Undue Influence

by Jenny Holiday

  Despite his embarrassment, Adam had fun. Mostly. At least until the set was over and Lady Merlot came out to join them and started getting all nosy.

  “Delighted, I’m sure.” Lady Merlot gave William her hand as Adam performed introductions. Then she and William proceeded to charm each other. It was a little odd. It was almost like they were both…performing. Adam was used to that from Rusty, of course, in his Lady Merlot persona, at least. And he didn’t know William that well, but suddenly, watching him from afar, something about the nature of his attention to Lady Merlot seemed…off.

  He shook off the sense of unease, though, as Lady Merlot said her goodbyes and headed backstage to change for the second set.

  “Should we get out of here?” William said.

  Adam nodded. “I’m beat.” Translation: time to go home. Alone.

  William took the hint. “Can I drive you?” He rested a hand against Adam’s lower back as he propelled him through the crowd, which had thickened considerably since they arrived.

  “I prefer to walk,” Adam said. “I’m a big walker.”

  “Can I walk you?”

  Something caught in Adam’s chest to remember the other time a man had so effortlessly shifted gears from Can I drive you? to Can I walk you?

  “I’m fine on my own.” Adam smiled to show that the rejection wasn’t personal. He really just wanted to breathe some fresh air, clear his head, listen to silence.

  “All right,” William said when they emerged onto the street. “Can I kiss you?” He grinned. “I’m guessing that’s also no, but a guy can hope.”

  “You guessed right. But I do appreciate being asked.” Both because it was flattering, and because most guys wouldn’t have bothered asking. They would have just taken.

  “Maybe next time?”

  Adam smiled again. It was nice to be asked. “Maybe.”

  “Humor an old man and text me when you get home okay so I don’t worry?”

  “Will do.” Adam turned and started for Harry’s place.

  It was a long walk. He actually wouldn’t have minded company. A certain kind of company. A certain kind of company that, no matter how charming William had been, Adam couldn’t get out of his mind.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eight years ago

  “You are insane.”

  Adam bristled under Rusty’s assessment. It wasn’t that he expected him to be all gung ho over the idea, but God, was it too much to expect his best friend to be a little more sympathetic?

  “I have the security deposit and first month’s rent and enough saved to buy furniture! I thought you wanted me to move out!”

  “Adam.” Rusty said his name like he was a kindergartener in need of reasoning with. Seated at the desk in the small office in the shop, he looked at the ceiling, as if appealing to the heavens for divine patience.

  “It’s just an apartment, Rusty. A one-year lease. I’m almost twenty. I don’t need to be living at home anymore.”

  “That’s right. You’re almost twenty. You shouldn’t be living at home. You should be far away, living in a tiny shoebox of a room with a roommate you hate, worried about your midterms.”

  Arg! Adam wanted to scream. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with the idea of me leaving town. You live here.”

  “Don’t be like me.”

  Rusty, clearly as frustrated with the conversation as Adam was, rose, crossed the office, and poured himself a cup of coffee. Only when he’d doctored it to his specifications, did he turn back to Adam. He remained standing and said, “Is this about Freddy Wentworth?”

  “No. This is about me.”

  “But also about Freddy Wentworth?”

  The ring Adam wore on a chain around his neck suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Like it was glowing ultraviolet. Like even though it was hidden under his shirt, there was no way for Rusty not to see it.

  “Adam.” Rusty’s tone had gentled. “Please tell me. What is he to you? I can tell you’ve been hiding something from me.”

  He had been, though he wasn’t sure why. They both knew the truth. Why not confirm it? It was nothing to be ashamed of.

  “I’m in love with him.”

  Rusty nodded like he wasn’t surprised, but it was a grim nod.

  “And he’s in love with me,” Adam added, almost petulantly.

  Rusty’s nostrils flared. “Freddy Wentworth is in love with you.”

  “Is that so impossible to believe?”

