by Jaime Samms
Once showered and changed, Jed stepped out onto his fire escape to water the plants still thriving there. It would be time to bring them inside soon.
He took a moment to still his racing heart and jumpy nerves. This was just another guy. One who would no doubt move on in the spring when the school year was over. Best he remember that. Ira was adorable. Interesting, even. But not permanent.
He’d replaced the watering can under the potting table against the wall when the squeal of children’s voices rose up the metal staircase from the apartment below. They sounded like they were having the best time.
“No! Wait!” Ira’s panicked voice clipped the heels of the children’s laughter, then all sound ceased.
“Oh no.” Jed didn’t even think. He raced down the steps, bare feet chilled and diced by the iron grates, and halted at Ira’s window. As in his own apartment, the window opened like a small door, with a glass portion that swung into the room, and a screen section opening outward onto the fire escape. The glass stood open, letting in the cool breeze, though the screen was latched from the inside. Jed peered inside to find Ira standing near the kitchen table, a look of horror on his face. The kids were frozen in place at the table, Danny with a paintbrush dripping blood-red paint in one hand, Tess with both hands over her mouth. An acid-green-tipped brush protruded from her hand and pointed off over her shoulder.
The pretty, sky-blue sweater Ira was wearing was splattered across the front with thick dollops of red paint. A red Solo cup provided the only movement in the tableau, rocking back and forth at Ira’s feet, dribbling the last few drops of paint onto the linoleum.
Ira’s eyes were huge, his mouth open.
Danny looked slightly terrified. “I’m sorry,” the little boy squeaked, brown eyes huge. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” Ira’s voice cracked like a whip over the words, but he immediately clamped his mouth shut and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again, focusing on Danny. “Don’t worry,” he said in a softer, gentler tone. “It was an accident.”
“I ruined your sweater.”
“It’s just a sweater.”
“Mommy has the exact one,” Tess offered, then scrunched up her nose. “Only hers is yellow. Like sunflowers. Maybe she’ll let you have hers.”
“Not everyone can wear sunshine yellow,” Jed offered from his side of the screen, hoping to diffuse some of the tension.
Ira jerked his head up, and stared, mouth still open, while pink raced up into his cheeks. “Jed.”
Jed waved and tried a smile. “I was watering my plants,” he said, pointing upward. “Out on the fire escape. Heard the commotion.”
“I . . . shouldn’t have yelled at him.” Ira dropped his gaze.
“Knee-jerk reaction. Can I come in?”
“Yes. Of course.” Ira padded towards the window.
“Wait!” Jed held up a hand and Ira froze, once more staring at him. “You have paint on your feet. Didn’t want you to track it onto the rug.” A neat line of red footprints trailed back to where Ira had been standing.
“I’ll get it!” Tess jumped down from her chair and bounded across the room, paintbrush waving wildly.
Jed watched Ira’s jaw set as his gaze followed that brush. His pained wince when a dollop of paint flew off the tip hurt Jed’s heart. Thankfully, it landed about an inch from the edge of the carpet, then Tess was close enough to the window to flip the latch on the screen and Jed could open it and snatch the brush from her. He was an instant too late to prevent the neon-green streak she’d left in an arch across the painted frame, though thankfully, it hadn’t smeared into the screen. Not so terrible, then.
“Hey!” She crossed her arms and scowled. “Jed! That’s mine.”
“Tess.” Jed put all the warning into his voice that experience told him was needed to get her attention. She pursed her lips, but said nothing more. “The brush belongs to Ira, and you, little miss, are getting paint all over his nice house.”
Her scowl softened as she faced Ira. “Sorry.”
“We can clean it up,” Ira said, and drew in a deep breath before gulping and forcing a smile for Jed. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” He nodded at Ira’s attire. “Interesting fashion statement.”
Ira glanced down, plucked at the sweater, and sighed, his face falling.
“The paint, I mean,” Jed clarified. He took a step closer, just itching to lift Ira’s dipped chin, but unsure if the contact would be welcome. He’d run off last night like a damn fool, after all. “The sweater suits you.”
