by A. M. Arthur
“I appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. And at the risk of sending you scurrying to the next room, may I ask how long you and your boyfriend have been together?”
Will actually didn’t mind the question. He was crazy proud of Taz. And since he counted every single online interaction as part of their dating, he replied, “A couple of weeks. He’s a great guy.”
“I can tell by the way you’re smiling right now.” Something in Reeves’s expression went distant, almost sad. “I can’t wait to meet him at class. I’ll keep in touch.”
“Thank you, Mr. Reeves.”
“Oh, hell, don’t do that. Call me Malcolm.”
“Malcolm.” Will surprised himself by offering his hand, which Malcolm shook firmly. Full eye contact. Treating Will like any other professional adult in his life.
The interaction fueled Will’s good mood for the rest of the day. It kept him centered when he walked into a grocery store by himself for the first time in his life, list in hand, and proceeded to spend a long time searching for everything he needed. He asked two different clerks three times where something was, but they were both super polite. When he paid, he didn’t have a store club card, but the clerk swiped her own, so he got the discounts.
The entire experience was nerve-racking, but he came out of the store armed with two plastic bags of food and a brighter belief that not everyone in the world was a potential attacker. There were more kind, decent people than he realized, proven to him in something as simple as explaining the difference between cilantro and parsley.
He wasn’t sure why he wanted his first foray into complicated, homemade food to be Mexican, but the plan was chicken-lime tacos with fresh salsa. Will had tried a fast-food taco once in the past, but it had left him sick to his stomach. After spending hours going over various kinds of tacos and recipes, he’d settled for lime-marinated chicken breast in soft flour tortillas. He wasn’t super great with a knife, so the salsa would be its own unique challenge, but he loved the idea of something not from a jar.
It wasn’t until he’d gotten off the bus from the grocery store, and begun walking the block and a half to Taz’s place, that it occurred to him Taz might not like tacos.
His stomach started clenching. Fine tremors made the bags in his hands shake. He walked slower, each step forward potentially leading toward disaster.
No, it’s fine.
He’d asked Taz two days ago if there was anything he really hated, and Taz had said he’d try almost anything once.
Stop trying to sabotage this.
Tacos were fine. Everything was good.
He still stood outside Taz’s apartment door for several agonizing moments, letting doubt and fear control him.
He’ll love it because I made it. I’ve got this. He sees me. I see Taz and Taz sees me.
Will nearly dropped his groceries.
Taz was his moon.
The thought sent his heart galloping away, and he couldn’t get a good breath. His entire body was going haywire. Not a panic attack—something completely different. Something so inspiring and life changing he could barely contain himself. He thought he was going to start crying from the sheer force of the emotion.
And then he started laughing.
The sound must have gotten Taz’s attention, because the apartment door flew open. Taz stared, but Will couldn’t calm himself enough to explain.
“Are you okay?” Taz asked.
“I’m perfect,” he managed around a few coughs and gasps. “It’s been a great day.”
“That’s always good to hear.” He ushered Will inside, then impressed him by only securing one of the locks—the button in the doorknob, not the dead bolt or chain.
Someone else was getting a little less afraid of the world.
Will helped himself to Taz’s kitchen. He put both bags on the counter and then started taking things out. “I have good news.”
“Please share.” Taz opened the fridge. “You thirsty?”
“Cola, if you have one.”
He got out two. He even cracked the tab before handing Will his.
“Thank you,” Will said.
“So what’s the news?”
“I talked to Malcolm Reeves today. He’s working with the center to start cooking classes for adults who want to learn about nutrition, eating better in a food desert, that kind of thing. He told me he’d give us first crack at signing up when he has details.”
“Cool.” Taz’s expression was equal parts excited and terrified, and Will didn’t blame him. He was still getting used to the idea that other people would see him the same way Will did—a good guy with a friendly smile, not some scarred monster.
“It probably won’t be until next month, but it’s something.”