  “Adam.” His name again—again like he was a kid who wouldn’t listen. Adam hated being talked to like this. “If the love nest you’re thinking of renting is the prison keeping you here, Freddy Wentworth is the jailor. He’ll lock you in and throw away the key, and you’ll never get out.”

  “I don’t want to get out, Rusty. That’s the thing.” Adam sighed, defeated. He should never have asked for Rusty’s blessing. “I like Bishop’s Glen.”

  “Have I ever led you astray?” Rusty said suddenly.

  “What?”

  “In the years you’ve known me, what have I been to you?”

  “You’ve been everything.” That was true.

  “I’ve given you a job. A place to live when you needed it.”

  “And you’ve been my friend,” Adam added, because even though they were in the middle of a tiff, that was important. Rusty had been there for him when no one else had.

  “Right. And with that comes advice, whether you like it or not.”

  Adam smiled. He didn’t like it, in this particular case, but he did sort of like it in general. It felt good to have someone in your life who was so invested in your future that they got pissy with you.

  Or at least it had historically.

  “And you need to listen to me now, regardless of whether you get the apartment or not. I know you don’t want to hear it, but age does bring wisdom. I understand that Freddy is fun. Maybe I should have been more accepting of this…affair. But it’s not going to last. You can’t plan your whole life around it. You’re too young, for one thing. If it doesn’t end in outright heartbreak, whatever has been between you is going to fade, just like summer. Because that’s what happens. That initial rush goes away. And as hard as it is, you have to ask yourself, what am I going to be left with when it does?”

  Wow. That was…quite the speech. “You don’t understand,” Adam tried to protest, but his voice sounded feeble, unconvincing, to his own ears. “He’s different than—”

  “Spare me. I know him.”

  “You don’t, though.”

  “I know his type.” Rusty blew out a breath and looked up to the ceiling for a moment. When he righted his head again, his face was different. Hard. Cold. Adam had never seen him like this.

  “And now, my darling, it’s time for some tough love. Yes, I want you to get the hell out of this town. Getting an apartment in Bishop’s Glen is the first step in admitting that you are never going to leave Bishop’s Glen. You know my sofa is always available to you if your mother gives you shit, but if you get your own place in this godforsaken town, you’re fired—as both my employee and my friend.”

  Adam sucked a breath in and recoiled. Rusty might as well have slapped him.

  “I’m sorry. I know this hurts, but it’s for your own good.” Rusty laid a hand on Adam’s arm. “Someday, you’ll understand that I was right about all of this.”

  Present day

  Adam did let William kiss him next time they went out. They’d been to dinner at a restaurant his mother informed him had a three-month waiting list for people who weren’t William Ellison.

  Adam had allowed himself to be plied, basically, with food and wine and compliments.

  He still wasn’t precisely sure why his mother was so gung ho on the match, except perhaps that at the end of the summer, when the housesit was up, she would need somewhere else to go. But it wasn’t like Adam was going to marry William and move his crazy family in with him. Adam liked to watch Masterpiece Theatre, not live it. But m
aybe she was relying on William’s connections for more free housing post–Labor Day and considered Adam a pawn in her scheming.

  The kiss, which occurred by the pool at Harry’s—Adam had allowed William to drive him home, too—had been a not-unpleasant diversion. Exactly the kind of kiss you’d expect from Hamptons Ken. In fact, Adam kind of felt like he was a Ken doll, too, like his body was covered with smooth, impenetrable, plastic flesh. Because the kiss had been an above-the-neck experience only.

  In Adam’s experience, there were two types of kisses. The first was the frantic, toothy kind he’d exchanged with random men in his few years of hooking up. Those had been previews of what was to come. And since he’d usually only hooked up when he was already super horny, he’d rushed through those kisses, had considered them rote preludes to what was to come.

