When One Door Opens

by Ruskin, JD

  “I have no proof she—or one of her boyfriends—was responsible, but the next day, Klass came in looking haggard and I saw the look on that puta’s face.”

  A chorus of bad word, bad word rang in the background. Marco grumbled something and then Logan heard delighted squeals and the smacking sound of messy kisses. “Daddy is sorry for saying a bad word.” Marco cleared his throat, and Logan swore he could hear the man regrouping his dignity.

  The happy domestic sounds helped Logan pull back on his growing temper. Getting angry wouldn’t change what happened. He was grateful to Marco for telling him about it and for caring enough about Caleb to follow up on him. “Do you want me to put in a good word with Mommy?”

  Marco sighed. “I will be forgiven… eventually,” he muttered. “My wife is very fond of Caleb and always includes him in her prayers. I would not have this job if not for him and I am now able to save for my children’s futures.”

  “Why not go to Klass and tell him what you suspect about Foster?”

  “Mijo,” Marco admonished.

  Logan winced and said, “Right, stupid question,” giving himself a mental smack for suggesting Marco accuse his white supervisor without a shred of evidence.

  He harrumphed. “Besides, I would never have convinced Caleb. He refused to talk about it. I think he would rather her go unpunished than risk accusing her wrongly. Without proof, I could do nothing.”

  Logan was convinced Foster’s actions outside of Meng’s had been deliberate. She’d wanted to upset Caleb and possibly send him into a panic attack. She also seemed to be going out of her way to weasel herself into Logan’s life. He wasn’t vain enough to think it was his bod making her try so hard. There had to be another reason.

  Marco’s voice drew him back from his musing. “Perhaps,” he said, drawing out the word until it purred. “You will have better luck persuading Caleb than I.”

  “You talk to Caleb lately?”

  “Of course, I would be a poor friend if I did not call to see how my replacement was faring.”

  Marco paused. If he was waiting for Logan to ask what Caleb had said about him, he’d be waiting indefinitely. He didn’t intend to rise to the bait, in spite of how much he might want to. “If any of your friends hear anything about Foster, let me know.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Now you must tell me why I could hear my Caleb blushing through the phone line when I asked about you.”

  “Sorry, I gotta run.”

  “Bah, you are no fun.”

  Grinning, Logan ended the call.

  CALEB smiled when he heard a knock at the door. Logan usually came by on Mondays and Fridays, but he had started showing up on Wednesdays too. He claimed it was because Thursday was hell day, with a double shift at the warehouse followed by an anger management class and an AA meeting. He came by just in case he was too tired to come on Friday. So far, Logan hadn’t missed a Friday.

  Logan took two steps into the apartment before stopping and inhaling deeply. He swayed on his feet, and Caleb’s stomach fluttered at the sight of him. The navy-blue tank top covering his chest looked like it barely contained his thick, rippling muscles. The cut-off shorts put his long and slightly hairy legs on display.

  “Cookies?” Logan licked his lips. “God, you bake too?” He followed Caleb and sat on an island stool, facing toward the kitchen. “How’s everything going?”

  “Good. I’m channeling another ex-con—good ol’ Martha Stewart—after talking to Mrs. Simon in the hallway.” Caleb pulled a cookie sheet out of the cabinet and placed it onto the island. “She’s visiting her grandkids this weekend.” Unrolling a sheet of parchment paper, he continued. “But she can’t bake, and I said I’d help her out,” he said, laying the paper over the cookie sheet.

  Logan smirked. “She afraid of losing her grandma card? I’d think her kid would know she can’t bake.”

  Caleb chuckled. He turned and opened the fridge, pulling out a covered bowl of cookie dough. “Her son has no idea she can’t bake. Her deceased husband, a burly butcher named Herb, secretly did all the cooking and baking and let her have the credit.”

  Logan’s brow rose. “Why would he do that?”

  Caleb opened a drawer and pulled out a teaspoon. “He loved to cook, but his mother thought it was women’s work.” He snorted. “Mrs. Simon’s convinced old Herb married her just because she nearly set the kitchen on fire trying to cook him a roast chicken.” He took the plastic wrapping off the top of the bowl and handed Logan the teaspoon.

  Logan’s forehead wrinkled. “What’s this for?”

