Malcolm was an enigma, that was for damn sure.
They ascended again, and the next time they reached a rocky slope, Stuart paused and looked at Malcolm. “Would you rather go first so I can help spot you? Or do you want me to go so you can watch what I do?”
“You can go first.”
Having hiked the trail before, Stuart had already gotten a feel for how to navigate it and he scrambled up the face quickly. He waited at the top, watching Malcolm’s more measured ascent. Malcolm moved carefully, but he wasn’t tentative.
“Ever gone rock climbing?” Stuart asked.
“At a gym a few times. I enjoyed it.”
“Maybe we should go sometime. It would be good for another da—” Stuart cut himself off. “Day out.”
He’d nearly said date, but he was even less sure that this was one now that they were out on it.
* * * *
“Thanks.” Malcolm took a few sips of the water bottle Stuart had packed in the saddlebags before he handed it back to Stuart. “For the water and the hike. That was fun.”
Malcolm did appear to have had a good time. He seemed even more relaxed than he had before and there was a quiet contentment on his face.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Stuart guzzled water, then handed it back to Malcolm. “You finish it.” He shrugged his leather jacket back on. “You ready to head out?”
“Sure.”
“I’m pretty hungry. I know a nice place around here where we could stop if you want.”
An uneasy expression crossed Malcolm’s face. “I could eat. My budget is tight right now though.”
“My treat,” Stuart offered. When Malcolm hesitated, Stuart gave him another option. “Or, go to my place and I could throw together a simple meal.”
That seemed to relax Malcolm. “You don’t mind cooking on your day off?”
“Not if I have someone to cook for.”
* * * *
“Wow, this place is small,” Malcolm said as he stepped into Stuart’s apartment. “Like, really small. It makes Kyle’s old place look huge, and the speakeasy crew always referred to it as the shoebox.”
Stuart chuckled and shut the door behind him. “Speakeasy crew. That’s great. And yes, this place is small, but I value privacy over space.”
Malcolm let out a small sigh. “I have a roommate. My brother, Jackson.”
“Oh? What’s that like?”
He shrugged. “We get along fine. It would be nice to have more privacy, though. Jack’s girlfriend used to be over a lot, but she moved to a new apartment and now they stay there instead. It’s just weird because I’m always wondering when they’ll stop by so it’s hard to fully relax.”
“That doesn’t leave anyone with much privacy.”
“When they are there, I try to clear out periodically so they can have some time alone.”
“Are they respectful when you have dates over?” Stuart asked. He kept his tone casual as he stowed the old bike helmet in the closet by the door. He took the other from Malcolm and placed it in its usual spot on the dresser.
“Dates? Uhh, no, I’ve never brought anyone back to that apartment.” Malcolm shrugged out of his canvas jacket and handed it to Stuart without meeting his gaze.
Damn it, Stuart had hoped that would clear up a bit about Malcolm’s orientation, but no such luck. Once the jacket was out of the way, he unclipped his wallet chain from his jeans. “Come on in. Make yourself at home.”
There wasn’t room for a couch and a bed, so Stuart had gone with a bed, which, thankfully, he’d made that morning. He’d even changed the sheets, in case this had been a date and had gone well. Whatever it was, he was sure he and Malcolm weren’t going to be having sex tonight. He’d had a nice time anyway.
Malcolm took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Toilet’s that way.” Stuart pointed to a door across the room. “I’d offer to let you shower, but, as you can see, the rest of the bathroom’s here in the kitchen.”
Malcolm’s eyes widened. “I’m good.”
“Just as well.” Stuart rapped his knuckles on the wooden butcher block countertop he’d built and installed over the tub. “This functions as counter space.”
Malcolm stood and examined it. “Clever.”
“Thanks. I was pleased with the way it turned out. Rather brilliant, if I do say so myself.”
“You made it?” Now Malcolm sounded impressed.
“I did. I’m handy with wood and tools.” Shit. He hadn’t meant for that to sound like innuendo. “I mean, I grew up doing woodworking. My dad’s a carpenter and he owns his own business. I started in his workshop when I was small and even worked for him when I was old enough.”
