And Then There Was You

by Octavia Zane

  Theo didn’t get up. His eyes gleamed with unfallen tears and his head dropped. Then his shoulders began to shake, and Riley wrapped him up in a tight, protective hug.

  A paw extended out of the cage. It looked like a sweet gesture at first, the cat offering comfort, but instead she batted cheerfully at Theo’s hair and meowed for attention.

  Theo’s tears turned to a scolding laugh. “Target!” He squeezed her paw and Riley’s hand, the three of them making a funny picture at the cages. Then Theo pushed back the chair to stand, and Riley cupped his cheeks for a kiss.

  He wouldn’t let go. They wouldn’t let go. Family held on. He knew that much.

  A cell phone rang just as their kiss deepened.

  The timing was so exquisitely poor that it was comical. They broke apart to smile at one another. “I can get that later,” Riley offered.

  “It’s all right. Get it now,” Theo said.

  Slipping the phone from his pocket, Riley answered the unknown caller. “Hello, this is Riley Carder.”

  An old man’s quavering voice answered him. “You’re that bakery feller, aren’t you? I thought I recognized your last name from somewhere but it took me a little time to place it. I come in there every week to pick up some cookies for my wife. I live just a few blocks away. Her appetite isn’t so good these days, but she always finds room for one of your cookies.”

  Patiently, Riley said, “Yes, I’m Riley Carder of Mad Batter Bakery. Are you calling to order a pie for Thanksgiving? I can give you the bakery’s phone number-”

  The guy cut him off. “No, son, I’m not calling about a pie! I’m Pete Thornton, and I’m calling this number on the tag.”

  “The tag? What tag?”

  “The tag on the collar, of course! I heard my dogs having a good old bark at something in the backyard. Went out there and called all three of them over, and I got four running up to my deck. This one now, his tag says Sherlock. He must have jumped over my fence from the wooded area behind my house.”

  Riley’s jaw dropped. “You found our dog?”

  “A big brown feller? That’s him. He’s having a snack in the kitchen with my crew at the moment. I’m at 1220 Siever Lane. We can keep him until tomorrow if you’re too busy to pick him up today-”

  “No, no, no! We’ll get in the car and be there in an hour.” It would take an hour because Riley was going to stop off at the bakery first and scoop every last cookie into a box to take along as a gift before he swept by the house to get the kids. “Thank you so much! We’ll see you soon.”

  Theo’s smile was huge as he dropped the wedding invitation into the trashcan. “Can we drop off the cat at home so I can come along?”

  “Of course!” Riley exclaimed.

  “Then if you’ll get that cat carrier . . .”

  Riley got the carrier from the corner, Theo packed up the cat, and they left the clinic to pick up the missing member of their family.

  Epilogue

  Theo

  “Do dogs have a dog Santa?” Gigi asked on Theo’s left side. “Do cats have a cat Santa?”

  Theo gave a few more shakes of rainbow sprinkles to the top of the birthday cake. “I don’t see why they couldn’t. Maybe they do.”

  “Why wouldn’t everybody have the same Santa?” Jesse inquired from Theo’s right side.

  Gigi shrugged. “I think a cat Santa would know what a cat wants better than a people Santa. And a dog Santa, too, so we have to write Dog Santa on the tag for Sherlock’s present.”

  Jesse protested. “But we’re people and we bought the present, so-”

  “Kids!” Riley called. “Are you letting Theo do whatever it is he’s trying to do?”

  “Yes, Uncle Riley!” they chanted.

  It was Christmas Eve, carols playing from the speakers in the living room. The three of them had made the cake for Riley and Rivers. In Theo’s opinion, it looked exactly how one would expect a cake to look with a six-year old, eight-year-old, and veterinarian in charge of baking it. The bottom layer hadn’t risen evenly, and the vanilla frosting was thick in some places and thin in others. There were sprinkles all over the top and sides and counter, and dotting Gigi’s lips.

  Theo didn’t believe that the birthday boy and girl were going to care. It was a cake that they hadn’t had to bake themselves, so that made it perfect.

