DUMPED

by Lucy Hawkins

  Mondays were always the quietest days at the inn. All the weekend guests had checked out Sunday, and check-in didn’t start until three. Unless any walk-ins came for lunch, which was unlikely, he and Alex would have the dining room to themselves. He rehearsed exactly what he was going to say to Alex as he whisked eggs and cream together.

  One dinner where we don’t talk about work. That’s all I’m asking. Just you and me somewhere that isn’t the inn. Hell, somewhere that isn’t even Redwood. We need to talk about what happened, and I would prefer if we did it over a nice dinner that wasn’t cooked by me, in a restaurant where jeans would look out of place.

  A date. He was asking for a date.

  With a sigh, he put the quiche in the oven and walked out the back door of the kitchen into the vegetable garden. It was filled with vibrant green herbs and a number of leafy vegetables. Kneeling beside a patch of parsley, he picked a handful, then grabbed romaine and coral lettuce before returning to the kitchen. The quiet, domestic moments like this were the ones that made him miss Norma the most. She had taught him how to do all of this, from making the perfect quiche to mixing the heavenly herb dressing for the salad.

  Once everything was prepared, he set the food out on one of the dining tables and checked his phone. Alex would arrive in fifteen minutes. Hank paced the kitchen, twisting his fingers together in front of him. Coffee. Alex would want coffee. He walked over to the coffee maker and started a fresh pot. A moment later, Alex breezed through the door.

  “Oh, thank God. I’ve been dying the last week without decent coffee.”

  He crossed the kitchen to the pot, not even giving Hank a quick ‘hello’ before grabbing a mug. At one time, Hank might have found his terseness rude, but now, he just accepted it as one of Alex’s many quirks.

  “Hello to you, too,” he said with a smile. “I’m glad you could come.”

  Hank drank in the sight of him like a man dying of thirst. He had gained back some of the weight he’d lost from forgetting to eat in the run up to the wedding, and the dark circles were mostly gone from underneath his eyes. He looked good.

  “Me too,” Alex said, finally looking up from his coffee.

  “You know, you’re welcome to come by any time you want.” Shit, that sounded too forward. “For the coffee. I know you hate pretty much everywhere else’s.”

  “I know.”

  Then why don’t you? Hank wanted to ask. He refrained, though. Maybe Alex had just been busy. And maybe pigs were flying now.

  “Are you ready to eat? I’m pretty hungry,” he admitted.

  “Totally. Whatever you’ve made smells delicious. As usual.” Alex winked, sending a shiver through Hank, before following him into the dining room.

  They sat across from each other in silence as Hank served up their lunch, sliding a large slice of quiche onto Alex’s plate.

  “I have a proposal for you,” he began, “and I want you to promise you’ll hear me all the way out before you say no.”

  “Okay.” Alex drew the word out, eyeing him suspiciously. “I promise I will sit here and eat and hear you out. But I can’t promise I’m going to take you up on whatever your proposal is.”

  “Understandable. All I’m asking is that you listen. You might even find yourself interested.”

  Alex’s fork hovered near his mouth. “That would depend on what it is.”

  Lacing his fingers together, Hank took a deep breath. “I want to go into business together,” he said. “Since Hazel’s wedding and the magazine feature, I’ve been getting swamped with inquiries about using the inn as a venue. Seriously, you should see my inbox. It’s like, three pages deep of inquiries.”

  The tightness in Hank’s chest eased as Alex laughed. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost.

  “The only problem is, people want an in-house wedding planner,” he continued. “Obviously, that’s not my thing. I don’t know the first thing about planning a wedding. You do. People want you, Alex. They’re crazy about your style. At least half of them want ‘something like Hazel Reagan’s wedding.’”

  Alex shoveled more quiche into his mouth, more than likely in an attempt to avoid speaking. Very well. Hank could keep making his case.