  And then there were the other kind of kisses: Freddy’s. They’d been electric—the ones from eight years ago and the aborted attempt a few weeks ago. Both ends in and of themselves and previews. Both enough and not enough at the same time. Sometimes, he’d felt like he could kiss Freddy forever. And the feeling must have been mutual, because some nights, they’d spent hours kissing in the lake. Others, they’d been more hurried, overtaken by the arcs of electricity their mouths unleashed in each other. But even then, those kisses had been their own things—he never would have wanted to skip them.

  William’s kiss was neither of those things. It was…fine.

  Maybe it would have had the potential to become more, if Adam hadn’t gently pulled away and said, “I had a nice time tonight.”

  William rested his head against Adam’s. “I did, too.” He was breathing harder than Adam.

  “I’m sorry,” Adam said.

  “You’re sorry? Why?”

  He took a step back, severing the connection between their foreheads. “I’m sorry I’m not…” This was awkward. “I’m old-fashioned, I guess,” he finished feebly.

  William shook his head gently. “Maybe. But maybe I like old-fashioned.”

  And then he took Adam’s hand, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed it.

  It seemed like a line from a play. Like William was an actor saying the next line of dialogue in the script.

  It was good dialogue, though. Adam watched him walk through the gate and into the night. This was probably the part where he was supposed to get butterflies in his stomach. Or twirl happily as he skipped off to bed. He ordered himself to feel…something.

  “Well, if that wasn’t the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ahh!” Adam jumped about a foot. “Rusty.”

  His friend’s voice was coming from a dark corner of the yard. Adam moved toward it. Rusty, in his Lady Merlot persona, was stretched out on a lounge chair sipping a glass of wine. “Sorry, darling. I came out here to look at the stars, and I dozed off. By the time I woke up, I was stuck. I didn’t want to interrupt you, so I sat here, quiet as a mouse and minded my own business.”

  Adam shook his head and sat on the foot of Rusty’s chair. He should be angry. Or at least annoyed. But once again, he couldn’t make himself feel much of anything.

  “However,” Rusty said, “I want you to know, I approve.” He lifted his glass in a toasting gesture. “I approve wholeheartedly.”

  Adam sighed and looked at the stars. They were, objectively, beautiful. But they only made him long for the fake ones on the ceiling at home.

  The next time Adam went out with William—which was something he kept doing because in addition to making his mother and Rusty happy, it was a not-unpleasant way to pass the time—he definitely felt something.

  Because, after leaning in close to William to look at a series of pictures on his phone, he sat back, looked up, and saw Freddy.

  Freddy.

  Freddy who was sitting at the bar watching him, a killer scowl on his face.

  And yep, there was all that missing sensation. It all poured into him at once, flooding his body with panic and joy at the same time. How could Freddy be here?

  “Are you all right?” William laid a hand on top of Adam’s. He felt it like a shackle, an unwanted staking of claim. He wanted to snatch his own hand away, but he was frozen. His entire body had stopped, turned inward to witness fear and hope unspooling in equal measure. The only parts that seemed to function were his eyeballs, which he darted once again to where Freddy was sitting.

  He was pushing back from the bar. Oh, my God. Was he coming over here? Adam had to get his hand back from William.

  But no. Freddy merely threw some money on the bar, turned without making further eye contact, and left.

  Adam did take his hand back then, but it was too late.

  Freddy pushed out of the restaurant, which was owned by an acquaintance, and took big, gulping lungfuls of air. What the fuck was he doing here? Here at this bar and, more generally, here in the Hamptons. Either. Both.

  He’d been prepared—he thought—to see Adam. That was why he’d come, after all. He could tell himself all kinds of stories about this being an exploratory trip. About having decided he was sick of New York City and maybe interested in opening a place somewhere quieter.

  But if that was the case, why hadn’t he talked to Ben about it? They had speculated casually, over the years, about opening a second place. Ben would have been all over the idea of a Captain’s Hamptons outpost—this was a much more logical place for a seafood restaurant than New York City. Hell, he’d probably try to talk him into something in the Finger Lakes so he could be closer to his house there. Ben had never taken to the city like Freddy had.

