Best Gay Romance 2014

by R. D. Cochrane

  The nursery was the last place on her list.

  “What’s the name of this place?”

  “You remember Daisy Ludo, right? She owned the flower shop on Market Street, Daisy Mayhems; they were a little too high priced for my liking.” Mom always took the long way around a question. “When Marv retired—Marv is her husband—they asked their nephew to take over—he’s some kind of plant genius—while they traveled for a year in their RV. When they got back, he started this nursery. They have the best plants here. Affordable, too.” She lowered her voice. “I know that has to drive Daisy crazier than ever. You know how everyone in town calls her Crazy Daisy. She has a little shop in the back.”

  “So what’s the name?” I asked again.

  “Soil and Green.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” I laughed. She stared at me, and I knew she didn’t get the homage to the sci-fi classic starring Charlton Heston. The Ludo nephew had a sense of humor.

  I followed Mom into the greenhouse and then to the garden, where she called, “Eric?”

  A man with shaggy blond hair and blue eyes came out of the greenery. He was wearing khaki cargo pants, an olive-green T-shirt and a shark-tooth necklace. He looked more like a surfer than a—I stumbled over the term. What exactly did you call a guy who owned a nursery? Avalon Dupre had never written a novel about horticulture.

  He smiled immediately when he saw my mom. “Mrs. Hutton, I was going to call to see if I could come to the inn with the azaleas.”

  It was weird to hear my childhood home referred to as “the inn.”

  “I just came by to pick up a few things. Oh—and I wanted to introduce you to my son.” She looked back at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “This is Jimmy.” She sighed dramatically. “Or am I supposed to call you James now? I never know.”

  “Jimmy is fine, Mom.”

  “Are you sure?” I knew the question was rhetorical and didn’t answer. “He’s my youngest; I think you two are close to the same age. He grew up here, but things have changed so much since then. Maybe you could get together and go out, Eric, and you could show him all your hangouts.”

  It was the enthusiasm in her voice that clued me in. Eric was gay. This was a setup.

  “Mom…”

  Eric smiled. “Anything I can do to help, Mrs. Hutton.”

  “I’m going to talk to your aunt about flowers, and you”—she poked me in the stomach—“talk with Eric about delivering my azaleas. And whatever else you want to talk about.”

  We both watched as she sashayed toward the back of the greenhouse.

  “Your mom’s a pistol.” Eric smiled, shaking his head.

  “Yeah, she’s something,” I mumbled.

  His face was serious. “I’m sorry about your father; he was a really nice man. They came in here a lot. He always was holding your mom’s hand, not just here, but any time I saw them in town.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, they were pretty incredible together.” No one missed how in love my parents were. I cleared my throat. “So you like science fiction?”

  Eric laughed. “I love that movie! I’m glad you caught that. Your mom talks about you all the time. She was excited about you staying on. Are you liking it?”

  Dalton Springs was no Atlanta, but it wasn’t like I’d done a lot of “big city” things when I lived there. “I’m still getting used to things. It’s changed a lot, gotten a little busier, but it’s still quiet. That works for a writer. Although I’m not sure about living in a bed-and-breakfast. There’s always something that needs doing.”

  “Your mom wanted some dwarf azaleas and a mimosa tree for that bare spot in the front yard. I tried to talk her out of it; I worry about the webworms.”

  “My dad loved mimosa trees.”

  He groaned. “Well now I feel assy.”

  “Don’t; I’m sure she appreciated that you were looking out for her.” I changed the subject to something more comfortable. “When I lived in Atlanta, I had a ponytail palm. I left it with my neighbor. I’d love to have another one.”

  “I’m sure I have one here. It’ll take me a second to find it.”

  Mom crept up on us like a spider. “What are we finding?”

  “Jimmy wants a ponytail palm.”

  “I need something to make my room seem like mine again.”

  “You have a gorgeous room.” She sniffed.

  “It’s been shabby chic-ed to death.”

