by E M Lindsey
The thought of his sister—their rift, how long it had been since he’d spoken to her—it stung in that moment. She had been the apple of their mother’s eye, but he still missed her. “I do.”
“I trust my brother,” James said. “I just don’t trust that little weasel.”
“It’s a good thing you’re here, then,” Wilder pointed out.
James nodded, but he didn’t look as confident as he wanted, and Wilder felt bad. All the same, he let the conversation slip away. Silence settled, and the night calmed them both. The wine rushed through his body, leaving him comfortably buzzing and feeling like he didn’t want to be anywhere else in the universe.
The world was fucked. He knew the darkest parts of it—and he’d survived. And he was finding something a little bit close to happy.
The next morning, Wilder noticed the lights flash just a few seconds before the door opened, and Dmitri poked his head around the corner with a hesitant smile. He’d been working at Indulgence for a year—was better behind the counter than he was with the bakes, but he was trying, and Wilder loved that about him.
Dmitri had come in the day Wilder hung the help wanted sign in the window, looking for something full-time, which meant that the two part-time workers Wilder had wanted to hire would have to condense down into one. He made okay money—better in summers with the Market, but not enough to support a full staff. But Dmitri was determined, and he was full of a fire Wilder had once seen in himself.
“I think I can do this,” he said, his hands clenched. “I know what you’ve probably heard about me…”
Wilder leaned forward and winked. “Probably not much.”
Dmitri stared, then his cheeks darkened with a flush. “Oh, was that…?”
“My dad always made really terrible Deaf puns whenever he was trying to calm someone down,” Wilder told him with a wink. “I mean it, though—I don’t really do gossip here, okay?”
Dmitri nodded. “Well, if you hire me, you’ll hear about it. I was adopted, but my parents…” He shook his head. “I don’t remember when they were okay. They split up when I was two, and my dad got to keep me, but then he got all—” he waved his hand in a circle. “Messed up? My aunts tried to help him out, but he took off when they wanted him to go to rehab. I had some anger management problems when I got back to Cherry Creek.”
Wilder heard the ache in his voice—the desperation to be more than the town had painted him out to be. “How are things now?”
He shrugged, eyes darting off to the side. “They could be better. Some stuff happened with my best friend here and people kind of blamed me for it.”
“Is he the one who had the incident with Antoine?” Wilder asked—because he knew about that.
Dmitri looked down at his hands, flexing them. He looked older than his age—far older than nineteen, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. But Wilder could sense something more about him—a sort of inner light that just needed space to shine, and he wanted to force the people in Dmitri’s life to give him that.
“I’m not judging you,” Wilder said quietly.
Dmitri shrugged, still staring down at his lap, which made it hard for Wilder to understand him, so he leaned forward and strained his ears. “People think it was my influence. Owen was a good kid before he took off. But they don’t know what really happened. He was working at the paper and his boss,” he stopped abruptly, and his cheeks flushed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t…uh… This isn’t really my place to say. But he was angry, and it wasn’t his fault.”
“I understand,” Wilder told him, leaning a little closer. “Believe me.” Dmitri looked at him then, a sort of hunger in his eyes, and Wilder nodded. “From experience. I know what the trauma is like, and how it can make you feel this sort of bone-deep, visceral hatred for anyone and anything that let you down.”
Dmitri bowed his head and closed his eyes for a long moment. “I don’t mind taking the blame for what happened. The people in this town never really liked me anyway, and he deserved better.” He looked up, then let out a small laugh, and his cheeks bloomed with color. “God, sorry to dump this on you. This is like the worst interview ever.”
Wilder waved him off. “We’re good. I promise.”
Biting his lip, Dmitri shifted in his chair, then laid his hands on the desk. “My life is weird. I’m the Chinese kid of these white, addict parents and people don’t get it. They expect me to like…you know, be this stereotype. To play violin and be good at math and know Chinese. And when we moved to Albuquerque people thought it was hilarious that I grew up in this little mountain town. I never really fit in anywhere.”
