by Tara Lain
She grinned. “How about I don’t tell Quentin you’re coming? Then it will be a lovely surprise.”
Micah cocked his head. How much does she know? What had Quentin told her? “Okay. Great.”
She gathered her stuff, and he turned to Dharmaram. The man put a hand on Micah’s shoulder again, and he shrugged it off. “So what the hell do you want?”
“I need a place to live.”
Micah narrowed his eyes. “I’m no boarding house. What does this have to do with me?”
“I want to come back and live with you. Just like before.”
“You’ve been smelling too much incense, asshole.” He turned and started walking toward the door. Whoa. Stopped dead by a grab on his arm.
Dharmaram stepped up close behind Micah. “I think you now have someone to protect, don’t you? And if you want to protect this someone, it pays to keep me happy.”
He swallowed and hoped the asshole didn’t notice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dharmaram turned Micah to face him. He didn’t resist. “I have a good eye for beauty, as you know.” He ran a finger along Micah’s jaw. Forget it. He pulled his head away. “And I’ve discovered that the handsome grandson of one of my most upstanding students, Mrs. Mary Beth Darby, has been known to go about cavorting in women’s clothes with one sexy gay man. Intentions? Dishonorable.”
Jesus, his belly hurt, but he didn’t want Dharmaram to know how shaken he was. “So what?”
“So, I suspect that the upstanding lady in question is quite unaware of her grandson’s cavorting. I further suspect that she would be shocked and horrified to learn of this and would probably disown the little fucker.”
Surely she wouldn’t—but Quentin had never told her. Micah couldn’t let her find out this way. Hearing the truth from Dharmaram would be pretty awful. “So what do you want?”
“Very simple. Just the room and board you provided previously. My current meal ticket is getting complaints from her children about what she’s spending on me, plus we all know I don’t really like girls.”
Micah clenched his fists. “So that’s what I was? Your meal ticket?”
“Of course not, dear. I loved fucking that adorable rock-hard ass. And that reminds me. Whatever are you doing with that silly drag queen, for God’s sake? Pretty as he is.”
“None of your business.”
Dharmaram’s eyes narrowed. “See that it stays not my business. What time shall I be at your house with my stuff?”
Oh God, he wanted to hit him. “Seven o’clock.” He walked away thinking about the cupcake shop he wouldn’t visit, the beautiful man to whom he would never apologize, and the day that was now far crappier than the night before.
QUENTIN PULLED a last batch of the spring flower cupcakes from the oven. He had to buck up. It was silly to let a man he barely knew take the joy from his life. He needed to put on his big-boy panties, retire Queen to the back of the closet, and focus on his business. If only his heart didn’t feel like a mile of bad road.
Next to him at the counter, Mary Beth kept looking at the clock. He smiled at her.
“Do you have a hot date I don’t know about, ma’am?”
“Dear, do you know a young man named Micah?”
He froze. Okay, he should just breathe. “Uh, yes. He’s the person I had a drink with last night. Why? How do you know his name?”
“He came by the yoga class today.”
“He did?” He could barely breathe.
“Yes. He introduced himself to me, and I think he was going to tell me something, but then my teacher interrupted and started talking to him. I told him to come by the shop, but he hasn’t come as far as I can tell.”
The bad road just got a whole new pothole. He shook his head slowly and put the cupcake pan on the cooling rack. “He won’t come here. He’s a real health-food nut. He doesn’t approve of all our sugar and flour.”
She shrugged. “He certainly seemed anxious to talk to me.”
“Hmm. Strange. But I guess he and Dharmaram used to have a relationship, so maybe they’re still friends.”
“Maybe. But he surely didn’t seem very happy to see Dharmaram.”
Quentin shrugged. “I don’t think he’s happy about much.”
Maybe he should try to talk to Micah? No. A foolish idea.
MICAH STOOD on the porch and held the door while Dharmaram carried in his suitcases and a couple of cardboard boxes from the back of his car. Micah wished he was headed the opposite way and the door was hitting the guy in the ass as he left.