“But you decided to become a chef?”
Stuart hesitated. That was a whole lot of history he didn’t want to delve into right now. “I’ve always loved cooking. I decided to strike out on my own and make it a career.”
Malcolm nodded but didn’t ask any further questions. Stuart liked that about him. He also liked that he felt comfortable bringing Malcolm here. He didn’t bring a lot of people over, in part because of his fear of people snooping. Stuart trusted Malcolm, however. If he went in the bathroom and shut the door, Malcolm wouldn’t poke around his dresser or pry into Stuart’s personal belongings.
Which was a good thing because if Malcolm was closeted or otherwise unsure about his sexuality, he really wasn’t going to be able to handle what Stuart had stashed in the bottom drawer of the dresser.
Stuart rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands, then opened the refrigerator door. “Okay, I don’t have a lot of food right now, but I always have eggs on hand. How does a cheese omelet sound?”
“Perfect.”
Stuart turned his attention to the ingredients in front of him. In the words of Thomas Keller—the ones he had etched into his skin—there was no such thing as perfect food. But hopefully his cooking would make Malcolm happy.
Chapter Five
Despite every effort, Malcolm had trouble keeping focused in the days following his New Jersey hike with Stuart. He stared at his computer monitors now while the words in front of him blurred and melted into swirling shades of dark and light that were both familiar and strange.
He’d traced designs like those with his gaze as he’d followed the graceful lines of black ink etched into Stuart’s olive-toned skin. A tiny smirk had crossed Stuart’s face as he’d slowly spun to show off the designs. And why not? His body made for a beautiful canvas, planes of muscle gleaming with perspiration in the sun. Malcolm remembered how good he’d smelled, too, like wood and spice and sweat, the scents rising up in a heady mix that had filled Malcolm’s senses.
Malcolm swallowed. His thoughts wandered further, recalling the heat of Stuart’s skin and the way it had made Malcolm’s fingertips tingle. The wonder that had grown inside him. The steel in Stuart’s brown eyes and how they had softened as if he’d enjoyed being the object of Malcolm’s attention. Malcolm suspected Stuart would have smiled if Malcolm had actually touched him.
You wanted to touch him.
Malcolm’s focus snapped back to reality as that errant thought rattled around his brain like a pebble in an empty soda can.
Holy shit. He had wanted to touch Stuart. To get closer to that heat and explore the contrast of soft skin and fine hair.
Malcolm’s hackles rose. He’d been struck by Stuart from their first meeting, a thing that didn’t happen to Malcolm very often. On the rare occasions it did, he usually made friends with the person and even grew close. Malcolm and Liz had started dating that way. It was how he’d become friendly with Kyle, too, and the other guys in the speakeasy crowd.
This…thing with Stuart was different, however. Malcolm knew it in his bones, even if he didn’t fully understand what it meant. The pull was there, much like the intrigue he felt for Carter, a fascination that had held steady for years.
A thick crinkling sound caught Malcolm’s attention and he stared at the white paper bag that was
set down before him.
“Beef brisket sandwich.”
Malcolm looked back up at Carter. “Say what now?”
“I brought you lunch. I had to pick up a couple of things from the café over on Tudor City Place,” Carter said, “and I grabbed a sandwich for you, too. Besides, you’ve been killing it here at work and glued to this desk all day. Someone’s got to feed and water you if you’re not going to do it yourself.”
Malcolm’s stomach growled at the luscious smell of smoked beef. Beyond his oatmeal, he’d been eating spaghetti with sliced zucchini squash and olive oil since Tuesday night and the idea of something meaty made his mouth water. He couldn’t hide his frown, however. Carter buying lunch was nothing new. He did so frequently, and Malcolm knew he expected nothing in return. Malcolm liked treating Carter back, though, and right now, he simply didn’t have room in his budget.
“Thank you,” he made himself say. “What do I owe?”