Ira lifted his head, surprise flushing his features.
The expression was so genuine, it pulled a smile onto Jed’s face. “The colour really brings out your eyes.”
“He means it looks pretty on you,” Tess supplied.
Jed gave her a quelling glare, which only made her grin back at him. “Why don’t you change while I clean these monsters up.” He turned to the kids. “Have you two eaten?”
“Ira made us grilled cheeses and pickles and . . . peets?” Tess cocked her head, squinting one eye at Ira in question.
“Beets,” Ira corrected. “Pickled beets.” He flushed again, and Jed had to bite his lip to keep from smiling at the way his cheeks coloured adorably. “Closest thing I had to vegetables.”
“Beets are roots, and pickles are cucumbers.” Both men turned to Danny. “Which are fruits,” he informed them, without looking up from his artwork.
“That so, smarty-pants?” Jed asked.
“Absolutely.”
“I can’t keep up,” Ira whispered. He did seem slightly shell-shocked, and that expression broke down Jed’s last bit of reserve. He crossed the floor and cupped Ira’s flushed face, tilting it up so he could see into Ira’s eyes.
“Change of clothes?” he asked. “The sweater, at least.”
“I— Yeah.” Ira moved just out of his grasp and gripped the hem of the garment, peeling it off over his head. Red smeared across his belly, up his arm, and left a swath of colour from chin to ear. Ira made a face and shivered. “Yuck.” The shock settled a little deeper into his eyes.
Jed had already noticed the impeccable state of the tiny apartment. For an artist, Ira seemed to be a bit of a neat freak. All the smudges of colour, joined by plops of electric blue as Danny splatted more paint onto his saturated page—and missed with a fair amount that dripped and slopped onto the floor—had to be driving him slightly batty.
“Go wash up,” Jed told him. “I’ve got these hooligans under control.”
Ira nodded and all but fled to the bathroom.
Ira had made a complete fool of himself. What had made him think he knew what to do with a pair of six-year-old twins? For another heartbeat, he stared at the sprays of red paint across his skin, then he couldn’t stand it for a moment longer and twisted the shower taps on. He was undressed and under the spray in seconds, sloughing off all the paint and trying to wash away the shivers as well.
The butterflies were back, razor-winged and vicious. He wanted to curl up in a ball at the bottom of the tub, try to contain them deep in his gut where they would do the least visible harm. Then a squeal of laughter followed by a deep rumble of approval reminded him why that wasn’t an option. Turning off the water, he got out and towelled dry, then wrapped his robe around himself. He also gathered up his clothes, careful not to get paint from the sweater and socks onto his jeans. That they had been spared was nothing short of a miracle, but he was glad. They were his best pair, after all. They hugged his ass just right. Not that the ass hugging or memories of Jed’s fleeting kiss and the hope of encouraging another like it were why he had chosen them for today.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, the first thing he noticed were the twins, sitting on his couch, heads together over an iPad, earbuds in place as they avidly watched something. The next thing he noticed was Jed, on his hands and knees on the floor, scrubbing at the paint splotches.
“Don’t—” Ira
admonished, and Jed’s head snapped up. He looked surprised and worried, and Ira covered his mouth with his hand. “I can do that,” he whispered. “Don’t worry about it.”
Jed’s eyebrows lifted, and Ira reflexively gripped the opening of the robe.
Immediately, Jed’s attention was back on the floor. “Get dressed,” he said, voice rough. “I’ll finish this up. It’s no problem.”
Perfect. Ira, you idiot. What the hell did you think he would do? Coming out here in your robe. Jerk move.
“Yeah. Right. Sorry.” He tossed the soiled sweater and socks in the sink as he dashed—yes dashed, because he was that much of a moron—from the bathroom door where he had been standing to scoot behind the screen surrounding his bed. He would have collapsed onto it, but the kids giggled and he heard the water run in the kitchen area. Jed was still cleaning up his mess.
