Michael got in and locked the doors. “You missing your daddy too, honey?” He gave David a lopsided grin.
“Oh, shut up,” David huffed as he pulled on his seat belt. It was dark in the car, but Michael would bet he was blushing. It didn’t take much to make David blush.
Michael drove carefully through the neighborhood streets. It hadn’t snowed in the last week, but it was brutally cold and the streets were icy and treacherous, even with studded tires on his car. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when they merged onto a cleared main thoroughfare.
“So, why Lyra?” David asked. “Wasn’t it hard to get a reservation for tonight?”
“They had a cancellation. And you’ve talked about trying it for months. I can’t be the boyfriend. I don’t have the shoulders. But I can at least take you someplace nice.”
David reached over and patted Michael’s thigh. “Thank you. You can be very sweet when you want to be.”
Michael gave him a quick, dour look. “If you say that ever again, I will rip out your tongue.”
David’s teeth flashed in the dim lights from the dash. “Okay, tough guy. I’ll keep it to myself.”
The parking lot attached to Lyra was packed, so Michael found a place along the curb several blocks down. They walked shoulder to shoulder, passing a wine bar and a florist still open and doing a bustling business. Michael refrained from making a snarky comment on the hearts and flowers that seemed to be everywhere.
“You know, I was sort of surprised,” David began, staring at the huge bouquet of roses a man carried out of the florist shop.
“You’re surprised—by what?” David pressed his lips together. Intrigued, Michael elbowed him gently. “Talk to me.”
David sighed, pushing at his pale bangs when the icy breeze stirred them. “I was sort of surprised Jackson didn’t do anything,” he admitted.
“Wait.” Michael caught his arm above the elbow. David looked over at him. “No card, no candy, nothing?”
David shook his head miserably. “He’s not really demonstrative that way,” he said quickly, as if fearing he’d been overly critical of the man he loved. “I mean, this is the guy who fixed my garage door opener when the window was smashed on my car, so I could park in a secure place. He’s more likely to do something around the house. And he does send the ginger every Monday, so I really don’t have any reason to complain.”
“Uh-huh.” Michael shook his head as they resumed their walk down the sidewalk. “And it’s your first Valentine’s Day, and he’s out of town. I think I’m going to have to have a chat with Mr. Henry, remind him of the finer arts of dating.”
“Oh, please don’t.” David sounded alarmed. “He already does so much. I don’t want him to feel bad. And honestly, I get the feeling Valentine’s Day just might not be his thing. He didn’t mention it at all, and….”
“Relax, David.” Michael gave him a wry look. “I can certainly relate to Valentine’s Day not being a person’s ‘thing.’ I won’t say anything to him,” he added near David’s ear. “This time. He misses your birthday and all bets are off.”
David caught his hand and squeezed it. “He wouldn’t.”
“Uh-huh.” Michael looked around curiously.
Lyra didn’t look like a restaurant from the street. It was located in an old, square brownstone that opened directly onto the sidewalk, and the exterior kept a low profile, with a few minor decorative elements near the second-story roofline.
When the buildings had been constructed on the busy street near the turn of the nineteenth century, businesses operated on the main floor, with residential apartments above. A simple sign swung in the light breeze above the door to Lyra, the name written in gold. Window boxes hung at each window down the length of the building. In spring they would no doubt be lovely but were now full of dead plant tendrils and a dusting of snow.
Michael opened the door for David, and once they were inside, he took in the mismatched antique furniture and the stained glass above the bar, the candles on the tables and the rosebuds in vases. Someone very skilled had put together an eclectic, unique interior, and Michael realized why the first word everyone used was charming. It was. There was also the mouthwatering scent of something delicious in the air. Several people milled around the small entryway, and Michael gestured toward the hostess stand with a jerk of his chin. David nodded, leaning against the wall by the door.
Michael approached the hostess, glancing back to make sure David hadn’t followed him.
“My name is Michael Crane,” he said, his voice low. “I believe there’s a reservation?”