“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, I was already there, and I remembered how much you liked the brisket.” Carter’s expression shifted under Malcolm’s gaze, becoming uncertain, and a beat passed before he spoke again. “Everything all right? You look distracted.”
Malcolm almost laughed. Oh, he was distracted all right, by the situation with his mom and his dwindling bank account, not to mention thoughts about Stuart that didn’t make any sense. Feelings, too. Unfamiliar, almost scary feelings Malcolm had no idea how to interpret or talk about, even with a friend he trusted. So he forced a smile instead.
“I’m okay,” he said to Carter. “Lots going on and not enough time. The usual.”
Carter slid his hands in his pockets. “How can I help?”
Warmth filtered through Malcolm. Carter might have been the head of communications for the CEC, but he never hesitated to pitch in when needed, no matter how mundane the task. He’d always been that way, even when Malcolm had worked as Carter’s assistant back in their advertising days.
“I could use a hand cross-checking the RSVPs for the fundraiser and proofing some social media posts,” Malcolm said. “Are you up for that?”
“Of course.” The uncertainty in Carter’s face disappeared. “Link me the docs and I’ll look them over while I eat.”
Forty minutes later, Malcolm’s belly was pleasantly full and his focus somewhat better, plus he’d gotten through most of Carter’s notes on the fundraiser’s guest list. Unfortunately, any hope he had of finishing the day without drama went right out the window the moment his mom called.
“I need you to promise me not to freak out.” The odd strain in Kim’s voice had Malcolm sitting up straight in his chair.
“That is so not the right thing to lead with, Mom.” He ran a hand over his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, her reply too quick.
“Mom—”
“Okay, okay.” Kim sighed. “I fell. On the steps out back,” she added. “The boards must have been rotted inside because my foot went right through like they were made of paper.”
“Crap,” Malcolm muttered. The sun porch his family had added to the back of the Staten Island home was almost twenty years old. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…at the Emergency Department at the hospital on Seaview Road.”
“You’re what?” Malcolm could feel the gazes of his coworkers on him.
“I sprained my ankle but it’s no big deal!” Kim exclaimed. “I have a walking cast and some crutches and ibuprofen and I’m all ready to go home. I’m fine, Malcolm, and, like I said, there is absolutely no reason to freak out.”
“Yeah, I’ll be the judge of that.” Malcolm closed the documents he’d been working on and shut the laptop’s lid. “How did you get to the ED? You didn’t drive, did you?”
“Of course not. I know not to drive with an injured foot.” Kim’s haughty tone pricked Malcolm’s conscience. He drew a deep breath in through his nose, then nearly choked at his mother’s next words. “Your father drove me here, actually.”
While Kim and Stephen Elliott were on civil terms since their divorce, a veritable minefield of resentments and emotion remained between them. The tensions had worsened after Malcolm’s father had remarried and Malcolm hadn’t seen his parents together in the same room in almost two years. He counted to five in his head before he continued speaking.
“I’m sorry. Did you say Dad drove you?”
“Yes. He was out at the house when I fell and insisted on bringing me when he realized I’d been hurt.”
“I see.” Malcolm rose from his chair. “Why was Dad at your place?”
“He was in town on business and stopped by to say hi.”
“Oh. I didn’t know you guys were hanging out on the regular again.”
“We’re better at it now than we used to be.” Kim’s tone soured. “He stepped out to make a call, probably to his wife, and I figured this was as good a time as any to reach out to you and Jack.”
“Right.” Malcolm turned in the direction of the workbench where his manager had set up to work. “Have you talked to Jack?”
“No, I called you first.”
“Okay. I’ll call him, then, um, head your way.”
“You don’t have to do that—”
“Pretty sure I do,” Malcolm replied. “You live alone, and you just told me you’re in a cast. Is Dad cool to give you a ride home?”
“Of course.” Kim chuckled. “He wouldn’t leave me stranded here. Your father may be in the throes of a mid-life crisis, honey, but he’s not a bad person.”