Quickly, he changed into the jeans and a clean T-shirt. No more women’s apparel. It was enough. This shirt was soft, soothing on his sensitive skin, tags long ago removed for comfort. Jed didn’t need the constant reminder of how different Ira was. Sitting on the edge of the bed to put his socks on, Ira couldn’t quite bring himself to move once he was down.
He was staring into space when a soft rap on the screen got his attention.
He had to force his head up, and he met a pair of concerned green eyes watching him carefully.
“You okay?” Jed asked.
“Yes.” Ira frowned. “Of course. Fine.”
“These two are a bit of a handful if you aren’t used to them.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” He shoved his foot into a sock, ignoring the twist that put the heel of the sock half way around his ankle, then put the other one on. Getting up, he managed to only curl his lip as the twisted sock made his skin crawl. He lifted the foot, swivelling it, like that was going to fix the skewed sock.
“Stop,” Jed admonished. “Sit down.” His hand on Ira’s shoulder was so much of a surprise, Ira plopped back onto the mattress and stared as Jed knelt in front of him and lifted his foot with a hand at the back of his calf. “Is it okay?” he asked, running a finger over the top of Ira’s foot.
“Is what—” He stared, speechless, as Jed straightened the offending sock and placed his foot back on the floor. He lifted his head to look directly into Ira’s eyes.
“Better?”
Ira nodded. The words thank you moved his lips, but made no sound on their way out.
Jed’s smile was luminous. “You’re very welcome.”
How did he know? Ira had a million little hang-ups like that. He didn’t like mess. Clothes had to feel a certain way on his skin. Shoes had to fit just so. Things should always be in their right place. Not that he couldn’t function otherwise. Just that it made the unexpected easier to deal with if the things he could control were as they should be.
Jed’s hand on his thigh was warm, and when he squeezed slightly, it brought Ira’s attention back around. “I’m going to kiss you again, I think.” He winked. “And actually not run away this time.”
Ira once more nodded. Not that he didn’t trust his voice. He just knew it had gone AWOL, like it often did when he was nervous. Which was most of the time. Especially when he was about to be—
Oh!
Jed’s mouth covering his shocked the butterflies to stillness, suspending them midmotion for an instant. He hadn’t ever expected to like the feel of hair rasping against his lips, but it sent a tingle of excitement wending down through him, stirring the fluttering beasts with a delicate finger.
Jed’s kiss applied almost no pressure. No invasion. Just warmth and a sweet taste, like he’d recently eaten something sugary. Ira kissed back, licking at Jed’s lips to get more of that taste into his own mouth. The tickle of Jed’s moustache against his tongue distracted him until Jed responded, parting his lips in invitation.
It was a good invitation and Ira took it. He leaned in, drawn to the bulk and warmth of Jed’s big body. He might have ended up kneeling on the floor too, or worse, huddled in Jed’s lap, if Jed hadn’t gently ended the kiss and set Ira back firmly on the bed.
“Kids,” Jed gruffed, and Ira heard the same tone in his voice as he had when Jed had told Ira to get dressed. It had softened a little bit around the edges, and Ira recognized it better now, close up and personal.
He smiled, because that was not the kind of irritated discomfort he’d first mistaken it for, so much as a reflection of the same uncertainty Ira experienced with every flutter of butterfly nerves. “You’re a very good kisser,” he offered, hoping to let Jed know he, at least, had nothing to be nervous about.
“Had some practice, have you?” Jed asked. It was joking, but not. Like he was maybe fishing for some information, but not wanting to ask outright.
Ira shrugged. His past kisses—or lack thereof—weren’t something he wanted to get into right then. “A bit,” was all he said, then got to his feet. “Should we maybe check on them? What were they watching, anyway?”
He rounded the end of the screen to find the kids exactly where they had been, still intent on the iPad.
“Cats, the musical, believe it or not,” Jed said. “It’ll keep them out of trouble for, oh, the next hour or so.”
Ira nodded. “Won’t they get bored?”
“Not from that. It’s a strange mystery, but it works.” Jed took his hand and led him toward the kitchen. “Come here.”