“I know what that feels like too,” Wilder told him, and when Dmitri looked skeptical, he shrugged. “I was born hearing. I didn’t start going deaf until I was in my twenties, but my entire family is Deaf. Every single one of them. My mother wasn’t a good person. She spent most of my childhood making sure I never felt like I belonged, and it wasn’t until I was in college that I realized she wasn’t like most Deaf parents. By then…” Wilder shrugged, feeling the sting of old pain, “the damage was done.”
“That sucks.”
Wilder laughed. “Yeah. It did. But I found somewhere that made me feel welcome and wanted.”
“Here?” Dmitri asked him, and he looked so damn hopeful, Wilder didn’t have the heart to tell him the rest—to tell him how he’d clawed his way to some semblance of okay just to get up every morning and face the sunrise. He didn’t tell him about Scott, or the nights he spent lying in his bed with the covers wrapped around him, thinking it would be easier if he just didn’t wake up in the morning.
Because the journey to where he was now—the man sitting in his chair across from his new employee—was long. And it was damn near impossible. It was hard-fought and impossibly won, but he couldn’t promise that to Dmitri.
“I wouldn’t give up Cherry Creek for the world,” was all he could say.
But it was enough. And here they were, a year and a half later, and somehow Wilder was even more at home, and Dmitri had lost some of the heavy weight on his shoulders from where he’d been carrying his own little world.
“How was last night?” Dmitri asked as he reached for an apron. Most of the cupcakes had been baked—they just needed frosting and decoration, and Dmitri had mastered that.
He grabbed one of the icing bags and the spinning stand, pulling the tray of cinnamon chocolate ones toward him as Wilder went back to the banana creams. “It was fine. Theo tried to schmooze bottles of wine out of Sonia because James bet him he couldn’t, and then Andy disappeared after like an hour because Leonidas was hanging around the hotel that night, and I think he was horny.”
Dmitri rolled his eyes. “Wow.”
“I try not to pay close attention to what they get up to at the Lodge,” Wilder said with a half grin. He took his cupcake and gently rolled the frosting in his pile of crushed almonds that surprisingly tasted like graham cracker crumbs. “But, honestly, I didn’t feel like drinking much.”
Dmitri’s mouth moved but Wilder didn’t hear him, so he assumed it was either a groan or a sigh. “Part of me can’t wait to turn twenty-one, but it also feels so pointless. I mean what’s left for me, you know? Gambling and drinking?” He swallowed thickly and ducked his head. “I don’t ever want to be like my parents.”
Wilder set his cupcake down on the display tray and then reached for another before he caught Dmitri’s gaze. “You won’t be. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”
Dmitri shrugged. “I guess. I mean, it doesn’t matter. It’ll just be nice when people stop seeing me as some idiot kid.”
“You’re not an idiot kid,” Wilder started, but he stopped because he knew Dmitri just needed to vent. “So, did you see the new guy?” he asked quickly, changing the subject.
Dmitri laughed as he grabbed another bag of frosting. “You mean Rocco’s brother?” When Wilder nodded, Dmitri rolled his eyes and grinned. “Who hasn’t seen him. He had some diva
tantrum at the bar last night and screamed at my aunt when she brought him a salad because it had pine nuts on it. She said he wasn’t drunk or anything either—just an asshole.”
Wilder winced, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his opinion to himself. But he knew Lorenzo wasn’t going to endear himself to anyone in this town if he behaved like they owed him. “Do you know why he’s here?”
“Sonia said it’s some dumb white-boy, eat pray love shit. He’s trying to find himself. That’s what he told Raphael, anyway.”
Wilder blinked. “In Cherry Creek?”
Dmitri burst into laughter. “I guess? I mean, I don’t know what he plans to find in himself renting all of Hopewell Manor and insulting the kitchen staff at the Tavern but…whatever.”
Wilder felt a pang of sympathy for the guy, but only a little. This wasn’t the first time some lost, lonely soul wandered into Cherry Creek looking for more than it had to offer, and it never ended well. It nearly killed Antoine—and Wilder even had a small part in that when the guy nearly choked to death on a cherry from his cupcake.