Maybe this was a crappy idea. Hell, he knew it was crappy to let Dharmaram anywhere near him, but maybe he shouldn’t be trying to protect Quentin. He had no certainty that Dharmaram wouldn’t just tell Mary Beth anyway. Of course, the guy knew he’d lose his meal ticket in two seconds flat if he did that.
Micah pointed to the extra room down the hall. “Put your shit in the guest room.”
Dharmaram stopped. “Guest room? I said I wanted to come back to you just the way we were.”
“Don’t push your luck, asshole. You’re fortunate I even let you in my house.”
Dharmaram put down the suitcase and walked closer to Micah where he stood at the open door. “Aww, baby, don’t be that way. I’ll show you I’ve changed. I’ll be a real steady boyfriend.”
“Keep your hands off me.” Micah stepped out onto the porch. “Boyfriend? You’re not even a friend friend—” He heard tires on the asphalt and looked up. Shit, the car. The car that had followed him on what he now thought of as the best night of his life. The car from which he saw a set of wide eyes staring from a pale face surrounded by a halo of wild curls.
Oh no, God. Micah looked at Dharmaram still standing in the doorway. What did Quentin see? What did he think? “Shit! Quentin!” He took off across the lawn as the new German car sped up and tore down the residential road. He almost caught it at the stoplight, but he missed the bumper as the car rolled through the intersection and disappeared down the hill toward the Pacific Coast Highway. Micah stopped, gasping for air. Had Quentin seen him and refused to stop, or did he just speed away after he saw—oh God—after he saw Dharmaram standing in the doorway with Micah? Oh no. How did that look?
Staggering a little, he walked to the curb and sat. Crap. He wanted it both ways. He wanted to protect Quentin from the asshole, but he couldn’t stand for Quentin to think that he didn’t want him.
He dropped his head in his hands. He did want Quentin. He did. He did. What a fool. To get mad at Quentin for making people happy, for commemorating his grandmother. God, I want to talk to Quentin. To explain. To apologize.
He took a deep breath. But this is for the best. If I don’t see Quentin anymore, Dharmaram will forget the whole thing, and eventually I can toss him out.
Can’t I?
He got up slowly and walked back to the house. Inside the entry he could see Dharmaram sitting in the living room with his feet on the coffee table, drinking a beer and watching television. Funny how that sight used to make Micah feel at home.
Dharmaram looked up. “What happened to you?”
Good question. “Nothing. Good night.” He grabbed his cat, brushed his teeth, and went to bed. At the moment, staring at the ceiling was better than staring at Dharmaram. This situation was truly fucked up. He didn’t have to do this. He had choices. But all of them seemed to lead to Quentin being outed. He could talk to Quentin, ask him what to do.
Micah flipped and pounded the pillow. If he did that, Quentin would definitely step up to the plate and tell his grandmother he was gay. That could be good. Maybe even for the best, but Micah didn’t want to force Quentin to make that decision. He needed to come to it on his own with no coercion from the Downward Dog. Shit. He tucked Furtwangler against his chest and settled down, expecting no sleep.
Chapter Six
A TEAR slid down Quentin’s cheek, and he stepped back so it didn’t fall into the cupcake batter. He squished the almond butter mixture through hi
s fingers. Just that fast, Micah had gone back to his former boyfriend. Yes, and forgotten about Quentin.
Hell’s bells, what had he expected? That a handsome, together guy like Micah would want a weirdo like him? What had he been thinking anyway? What if Micah had wanted him? How could he have made that work with Mary Beth? Tell her he was gay? Jesus, the thought took his breath away.
He pulled his hands from the batter and rinsed them under the sink, then walked a couple of steps and looked out the back window. What if he told her? She’d love him still, he was sure of it. But it would change their relationship. Could he bear that? He wouldn’t tell her about the cross-dressing. He could stop that. He knew he could.
He blew out a long breath. Of course, with Micah out of the picture, why should he rock the boat by confessing?
Another tear pushed its way out. Maybe if he fessed up to being gay, he could find someone to love who loved him back. One more tear formed a little river. He sadly feared he’d already found someone he could love. The loving back was the problem.