She searched the book in front of her, then gave him a bright smile. “Oh yes.” She looked at David, her smile ripening. “If you’ll follow me?”
Michael turned to David, gesturing him forward through the crowd. David made slow progress, apologizing to everyone he nudged aside.
“Today, Snyder.” Michael rolled his eyes.
“I’m coming.”
“So’s Christmas. Lord, you don’t need to apologize to them all.”
“It makes me a nice person.” David huffed when he reached his side. “Something you could use a little work on.”
“I don’t need to be nice.” Michael gave him a wry look, and they followed the young woman through the main dining room into another, smaller room behind it. There were only five tables, but there was also a gas fireplace with an ornate mantel, and a crystal chandelier hanging from an ornamental medallion in the ceiling. The only Valentine’s decorations were the rosebuds in the small vases, which Michael appreciated. Candles flickered on the tables, and the flames were reflected in the large windows. The hostess showed them to a table just to the left of the fireplace, and Michael slipped out of his jacket and hung it on his chair before he sat down.
“This is beautiful.” David looked around with an expert’s eye. He was the most gifted interior designer Michael had ever met; he would know.
“Thank you,” the girl replied, handing them menus. “The owner will be glad to know you like it. Your wine list is on the table, and your server should be with you shortly.”
David slipped out of his coat, sitting as Michael scooped up the wine list. He wasn’t going to order any—he knew what was on the evening’s agenda—but it couldn’t hurt to look.
“This was really nice of you, Michael,” David said.
Michael glanced up from the wine list. “I wasn’t looking forward to spending the evening by myself any more than you were. And they have a really fine wine list.”
“Oh? Can I see?”
Michael handed him the leather-covered folder and watched as his friend studied the list. David knew far more about wine than Michael did, and he made an appreciative noise as he read. The restaurant featured all Washington State wines, many of them on the Seattle Times food critics’ list.
“I’ve heard the Wild Goose Riesling is really good.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“They have microbrews.” David turned a page. “I know you like the Firebox IPA.”
“That’s true, I do.”
“I think that sounds good too.” David set the folder back on the table, glancing around. “As soon as I can catch the eye of a server, I’ll order us each one. Where are they?” A line formed between his brows.
“It’s busy tonight.” Michael leaned back in his chair. “They’ll get to us.”
David’s lips twisted. “I hope they didn’t put us back here and forget about us.”
“I’m sure they won’t.” Michael fought a smile. David’s irritation was starting to amuse him, and he didn’t know how much longer David would buy into his calm demeanor; usually slow service was Michael’s pet peeve.
Two very nicely dressed women were shown into the room by the hostess, and even though he was expecting them, it took Michael a moment to recognize them. Beverley had chosen a lovely green-and-gold dress with a dark blue coat, and Shirley was wearing her hair in a new style since he’d see
n her last. Michael bit back a smile at the look on David’s face.
“Mom?”
Beverley turned and looked at him, and Michael thought he’d have to compliment her on her acting chops later. She looked genuinely surprised.
“Why, David.” She paused to hug him. “What are you doing here?”
David gestured toward Michael. “Michael knew Jackson was out of town, and so he invited me out.”
“Well, aren’t you a sweet thing!” Beverley held her arms out to Michael, and he walked into them, hugging her.
“Well done, Mom,” he whispered, and she leaned back and looked up at him, an impish twinkle in her eye.
David was hugging Shirley. “I feel so bad about this,” she was saying. “It’s my fault that he had to go over to Seattle.”
“No, it wasn’t.” David shook his head, smoothing his hand down her arm. “It’s just something that needed to be done. I don’t want you to worry about it.”
“Well, it’s nice your friend wasn’t already busy.” Shirley gave Michael a sweet smile.
“Oh, that’s me.” Michael couldn’t help a smidge of sarcasm. “The friend who isn’t busy on Valentine’s Day.”
Beverley gave him a mildly scolding look.