“Yeah, it is.” Taz eyeballed the assorted ingredients on his counter while he sipped his soda. “Judging by the pile, I’m going to guess Mexican?”
“Good guess. Now go away. I’ve never done this before, so I need to concentrate.”
“Can I have a kiss first?”
Will paused in his search through Taz’s utensil drawer to draw him into a long hello kiss that left him tingling all over. “How was that?”
“I wasn’t paying attention the first time. Can I have another?”
“Brat.” Will pecked his cheek that time, then swatted Taz on the ass. “Out. Let the chef work.”
“It’s my kitchen.”
“That I’m cooking in. For you. I promise to return it to you in its original state and not to burn anything down. How’s that?”
Taz huffed. “Fine.” He took one long step past the kitchen threshold to stand on the living room carpet. “How’s that?”
“Are you going to stand there and watch me the whole time?”
“Yes. I like looking at you.”
“Fine. If I get self-conscious and slice a finger off, it’ll be your fault.”
“Okay, okay.” Taz backed off a few more steps. “Better?”
Will rolled his eyes. “Just...don’t distract me,” he said as he returned to his quest for a good knife.
For a single guy, Taz had a pretty well-stocked kitchen, as far as utensils went. He unearthed a chef’s knife, a cutting board, several bowls and a skillet for the meat. According to the recipe he’d copied off his laptop, first thing was to get the chicken marinating in the lime juice and spices. Weirdly named spices like cumin. He didn’t know how to pronounce it, much less what it tasted like. He opened the small plastic bottle and sniffed. Earthy, kind of spicy but not really.
He’d bought everything the recipe asked for, uncertain what Taz might already have. He planned to leave all the extra stuff here anyway. Trying to cook for Taz at the house was a lost cause. They’d never get any privacy, so here was better. The mostly empty counters gave him plenty of space to spread out. He managed to juice two limes without getting any in his eyes, and only a little bit squirted onto the counter.
Once the chicken was marinating, he washed his hands and set to getting the assorted salsa ingredients chopped and diced. Slow and steady, with no desire to get blood on the tomatoes or onions. He sipped his soda once in a while, intent on his tasks, and also enjoying it, too. The focus and the slow but steady creation of something new out of a bunch of different things. Until today, his entire experience with salsa was soupy stuff out of a jar.
The bright red and green confetti resting a bowl looked fresh and fun. He scooped some out with a spoon and nearly moaned with how tasty it was. He’d added a tiny bit of diced jalapeño pepper, no seeds, and it had just the right bite.
“Holy crap, Taz, you gotta taste this.”
“Does this mean I’m allowed into the kitchen?”
Will turned. Taz was standing in the archway, feet still on the carpet. “
No. Stay there.” He scooped out more, then brought the spoon over to Taz.
Taz made a show of slowly closing his lips around the spoon and sucking the salsa off. Will’s dick noticed the blatant seduction. Taz chewed slowly, thoughtfully. “That is really good,” Taz said. “It’s like real restaurant salsa, but better.”
“I know, right?” Will bounced on the balls of his feet, stupidly excited over something as simple as homemade salsa. “This is really fun. Cooking, I mean. Well, spoon-feeding you, too, but definitely cooking.”
Taz chuckled. “I do not mind the spoon-feeding.”
“Yeah, well, don’t expect me to spoon-feed you tacos later. That would be both messy and awkward.”
“If we get messy, we’ll just have to wash each other off.”
Okay, they needed to stop flirting before Will really did get hard. He did not need that distraction while wielding sharp objects. “You know, you can turn on the TV or play music or something.”
“I like watching you,” Taz said. “Even from a distance. You look so happy.”
“I am happy.” Even saying the words out loud felt like an invitation to fate to destroy it all. “I never thought I’d be this happy, Taz, I really didn’t. I got so low at one point, I gave up, and it’s been a long climb back, and fuck. Now that I know how great life can actually be? That I can be this happy?”