“Quentin.”
Mary Beth’s voice came from the front. He wiped his sleeve across his wet cheeks, walked back to the counter, and dug his hands in the mixture of nuts and nut butter. “In here, dear.”
He heard her behind him. “Yes, I do agree that Samantha is doing the best job. Excellent choice, Quentin.”
“Thank you. I think so too.” He added vanilla.
“Ooh, is that a new recipe?”
He kept his face turned away from her. He always got so pink when he cried. “Sort of. I thought I’d try it and see if I can make it work.”
“What’s the flavor?”
”It will be vanilla with lime icing.”
“Oh, that sounds divine.” She stood beside him and watched as he added agave nectar. “What’s that?”
“A natural sweetener.”
“Oh.” She stayed quiet, then…. “Quentin?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Where’s the flour?”
“There is none. This cupcake is raw.”
“Raw?”
“Yes. It’s a raw-food cupcake.” He took a deep breath. Hope my face is okay. He turned toward her with sticky hands. “Remember I told you about the people who have been coming in who are trying to stay on healthy food diets and being tempted away by our cupcakes?”
She grinned. “Ah yes. The power of a Charismatic Cupcake.”
“Well, I wondered if we could make something delicious that wasn’t cooked. They could stay on their raw-food diet and still have something yummy.”
She clapped her hands. “That’s wonderful! How very California of you.”
He nodded and started fitting the mixture into the cupcake tins. “Want to help me make the icing? It includes avocado.”
“I’ll watch.”
He walked to the refrigerator and removed several avocadoes. The cool air felt good on his still-warm face.
“Quentin.”
“Hmmm?”
“Does this have something to do with your friend? The one who came to see me?”
He swallowed and carried the ingredients to the counter. “Indirectly. He pointed out the problem to me.” Okay, stay calm. “Of course, that was a source of disagreement between us, and while I might create a special raw cupcake, I’m not going to be converting entirely to vegan food. After all, how could the world survive without cream cheese?” His laugh sounded pretty phony. “I’m afraid cupcakes will never be acceptable to Micah. He’s pretty fanatical.”
“He seemed so nice.” Her voice was soft.
His throat felt like someone stuffed a whole avocado down it. “He is nice.”
“Then why can’t you be friends?”
Why was she being like this? She never pushed him. “He doesn’t want to be, dear. He pointed out how little we had in common.”
“But he came to see me.”
“He didn’t come to see you. He came to see Dharmaram.”
“But he seemed so anxious to talk to me. Not to Dharmaram.”
Enough! He turned to her. “Dharmaram is his boyfriend, Mary Beth. He’s gay. He came to see his gay boyfriend. Not you. Not me. This is not South Carolina, where gay men pretend they’re ‘just not the marrying kind.’ You have to get used to that, dear. We both have to get used to that.” Heat pressed behind his eyes. Total hell, a tear escaped, and he slapped a hand at his cheek. “Excuse me. I have to go to the men’s room.”
He hurried down the hall and slid into the small employee restroom, trying to close the door softly. He wanted to slam it. If he beat the mirror with his shoe, was there a chance anyone would believe it was an accident? He couldn’t do this. Back home, he knew what his life was about. Pretense. Here? Everyone went around being themselves so much it was frightening. Maybe he just didn’t belong here.
He stared in the mirror at his girlie face. Get it together. He wasn’t here for himself; he was here for Mary Beth. He had something to live for. Her. While she was here, this was home. He didn’t need anything else. He washed his hands and walked back into the kitchen.
Mary Beth looked up with a sweet smile. “I believe I have this frosting recipe conquered.”
Not a word about his meltdown. Oh yes, they both did South Carolina so well.
MICAH DRAGGED himself through the kitchen and covered one more pot of homemade soup to put in the refrigerator. This day was eternal and awful, but he didn’t want it to end. When it ended, he had to go home. Home. What a fucking joke. He felt like a stranger in his own house. Dharmaram had been there five days, and it felt like five years. Micah’s time without Quentin? That felt like five centuries.
