasn’t North Falls, wasn’t the conversation with Calvin, wasn’t the thought that he could go see Ben the next day with a reasonably clear conscience since he was operating with Uncle Calvin’s blessing. No, it was the potatoes.

  “I’m going to make them for myself,” Liam said out loud as he turned up the path to the purple house. “I can have garlic potatoes anytime I want.”

  But he wasn’t sure they’d taste quite the same in the city. Wasn’t sure the magic would work outside of North Falls.

  “I’ll figure something out,” he told himself. It was surprisingly optimistic, considering everything that had happened lately. Must have been the potatoes giving him such a good attitude.

  Chapter Eight

  BEN’S PHONE rang early that Saturday morning. He squinted at the alarm clock. Oh. Not all that early, really, but he’d tossed and turned all night, restless and fretful, so he deserved a bit of a lie-in. But he wasn’t going to get it, apparently.

  He fumbled his phone off the bedside table, scowled at the call display, then answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear. “What?” he demanded. He’d wanted it to sound like a growl, but it came out more like a whine. Damn it.

  “Morning, Sunshine,” Seth said cheerfully. When Tamara was a baby, Seth had been assigned the 5:00 a.m. feeding, and it seemed to have permanently transformed him into an early riser. It was really annoying. “What are you doing?”

  “I was sleeping.”

  “Oh. Sorry. But you don’t want to waste the whole day, do you? It’s past nine. We should do something!”

  “Are you about to suggest I come over and help you with outside chores?”

  “I wasn’t, but I appreciate your offer and I gratefully accept! Wear long sleeves because we need to do something with those raspberry bushes.”

  “Why did you call, then?”

  “Oh, yeah. Because—okay, I honestly have no idea if I should even mention this. But I’m going to.”

  “Are you? Sometime soon, maybe?”

  “Rissa called me, just now. I’m not working this weekend, but there was a weird situation, and she wanted you to be aware of it but she didn’t want to call you herself, so….”

  Rissa was Seth’s co-owner at the garage. “The car’s worse than we thought? Shit, Seth, how much is this going to cost me?”

  “Funny you should ask that, actually. Because—maybe nothing.”

  “Maybe it’s going to cost me nothing? What? Like, it’s a write-off? If you’re trying to put a positive spin on my car being a write-off, you should stop trying. Damn it, what—”

  “Not a write-off. But… possibly a concerned citizen has stepped forward and wants to pay for the repairs.”

  “Possibly… a concerned citizen?”

  “Not a citizen of North Falls, necessarily. At least, not anymore.”

  “Liam wants to pay for my car repairs?”

  “Apparently he feels responsible for the accident.”

  “He was responsible for the accident!”

  “Really? He was sitting beside you and he reached out and grabbed the wheel and made you run into Laura Doncaster? Because I’ve pictured this event a lot of times in my mind—and Dinah has pictured it a lot, too, and she is very grateful to you for the amusement—but in none of my imaginings was Liam actually in the car with you.”

  “He wasn’t in the car, but—”

  “But he jumped out in front of you, causing you to heroically swerve into Laura Doncaster’s Chariot of Authority.”

  “He didn’t jump. But he has no damn business being in town, and he caught me by surprise.”

  “And then you caught Laura Doncaster by surprise.”

  “Could you please stop talking about Laura Doncaster?”

  “But it’s okay if we keep talking about Liam?”

  “God, better him than Laura!”

  “Really. That’s a bit of a change, isn’t it? I mean—”

  “Okay, yeah, I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to talk about either one of them.” Except he kind of did. Well, not about Laura. “Liam offered to pay? He went to the garage?” Because he thought Ben was pathetic and needed charity, and because he didn’t want the nuisance of talking to Ben again. Whatever the hell Liam was doing in town, it had nothing to do with Ben. This proved that. If he’d wanted to see Ben again, this would have been a great excuse, but he hadn’t.

  “Rissa said she wouldn’t take payment from him wit
hout your permission. So I think he may be trying to talk to you to get your permission. Possibly pretty soon.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Ben looked down at himself. Ratty T-shirt, old cutoff sweatpants. He knew his hair was messy, he hadn’t shaved, he had morning breath, and he fully expected there were some creases on his face from the pillow because he’d been really, really asleep when the phone rang.

  “Is Liam Marshall ringing my doorbell?” he asked in a small voice. “Rissa gave him my address?”