  As he opened the boxes of the number candles, the children cried, “I want to do it!” “No, I want to do it!”

  “Theo, you can send them out here if you need to,” Rivers called.

  “Two kids and two candles,” Theo said. “How is that going to work?”

  “We can each do one, obviously,” Jesse said. “You can be in charge of the matches.”

  Gigi pushed in the three candle at the center of the cake. Jesse nestled the two candle in beside it. After Theo lit the wicks, he picked up the cake and the three of them went into the living room singing the happy birthday song.

  Riley and Rivers were sitting on the couch, and the dog was wagging his tail under the coffee table. In the corner was the Christmas tree, lights ablaze and presents stacked underneath. Several of them had Theo’s name on the tag.

  He wasn’t curious about what was inside those gifts. It just made him happy to see his name there. After all of this time, all of the struggle, fleeing to Weathership for no rhyme or reason but chance, he felt like he was coming home at long last.

  After the cake was eaten, the kids hared off to the den with Sherlock to watch Christmas cartoon specials. Rivers sneaked away upstairs to wrap presents for the stockings. As the lights raced around the tree, Theo nestled close to Riley on the sofa. “Happy birthday.”

  Riley raised an eyebrow at him. “Do I get thirty-two kisses later?”

  “And one to grow on,” Theo promised.

  “Now there’s a reason to not mind getting older.”

  These new roots would hold. Theo felt it as strongly as he had ever felt anything. You just had to keep planting until you found the right soil, and let yourself blossom.

  Riley nuzzled his ear, his lips tickling. “Maybe we can go to the guesthouse now to get started on them.”

  Theo liked that idea. He got up and offered a hand to pull Riley to his feet. Then they slipped out together.

  THE END

  Get the latest – sign up for Octavia Zane’s newsletter!

  Contact Octavia Zane

  M/M Contemporary Romance by Octavia Zane & Reed Ranger

  Mr. Pretend

  Sugar Rush

  M/M Shifter Romance by Octavia Zane

  Love and Werewolves

  The Alpha’s Captive Omega

  Sugar Rush

  Sample Chapter

  Chapter One

  “This just isn’t working out,” Mr. Pelancor said dolefully.

  Oh, no. Although Cole’s stomach instantly seized up in knots, he kept his face expressionless. “I see.”

  Ten years down the drain. For ten years now Cole had worked at 7/20, sweating his way up from dishwasher to busboy to server. Ten years ago, his eighteen-year-old self was sitting in this same squeaky chair in the office, nervous and excited to be getting his first job. Even if that job was scraping dirty plates and mopping floors, the thought of earning a paycheck made him feel like a man.

  This restaurant beside the boardwalk had been his life since graduating from high school. He had never missed a shift. He had never been late. If someone didn’t show up to work, he could be counted on to come in without complaint. He was such a favorite among diners that they often requested a table in his section. The tips kept Cole and his grandfather afloat, which was no small accomplishment in Venice, California.

  He was being fired. It didn’t feel real.

  An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them, Mr. Pelancor staring across the desk hungrily. Wanting to provoke a greater reaction than a blank face and a cool I see. The new general manager had a pudding face and deceptively nondescript particulars, but in truth he was a twisted,
messed up dude. He took a sadist’s pleasure in abusing the shitty little measure of power he wielded over his underlings, feeding off their tears and pleading and debasement, dangling hope in their faces and then cruelly withdrawing it to prolong their torture. Cole had seen it with other firings, how this guy had the time of his life by ruining other lives.

  He should have been job-searching since Mr. Pelancor’s very first day at the restaurant. That cocky strut of his had boded ill. The guy was so laughably puffed up on his own importance that he insisted on being called Mr. Pelancor, even though he was all of twenty-five years old and had no experience in food service. Or any kind of service, for that matter. Nor was he inclined to learn, because he took it as a personal affront that the world could possibly have anything to teach him.