“Hey. You look lower than Michael Phelps’s resting heart rate. What’s going on?” Kathy peered over his shoulder from behind.
“Yeah. I let Dharmaram move back in.” He cringed. He’d been avoiding telling her because he knew—
“You what? Jesus fucking Christ!” Yep, that’s what he knew. He sighed. She just kept yelling. “Why would you do such a dumb thing?”
“Long story.” He put another pot in the refrigerator and washed the lentils off his hands.
She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “I’ve got about three minutes until I have to meet Dorrie, so condense.”
“He’s blackmailing me.”
“What?”
“I met this guy I really like who isn’t out to his grandmother. Grandma turns out to be a student of Dharmaram’s, and through a series of unfortunate events, the asshole knows about the grandson. He threatens to tell unless I let him live with me.”
“That lower-than-dirt, genuine grade-A rat.”
“Yeah.”
“So who is this guy? Do I know him?”
“No. Quentin Darby. He owns the cupcake store everyone’s talking about.”
She laughed—hard.
Micah frowned. “What? I know it’s weird, but he’s a really nice guy.”
She shook her head and managed to stop laughing. “That explains a lot.”
“What?”
“Come with me.” She led him out of the kitchen to the serving window. “Look.”
Micah leaned out and observed the few remaining customers still on the patio under the heaters. One group of four sat at the table around the big tree, and every one of them was eating a cupcake. But they looked different. “Uh, excuse me.”
One of the guys, not a regular, looked up. “Yes?”
“Can you tell me what you’re eating?”
“Sure. It’s this really cool vanilla cupcake with lime frosting. And believe it or not, it’s completely raw.”
Micah’s mouth opened. “No shit?”
The guy laughed. “No shit.”
Kathy put a hand on his shoulder. “People have been coming in all day eating cupcakes, and a bunch of them had those raw ones. You must have had a big impact.”
Micah stepped back from the window and felt tears pushing behind his eyes.
Kathy frowned.
“Why does that upset you?”
“I gave him such a hard time about the regular cupcakes. Blamed him for leading my customers astray. Told him we had, oh shit, nothing in common.”
“So you’re trying to make it up to him by taking in Dharmaram?”
Micah shook his head. “No. I didn’t tell Quentin about the blackmail. He saw me with Dharmaram at my house. Hell, I don’t even know what he thinks. It’s got to be awful. But if I tell Quentin about Dharmaram’s blackmail, it’ll force his hand and make him come out to his grandmother. He may not be ready to.”
“Hey, buddy, he went to a lot of trouble to make those cupcakes. He must really like you even though you were an idiot to him.”
“I was, wasn’t I?”
“Yep. But I get that his coming out is a big decision. I just can’t stand to see you so low.”
“Yeah, I know. I have to do some thinking, fast.”
“So quit stalling and go think.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“Always a pleasure.”
He gathered his stuff and pedaled home. Dharmaram sat on the couch in front of the TV, drinking beer as usual. Micah ignored him, scooped up Furtwangler, and walked straight to his bedroom.
He put the cat on the bed and changed into a pair of sweats. Furtwangler watched intently. Micah sat opposite him. “Okay, buddy, wise old cat time. I’m tired. Tired of not sleeping. Tired of living with someone I don’t like. Tired of, well, to be honest, tired of not having Queen. I miss him. I don’t know if we’re meant to be a couple, but I’m sure as hell not going to find out this way. I want to protect Queen from Fuckface out there, but this doesn’t feel like the right way to go about it. What should I do?”
“Merwaor.”
“Yeah. I think so too. I’ll sleep on it, and as soon as I open my eyes, I’ll know what course of action to take, right?”
“Merwaor.”
He nodded. “Let’s turn in, watch a little TV, and wait for the final answer.”
He took off his sweats, pulled back the covers, and crawled under. He grabbed the remote for the bedroom TV and turned on a cop show. Cop shows bored him and were guaranteed to put him to sleep fast. Furtwangler padded across the comforter and snuggled against Micah’s side.