Mystic Man

by E. J. Russell

  Cody reached for his head, then stopped. “I… uh… need a haircut, I know. And it always gets blonder in the summer when I’m outside so much.”

  “Are you? Outside a lot in the summer?”

  “Yeah. I’m a counselor at the Seaport’s sailing day camps when they’re running, and volunteer at least three days a week when they’re not.”

  “Your employer must be quite lenient, then.”

  “Is that your sneaky way of asking whether I’ve got a reeeaaal job?” Cody grinned. “I work for my brother-in-law, but only on a contract basis. I’m a coder.” He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, Cody the Coder. Dorky, right? I swear I didn’t choose computer science because of my name.”

  Somehow Cody had managed to get Aaron strolling along the path. “Actually, I think it’s quite… evocative, in a Sesame Street kind of way.”

  “Oh very nice. And you accuse me of being a smartass?”

  Aaron chuckled, the sound rusty in his own ears. How long had it been since he’d laughed? “Perhaps you’re influencing me already.”

  Cody gestured for Aaron to take a right, past a small yellow house with a white picket fence. “So tell me. What was your favorite thing here at the Seaport? The planetarium? The Rosenfeld Collection? The Morgan?”

  “Actually….” Heat infused Aaron’s cheeks. “I’ve seen the ticket window and the green and you.”

  “And you were about to leave? Did someone force you to come here on a dare or something?” Cody’s eyebrows drew together in a scowl that was out of place on such a sunny, open face. “You’re not one of those dudes who hates history, are you?”

  “Not at all. I’m a historian. I mean, my bachelor’s degree is in history.”

  Cody’s scowl vanished, replaced by an expression that Aaron would have called positively lustful if they were in a gay bar and not in the middle of a recreated nineteenth-century village. “You’ve got other degrees?”

  “A master’s in library science.”

  “Oh.” By the disappointment in his tone, Cody’s historian lust didn’t extend to librarians. Why does that disappoint me? “Why not another history degree?”

  “The MLS offered better job security.”

  “So.” He clasped his hands behind his back as they made another right, circling the green with the river on their left. “Are you leaving in such a hurry because you’ve got somewhere else to go? A hot date, maybe?”

  Aaron barked a laugh. I have nowhere to go. Literally. “Not today.”

  “But you’re leaving before you give the Seaport a chance. That’s not fair.”

  “I don’t think the state’s tourist industry will suffer because one librarian beats a hasty retreat.” With his tail between his legs. “After all, I’ve already paid for my ticket.”

  “Maybe not, but in my opinion—” Cody shot Aaron a sly sidelong glance. “The librarian will suffer. Come on. What have you got to lose?”

  Good question. It wasn’t as if staying would be a hardship. A few hours in the company of a charming young man versus hours sitting in his hotel room or, if he couldn’t talk himself off this particular ledge, at the airport. The distraction of the museum—and Cody’s company—might keep his panic at bay.

  The sun, the playful breeze, and the sudden bright laughter of a child racing across the green—not to mention Cody’s eyes, the same blue as the river—made Aaron’s decision simple.

  “You’ve bagged yourself a librarian.” Aaron held out his hand, which Cody shook enthusiastically. “And thank you.” More than you’ll ever know.

  I’D LIKE to bag myself a librarian. Fingers still tingling from the feel of Aaron’s hand in his, Cody dialed back his NSFW daydreams. This wasn’t a date, no matter how appealing he found Aaron. Although from the way Aaron had met his eyes, and didn’t mind when their shoulders bumped or their hands brushed, Cody would bet anything he was at least bi if not gay.

  Calm down and switch to tour-guide mode, you horndog.

  Once he tore his gaze away from Aaron’s square jaw and adorable wire-framed glasses, Cody spotted the perfect introductory exhibit directly in front of them.

  “Right this way, sir.”

  “So formal.”

  “Don’t get used to it. It’ll probably be the last time.”

  Aaron fell into step beside him. Even though he was an inch or two taller than Cody, their strides matched. We can walk easily together.

  Not a date, damn it, not a date.

