by Ana Ashley
4
Tiago
"Hey, gorgeous, what can I get you?"
"A glass of Apothic Red, please."
After two weeks of busy work at the center and moving to Isaac's apartment, I was in the mood to feel the warmth of the alcohol in my stomach and the relaxed feeling that came with it. The Californian wine was the perfect aid.
I looked at my phone. Fred should have arrived by now. We'd arranged to meet in one of our favorite bars, which was conveniently located only a few blocks from Isaac's, so I'd even walked here.
The waiter placed the glass of wine in front of me, giving me a long stare before he let go of the tall stem of the glass.
"You waiting for someone, gorgeous?"
If he batted his eyelashes any more they'd fall out any minute now. I was feeling flirty and wouldn't normally have minded the attention, but I was meeting Fred, and the waiter wasn't my type.
"I am, yes."
"Shame," he said as he turned back to the other side of the bar, but not without giving me a smile that told me he'd be game for some fun any time.
I took a sip of the wine, tasting the sweet fruitiness. I only drank wine when I was in the mood, and it had to be a sweet variety with good legs. This Californian wine was definitely my favorite.
Fred would no doubt tell me off for my choice of wine, since he preferred Portuguese brands, but I always found them too dry.
I took another sip and looked toward the door once again. Someone was coming in, and from the body type, it looked like it could be Fred, but as soon as the man came through the second set of doors, I realized it wasn't.
Rather than getting back to my drink and texting Fred, I kept looking at the man because my eyes refused to shift. He looked to be in his mid-forties, tall, slim, and with dark hair that turned a salt-and-pepper shade on the sides. I couldn't see his eyes from this distance, but I noticed the tension radiating from him.
He looked around like he was trying to take in his surroundings.
Most of the tables were taken up by couples, which was why I'd sat at the bar while I waited for Fred.
Usually, there were less tables to allow for a bigger, standing crowd when they played live music, but throughout the week, this was a pretty chill bar to hang out in.
I saw my phone light up from the corner of my eye, so I turned my attention from the striking stranger.
Fred: Hey T. Sorry to let you down, I'm stuck at work.
Me: You owe me one.
Fred: Maybe, maybe not ;)
My heart skipped a beat at Fred's text. Did this mean that whatever he was working on could give us some answers on my younger brother's location?
In all the years I'd been searching for him, I'd tried to not spend much time thinking about what had really happened to him. I'd decided I'd focus on finding him first and then deal with the rest later.
The only thing I knew was the reason he'd left home the day he went missing, and I'd never forgive myself for it.
I texted a smiley face back to Fred. We were always careful not to have text conversations that had any meaning in relation to how much he shared with me. After everything he'd done, the last thing I wanted was to get him in trouble.
"Hey, sweetie, can I get you anything?"
I hadn't realized the silver fox I was ogling earlier had sat down on the empty stool next to me and was now under the scrutiny of the waiter.
He looked at my glass of wine and then asked, "Is that red any good?"
When his eyes locked onto mine, I lost my breath for a second. The man wasn't just beautiful, his eyes were the most striking shade of dark blue I'd ever seen, and he had the sexiest chin dimple. My jeans felt tighter as I thought of my tongue running through that dimple.
I shook my head, trying to find words to answer his question, but he was looking at me like he recognized me, which I knew was impossible since I was pretty sure I'd recognize those eyes anywhere.
"If you like sweet with a hint of fruit, then yes, it's a great one," I said, finally finding my words.
He turned to the waiter and paused before saying, "I'll have what he's having."
I laughed at the movie line and saw a smile tease his lips, but it was the way he kept twisting the watch on his wrist that gave his nerves away.
He looked away and kept silent after that. I wanted to take in the lines of his face, the blue in his eyes, that fucking dimple, and I'd be damned if I wasn't curious about what was making him so tense when he'd walked in the bar.
Yep, there was no denying it, I was attracted to my bar neighbor, and for the first time in a while, I wanted to do something about it.
I was thinking about how to best strike a conversation with the somber man when the waiter came over with his drink.
"Is there anything else I can get you, Daddy?"
"Er what? Oh, er no, thank you. Just the wine. Thank you."
I wanted to roll my eyes at the waiter's obvious and unabashed flirting. Maybe it was just part of his act or what he thought was expected of a waiter in a gay bar. Regardless, he wasn't reading the cue that he was making the guy uncomfortable, and that got my hackles up just a little.
"Are you here on your own, or are you meeting someone, Daddy?"
What. The. Fuck.
I'd tried to keep my eyes on my drink up until then.
"He's with me," I blurted.
Both the man and the waiter looked at me, and I waited for either to challenge my obvious lie, but the waiter simply turned and went on to flirt with another customer.
My drinking neighbor looked more relaxed.
"Thanks," he said.
"I'm sorry to have stepped in, but you didn't look like you were enjoying the attention."
"Yeah, it's been a long time since someone was that forthcoming." He laughed, but then something passed over his eyes that I couldn't decipher. I almost didn't hear when he said to himself, "The last time that happened I ended up marrying the guy."