Malcolm already knew his dad was a good person. He also believed Kim was mistaken about Stephen Elliott’s alleged mid-life crisis. If that was how she needed to rationalize the breakdown of her marriage, however, Malcolm wasn’t going to argue with her. And regardless, he smiled at the sight that met him several hours later as he parked the car he’d borrowed beside his father’s Lexus. His parents were seated in the shade of a red oak in matching lawn chairs, with Kim’s foot propped up on a third. The day had been unseasonably warm, and now, at three o’clock, both Kim and Stephen looked rosy-cheeked and relaxed.
“Well, damn. Non-profits must pay a lot better than I thought,” Stephen called after Malcolm had closed the car door behind him. He set the tall glass in his hand on the grass and stood, squinting at the gleaming black Tesla Model S. “How the hell much did that run you?”
Malcolm smiled. “This is Carter’s car.” He hefted his duffel and messenger bag higher onto his shoulder and crossed the lawn toward his parents. “He loaned it to me so I could get back and forth more easily. You know he doesn’t need to rely on any salary to get by.”
“Good point.” Stephen drew Malcolm into a hug as soon as he’d set down his things. “How long did it take you to get here?”
“Over an hour.” Malcolm shared his father’s chuckle. “I appreciated the gesture anyway.” He clapped his father’s back with one hand, then drew back to regard Kim, who was watching them with a smile of her own. “How’s the patient?”
His mom rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Mr. Worrywart. I told you, it’s only a sprain! And perfect timing, too, because your father needs to go before the traffic gets bad.”
Stephen grimaced. “I hate to leave you guys in the lurch like this. Genifer and I are having…people over for dinner tonight. I promised I’d pick up some wine on my way back.”
Malcolm nodded. He knew from his father’s split-second hesitation over the word ‘people’ that there was something he wasn’t saying. “Okay. I’ll just put my stuff inside and you can give me a rundown of what happened at the ED.”
“I’ll walk you in.” Stephen stooped to pick up his glass. “You want some more iced tea?” he asked Kim.
“No thanks.” She held up her own glass and gave her ex a crooked smile. “I’d appreciate a hand, though, because it’s high time I heeded nature’s call.”
Between Malcolm and Stephen, they helped Kim into the house and let her go when she claimed she c
ould make it around the ground floor unassisted. Though his mom seemed hale enough, she made slow progress, and worry curled in Malcolm’s gut. He turned to his father the moment she was out of sight.
“Is it really just a sprain?”
Stephen nodded. “Honestly, I’d say her pride hurts more than the ankle right now. She’s bruised from the fall and that’s no doubt slowing her down, too.” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “She’s lucky there weren’t many steps to fall through or it could have been worse.”
He gestured to a brown pill bottle on the table that sat beside several rolls of elastic bandage. “The doc at the ED said she should apply ice several times a day and keep it elevated and staying off the ankle is key. We already talked about her using the sofa bed in the living room until her follow-up appointment on Monday. Not having to go up and down stairs would be best, and a lot easier to manage.”
“Got it.” Malcolm licked his lips. “Maybe I’ll put one of the lawn chairs in the shower so she can sit if she needs to. Is that weird?”
“Not any weirder than bringing the crutches into the shower.” Stephen laughed. “If your mom plays by the rules, she should be off the crutches by the time you head back. Did you call Jack?”
Malcolm nodded. “He’ll be here Saturday—he offered to come sooner. I told him not to bother since I’d be here and I can stay through early next week. He said he’d call once he knew I’d made it out.”
A rueful expression crossed his father’s face. “Of course, your mom hasn’t been grocery shopping, so I’m afraid the fridge is barren. I noticed when I was making the iced tea.” Stephen looked around the little kitchen. “I offered to go after I’d brought her back here, but you know how she is.”
I know her a lot better than you do, Dad, Malcolm thought. Stephen didn’t know that Kim hadn’t had a full-time job in over a year, for example, or that Malcolm had enrolled her on his own health insurance because she’d been unable to buy her own after her unemployment benefits had run out. Which meant Malcolm was stuck paying for the deductible and additional costs of today’s trip to the ED and any follow-up visits, too.
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