  “Working together was honestly better than I ever thought it would be. It was amazing. I think we could really make something together. A business together,” he amended quickly. “We get along well and we both have skills in different areas. You’d have full creative control, and you could take whatever cut you think is fair for your work—”

  “This salad is amazing, by the way,” Alex said, still avoiding his gaze.

  “Thanks.”

  Of course, Alex was going to drag this out as much as he could. Had there really even been any point in asking if he was interested? He’d been so adamant that he would never plan another wedding—that Hazel’s was the only exception because she was his best friend. But people wanted him. He was so convinced that everyone thought of him as a laughingstock. That he was cursed. The only curse was one of his own making. No one gave a rat’s ass about what had happened to him. Most of them didn’t even know what had happened. And the ones who did weren’t talking about him or laughing at him behind his back.

  “There’s another thing I wanted to propose,” Hank said, taking a stab at his own salad.

  “Another thing?” Alex asked, wearily enough that Hank almost backed out.

  Instead, he nodded. “Just one more. I’d like you to join me for dinner. Away from the inn. I was thinking we could even get out of Redwood.” He did his best to sound nonchalant, even though it seemed like every muscle was tense. “There’s this great Italian restaurant in Albany I think you’d like. I just have one condition: we don’t talk about work.”

  Alex put his cutlery down and looked up at Hank, a slow smile lighting in his eyes. “Are you asking me out on a date, Hank?”

  His heart beat loudly in his chest. They’d slept together. They’d talked about their past and everything that had happened between them. Hell, he’d even admitted his insane high school crush. And yet, asking Alex to dinner was perhaps the most nerve-wracking thing he’d ever done, as far as they were concerned.

  “Yeah?” The word came out a question. “Yes. That’s what I’m asking.”

  Instead of responding immediately, Alex just stared at him. And kept staring. Dear God, how long was he going to draw this out?

  “I agree to the second proposal. One dinner with you at the restaurant of your choosing. No talking about work.”

  Hank let out a fraction of a breath. “And the first proposal?”

  “That one I’m gonna need some time to think about.”

  Well, at least it wasn’t an outright no.

  Seventeen

  Alex

  “Alexander Haynes, quit hogging the fucking bathroom!” Taylor’s fist pounded against the door. “What are you even doing in there, dyeing your eyebrows?”

  Alex jerked the door open and crossed his arms across his bare chest as steam poured out into the hall. “If you must know, I’m getting ready for a date.”

  Just saying the word made his stomach flip.

  “I’m sorry, did you say a date?” Taylor waved the steam away. “Who could you possibly be going on a date with in Redwood?”

  “Who said I’m going with someone from Redwood?”

  Narrowing her eyes, Taylor turned back toward the stairs. “Mom, did you know Alex was going on a date?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Alex hissed, pressing his hand over her mouth. “It’s none of your business.”

  Unable to respond, she simply raised an eyebrow. Two could play that game.

  “Fine. You want to know who it is? I’ll tell you. But I’m also telling Mom you spent the night at Scamp Mowbray’s house last week.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she said against his hand.

  Alex smiled sweetly. “Wouldn’t I?”

  Glaring, Taylor swatted his hand away. “I cannot believe you. You’re being childish.”<
br />
  At one time, that would have drawn a fight out of him. Now, it just made Alex laugh. “Yeah, okay.” If she couldn’t see the irony in that statement, that was her problem.

  Retreating back into the bathroom, Alex grabbed a bottle of cologne and sprayed it into the air before walking through it. Then he paused. Was it too much? The last thing he wanted was to smell like some douchey frat guy. Grabbing a towel, he wiped what he could off his arms.

  He was being ridiculous. This was just Hank. The same Hank he’d interacted with over the past month at the inn. The same Hank who offered him coffee and listened to him talk about nothing for hours on end.

  The same Hank he’d slept with after half a bottle of scotch and had a dance-off with in the drawing room.