  Caleb quirked an eyebrow. “Scoop out spoonfuls and place them on the cookie sheet. Be sure to leave a couple of inches of space between the balls.”

  Logan shook his head and took a step back from the counter, still holding the teaspoon. “No way. I screw them up and she’ll feed me to her cat.”

  Caleb gave an exaggerated sigh. “Then I guess I’ll just have to give her the batch I’ve got in the oven and freeze this dough for another time.” He fought to keep the smile off his lips as Logan inhaled, closing his eyes.

  “I expect you to rescue me from the jaws of that monster,” Logan grumbled, stepping back toward the counter. He detoured to the sink and washed his hands.

  Caleb grinned. “I promise.” Hearing the beep of the timer, he said, “Get to work so we can get eating.” Turning back toward the stove, he put on an oven mitt and opened the oven door, taking out a sheet of cookies. He heard Logan’s murmur of appreciation when the smell of freshly baked goodness invaded the kitchen. Carefully, he slid the parchment paper off the cookie sheet and onto the cooling rack. When he turned back, he watched Logan measure out a spoonful of dough with painful precision. Logan frowned when the dough failed to slide off the spoon and onto the parchment.

  Caleb bit his bottom lip to keep from smiling. “You can use your finger to slide it off.” He opened a drawer and pulled out another teaspoon. He then scooped out a ball of dough and deposited it onto the sheet. He repeated the action a few more times while Logan watched him intently. Leaving Logan to the rest, he wiped his fingers on a hand towel. “I’ll make a burly baker out of you yet.”

  Logan scowled, but he dug out another ball just as carefully and deposited it on the cookie sheet. There was a small, satisfied smile on his face. “Ain’t wearing no frilly apron.”

  Turning toward the cabinet, Caleb opened it and got out a plate and two glasses. “That’s too bad. I think frilly aprons are hot.” He laughed when the hand towel hit the back of his head. Using a spatula, he slid half a dozen cookies onto the plate. They were warm enough to be a bit gooey, just the way he liked them. He then filled the glasses with milk from the fridge. By the time he was done, Logan had finished preparing the cookies. “Thanks,” Caleb said, lifting the tray and putting it into the oven. After resetting the timer, he slid a plate of warm cookies and a glass of milk in front of Logan. “Eat, before you get drool on my counter.”

  Logan bit into the soft cookie, his eyes closing in apparent ecstasy as he groaned. Caleb watched his long lashes flutter with pleasure. He was still staring, thanking God for the counter between them, when Logan turned a sizzling, speculative look on him. “Perfect,” Logan said thickly.

  Caleb felt himself blush, absurdly pleased by the compliment. Lowering his eyes, he took a bite of the cookie in his hand. It really was good—the chewy texture, the richness of the white and dark chocolate, and the saltiness of the cashews.

  Selecting another cookie, Logan shoved the whole piece in his mouth and chewed it noisily, making muffled sex noises. “God, what I woulda given for food like this in prison.”

  “I fully acknowledge the irony, but I can’t imagine being in prison.”

  “You make sure to keep it that way.” He pointed a crumb-covered finger at Caleb. “A guy as pretty as you wouldn’t survive prison.”

  Caleb nearly choked on a piece of cookie and he felt his cheeks flushing again. “You think I’m….”

 
; “Pretty?” Logan grinned and grabbed another cookie. “That depends. Are you freaking out? ’Cause if you are, then I’m only saying you’re hotter than a bunch of crusty cons.”

  Caleb laughed, but then he froze when Logan leaned forward. He held his breath as he felt Logan’s finger brushing against his lip. Logan then stuck his finger in his mouth, sucking it off. His dark eyes never wavered.

  Caleb licked his lips, tasting chocolate and Logan all blended together. Logan leaned forward, his eyes searching for something and his lips parted. He reached a hand out and ran his thumb along the underside of Caleb’s jaw, curling the rest of his fingers around his nape. He pulled Caleb toward him for a long, open-mouthed kiss. Caleb tasted the chocolate heated by the warmth of Logan’s mouth. Logan slid his tongue along the seam of Caleb’s lips, coaxing his mouth open and running his tongue lightly along the rim of his lower lip. The buzz of the timer startled them, causing them both to pull away. Caleb looked back, realizing he had mistakenly set the timer to five minutes instead of fifteen.