  Maintaining the doleful tone, the general manager took another jab. “Times are tight for everyone. You’ve been a real asset to this happy little family of ours, and maybe if things improve . . .”

  There it was, right on cue. The dangling of hope. Mr. Pelancor let the rest of the sentence go unspoken to gauge Cole’s reaction. Like a piranha below a capsizing boat, just biding his time for some tasty man-flesh to hit the water.

  The knots in Cole’s stomach tightened further, but he gave away nothing. “Mmm-hmm.”

  Disappointment flickered in Mr. Pelancor’s beady brown eyes. “But I’m sure you’ll land on your feet somewhere. This might turn out to be a great opportunity for you-”

  “Well then,” Cole interrupted. He took the envelope with his name on it from the desk. “Have someone look over the door of my locker, will you? I swear to God, I’m not going to miss that locker for a minute! The metal is bent in at the top, so it catches when you try to open it.” He smiled blandly.

  The jackass couldn’t resist yet another attempt to draw blood. “And after what happened yesterday, Cole, well . . .”

  Mr. Quillon, Cole corrected him in silent spite. What had happened yesterday was one of those thoroughly obnoxious, loathsome parties that every server dreaded, and every server had at some point. Cole took great pains to remain nothing but professional from appetizer to dessert, but the party of four complained to management afterwards. The hostess copped an attitude. The service was too slow. The food was awful. The table wobbled. The music was too loud. Their server was rude. Nobody ever refilled their water.

  None of it was true, none of it was remotely true, but Mr. Pelancor comped half of their meal anyway. Clearly, scamming for whatever they could get for free had been their aim from the beginning. And then, as they were on their way out, one of the men whispered homo to his wife with his eyes flicking meanly to Cole.

  Why, yes, he was. He hadn’t had a date in ages, let alone a boyfriend since Eddie, though. He had no idea what gave it away to these querulous, miserable people. It wasn’t like he wore a rainbow necklace to work, or had any small tells in his body language or voice. He passed. He passed so well that people were usually quite surprised to learn he was gay. Maybe it was simply because he didn’t look down the low-cut top that the man’s wife had on, and was constantly lowering further during the meal. A lucky guess.

  Folding the envelope in half, Cole tucked it into his pocket. “There were some nights,” he went on mirthfully, pretending he hadn’t heard the reference to that party, “that my locker door wouldn’t open at all! I had to get Raul’s toolbox from the supplies closet and pry at it with a screwdriver.”

  Cole laughed so hard that he startled the general manager. He wouldn’t give this weasel the satisfaction of crying or arguing. Not even a bowed head. Cole didn’t have money, but he was proud. Slapping the armrests, he said brightly, “Well, I guess this means I don’t have to come in super early tomorrow for the Derringer delivery! Only twice a year and somehow they always schedule for the days I have dentist appointments. Heaven forbid that no one answers when they knock or they just won’t come back for six months. And that would be a very bad thing, know what I mean?”

  Mr. Pelancor smiled tightly and nodded.

  Cole got up without another word, the chair squeaking beneath him for the last time, and strode out of the office. The restaurant was still pretty quiet, in the pause between the lunch crowd and the dinner crowd. A few diners were seated out on the patio, their heads turned to the boardwalk as a new hire struggled to stack their dirty plates. Cole headed down the hallway to the staff lounge, hearing a telltale clatter of utensils striking concrete.

  This is your fault. He should have known that he was next in the firing line. Mr. Pelancor had systemically replaced all of the employees with his own hires. It wasn’t about money but control. The new staff members were uniformly young and inexperienced, easily fooled by his false confidence and cowed at the thought of making him mad. They were homely, too, both the men and the women. Just as Mr. Pelancor disliked anyone with more knowledge than he had, he also appeared to bear a grudge against anyone better-looking. Which was almost everyone. He was not an attractive guy.

  Cole had fooled himself into believing he could weather it. Even after the firings began, his job search was half-assed. If he was honest, more like quarter-assed. He’d carved out a comfortable niche for himself here; he knew 7/20 as well as he knew the back of his hand. The restaurant was his second home. How long was this buffoon going to last?