  He pushed that thought out of his mind. This wasn’t a quick, drunken fuck. This was a date. Even if Hank hadn’t even been able to say the word out loud, he’d made it abundantly clear when he’d booked a table for two at Grappa ’72 in Albany. Alex had scoped out the menu a few days ago, and it had left his mouth watering. The restaurant was fancier than anything they had in Redwood, so he needed an appropriate outfit.

  Rifling in his closet, he pulled out a number of options—mostly Will-You-Plan-My-Wedding bribes from Hazel. The cashmere sweater was too hot for summer. The denim button-down wasn’t fancy enough. What did people even wear on dates anymore? Did any of his clothes actually fit anymore? In the weeks following the breakup, he’d allowed himself one too many pints of ice cream, and his stomach was softer than he’d like for it to be. Glaring at himself in the mirror, he went back to the drawing board.

  He’d just settled on a pair of lightweight khakis, short sleeve button-down, and blazer when the doorbell rang. Shit. Alex hadn’t actually thought Hank would meet him here. He’d assumed they were meeting at the inn. Grabbing his jacket, he raced down the hall toward the steps, shoes untied. If Taylor answered before he did, he’d never live it down.

  “Oh, hello Hank.” His mother’s voice echoed from the foyer. “Can I help you with something?”

  “It’s for me,” Alex said, sliding to a halt at the front door.

  Hank looked… good. Better than good. If Alex thought the wedding look he’d been sporting was Hank’s version of nice, this took it one step further. The man was in a fucking suit—cream with a teal button-down underneath. He looked like he was ready to head off to a yacht club.

  “I see,” Alex’s mom said, looking between the two of them. She shot him a wink. “Well, you two have fun.”

  “Goodnight, Mom,” he said firmly.

  Hank walked him to the truck, which looked as though it had been washed recently. He really was going all out.

  “So, I take it you didn’t tell your family where you were going, did you?” Hank asked, once they were on the road.

  Alex’s cheeks flushed. “It isn’t… I just—I didn’t know if you wanted it spread around.”

  Great. Now Hank probably thought he was embarrassed to be seen around him, and that wasn’t the case at all. He just didn’t want to ruin this by spreading it around, especially when it was so new, and—

  “It’s okay,” Hank said gently. “I get it. You’re nervous about where this whole thing is going to go.”

  Letting out a slow sigh, Alex nodded, the tension leaving his shoulders. “Last time, it was such a big deal. Everyone knew who I was dating, and then…”

  They both knew how well that had ended. Hank’s warm hand slid into his, and Alex’s heart felt as though it was being squeezed by a rubber band. Where was this Hank in high school? Why hadn’t he been able to see this side of him before now? There would have been no Grant. No pain. No heartbreak. But then, maybe he wouldn’t have appreciated Hank as much now.

  The night was cooler than usual, so Alex rolled the windows down, the wind filling the cab. When he’d lived in New York City, the fast pace of life had become so ingrained in him that he’d stopped paying attention to things like this. Like how good it could feel to drive down a deserted road while the sun set, feeling the wind in his hair. What else had he missed by being so caught up in caring about what everyone else thought of him?

  “You look really good,” Hank said, breaking through his thoughts.

  He wanted to protest. After all, he’d put on close to fifteen pounds, and his hair was longer than he’d ever allowed it to be in his life. But Hank looked so sincere that Alex just smiled.

  “Thank you. So do you.” The cut of the jacket was perfect, showing off his trim figure and muscular arms. He looked like Adonis in a suit. “Why didn’t you wear that to the wedding?” he asked.

  Hank shrugged. “I wasn’t a guest. I was there to make sure everything got done that needed to get done. And I didn’t want to ruin the suit if the boat tipped over on the lake,” he said with a wink.

  “Oh. That makes sense.” He chewed at a loose hangnail before pulling his finger out of his mouth. “You know you were a guest at the wedding, though, right? I mean, yeah you were needed to help out with everything, but so was I, and I was still a guest at the wedding.”