“What are you doing here?” David looked between Shirley and his mother.
“We have tickets for Wicked, remember? We thought we’d get a bite to eat first instead of waiting until almost midnight.” Beverley gave her son a bright smile. “You know every restaurant in this town closes down at ten.”
“Would you like to join us?” David glanced at their two-person table. “I’m sure we could get a larger table.”
But all the tables in the room were two-seaters. He turned to the hostess.
“We could probably set something up for you,” she said regretfully, playing her part as well. “But it would have to be out in the main dining room, and you’d have to wait. This room is usually reserved for couples, particularly today.”
“Sweetheart, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. We’ll just sit over here and throw olives at you.” Beverley winked at him.
David gave her a wry look, but a laugh lingered on his lips. The hostess seated the ladies on the other side of the fireplace, and Michael caught her before she could leave the room.
“We haven’t even seen a server yet.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. If you’d like something to drink I can get it for you, and I’ll send your waiter right back.”
“Thank you,” David said. “We’d like two Fireboxes, please.”
She smiled at him. “Coming right up.”
“Finally,” he muttered when she’d walked away. “The food may be great here, but the service leaves something to be desired.”
“It’s Valentine’s Day, David. Cut them a break.”
David arched a brow. “This from you? The original cranky customer?”
Even Michael thought he was probably laying his relaxed attitude on a little thick. He was grateful when the waiter arrived.
He was a very nice-looking young guy, but instead of two tall glasses of pale beer, he was carrying a tray holding a bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket and two crystal champagne flutes. He set it on the table and turned to go.
“No, wait.” David was clearly flustered. “We didn’t order this.”
“No?” The waiter looked at his ticket. “This says it’s for table 27, and this is table 27….” He frowned, looking charmingly confused. He wasn’t Michael’s type, with his reddish hair and freckles, but he was very cute. “Let me go see if I can sort this out.”
David huffed in aggravation. “Oh, for God’s sakes. We aren’t paying for a bottle of champagne. We should just go somewhere else.”
“This is getting pretty ridiculous,” Michael agreed. “But about the only place we could get into at this point would be McDonald’s. You might as well relax, David. It’s this, or PB and J at your place.”
David sighed, sitting back in his chair. “I can’t believe the reviews this place has gotten.”
Michael shrugged.
The hostess appeared again, and this time she had three men with her. Michael stiffened slightly at the sight of them, even though he’d known exactly who’d be coming tonight.
When David spotted them, he sat bolt upright, his mouth slightly open. “Wait….” His eyes narrowed. “What—?”
“Well, look who we have here!” Gilbert Chandler, all six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, head-shaved inches of him, came through the door first. He smiled, and a dimple popped beside a mouth full of straight white teeth. He came to their table, reached out, and patted David on his shoulder. Michael was glad he was sitting down, because much to his chagrin, the damned man made his cock twitch and his knees weak.
David was frowning at Gil; he hadn’t seen Vernon Dwyer and Emanuel Martinez yet. Vernon, with his shoulder-length silvery gray hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, wore perfectly pressed Levi’s and a sports coat. Breathtakingly beautiful Manny Martinez followed Vernon, his head ducked, a shy smile on his face. His dark curls gleamed in the soft light, his slender but strong physique set off perfectly in tailored slacks and a short black suede jacket. The scar that bisected his brow and followed the line of his cheekbone wasn’t as angry as it had been, growing less noticeable on his handsome face.
“Hi.” David looked from Gil, Vernon, and Manny, three of the men he and Jackson had begun their business with, to the two ladies across the room, a frown of confusion deepening. He finally whipped his head around and glared at Michael.
“Michael. What’s going on?”
“Yeah, Michael.” Gil arched a thick brown brow at him, the smartass smile firmly in place. Michael wanted to kick him. “What is going on?”
“Oh, stuff it, you—” Michael bit back “asshole” in deference to the moms seated nearby.