  Longer than Cole, at any rate.

  He spun the dial on his padlock and tugged hard at the door. It opened without delay, like the door was just as shocked as Cole at this unexpected turn of events. He pulled out his wallet, cell phone, and keys, shoving them into the pockets of his khakis.

  Just as he slid out his padlock in order to take it, he changed his mind. Closing the hasp of the locker, he inserted the padlock, clicked it shut, and spun the dial to a random number. Mr. Pelancor could get rid of Cole, but he couldn’t erase him from 7/20 entirely.

  It was petty. It was bitchy. It was childish. And it kept him from crying until he was outside in the hot summer sun.

  Then his vision blurred, and he wiped at his eyes. His apartment was only a few blocks away, so he never bothered to waste the gas by driving. He needed to hurry home and hop on job-searching sites in earnest. There was no time to lick his wounds.

  Instead, he started for the shore.

  The boardwalk was teeming with tourists. Vendors lined the walkway, selling everything from sunglasses to paintings to temporary tattoos. Waves rolled in beyond, splaying their blue skirts upon the shore with kids in swimsuits darting away in delight. Seagulls cried and soared overhead as Cole’s shoes punched through the sand.

  He shouldn’t be trying to make it in Venice. He stayed for the sake of an old man. Grandpa had been born in Venice and wanted to die in Venice, and he was the only real family that Cole had. But it was getting more and more expensive all the time. A lot of Cole’s old high school classmates had moved to neighborhoods where it didn’t cost an arm and a leg and a firstborn child for a tiny apartment. College debt drove them farther and farther away, to the outermost reaches of the Inland Empire, some out of California altogether. At least he didn’t have college loans on top of everything else to worry about.

  His phone quacked in his pocket. It was Lake’s ringtone, which Lake had installed because he knew Cole would find it annoying but not so annoying that he would take the time to change it. Their pestering friendship dated back all the way to junior high, when Lake accidentally sat on Cole’s hot lunch tray at the first LGBT and Allies Club get-together. They were the best of friends before the chili had dried on the seat of Lake’s pants.

  They liked the same movies. They hated the same teachers. They even had the same bullies. Then again, so did half of the student body. Called The Ring of Fire, it was a snobby gang made up of the six wealthiest boys and girls in their grade. Mean as rattlesnakes, Chauncy DuMont and Esther Kalling were the king and queen of the gang. The other members included Frederica Spyler and Ellie Cantazo, two spoiled, spiteful little princesses if there ever were any. Then there
was stuck-up Geller Federre, who never shut up about his family’s famous winery on Silverado Trail and loved to point out how cheap Lake’s clothes were compared to his. Last of all was handsome but glowering Isaac Barretto. He had once knocked Cole into the lockers for no reason whatsoever.

  Their sole mission was to give everyone hell, and they succeeded gloriously at it. Lake and Cole’s mutual loathing of those six assholes and their worshipful hangers-on was a bonding force that lasted through their high school graduation.

  These days, Lake worked as an intern for a mid-level talent agency in Los Angeles. Answering the call, Cole said bluntly, “I just got fired.”

  “What?” Lake squawked in his ear.

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t drop that news on me without warning, man! What happened?”

  “Mr. Pelancor gave me the boot less than five minutes ago for bullshit reasons. Just like everyone else got fired for bullshit reasons.”

  “But you’ve been there forever!” Lake protested.

  “Yeah, and that’s why he hated me. He likes his employees young, dumb, and terrified. But I got him back on my way out.”

  “What did you do?”

  Cutting through blankets laid out on the sand, Cole said, “I warned him about tomorrow’s very important Derringer delivery. Told him that if he misses it, they won’t be back to deliver for six months. I bet you anything that right now he’s in a panic and ripping up the file cabinets to figure out what the Derringer delivery is.”

  “I don’t work in food service,” Lake said apologetically. “So I don’t know what it is either. Is it champagne or a brand of tablecloth or something?”