Damn it, why were the good ones always taken? Not that I knew if this guy was one of the good ones or not. There was something about him I couldn't put my finger on, but I felt this compulsion to find out.
He exuded a quiet strength with an underlying layer of vulnerability. How could I even see that when we'd barely exchanged any words?
Maybe I should've left before I did anything I would regret. I was single, but the guy was clearly not.
"He died three years ago," he said, still more to himself.
I realized then that I hadn't acknowledged anything he'd said. His dark blue eyes were fixed on mine, and I wondered if even through my glasses my eyes would give away my attraction.
"I'm sorry."
He smiled and nodded.
"This wine is really nice," he said. "I'm not really a wine person, but sometimes I'm in the mood for it, you know?"
"I'm the same."
"What do you normally drink?"
"Beer, Sagres. You?"
"Same, but the beer of choice in Porto is Super Bock. I never used to like it as much but acquired the taste for it."
"Is that where you're from?" I asked.
"Kind of. I was born there but moved to Caparica when I was a kid. I moved back to Porto in my twenties and have stayed since."
"What brings you to Lisbon?"
"Job opportunity."
"I take it if you're here drinking that you're not too sure about it?"
Talking to this gorgeous man was as easy as breathing. The wine kept coming, and I felt more relaxed than I had in goodness knows how long.
I found out about his job as an architect, and despite my mild state of drunkenness, I got the feeling that in his career, he'd mostly stayed in the shadow of his husband. I didn't get the idea that this was something that bothered him, more like it was a role he'd comfortably settled into.
He was also curious about me and my job. As it turned out, he'd helped design a youth shelter in Porto and was working toward getting vital funding from the city council
to design a center for LGBTQ victims of domestic violence.
He was talking about his designs so excitedly that he didn't notice he was leaning toward me. To be fair, neither did I until he stopped talking, his eyes moving between my eyes and my lips. I didn't think it was possible for his eyes to get any darker, but I was wrong.
It would only have taken a small move forward and my lips could've been on his and then I could've found out what I'd been dying to know all night, how soft his lips really were. My mind conjured an image of him lying on top of me, his eyes burning with pleasure, and desperate moans escaping my lips as he consumed me like the last drop of water during a drought.
The only thing that was stopping me was that we'd both drunk more than a few glasses, and something was telling me he would regret it afterward. That damned vulnerability I saw in him was still there, and I didn't want to take advantage of how easily I'd been able to read him.
As soon as I leaned away from him, his expression changed from desire to disappointment. I excused myself to go to the bathroom before I gave in to the kiss he so clearly wanted.
I sagged against the bathroom sink and looked at myself in the mirror as I washed my hands. My skin looked pale thanks to the amount of time I spent indoors. My dark-rimmed glasses did nothing to disguise the bags under my eyes, a side effect from never having enough sleep.
The bathroom door opened with enough force that the loud noise caused me to look in that direction. I didn't have enough time to react to the presence of the sexy man I'd been talking to all night before he took a few steps in my direction, put a hand on my neck, and crashed his lips into mine.
When our lips met, I jolted with the spark that went through me. He stopped for a quarter of a second before he took everything from me with that kiss. His hand tightened around my neck while the other went around my back to pull me closer. I had no choice but to let him take, borrow, steal anything he wanted from me. No, that's not correct. I had a choice, and I chose to give in. I'd never been one to submit to someone before, and I also couldn't understand how I knew this was what both he and I needed. I just did.
My hands were on the sink behind me, so I used them as leverage to grind against him. His body was a fireworks display of emotion as he pressed against me. I wanted to put my hands around him, touch him like he was touching me, but I was too afraid any sudden movement could pierce the thin bubble we were in.
"Fuck, you guys are hot together."
As soon as I heard the voice coming from the door, I knew the bubble hadn't just been pierced. It had evaporated.
My passionate and vulnerable silver fox took a few rapid steps back until he hit one of the stalls. His chest was heaving, and he was struggling to breathe. He looked from me to the guy at the door.
I thought he was going to have a panic attack, so I dared to move forward toward him.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Was all he said before he ran out of the bathroom. I wanted to go after him, but I was sure he'd left the bar, too, and my self-preservation instinct kicked in to stop me. I'd already given too much to a man I hadn't even got a name from.
5
Vítor
The guilt alone was enough to almost make me skip the visit, but I knew I'd hate myself for it afterward, so I picked up a bouquet of daisies, his favorite flowers, and went over to the cemetery.
The sunny and warm spring day helped calm my nerves. I'd be able to sit on the grass by the grave and talk to him. Some people might have found it strange to sit next to a grave and talk to someone who couldn't answer back, but I always found it strange to stare at a grave and say nothing.
Dri was my best friend, my lover, my everything. Maybe it was crazy, but I would always talk to him, and I would always know in my heart what he'd say back.
The cemetery was on a hill with beautiful views of Porto and the river Douro. The caretaker was a dedicated old man who'd worked at the cemetery since his wife had died years ago. He'd told me he'd applied for the job when he saw it advertised because he wanted to be close to her every day.