“I don’t understand.” David looked from his friends to his mother and back again. “Why are you all here?”
“Dinner,” Vernon said dryly. “You know, food? They do serve that here, right?”
“Be nice, you old cow,” Gil scolded. “Restaurant manners, remember?”
Vern curled his lip. “Bite me, Gilbert.”
“I’m so confused.” David looked back to Michael, who shrugged.
Fortunately, David didn’t have to be confused for long.
The hostess made a swift exit just as a waiter came through the door holding the most ridiculous, obscenely large arrangement of flowers Michael had ever seen. It was made up of roses, lilies, and red ginger blooms, and was so huge it obscured the man from the waist up. “Delivery for David Snyder?” The voice was intentionally lowered, and Michael saw Gil hide a smile behind his hand.
“What? That’s… me.” David frowned, still trying to figure out what was going on.
“It’s a good thing he’s pretty,” Vern grumbled.
“Vernon.” Gil shot him a look. “Knock it off. This is important.”
Gil, Vern, and Manny stepped out of the way to let the man set the flower arrangement on the table between Michael and David. Michael had to pull back or get batted in the face by a huge lily, and he pushed the offending flowers to the back of the table.
David jolted, nearly knocking the arrangement over when his lover was revealed from behind the colorful cover.
“Jackson?” David seemed to finally realize that the inner circle of people he cared about was gathered in the room, it wasn’t an accident, and he didn’t know why. “This is making me nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous.” Jackson caught one of David’s hands. He was wearing unrelieved black from head to toe, just like the other waiters. Black shoes, black slacks, black shirt. On some men it didn’t work at all, but on Jackson Henry? Michael couldn’t think of a thing that wouldn’t look good on Jackson Henry. His hair was tousled, he needed a shave, and he looked perfect. His free hand went into the pocket of his slacks. “I tried to figure out a way—” He pulled out the gray velvet box.
“—to do this without it being cheesy.”
“Missed that off-ramp, boy,” Vern grumbled. This time it was Manny who shushed him.
Jackson held David’s gaze, speaking just to him. “I thought of taking you out to our spot by the river and doing this there, just you and me. Then I realized that while I might prefer that, you wouldn’t. And this is never going to be about just me, babe. Not ever again.”
Jackson knelt gracefully on the hardwood floor. One of the moms gasped and the other sniffled, but Michael couldn’t have looked away from the couple across from him if he tried. His hand lifted reflexively to press over his heart as he watched. Jackson fumbled for a moment with the jeweler’s box, then opened the lid, and Michael studied David’s face when he saw the rings. His expressive eyes widened, then filled with tears as Jackson took out one of the artfully etched bands.
Jackson gave David an almost shy smile. “I love you, David. And I don’t want to go through life without you. Will you go through it with me? Will you marry me?”
The little group of friends and family held its collective breath. In fact, even though the noise of the outer restaurant filtered through the door, the room seemed as if it was in a bubble, holding the world at bay while they all waited for David’s response.
David had covered his mouth while Jackson proposed. Tears that had welled now traced down his cheeks, and when he moved his hand, his lower lip trembled. Finally, he nodded and solemnly helped Jackson slide the ring on. Then he curled his hand around Jackson’s neck.
“Yes,” David managed, finally moving. He slid to his knees in front of Jackson and threw his arms around his neck. “Yes. Oh my God, yes.”
There was cheering and bubbling talk and laughter. Some waitstaff and a few customers had crowded into the doorway and joined in with applause, smiling. Jackson wrapped his arms around David’s slender frame and hugged him, then leaned back enough to smile into his fiancé’s eyes, wiping at his tears with his thumbs.
Michael couldn’t look away from David’s face, from the awe in his expression. They’d all been raised with the idea that marriage was not an option, not for them. That the best they’d ever be able to do was find someone they loved and call that person partner, lover. Michael had never imagined seeing a man propose to another man in person, and yet here it was. He was unable to stop tears or prevent them from slipping down his face.
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