  “I couldn’t leave all your stuff up. No one would want to stay in the ‘Woe is me, I like everything dark and spooky, Edgar Allan Poe room.’” She looked at Eric and whispered, “He went through a goth phase. His father and I were so concerned.”

  “It wasn’t a goth thing. I—” I caught Eric chuckling. “Never mind.”

  My mother handed me a bouquet of sunflowers, daisies, lilies and pink roses. “These are for the living room, under the painting. Did you give Eric your phone number?” She smiled her I’m just a sweet old Southern lady smile at Eric. “Maybe you can get him to go somewhere other than the library.”

  “I’ll come by this afternoon with your azaleas. I’ll work on him then.”

  “And you’ll stay for dinner.” It was done. Lilah Lynn had proclaimed it. She patted my shoulder. “Let’s go. We have lots to do at home.”

  I sat in the dining room putting together gift baskets for the honeymooners who would be arriving in the next few hours. A bottle of champagne with two glasses, chocolates, postcards from town, stamps, a few brochures, and a jar of blackberry preserves that my mom had made herself.

  “So, this Eric thing,” I began.

  She peeked into the dining room. “Isn’t he a doll? It was either you or Valerie. Well, not really, I love your sister, but I don’t know that I’d set her up with anyone. Remember that boy Robbie Miller she dated? I swear he’s never been the same. He sees me coming down the street and turns the other way. She can destroy a good man. Besides, Eric’s gay. He’s more your type.”

  “Matchmaking is your thing now?”

  “If someone doesn’t help you, it’s never going to happen. I’m taking the wheel. Eric is perfect for you.”

  “He’s too…” I was about to say good-looking. Good-looking always made me a mass of goo. “Earthy. I don’t do earthy. I like TV and couches.”

  “You and your daddy used to go fishing all the time. You can be earthy.”

  “Just because we’re both gay doesn’t mean—”

  “No one knows you like your mother. You should learn to listen to me. Take those up to the rooms.”

  The fix-up was on. The conversation was over, at least for Lilah.

  I put the gift baskets in place, checked back with Lilah Lynn, who was going to town on her pies, and sat down to write. Things weren’t going well for my guys in Under the Gypsy Moon. My heroine was in the arms of the handsome scoundrel Rodrigo.

  “Jimmy! Eric’s here to see you.”

  That woman!

  I left my desk and ran down the stairs because I was frustrated with her, not because I wanted to see Eric in all his surferesque glory. At least that’s what I told myself.

  I found them in the kitchen. Eric was holding a ponytail palm. I really liked his smile.

  “I told you I could find one somewhere in the back of my jungle.” He handed it to me. “Consider it a welcome home gift.”

  “Thanks.”

  I was searching for something else to say when my mom snatched the palm out of my hands. “I’ll take this up to your room. Why don’t you help Eric take the azaleas to the back patio?”

  I followed Eric to his truck, where he handed me a small azalea bush with pink flowers. “They’re trying to get mimosas on the forbidden plants list, so I don’t carry them. I had to special order it, but Lilah will have it soon.”

  I led him through the living room on the way to the back porch.

  “Wow.”

  He’d stopped in front of the fireplace, staring at what everyone in my family called “the painting.” My father
was an amateur painter, and not a very good one, but on occasion he could knock one out of the park. “The painting” was officially titled Dandelions Dance at Midnight, and that’s exactly what it was: a field of dandelions and a midnight sky filled with shooting stars. There was something about the colors, something that showed movement. If you looked long enough you’d swear that the dandelions really were dancing.

  “My dad painted that. It’s my mom. Well, metaphorically.”

  He nodded. “I got that. It’s beautiful. Do you think a painting of dandelions can grant a wish?”

  “I never tried it.” I shrugged.

  “You should.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Ah, the awkward silence, only this one didn’t seem so awkward. I had the urge to reach for his hand. I was grateful I had an arm full of azaleas.

  He smiled. “I should get these out to the patio; Miss Lilah reminded me that guests will be arriving soon.”