  Or like Freddy thought he had.

  He thought he’d become a true New Yorker, hard and impenetrable. That he was immune to things like nature and quiet and…love. Now, going through his routine in the city, walking from his apartment to the restaurant, dividing his day between the executive part of his executive chef title and the actual chefing he preferred, he tried to lose himself in the dinner rush each evening, finishing the night with more whiskey than was probably advisable.

  He kept telling himself it was the same as it had always been. It was all what he’d professed to be missing the whole time he was in Bishop’s Glen.

  Yet none of it was the same. And, more astonishingly, he hated it. That initial sense that he didn’t fit into his life anymore had deepened, taken on an edge. It had become bad enough that he’d started playing hooky. Calling in sick to the restaurant. Calling in sick to his own life—the one he’d made for himself, presumably to his own specifications. He just couldn’t face day after day of cooking for well-heeled New Yorkers anymore.

  So he’d come on this fool’s errand, letting his battered heart lead the way for once. He’d wanted to see Adam—it was as simple as that. He wasn’t sure what that would accomplish precisely, just that he thought he might feel better if he did.

  The thing was, he hadn’t been prepared to see Adam right then. He’d just gotten to town. Had been planning to chat up the bartender and leverage some restaurant connections, ask around and find out if anyone knew anything about any of the Elliots—either his Elliot or the nutbar wing of the family—or about a socket-wrench-wielding, wine-swilling drag queen, for that matter. He was ready to play detective.

  And yes, maybe gather some intel about the local restaurant scene—so he could at least pretend there had been a larger purpose for this trip.

  He was not ready to have the mystery solved by running smack dab into Adam getting all cozy at an intimate table for two with some man who was old enough to be his father.

  God. Why did he keep doing this? When was he ever going to learn?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Eight years ago

  “It’s too cold to swim,” Adam said as he and Freddy turned up the drive to Kellynch in late September. Normally, he loved the fall. By mid-October the property would be edged with sugar maples that had turned a brilliant red, and the smell of decaying leaves would swirl together with the ever-present pine scent of the surroun
ding forests to fill his head with the smell of home.

  This year, he hated the fall. Dreaded October.

  They’d taken to hanging out in the barrel room, which was in an outbuilding. When they were outside, and swimming, everything had been magical. Adam had been sharing his beloved Kellynch with his beloved Freddy. Now, as they sat with a flashlight among rows of barrels full of wine at varying points in the fermentation process, it felt like hiding. And the barrel room at Kellynch, unlike at some of the other wineries in the region, was utilitarian. Since they had never done tours, it was chilly and bleak, and there was nowhere to sit except on the concrete floor.

  And the deeper they’d gotten into fall the less…patient Freddy seemed. Oh, he was still the same old kind, chivalrous Freddy, but he’d started talking about stuff that usually didn’t intrude on their time together. He kept asking questions about Rusty. About Adam’s time living with Rusty when his family had kicked him out. He kept talking about wanting to go out to dinner. He’d even invited Adam to the town’s annual grape stomp—Adam, of course, had had to decline because his family would be there representing Kellynch Estates.

  When they got to their usual spot behind a rack of barrels, Adam sat. He was distracted by arranging his legs, so he didn’t notice at first that Freddy hadn’t joined him. He shined his flashlight up, not into Freddy’s face because he didn’t want to blind him, but at his chest. Ambient light from the beam illuminated his face, usually so familiar and dear to Adam, in such a way that he looked…not himself. Shadows did funny things to his eyes—they disappeared into their sockets. Adam shivered.

  “I can’t keep doing this,” Freddy whispered.

  No. Adam’s stomach dropped. The taste of metal flooded his mouth. But he’d known, in his heart, that this was coming. Things hadn’t been the same between them lately. Yes, they were doing the same things—the walking, the swimming, but they were the same only on the surface.