  Cody stopped in front the gray-shingled building housing the Mystic River Scale Model. “Here we are. Our first stop.”

  Aaron peered at the sign over the door. “A scale model? You’re giving me a bird’s-eye view first as an orientation?”

  Cody grinned, pleased that Aaron got it. “Exactly. It’s not the Seaport per se, but since you’re a historian, you should appreciate it. This project has been going on since 1958. It’s a representation of what the town looked like around 1870.”

  He held the door, so Aaron could enter. Inside the windows were curtained so that sunlight didn’t interfere with the exhibit lighting. The two of them were the only ones in the building except for a family with a couple of preteen kids.

  Cody led Aaron to the opposite side of the model. “This is one of the first things I worked on as a volunteer when I was about those kids’ age. My dad and I used to work on models together—cars, spaceships, boats. He brought me here with him, and we worked on this together.”

  Aaron smiled at him, and Cody’s stomach fluttered like a pennant. “You’ll have to point out the parts you built.”

  “Nothing too major. I think I helped make a tree.”

  The family filed out, the kids making noises about ice cream. Cody stood back as Aaron circled the model, studying it with a concentration that brought an interesting combination of knitted eyebrows and a half smile to his face.

  Cody walked in the other direction, part of his attention on the model and part of it on Aaron’s reactions. Yeah. He digs it too. No matter how often Cody brought visitors to the exhibit, he never tired of looking at it himself, discovering the latest additions or noticing details he’d missed.

  “What are you—” Aaron’s voice jerked Cody out of his study of a new locomotive. “Are you actually humming ‘My Little Town’?”

  Oops. “Sorry.” But when Aaron laughed instead of giving him a side-eye, Cody grinned. “What can I tell you? I was raised on my dad’s music collection. My childhood had a soundtrack of music from before I was born. It left a mark.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yup.” Cody joined Aaron next to the replica of the shipyard. “I admit to spending a lot of time looking at graffiti as a preteen, but I never experienced the least enlightenment.”

  “Let me guess—Simon & Garfunkel, right? ‘The Sound of Silence.’”

  “Got it in one. Apparently our local taggers aren’t prophets after all, just people with poor spelling skills and no imagination. But I’m neglecting my official duties.” He pointed to the center of the model. “A lot of the details are based on historical photographs of the town, and the ships were all known to have visited during the 1870s.”

  Aaron gestured to the covered windows. “Are the buildings in the Seaport full-sized reproductions of the same structures?”

  “Oh no. All the buildings in the Village are historic trade shops and businesses even though they aren’t necessarily from Mystic. The museum acquired them from other places in New England and restored them over time.”

  “I see. I didn’t think any village could look this perfect outside of Disneyland.”

  Cody pretended to be outraged. “Hey. Nothing in Disneyland is older than the midfifties. These were all real houses, in actual use at one time.”

  Aaron held up his hands, palms out. “No offense meant. Although as a former Disneyland employee, I would argue that both Disneyland and Mystic Seaport Village achieve their stated missions. Those missions are simply different.”

  Cody blin
ked. “You know, I never thought of it that way. I’ve never been to a Disney park. I was always a little contemptuous of them for being purpose-built. But you’ve got a good point. Did you really work there?”

  Aaron nodded. “When I turned eighteen, halfway through my senior year in high school. I flipped burgers at a restaurant in Frontierland. Not exactly the most glamorous of jobs, but it paid.”

  Cody chuckled. “I didn’t have a paying job until I graduated from college. My parents aren’t wealthy, but they’re comfortable. They wanted me to learn to work for a different reason than a paycheck, which was why they started me volunteering so early.”

  Aaron’s face closed down, and he uttered a noncommittal sound. Uh-oh. There was obviously a story there that made Aaron unhappy.

  Changing the subject now. Cody pointed at the tree next to the general store. “That’s my tree. I hope you appreciate its vast importance in the grand scheme of the model.”

  Aaron smiled briefly, but a hint of tension still lingered around his eyes. “Clearly a superior tree. What kind is it?”

  “A green one.”