  I led him out the back door. My parents had built a gorgeous stone patio, complete with a fire pit, when they remade our house into an inn.

  “How can a mimosa be a forbidden plant?” No matter where I was, when I saw a mimosa I felt like I was home. I loved them just like my father had.

  “They consider it a weed tree.” He took the azalea from me. “They being the Mississippi Plant Board, not me. I like mimosas. They attract pollinating insects and add nutrients to the soil. They’re like dandelions.” He put the azaleas down and motioned toward the door. “I need to get more stuff out of the truck.”

  I nodded. “I should get back to my writing.”

  I watched as he left the house and then raced up the stairs. My mother was on the top landing.

  “That plant looks very nice on your desk. It was sweet of Eric to give it to you rather than adding it to the bill, don’t you think? I hope you thanked him.”

  “Yes, Mom.” A week earlier, I’d discovered that my voice often regressed into sullen teen territory. This was one of those times.

  “I opened the windows in your room; you have the best view of the backyard.” She was singsonging again. “Remember: listen to your mother, she knows best.”

  I went back to my desk and started writing, determined not to look out the window. Naturally my eyes betrayed me. Eric looked good out there, drudging away under Lilah’s instruction. I made the occasional covert glance, well aware that Lilah would be looking up to see if I was looking down. After she left the patio, it was easier to take more leisurely glances. I might’ve even stared a few times, and of course I was caught. Eric smiled and waved at me. I had no choice but to wave back.

  I’d churned out a few pages when there was a knock at the door.

  “Since when do you knock?” No matter how old we were, the rule at the Hutton house was that Mom had an open-door policy; she could open any door she wanted. The rules were the same at The Dandy Lyons Inn.

  “I always knock.” Eric was standing in the doorway. He looked around my room. “This is quite the rosy little paradise.”

  “I think we both know the ‘Woe is me, I like everything dark and spooky, Edgar Allan Poe room’ would definitely sell out. Maybe to a different clientele than she’s used to. She sold everything in my room in a yard sale, including my Star Wars action figures and the Darth Vader carrying case that I inherited from Tom. She even sold Han Solo! Despite the fact that when I came out, one of the things that made it easier for her was our mutual love of Harrison Ford.”

  “I’m an Indiana Jones man myself. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you got a few Poe posters and did a little redecorating.”

  I groaned. “I swear it was not a goth thing. I loved his writing.”

  He laughed. “She said I could use your bathroom to clean up for dinner.” He held up a gym bag. “I brought clean clothes.”

  “You don’t have to stay. There’s no reason we both have to endure dinner with a crazy woman.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” He walked into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked a smidge, and turned on the shower. “I hear her dumplings are delicious.”

  “They are.” So now a plant-loving surfer was naked and showering just feet away from me. I couldn’t believe she was doing this to me. I called out, “I hear Yankees in the kitchen. I’d better get down there and see how Mom’s handling the invasion.”

  By the time Eric joined us, crisp New England accents were indeed filling the house. As always, my mom was laying on the Southern charm and our guests were eating her up with two spoons.

  When we sat down for dinner, one of the women mentioned how sweet it was that the first night at such a cute little bed-and-breakfast included dinner. My mother beamed. By my count, Dalton Springs was referred to as “cute” and “quaint” eighty-three times. Eric’s knee hit mine each and every time, so it didn’t bother me.

  They all wanted to see the craft fair in Mount Eagle, and my mother made sure they had every flyer put out by every shop and gallery in town. After dinner, everyone went out on the patio, stopping to look at “the painting,” and I could hear the love in my mother’s voice when she talked about how it was my father’s. She was definitely going to join the Saturday Night Widows’ Club that met at the Blue Moon Bar to drink and ogle men. She was also going to love Dad forever.

  “Hey, no offense to your mom, but I really hate pecan pie. How about we go out for a cup of coffee,” Eric whispered as we cleared the table.

  I nodded. “We have to make our escape before she notices.”