Ira followed, half his attention on the kids. It was fascinating, their identical little expressions of enthralled interest as they watched something he couldn’t hear. They looked so harmless.
“Ira?” Jed turned his face with a soft but implacable grip on his chin. “Here,” he all but ordered, and Ira’s attention riveted on him.
“What?”
“You missed some.” Jed ran fingers through Ira’s hair at his temple. “Just stand still a moment.”
Ira froze in place. The calm commands, simple and direct, were soothing in a weird sort of way. He could admit the mess of the painting had begun to unravel him. Now Jed dabbed at his cheek and hairline with a damp paper towel, and the simple motions, the kind touch, the firm hand on his face, all knitted his nerves back together.
Like Jed knew exactly how to mend him.
“Th-thank you,” he whispered when Jed had finished and let him go.
“My pleasure.” Jed’s smile was soft behind his beard. “Feeling better?”
Ira nodded.
“Good.” He leaned close enough to tickle Ira’s forehead with his facial hair, then pressed his lips firmly against skin. “Let’s get your clothes out of the sink, and then I’ll take the hooligans upstairs.”
Ira aborted his natural lean towards Jed’s comfort. “Oh.” He glanced over to find his sweater and socks, with most of the paint rinsed away, soaking in the kitchen sink. “They can soak.”
“Then I’ll get these two out of your hair, yes?”
“I . . . guess?”
“They should have some supper. Grilled cheese will only hold them over for so long.”
Ira nodded, even as he watched Jed open his fridge.
Unsurprisingly, Jed gave him that raised-eyebrow look again when he’d finished his inspection and glanced back over his shoulder. “What do you eat?” he asked. “Besides pickles.”
“I like pickles,” Ira breathed, not quite resisting the urge to hug himself.
“I see that.” Jed grinned at him. “You like them a lot, I imagine.”
Ira could only shrug. There was every conceivable kind of pickled vegetable in his fridge, from the usual cucumbers to carrots, onions, beans, beets, and a coveted jar of sweet pickled cauliflower he’d found at a Mennonite stall at the market. “I usually eat at work.” Which had been easier just a few days ago. When he still had a job.
Right on cue, his stomach growled.
“You didn’t work yet today,” Jed guessed.
“I had a dance class.” Which was true and allowed him to answer without mentioning
the lost-job detail.
“Well, then you are going to come upstairs with us, and eat some supper as well.”
Ira should have balked at being ordered around, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to complain when Jed smiled at him.
“Okay.”
“Kids!” Jed clapped his hands and both twins lifted their heads. “Upstairs, come on. Suppertime.” He glanced back to Ira. “Food. About the only thing that will tear them away from their beloved musical.”
Jed headed for the window and the fire escape. Tess abandoned her earbuds and jumped up to follow, while Danny paused to wrap up the earbud cords. Jed waited, then accepted them and the iPad from him when he was done. “Let’s go little man.”
But Danny held back.
Ira did not blame the boy one bit. He took a step forward and glanced out the window. The pavement was a long way away, and he backed up again. “Why don’t you guys head up this way? I should lock the window. I’ll go around.” He pointed to the apartment door and the hallway beyond.
If the look Jed gave him was anything to go by, he hadn’t fooled the big man one bit, but Jed didn’t say anything.
“Danny?” Ira took the little boy’s hand. “You want to keep me company?”
Danny nodded vigorously, seeming much relieved. He helped Ira lock the window after Tess and Jed had gone out, and confidently led Ira along the hallway to the stairs, up, then back to the far end and Jed’s apartment door.
Danny grinned as he knocked, and Ira did his best to quell the fluttering.
The image of Ira scarfing down his meal stayed with Jed for days. The man had been starving, though he’d clearly tried hard to keep that fact from being obvious. Jed paid attention, though, and Ira put away a lot more food than his rail-thin frame indicated he usually did. It worried Jed. It worried him that Ira had moved into the building virtually unnoticed. It worried him that he barely saw him now, even though he was keeping an eye out for him.