And frankly it had been Antoine falling head over heels for Fitz—literally and bruisingly—that had saved him from himself. Hell, even Jonas—who had just done a commitment ceremony with Parker and Ronan had struggled with whether or not Cherry Creek needed him.
Lorenzo strolling in wanting the town to cater to him—to offer him something that wasn’t organic—was going to be a disaster. Wilder had never been the kind of man to enjoy watching train wrecks, but he was curious to see how it would go. He only hoped it wouldn’t ruin the poor man, who really did look totally lost.
Dmitri took off around noon, and the shop was dead, so Wilder took his tea outside and moved to sit on the top step when he glanced across the street and saw someone huddling on the bus bench. The man was wearing all black, with long sleeves and a familiar gauzy scarf under the June sun, and Wilder felt his heart ache a bit for him.
He didn’t like to pity people, but Lorenzo Moretti seemed to be begging for it as he sat there like a starving puppy, arms clenched tight around his middle. On a whim, Wilder turned back inside and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, then spied his spare cherry cupcake sitting out by the microwave.
He snagged it, then pushed the door open with his hip and glanced both ways across the road before crossing the asphalt, stopping a few feet from Lorenzo’s knee. The man didn’t look up, but from the way he stiffened, Wilder knew Lorenzo knew he was there.
“You look like you could use this.”
Lorenzo’s shoulders hunched, and Wilder thought maybe he heard mumbling, but he couldn’t be certain.
“I don’t mind the sulking, but I’m also hard of hearing, so if you could sulk where I can see your mouth, it would help you get your point across.”
Lorenzo’s head snapped up, and his gaze zeroed in on Wilder’s hearing aids, then on his face. ‘Sign?’ he asked with one hand.
Wilder shrugged. “If you want.” He waited until Lorenzo shifted over, then he sat, leaving a foot of space between them. “I can hear you like this, but I’m also fluent.”
“My brother thinks my ASL sucks, but I’m better at it than most of the people in my family.”
Lorenzo’s voice was lighter than he expected—a little harder to hear, but not impossible this close. It would be, some day, he knew. Voices would go the way of the birds, and of song lyrics, and people talking on TV—lost to a sort of rumbling white-noise.
“I’m used to voicing here,” Wilder said. He offered out the water, and Lorenzo took it, but he didn’t open the bottle, instead setting it between his feet. “You should drink that. The dehydration here is sneaky.”
Lorenzo sighed, but he didn’t move to obey.
“Especially if you’re hung over.”
At that, Lorenzo’s cheeks pinked. “Everyone thinks I was shit-faced last night.”
“Word has it, you yelled at the Tavern’s kitchen staff,” Wilder pointed out. “And the owner.”
Rolling his eyes, Lorenzo flopped backward on the bench. “I was confused why they’d put pine nuts on a salad without mentioning it on the menu. I’m allergic—like seriously allergic. The entire dish had to be re-made, but then I panicked because if they didn’t list the ingredients on the menu, I couldn’t be sure that they’d be careful enough.”
Wilder softened just a fraction. “You didn’t need to be a dick about it.”
“Yeah well, in case you haven’t heard, that’s apparently my thing,” Lorenzo spat. “I tried to get a sandwich at the Italian food truck, and he said they were out. Of everything.”
Wilder’s lips twitched. “Is that so?”
“Then that Rugelach place,” he started, pronouncing it entirely wrong, “said they were closed for lunch and slammed the window in my face.”
Wilder bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, because it wasn’t entirely fair. But he also understood how his little town could quickly become an army, ready to rise at the defense of anyone who posed a threat. Of course, Lorenzo didn’t seem like much of one to him. He was rich and spoiled, but he was lost and confused. He was a stray—really, and Wilder had always had a soft spot for those.
“You must be hungry.” He held out the cupcake and waited for Lorenzo to take it. When he did, he reached over and plucked the cherry from the top, then held it out. “Eat this first, though. The last time a newcomer tried to bite into my cupcake like this, he almost choked to death, and I don’t see any wayward fireman here to save you. And I cannot do Heimlich.”