  Aaron laughed, and Cody felt unreasonably proud of himself. “If its progenitor has no clue, I don’t feel bad for not recognizing it.”

  “Ready for the next stop?”

  “I’m in your capable hands.”

  I wish. Cody led the way out of the building into the sunshine. “All the Village shops are fitted out with exhibits, but some have working craftspeople too. For instance”—he pointed at the Cooperage—“we have a cooper who builds barrels and buckets with period-appropriate hand tools.”

  “Very cool.”

  “Yeah, but there’s someplace I want to show you next because it’s got a great story behind it and you’re a historian, so you must like stories, right?” Cody bumped Aaron’s shoulder with his own, and Aaron laughed again—but didn’t dodge away. So as they walked past the Shipsmith Shop, their arms brushed with every other step.

  Cody had to swallow twice, his mouth suddenly dry. “Here,” he croaked. Ugh. Way to sound cool.

  At least Aaron didn’t seem to notice. Again, he studied the sign hanging outside the shop window rather than mounting the steps. He’s cautious—not one to dive into anything without consideration.

  “Nautical instruments?”

  “Yup. After you.”

  They entered the shop, its interior full of mellow light from the bay window. Cody pointed at a display case. “Check it out.”

  “Wait—is this a chronometer?”

  “You know the story?”

  “Of course. The search for longitude. When the Royal Society offered their prize, they expected the resolution of the longitude dilemma to be elegant and spectacular, fabricated by someone—in other words, by a man—of a particular class and education. John Harrison, a self-educated clockmaker, didn’t fit their upper-class expectations, and his invention”—Aaron pointed to the chronometer—“was simply well-engineered and practical. A craftsman’s solution.” He peered into the case. “Robert Kearns faced a similar bias.”

  “What did he do?”

  Aaron glanced up at him with a smile that made Cody’s breath catch. “He invented intermittent windshield wipers. Using parts from a blender, I believe.”

  Aaron straightened and gestured for Cody to precede him out of the shop.

  As they descended the steps, Cody said, “I hope you don’t think I’m overstepping, but I noticed you paused before you entered the shop. The scale model too. I’m guessing you’re a guy who likes to look before you leap, even if it’s just walking into a building.”

  “More like scrutinize before I leap—assuming I ever leap at all.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m afraid I’m not a very exciting person.”

  “But you made the trip across the country. By yourself?” Cody was fishing, he could admit it, but he wanted to know. “Or did you just shake off your family for the afternoon?”

  That tension was back in Aaron’s shoulders. “No family.”

  “Sorry. Don’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s okay.” Although from the set of Aaron’s shoulders and the edge to his voice, it was obviously as far from okay as it was possible to get. “It’s something I have to get used to.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “No one needed to tell me. When you have no options, you learn to live without them.”

  A kernel of anger burned in Cody’s chest on Aaron’s behalf. “You know what? Screw that. I say if you’re out of options, change the rules and make some new ones.”

  “Ah. You’re a rebel, then.”

  “Me? Not really. In school, my teachers accused me of daydreaming instead of attending to lessons. I’m a hands-on kind of guy, I guess. I like learning things that make sense. Stuff you can use.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the shop. “When I found out that geometry had a practical use in navigation, I aced it.” He grinned. “Practical navigation is a great lead-in to our next stop. Come on.” He grabbed Aaron’s hand and started to tow him down the path, but when he caught the astonished rise of Aaron’s eyebrows, he let go. “Sorry. What can I say? Impulsive.”

  “Trust me. I didn’t mind.” Aaron smiled, and although it was small smile, barely a curve of his lips, there was a glint in his eyes behind his glasses that made Cody’s heart dance a little jig.

  He told it to pipe down. “There’s a new exhibition hall near the north entrance that has some awesome installations, but I have to admit, I like my history in its natural habitat.”

  “You shock me.”

  Cody grinned. “Yeah, I know. Mr. Hands-on.” Too damn bad he’d never get a “hands-on” session with Mr. Sexy Historian. But at least they had this afternoon, and Cody believed firmly in living for the moment. “And the Seaport is a great place for that.”