  We slipped out, making small talk as we walked. Downtown was still bustling. A horse and carriage stood in front of what I always considered my mother’s fountain. We turned into Coop’s Café.

  The man behind the counter gave us a wave, and we sat at one of the corner tables, ordered our coffee—and there was that not-so-awkward silence again.

  I pointed to one of the bar stools at the counter. “When I was a little boy, every Saturday morning my dad would bring me here. He’d have coffee with his friends, I would get a hamburger, and he’d always buy me two comic books.”

  “Archie?”

  “I, Vampire. And any other scary comic available. I had to hide them at home so my mom wouldn’t find them.”

  The waitress gave us our drinks. As soon as she left, Eric asked, “Is that what you write?”

  “Horror?” I shook my head.

  Eric waited a moment. “Care to share what you do write?”

  I could feel my cheeks redden. I wanted to impress Eric. Writing historical romances wouldn’t do the trick, but I wasn’t going to lie. “Romances. Historical romances.” As Lilah would, I whispered the rest. “I write under the name Avalon Dupre.”

  Eric’s eyes widened and he grabbed my hand. “My mother loves you! You’ll sign a book for me, right?”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  He didn’t let go of my hand as he smiled at me. “Romance, huh?”

  “Mom thinks it’s because I’m looking for a sweeping romance, but that’s not it. I just like the idea of something that lasts forever.”

  “Do you write from experience?”

  “If you’re asking if I’ve ever been in the embrace of the illegitimate son of a French nobleman, no. I’m better at writing about love than being in love.”

  “There’s something good about being a late bloomer. Trust me; it’s my area of expertise.” He paused. “And hey, pirates are hot.”

  “Amen to that.” I started to smile even though I was embarrassed by my confession. More than anything I wanted to take the focus off of me. “So what’s with you and the plants? You look like a surfer.”

  “I moved here from California, and I have surfed. So I guess that works. I’ve always enjoyed being outside, gardening, stuff like that. It seemed like the right thing for me. You can tell a lot about people by the plants they like. For instance, ponytail palms. They’re unique, quirky, fun and slow to grow. But they’re sturdy. They last.”

 
“Are you calling me slow?” He smiled but didn’t answer. And he was still holding my hand. Although my mother had already told me a little about him, I asked, “How did you end up in Dalton Springs?”

  “Aunt Daisy and Uncle Marv wanted to go on this big RV trip, but she didn’t want to close the shop. I was working at a nursery in California, and she asked me if I was interested in running things for her. I thought, What the hell. I need something new. I came up here for the year, and then I didn’t leave.” He leaned closer. “My dad served in the Marine Corps. We moved around a lot. My family’s great, but I never had a permanent home. When I came here, everyone was so friendly. It was like I’d grown up here just because Crazy Daisy was my aunt. I wanted to stay.”

  His thumb ran over mine as he went on. “What you said about coming to the café—your Dad and the comic books and now you’re here tonight—I’ve never had anything like that. You asked why I was into plants. Maybe this sounds crazy, but I was always looking for roots. I guess I found them here.”

  “It doesn’t sound crazy.”

  He told me about starting Soil and Green, the books he liked and the ones he didn’t. I told him the entire plot of Under the Gypsy Moon, and we laughed at the goofy parts. In fact, we laughed a lot.

  It was almost ten when our waitress came over. “Hey, boys, we close in a couple of minutes.”

  I hadn’t realized we’d been there for so long. We paid our tab and left a tip big enough to make her chatter at the man behind the counter.

  As we headed toward the inn, I knew someone would be waiting up wanting details, so I hoped to make it a long walk.

  Eric stopped. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Tonight, I’m going to do it.”

  He jogged to the fountain and jumped in as I followed and watched.

  “This is why I love Dalton Springs, Jimmy. Have you ever been here in the afternoon?” He kicked some water at me. “Everyone stops by. They throw a penny in, and they make a wish. How many wishes do you think this thing holds?” He splashed me again.