  It hardly mattered whether or not Hank was a guest, but for some reason, Alex hated the idea that he felt like he didn’t belong.

  “You were the man of honor,” Hank pointed out. “And besides, I wanted to save it for something special.”

  ‘Something special’ turned out to be a corner table at the restaurant, complete with a vase of blue cornflowers and white roses. Alex stared at the setup, half expecting it all to disappear. During the early stages of their relationship, Grant had bought him bouquets that undoubtedly cost five times what Hank had spent on this one, but Alex had never been so touched by a gesture. Especially since the cornflowers looked remarkably like the ones that grew in the garden of The Lakeside.

  “Here, sit down,” Hank said, pulling out Alex’s chair for him.

  The gesture tugged at Alex’s heart, and he took his seat. A few moments later, once the wine had been ordered, he sat back and took everything in. Dimmed lights, dark wood, and soft white tablecloths gave the place an elegant feel. The restaurant was completely full, not a single empty table in the entire room. Waiters bustled between tables, and a quiet murmur of voices filled the air, dulled thanks to their location.

  “How long have you been planning this?” he asked.

  The confusion on Hank’s face was almost believable. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean how long have you had this reservation for this specific table? And when did you find the time to bring the flowers up here?”

  Hank sighed. “Fine. I booked the table a week after the wedding.”

  One week after they’d slept together. Alex had been working his way through the new season of Queer Eye and trying to figure out what this meant for them, and the entire time, Hank had been ready to take it one step further.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t know what to say. You didn’t bring it up, and I didn’t know if it was one of those things where we just chalked it up to alcohol and left it at that.”

  “So, what changed?”

  Hank studied the menu intently. “I didn’t want to give up that easily again,” he said, so quietly Alex could barely hear him over the din of the restaurant.

  He frowned. “What do you mean?” God, he was starting to sound like an interrogator.

  Looking up, Hank met his gaze, his expression intense. “I stood in the back of the audience for every play you were in. I spent more time watching you at prom than I did watching my own date. You’re the most fascinating man I’ve ever met in my life, and I didn’t think I could watch you walk away again. Not unless I knew I had done everything I could to make you stay.”

  Alex blinked. Of all the things he’d expected to hear, this wasn’t one of them. Hank was so forthcoming. So brutally honest. There were no double meanings. No games. No questioning where he stood. But then, that was Hank, wasn’t it? Hank, who was one of the most down-to-earth people A
lex had ever met; who wouldn’t even think to play games with him.

  “Are you two ready to order?” a waiter asked, slipping up beside their table.

  Reluctantly, Alex looked up at the waiter. “Yes, I’ll have the risotto capesante please.” He handed his menu back to the man.

  “And I’ll have the anatra arrostito,” Hank said.

  The waiter wrote their order down then nodded once. He seemed to dematerialize, only the swish of the kitchen doors betraying where he’d gone.

  “I didn’t know you liked duck,” Alex said after a moment.

  Hank nodded. “Aunt Norma used to make an amazing duck confit. It was the most delicious thing I’ve ever had in my life. I’ll have to see if I can recreate it for you.”

  “It sounds like you were really close. Was she your mom’s sister or your dad’s?” Much of Hank’s personal life was a mystery to Alex, one that drew him in and intrigued him.

  “Neither, actually. I’d never met her before the foster system sent me to her.”

  Oh, God. It was no secret Hank’s parents weren’t in the picture, but Alex had at least thought Norma was his biological family.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Hank said. “Trust me, there’s no need to pity me. I was better off with her than my parents. They… well, they never should have had one kid, let alone two. My mom took off not long after I was born, and the only life lessons I learned from my dad were how to steal cars and pickpocket. Not exactly the kind of things you should be teaching a six-year-old.”

  Who could abandon such an amazing person? Alex would never be able to understand it, even if Hank tried explaining it a million different ways.

  “Before, you said you had a brother but that the two of you weren’t close.” He didn’t want to pry, but he was curious as to why they weren’t close anymore.