Taz’s sad expression clued Will into how much he’d said without really saying it. “You gave up how?”
Will glanced at the counter, but nothing was on the stove or in danger of spoiling if he stopped for a few minutes. He’d never said this to anyone except Gloria when he first moved into Carter House, and he’d been a bundle of nerves. Terrified she’d be upset with him, disappointed by his weakness. Making the decision to tell Taz, though, seemed easy. Almost expected. Because he knew Taz wouldn’t judge him.
“It’ll be two years ago this September,” Will said. “I was about to turn eighteen and age out of foster care. My anxiety was still crazy bad. I had nowhere to live. I couldn’t hold down a job for more than two weeks. I hated myself and the wreck my life had become. After a session with my shrink, I left so exhausted, you know? I wanted sleep. All I wanted to do was sleep.”
He held Taz’s wide, worried eyes. “So I shoplifted a bottle of sleeping pills, went back to Jennifer’s and swallowed most of them down with cough syrup. And I slept.” When Taz didn’t say anything, just kept staring at him like a hurt puppy, he asked, “Are you disappointed in me?”
“No.” Taz didn’t hesitate. “No, I’m sad for you. I’m sad that things got so bad you tried to... I can’t imagine what you were going through.”
Will sagged against the kitchen wall. “I never want to feel that way again. The despair, the exhaustion. Not even in the worst moments with my mother, no matter what someone else did to me, I never got to that point. I guess I always had some tiny sense that maybe things would get better. And then they did get better, but not better enough.
“When I woke up in the emergency room with a tube up my nose, I was so fucking angry. I hated Jennifer for finding me and calling an ambulance. I hated Dr. Taggert for being so nice and supportive and for genuinely wanting to help. And I really hated spending my eighteenth birthday in a state psych ward.”
“You were hospitalized?” Taz asked.
“For six months. Intensive therapy. As much as it sucked, it also helped. Dr. Taggert got me set up for disability, and he got me into Carter House. He’s done so much for me, and the man barely gets paid what he’s worth.”
“It sounds like Dr. Taggert helps because he cares.” Taz’s voice was hoarse. “I’m so thankful you had people like that.”
“So am I.” Will straightened, then wrapped his arms around Taz’s waist, sinking into the taller man’s chest. “I didn’t mean to get so maudlin, but fuck, I can’t stop thinking about how different my life is now. People toss around words like joy and content, and I think I finally understand what those words mean, and I never thought I would.”
“You deserve to know those things, Will.”
“We both do.”
“Thank you for telling me. About the sleeping pills.”
“You’re welcome.” Will enjoyed the hug for another moment and then pulled away with a grin. “Okay, more cuddling later. I still have dinner to cook. Scram.”
Taz took a few steps backward, then crossed his arms. Will rolled his eyes. He returned to his dinner preparations, insides a little squirrelly from that trip down memory lane. But he also felt good about telling Taz. One less secret. One more weight off Will’s shoulders.
One day he’d tell Taz the rest. Right now, he had tacos to make.
* * *
Taz never thought he’d enjoy watching someone else cook quite so much. He wasn’t a fan of TV cooking shows, although he gave in and watched them with Will. But Will exuded so much joy as he read the recipe steps and taught himself how to slice vegetables and sear chicken breasts. It was an innocent kind of joy, one he now knew Will had never experienced before.
He tried to kill himself.
It didn’t surprise Taz as much as it should have, and that made him sadder than the truth itself. He understood Will had survived traumatic experiences, and that he’d gone to some low lows, but suicide was a totally different animal. Living had gotten so damned hard, and all Will had wanted to do was sleep.
Forever.
The thought lingered throughout the evening. Will’s tacos were amazing. He arranged various toppings in smaller bowls and placed everything on the coffee table in a make-it-yourself spread. He’d even warmed the tortillas in the microwave. The steaming chicken strips smelled amazing. Garlic and lime and onion and cilantro. So many wonderful things.