  “No, but it’s not like he’d have trouble finding someone who would. Everyone knows you, and—well, he’s Liam Marshall. People like helping him out.”

  “This town needs to do some thinking about its priorities. And maybe have a review of privacy legislation.” He looked frantically around the room. Should he hide? Was hiding an acceptable response? But if he hid, Liam would go away, and—oh, God, what was he thinking? He wanted Liam to go away. He needed to want Liam to go away.

  “Are you going to answer the door?” Seth asked. “Damn, I wish I had a video of this. Can we FaceTime?”

  “No. Go away.”

  “Are you going to—” Seth started, but Ben hung up on him.

  Liam Marshall was at the door. The door of Ben’s house. Their previous meetings had been public, unplanned, rushed, chaotic. This one was… what the hell was this one? Still pretty chaotic, if the churning in Ben’s gut was any indication.

  Shit. He needed to make a decision. Answer the door or hide under the bed? No, not under the bed. Too dusty. The closet—

  And strangely enough, that was what got him moving. He wasn’t in the closet. Never had been, never would be. He wouldn’t hide who he was, and he wouldn’t hide from Liam Marshall.

  He resolutely refused to glance into the mirror as he passed the open bathroom door. He didn’t care what he looked like. This was going to be a conversation about financial restitution, not fashion.

  He yanked the wooden door open and scowled through the screen door out into the bright sunlight. Liam was backlit, the sun forming a fucking halo around his too-perfect face. Because of course that’s how it was. Stupid sun. Just one more vote for the sainthood of Liam Marshall.

  “What?” Ben said, and this time his voice was much more growly than it had been on the phone.

  “I’m sorry—did I wake you?” Liam looked shocked by the possibility. “Is it still early? Shit, I’m sorry. I woke up a long time ago, and the garage was open, and the bakery was open….” He held out a brown paper bag. “I guess I didn’t look at the actual time. I brought you cinnamon buns. I don’t know if you still like them. I can just leave them, though, and you can go back to sleep. Sorry.”

  “You say ‘sorry’ a lot.”

  Liam frowned. “I guess I have a lot to apologize for.”

  “But ‘sorry’ isn’t magic. It doesn’t actually change anything.” This was a much deeper conversation than Ben had intended, but now that he’d started it was hard to stop. “It’s just—you should stop doing the things you need to apologize for. Shouldn’t you? Rather than just doing them and thinking that an apology will make everything better?”

  “Right.” Liam stepped backward. “Sor—” He grimaced. “Should I just tell you why I’m here, or would you rather I left and came back later?”

  Ben knew better. Of course he knew better. But he pushed the screen door open anyway. “I’m awake now. I’ll make coffee. Have you already eaten?”

  “No.” Liam stepped forward cautiously, clearly looking for a trap, which was a pretty good idea on his part. “But I don’t want to intrude.”

  For a quick moment, Ben wished he’d had company the night before. Someone really hot, someone casually affectionate—he’d stroll out from the kitchen wearing nothing but boxer briefs, showing off his ripped body and big bulge, and he’d have a mug of coffee for Ben and he’d nuzzle in over his shoulder and kiss Ben’s neck and whisper, “Is he staying, or do I get you to myself?” And then—

  Well. None of that was going to happen, damn it. “You’re not intruding,” Ben said, although it was obviously untrue and he wasn’t going to try too hard to pretend otherwise. “Come in.”

  As soon as Liam stepped inside, Ben wished he’d suggested they stay out on the porch. It was too strange, too damned intimate having Liam in his house. But Liam strolled in as if everything was totally natural, totally fine, and he glanced around, then smiled. “This place suits you. The colors and everything. It feels like—like you.”

  “You have no idea what I ‘feel like.’ Not anymore.” Ben turned quickly and headed for the kitchen. What the hell was he doing? If he was going to let Liam into the house, which he’d already done, then he needed to be a better host. Not gracious, maybe, but at least not bitchy. “Sorry,” he said, and Liam snorted. Yeah, okay, it wasn’t a magic word.

  “I don’t need to be here,” Liam said. “If you don’t want me here, say so. I went by the garage and asked to pay for the repairs to your car but they wouldn’t take my money without your permission. I just wanted to ask you if that was okay. And if it’s okay, can you call the garage? Then I can get out of your hair.”