  “Oh, crap, is that the time?” Logan said, rising to his feet. “I’m meeting with my parole officer today. I need to get going.”

  Caleb heard the regret in his voice. Turning toward the cabinet, he pulled out a small Tupperware container, put the remaining cookies into it, and sealed it. Handing the container to Logan, he said, “For the road.”

  Logan’s grin made Caleb’s toes tingle.

  After securing the door, Caleb cleaned the kitchen, rinsing off the baking pans and scrubbing the counter. It didn’t stop his thoughts from going back to the kiss. He couldn’t remember feeling like that before. He wanted to devour Logan, to run his tongue over every inch of his chiseled body. Surprisingly he had seen the same heat in Logan’s eyes and felt the urgency in his touch. Logan could have his pick of gorgeous guys. Why would he settle for me? The buzzer brought him from his musing. He pulled the cookies out of the oven and transferred them to the cooling rack. Glancing down at his shirt, he noticed a blob of cookie dough sticking to the front. What a sexy beast I am. He left the cookies to cool and headed for the bedroom. The package from Old Navy sat on the bed where he had left it. Impulsively, he had bought a new set of clothes online after Dabb had left, wanting to have at least one decent outfit.

  When he had answered the door for the delivery man, Mrs. Simon had spotted him and put in her cookie request. Caleb had eagerly agreed, wanting an excuse to bake something special for Logan. Yanking on the tab, he opened the package and dumped the contents on the bed. He ripped off the plastic covering from a striped button-up shirt in muted earth tones, a white T-shirt, and a faded pair of jeans. He undressed and pulled on the new clothes.

  After walking into the bathroom, he stepped into the shower stall to see more of himself in the mirror over the sink. “Huh.” It was strange to see himself in the kind of clothes he used to wear. A low-level sense of unease settled in his mind. The collar on the T-shirt felt tight, even though he knew it was at least a size bigger than he normally wore. The jeans hugged his buttocks and thighs in a way that was somehow different than his usual sweatpants. Even as the thoughts occurred, he recognized how irrational they were, but the feelings persisted. Maybe I just need to get used to them.

  He left the bedroom and went back to the kitchen. He got another Tupperware container from the cabinet and set it on the counter. After testing the cookies to see if they had cooled, he began placing them into the container, putting a layer of parchment paper between each level. Task completed, he headed into the living room. Before opening the door, he took a deep breath.

  He knocked on Mrs. Simon’s door, clutching the container to his chest. Keeping his eyes focused on the marred wood, he waited a lifetime for her to open it.

  “Hello, dear. Why don’t you come in a minute, so I can thank you properly.”

  He shook his head. “No need. I was happy to help and I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do before your trip.”

  She took the container from Caleb. “Yes,” she said, looking at her feet. “I do, but you’ve done enough for me already, so I’ll let you go.”

  Caleb cocked his head to the side, less anxious to bolt. “Is there something you need help with?”

  She sighed. “I need to get Tiny to Daniel’s apartment on the fifth floor.” She patted Caleb’s hand. “But don’t you worry, dear. I’ll manage.” Her lips thinned, likely imagining carrying thirty pounds of cat up the steep staircase.

  Caleb frowned. “Why can’t the guy come get Tiny himself?”

  “Daniel is… nervous about taking care of a pet. Maybe my son can help me when he comes to pick me up.” She frowned. “Of course, Tiny can’t stand my William, so I’ll probably need to put Tiny in a pillowcase, so he doesn’t tear him to shreds.” She sighed again. “He’s gotten too fat for the cat carrier.”

  The performance was Oscar-worthy, and even though Caleb knew he was being played, he found himself offering to haul the cat upstairs anyway. She was stubborn enough to try doing it herself, and he would never forgive himself if she got hurt. She barely managed the stairs under normal circumstances. Shuddering, he imagined her trying to walk up them with the squirming monster in her arms. He also knew she wasn’t exaggerating about Tiny’s utter contempt for her son. Caleb gave the man credit. He drove forty miles twice a month to bring his mother a heavy bag of cat litter even though Caleb had offered to add it to his own grocery order. Tiny showed his appreciation by attempting to maul William to death the moment he set foot in the apartment. Caleb had handed over the last of his first-aid supplies the last time. How Tiny had managed to open the closed bedroom door was a mystery he didn’t want to contemplate. Tiny had always been a purring pile of mush when he came to visit.