When he saw me there for the first time, he'd offered his condolences on the death of my wife. I'd clarified that I'd lost my husband, which he looked surprised about but didn't say anything. As I kept my weekly visits, I got to know Sebastião better. He became the calm presence that soothed my soul on those days when the grief was too much to take on my own.
"Hey, sweetheart," I said as I sat down and placed the flowers on the grave, "I brought you your favorite."
Everything was immaculately clean, but I still felt the compulsion to pass my hands over the stone and his engraved name, removing the invisible dirt.
I could tell that Sebastião had noticed my absence the week before because there was a single rose on the grave that matched the roses on his wife's grave.
My heart swelled at the thoughtfulness of the man who'd lived for his wife, and now that he'd outlived her, spent his days making sure no one was forgotten.
"I'm sorry I didn't come to see you last week." I felt tears burning in the back of my eyes.
If he was here, he'd have had his arms around me and asked me what was up. He'd have said that nothing could be that bad, and if it was, he'd solve it for me. My very own hero.
"I accepted the offer from Bernardo, so I'm going to be in Lisbon for a little while." I picked one of the daisies from the bunch and traced the shape of the petals with my fingers.
"I guess you already knew that, with you being up there watching over me like you promised and all."
When I'd run out of the bar that night, I'd grabbed my overnight case from the hotel, stuffed it all in the car, and driven straight back to Porto. Despite the two glasses of wine and the happy buzz in my belly, I hadn't even been tipsy. I'd been bewitched.
I'd cried all the way home, and it was a minor miracle I hadn't had an accident. The guilt was so crippling that at some point I'd had to pull up at a service station to empty the contents of my stomach.
Bernardo had left a worried message on my phone the next morning. I'd been so exhausted when I'd got home that I'd slept for a day straight. Once I'd showered and felt more human, I'd called him, apologizing for missing the meeting in the morning.
There had been no doubt I'd accept the job when Bernardo was more concerned about my wellbeing than a missed meeting.
As a married man with three children and a few young grandchildren, he'd told me worrying was part of his job description.
I didn't want to say that at nearly fifty, I was far too old to sit in the children category; I also didn't want to say how it had warmed my heart that he'd put me in there regardless.
It was this kind of family-oriented business I wanted to be part of. I didn't need to make money anymore. My career from now on was about the projects I wanted to work on and the revenue came second.
"I feel guilty for giving up my place in the partnership we worked so hard to be part of, but before your diagnosis, you talked about us opening our own office so we could pick which projects we wanted without any politics or agendas. I think this is the closest I'll get, sweetheart."
Dri would have agreed with me. We'd had many conversations over dinner about the direction of the partnership and how some of the senior partners were reluctant to change things because they liked the money coming in hard and fast, especially only a few years away from their retirement. Dri didn't think there would be anything to save from the old partnership.
"You were such a great architect. You never compromised on your vision even when we were still a little wet behind the ears." I chuckled. "And when you walked into a boardroom, fuck, it made me so hard. Every time you set your eyes on mine, I could tell you knew I was hard for you, and I knew you'd be on me as soon as we'd walk through the door at home."
We had so many great memories together, but how could I remember them without also feeling so sad and angry that he was gone and I wouldn't have that again?
"This Gypsy woman stopped me in Lisbon and told me abou
t having more than one love in our lifetime. Do you think that's true? I don't think so. You were it, Dri. You were my once in a lifetime love."
I shook my head as though I was shaking off the feelings and thoughts provoked by the woman's words. Dri would have asked me what I'd want him to do if I'd been the one dying. As much as I couldn't bear the thought of seeing him with anyone else, I'd have wanted him to have a life with a new chance at being happy.
If he was really watching out for me, he'd know what I did, but I needed to be the one to confess.
"I kissed another man, Dri. No, scrap that, I kissed a kid. Fuck, Dri, he can't even have been thirty. I feel so fucking guilty for betraying you." I was looking at the gravestone like I was looking at Dri himself, but everything was blurry from the tears.
"I went into that bar from my twenty-first birthday. I was confused and raw from being there. The kid looked so much like the guy from all those years ago, I think I kissed him to prove to myself that I could do it without consequence, like I was daring the world to tell on me again. Stupid, right? The worst thing is, I don't think it was only that. He was so beautiful and smart, and before I knew it, I'd run into the bathroom after him and kissed him senseless. I took everything I could with no mercy or permission." I didn't stop to breathe until I'd finished my confession. "Why the fuck am I even telling you this?" I choked.
Dri's voice in my head told me I couldn't betray a dead person. I knew he was right. If anything, I'd betrayed the young man by taking advantage of him.
"I love you, so much, that some days I can't even breathe because of how much I miss you. I can't stand being in the house knowing you're never going to come through the door again, and at the same time, I'm terrified of leaving because that would mean putting you behind me. I'm so scared."
I jumped when a hand touched my shoulder.
"It's only me, son." I looked up to see a concerned Sebastião.
"I didn't mean to overhear, but I was walking past to see my Margarida and saw you crying. Do you want to talk?"