  “So you’re a dyed-in-the-wool Mystic man, eh?”

  “Hey. Dyed-in-the-organic-cotton if you don’t mind. Wool makes me itch.”

  Cody led Aaron onto the wharf, the hull of the Charles W. Morgan rising before them. As usual, whenever Cody looked at the ship, his heart swelled with pride and awe. “Okay, Mr. Historian. Here’s our crown jewel—the last wooden whaling ship on the planet.”

  Aaron gazed at the Morgan, his mouth slightly agape, his gaze following the lines of her rigging. “It’s hard to believe people lived aboard boats like this for months at a time.”

  “Believe it.” And since Aaron hadn’t minded the touching, he tucked his hand under Aaron’s elbow and led him toward the gangway. “And for the next half hour, you’ll be living aboard too.”

  Chapter THREE

  AARON KNEW he shouldn’t be intimidated by walking aboard the Morgan. He’d managed to board his first airplane to get to Connecticut, and the ship was about the same length. If he could spend six hours in a metal tube hurtling through the air, surely he could handle strolling around the open-air deck of a craft that was twice as wide and completely stationary.

  So he ignored the dampness of his palms as he followed Cody up the gangway and onto the deck. “You know, I’m not sure whether I’m more appalled by the notion of living aboard a ship like this for years at a time, or by the activities it represents.”

  “Whaling, you mean?” The mast next to Cody was bigger around than he was. “I know. It’s tough to think about. But we’re looking at it from a modern perspective. The mindset back then was different.” He nudged Aaron with his elbow. “You should know that better than anyone, Mr. Historian.”

  Aaron was grateful for the breeze cooling his heated face. “I know. But it’s still hard to think about.”

  “I get it. You’re empathetic.”

  Aaron shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Wonderful.” In the days of Austen and Dickens, they’d probably have accused him of an excess of sensibility and called his panic attacks “vapors”—or else just clapped him into Bedlam.

  “Hey.” Cody gripped his shoulder and gave it a little shake. “Empathy
is a good thing. Show me a guy with no empathy, and I’ll show you a sociopathic jerkface.”

  Aaron couldn’t help but chuckle. “Jerkface? Is that another niece-appropriate term?”

  Cody’s answering grin could have lit Aaron’s condo—not that he still had one. “You guessed it.”

  “You’ll have to give me the official translation sometime.”

  He nodded solemnly. “We can add Brownian to French, German, and Spanish in Google Translate.” He patted the mast. “Check it out. The mainmast rises 110 feet above deck.”

  Aaron looked up, past the web of rigging, and a wave of dizziness swamped him. He grabbed Cody’s arm as he swayed on his feet. “Whoa.”

  Cody covered Aaron’s hand and squeezed. “Yeah, that’s pretty much everyone’s first reaction.” He shaded his eyes and gazed upward too. “Can you imagine being the lookout? Up there, the deck would be tiny beneath you. Nothing but sky and ocean and an occasional seabird for company.”

  Aaron clenched his eyes shut, swallowing against a swell of nausea. “Don’t.”

  “Shoot.” Cody’s other hand was suddenly warm on Aaron’s back. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  Aaron nodded, swallowing twice before he opened his eyes. Cody’s face was inches away, the breeze ruffling his hair and sending a few strands to tickle Aaron’s cheek. Close enough to kiss.

  Aaron dropped his gaze, the skin prickling on the back of his neck. “It’s nothing. Just a momentary bout of mental acrophobia.”

  Cody chuckled, releasing Aaron to stroll toward the stern. “Not great with heights? My dad’s the same. When we go apple picking every year, he makes sure to send me and my sister up the ladders.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No worries.” His smile remained sunny as they wandered along the deck.

  Aaron poked his head in the galley. “Holy crap. This thing is smaller than my closet.”

  “Not a lot of room for urban sprawl on board ship.”

  Aaron followed Cody below, down the steep, narrow stairs. Cody kept up a running commentary—tidbits about whalers in general and the Morgan in particular, including details about the restoration. His attitude was almost proprietary.