  And in true preteen angst-monster fashion, Ben hated the idea of letting Liam leave. Letting him walk away again, to be gone for another fifteen years? God, it was unthinkable. “I’ll make us coffee,” he said, trying to sound calm and less likely to snap Liam’s head off. Shit, trying to make himself attractive, acceptable, like a desperate fifties housewife trying to lure her cheating husband back to the nest. Was that what he was doing? Was he that pathetic?

  “Shit,” he said, and he turned to face Liam. “What’s going on? I feel like—well, okay, I was just all bitchy about you not knowing, but fuck, Liam, I don’t know what I feel like, not anymore. Why are you here? I don’t mean at the house—no, you can’t pay for the car repairs. So if that’s all this was, we’re done. But if you’re going to stay, I want to know why you’re in North Falls. You’ve been away a long damn time, you know. What are you doing here now?”

  Liam stared back at him, and it was as if they’d jumped back to who they’d been when they were kids. Ben could read the indecision on Liam’s face, the struggle between keeping up his perfect façade or letting himself be open and honest and vulnerable. And just as it had when they were kids, the honest option won. “I have no idea what I’m doing here,” he said quietly. “No idea what I’m doing anywhere. I—I don’t know.”

  “Huh.” Ben let himself be distracted for a moment by the familiar ritual of measuring coffee grounds and pouring water. But it didn’t take long, and while he waited for the coffee to start flowing he looked back toward Liam. “You’re okay, though? No terminal illness or big tragedy or anything?”

  “I quit my job. But that’s not exactly a tragedy. I think—I don’t know, the work stuff was the final straw or something. The trigger? But I don’t think it’s the whole problem.”

  “Okay.” And strangely, it was okay. “There’s a problem. Something we can analyze and figure out and solve. Right?”

  “We?” Liam smiled softly but shook his head. “I can’t drag you into whatever this is. After—after what I did—”

  “After you cheated on me. Might as well get the words out there.” Ben found two mugs, then turned around quickly. “And while we’re at it, let’s get all the words out there. Because you cheated on me a lot. Not just the one time you got caught. Right? That wasn’t—it wasn’t a one-time thing. Not a one-guy thing.”

  “Not a lot,” Liam protested. He stopped and looked at the floor. “But, yeah. More than one time. More than one guy.”

  “And I knew.” There it was. The truth Ben had never shared with anyone, had barely admitted to himself. “I knew, and I didn’t say anything. Didn’t stop you. You just kept getting more and more obvious, like you were fucking daring me to bust you. Is that what you were doing? Were you too chickenshit to break up with me like a man so you just kept pushing and pushing? Because you h
ad to know Seth was on his way to your apartment. You could have gotten that guy out of there faster if you’d wanted to. But you didn’t want to, did you? You wanted to get caught.”

  “I don’t know,” Liam whispered. Then in a stronger voice, “What about you? What the hell were you thinking? Why didn’t you bust me any of the other times? Was it some sort of a game? Did you even fucking care that I was doing it?”

  They stood there in the kitchen, staring at each other. The coffee was forgotten, the years were forgotten, and it was just the two of them again, having the fight they should have had fifteen years earlier. But Ben didn’t want to fight anymore. “We were just kids,” he said. They’d been in their twenties, but barely, and neither of them had been especially mature for their ages. It felt like an important realization. Like the first step toward forgiveness, not just for Liam but for himself. “We didn’t know how to have a relationship. Didn’t know we had to work at them, didn’t know they needed to be cared for and maintained. We thought….”

  “We thought love was magic. Thought it was all we needed.” Liam shook his head. “No, wait. I fucked up. This wasn’t—I mean, you not being perfect or not having a clear idea of what was going on is no damned excuse for what I—for me cheating on you.”

  “No, it’s not. But that was a long time ago.” Strange how liberating it was to say so. “I can’t keep being angry about that. I shouldn’t have stayed angry as long as I have.” He let the words fill the air, then nodded. “Yeah. That feels right. You fucked up. Absolutely. But we were friends for a long time before we were anything else. I don’t want to keep—I don’t know, keep denying that, I guess. I don’t want to keep ignoring it. We might not have worked as a couple, but we worked as friends, didn’t we?”

  Liam swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling as if he thought there might be an answer written on it. “Yeah,” he finally said. “We were good friends. At least I think we were. I guess Seth might not agree.”