  Mrs. Simon narrowed her eyes and then, much to his horror, looked him over from head to toe. “Did you buy new clothes?” Not waiting for a reply, she continued. “It’s nice to see you in something other than those ratty old sweats.” The knowing look she gave him made him want to run screaming from the room. She moved into the living room to retrieve a canvas bag with a disposable litter box poking out of the top of it. “I put everything he’ll need in here.”

  Caleb took the bag from her. The orange cat watched him as if deciding whether it was worth the effort to bolt from the room. It was hard to blame the big guy. His options were a pillowcase or a man prone to panic attacks. He would probably much prefer a big bowl of kibble and an uncovered toilet to get him through the weekend. Trying not to give out terrified vibes, Caleb reached out to rub behind the cat’s ear, his hand trembling slightly. “It’s okay, boy. I’ll get you there safe and sound.”

  Mrs. Simon was staring at Tiny or possibly his traitorous hand when she spoke. “Daniel’s in apartment 501. He’s a teacher at CSU and seems like a nice young man.” She squeezed Caleb’s arm. “I could call him and ask him to come get Tiny.”

  If you can’t handle it was her unspoken message. She was giving him an out, and he was grateful for it, but refused to back down. If he wanted a life beyond the walls of his apartment, he couldn’t rely on Logan whispering dirty things in his ear to coax him out. “I’ll be fine.” He lifted Tiny into his arms, kissing the top of his furry head. Pulling the canvas bag over his shoulder, he headed for the door. He looked back and said, “Have fun visiting your family.”

  Caleb took a deep breath before heading up the stairs, snuggling the cat close to his chest. The tabby purred and nuzzled his neck as if in encouragement as they made their way to the fifth floor. Juggling Tiny into one arm, Caleb knocked on the door of apartment 501. After only a moment, the door opened to reveal a guy with a friendly smile and a set of delicious dimples. His bright blue eyes widened when he spotted Tiny.

  “My God, he’s massive.” Opening the door further, he asked, “Do you mind coming in for a minute while I check out the bag?” He smiled sheepishly. “I’ve never taken care of a pet before.”

  “Sure,” Caleb said.

  They exchanged introdu
ctions as he followed Daniel inside. The apartment had the same layout as his place, but it somehow managed to come across as bright and cheery whereas Caleb knew his place appeared dim and gloomy. He noted a casual and comfortable-looking green couch and matching chair that faced a modest flat-screen TV. He handed over the bag to Daniel, still cuddling Tiny. The big cat peeked around the room before burying his head against Caleb’s chest. Wanting to avoid looking out the sheer curtains, he turned toward Daniel, who was setting the bag on the island counter. “Mrs. Simon mentioned you’re a professor at my alma mater.”

  Daniel nodded. His carefully styled mass of dark curls made Caleb conscious of his own mop of hair. Maybe Logan would buzz it off for me. Daniel unpacked what looked like half a dozen cans of cat food. No wonder Tiny’s huge.

  “I teach Marketing at CSU.” Daniel pulled the disposable litter box from the bag. “Any idea where I should set this up?”

  “Mrs. Simon keeps hers in the laundry room.”

  After returning from the laundry, Daniel said, “Mrs. S. said you have your own business. You design web pages, right?”

  “Yeah,” Caleb said, wondering what else she had said about him.

  “I’m always looking for guest speakers, especially alumni. Would you be interested?” His expression faltered, and his cheeks flushed. “We could do it via webcam.”

  Caleb swallowed hard and used his free hand to yank on the collar of his T-shirt. “I’m pretty busy right now. I’ll have to let you know.”

  “Sure.” He looked like he was struggling for something to say. Caleb wondered if he could get away with pretending he had left the stove on. Would that make me look like more of a basket case? He wasn’t sure he cared as long as it got him out of here.

  Before he could voice his excuse, Daniel asked, “Have you watched Tiny before?”

  “No,” Caleb said, more emphatically than he meant to. Daniel blinked rapidly.

  Caleb lifted his hand in apology. “I’m too worried he’ll get sick and I’ll need to—”