Taz piled his first taco high, probably way too full, because when he tried to pick it up, sour cream and salsa oozed out the back. But the first bite was orgasmic bliss. So many bright flavors writhing together in his mouth. He must have made a pretty sexy noise, because Will blushed.
“Good, huh?” he asked.
Taz nodded, too busy chewing, too desperate for more to bother speaking. He’d eaten a lot of tacos in his life—hell, Taco Tuesday had been an institution at college—but these were the best he’d ever had. Maybe they ranked at the top because of the chef, but Taz didn’t care. He ate until his gut hurt, noting that Will managed two tacos of his own.
“That’s it,” Taz said when he couldn’t eat another bite. “I’m hiring you as my personal chef. Goddamn, that was amazing.”
“I’m surprised you tasted anything, you ate so fast.”
“I didn’t want to stop eating. Honest, Will. You’re good at this.”
Will shrugged, his lips twitching with a half smile. “All I did was follow the steps.”
“Anyone can follow steps and still screw up. You made the food shine.”
He finally did smile, a full-on, megawatt smile. “Yeah? I thought it was really good, too. I mean, you hear people on TV talk about layers of flavor, but I understood that while I was eating. The chicken was all limey and a little charred, and then the salsa on top. The creaminess of the sour cream to cut the spice. Christ, I must sound stupid.”
“You sound like someone who’s proud of what he’s accomplished,” Taz said. “And like someone who’s found a passion. Have you thought about pursuing cooking? Working in a small kitchen, in a small restaurant might be something your anxiety can handle.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But this was fun and tasty, and I can’t wait to cook for you again.”
“You’re going to spoil me.”
“And you object to this?”
“Not even a little bit.” Taz eyeballed the coffee table. “How about you relax for a while, Master Chef, while I clean up and put the leftovers away?”
“I am on board with
that plan.” Will dragged himself over to the couch and flopped down on his back. “Have fun. I’m gonna lie here and digest all that wonderful food.”
Flashes of last weekend’s happy ending on the couch, Will spread out much like that, woke Taz’s dick up to future possibilities, so he got to work cleaning up. Finding containers for the salsa and chicken, putting other things back into the fridge. He washed the dishes in record time, because Will had also washed as he cooked, which cut down on cleanup.
The whole production took less than ten minutes, but when he returned to the living room with fresh sodas, Will was asleep. Snoring very softly through his nose, one hand flung over his forehead, the other resting on his belly. He looked so young and innocent. So peaceful. It occurred to him that he’d never seen Will asleep before.
He couldn’t wait to see Will naked and asleep in his bed one day.
For the rest of their days.
To anyone else, his attachment to Will after only knowing him for a couple of weeks might seem irrational. Insane, even. But Taz didn’t care. He knew how he felt when he was around Will. No one else had to understand it to make those feelings real. The only two people who mattered were him and Will. Everything else was noise.
Taz gently eased himself into his desk chair and put his headphones on, content to let Will nap while he got some extra work done. A new realization burned deep inside Taz as the perfect domesticity of the moment hit him—this was what he’d always been missing in his life. This was what a truly happy home felt like.
For Taz, Will was home.
Chapter Fourteen
Their weeks took on a comfortable routine as July bled into August, and Will had never been happier. He continued to volunteer three days a week at the Stanley Center, and Sam had even assigned him to work with Malcolm on the cooking classes—finding a location, securing supplies, getting the word out. Work that Will threw himself into, battling his anxiety every step of the way, strangling it with a new sense of self-worth.
He also arrived at Taz’s apartment every evening, usually around four thirty, with a new food experiment in tow. Money was tight, so Will had to get creative with ingredients, but Malcolm had given him some tips on how to shop for several meals at once. He and Taz enjoyed their evenings together, often making out, sometimes rubbing off on the couch together, until Will had to leave for curfew.