Lorenzo stared at him, almost confused, then leaned forward and plucked the cherry from Wilder’s fingers. With his teeth. They were white, sharp, and polished, and they grazed his skin as they drew the bit of fruit away from his hand.
Wilder’s heart thumped wildly in his throat from how utterly and intensely unexpected it was. His gaze searched Lorenzo’s face almost desperately, but he found no mocking, and no seduction. Just something quiet and a bit off-kilter.
“It’s good,” Lorenzo said, then peeled the wrapper from the side of the cupcake.
Wilder cleared his throat. “So, what are you doing out here besides starving on a bus bench?”
Lorenzo sighed and bit into the cupcake. His eyes went wide with surprise, then he chewed a bit before swallowing. “I don’t know. Booking a plane ticket, I guess.”
Wilder spied his phone on the bench next to him, and he frowned. “Giving up that easy?”
Lorenzo scoffed. “This was a stupid idea. Me coming here,” he said, and took another bite and swallowing before he went on. “Rocco left California and he was fucking miserable. The last time I’d seen him was in a parking garage, and he looked ready to throw himself off the cliffside of our brother’s vineyard. Then he disappears for three months and comes back practically engaged to this baker from some tiny nowhere town, and the guy looks like he just spent six weeks in the presence of Jesus.”
Wilder almost choked. “Uh. That’s not what happened.”
“Oh,” Lorenzo said darkly, then picked up the water and took a long drink. “I know. My friends very much enjoyed forwarding me those videos they made. But the fact remains, this place changed him.”
“And that’s important to you?” Wilder asked gently.
Lorenzo balled up the wrapper, then shoved it into the pocket of his vest. “I fucking want that. I want…God, I want whatever this is to mean something.”
“That’s very vague,” Wilder pointed out, and Lorenzo scowled so deeply, Wilder held up his hands in surrender. “I just mean, that is not a goal. Finding something that means something sounds like words on a Dove chocolate wrapper.”
Lorenzo’s cheeks went faintly pink. “I want to be happy.”
“That’s…closer,” Wilder said, and he tried for a smile. His pity was only growing for this poor man—someone who probably had at least five years on him, but no depth at all. He had a feeling though, that all of Lorenzo’s shallow soul was entirely for lac
k of trying. “What do you want to make you happy? Good sex?”
“That’s not what Rocco and Simon have,” Lorenzo said, then flushed. “I mean…well, that’s not all they have. I didn’t ask about their sex, obviously. But you should see the way Rocco looks at him.”
“I have,” Wilder said gently. “It’s gorgeous.”
“People have that here.” Lorenzo gestured across the street to the Tavern which was quiet on that late afternoon, hours before the dinner rush. “I want to know how.”
“I don’t think it’s Cherry Creek,” Wilder said. “I mean, maybe it is, a little. But it’s also them.”
Lorenzo bit his lip, then stared down at his hands. “And that’s why I should take off. Believe me when I say I’m not the sort of person who is going to get a happy ending like that.”
The words made Wilder’s gut twist uncomfortably. He was bitter—understandably so—and he was jaded. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to trust anyone else to fall in love, but he liked to believe that most people deserved happiness. And most people deserved to be loved. “You might be too hard on yourself.”
Lorenzo scoffed quietly. “I mean, I already fucked up. I humiliated myself at the Manor and I’m pretty sure Raphael only invited me out that night so he and his friends could make fun of me…”
“That doesn’t sound like him,” Wilder said with a frown.
Lorenzo shrugged. “Why else would he?”
“Because he’s nice?” Wilder laughed when Lorenzo looked so confused by the concept. “He really is a nice guy. He probably felt sorry for you.”
“God,” Lorenzo said, dropping his face into his hands. “That’s even worse. Why can’t this be like the movies, you know? Like I rent some place in the middle of nowhere, I do some farming shit, things start to make sense. I start to make sense…”
Wilder reached out and gently touched his arm. “Life isn’t the movies.”
“I know, but…”
Wilder paused, holding back a slight laugh at the thought running through his head, and he waited for Lorenzo to look at him. “If you really want to try and find yourself on a farm, I might be able to help with that.”