Cinnamen

by Andi James

  “If that’s what you want to call it, by all means,” Daniel said with a shrug. “Lucky, rude... very similar words after all.”

  Was this guy trying to banter with him? Who walks into someone’s workplace, gets told to leave, but then sticks around and keeps talking? Oliver had had enough. He pointedly looked from Daniel to the door and back again, hoping the man would finally take the hint and go.

  He watched as a slow smile spread across Daniel’s mouth, which perplexed him even more. What was there for him to be smiling about? And why did it have to light up his entire face like that?

  Without a word, Daniel backed up from the counter, staring at Oliver the whole time, then casually strolled across the room and into the kitchen.

  Oliver followed him without a second’s thought.

  “Excuse me,” he said as he tried not to stare at the ass — both the man and his butt — walking in front of him. “You’re not allowed back here.”

  Daniel stopped in the middle of the room. “Whoa. I’ve never seen the kitchen look like this before.”

  Oliver watched as the man looked around with wide eyes. He couldn’t help but feel like he was being judged, and he didn’t like it one bit. Despite how it appeared, the one place he knew how to handle himself was in a kitchen.

  “Ollie, what did you do in here anyway? Seriously, help me understand.”

  He wanted to cringe at the nickname. He was not a nickname type of guy. “My name is Oliver. Not Ollie.”

  Daniel glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, so now names matter. Mmhmm. I see.”

  For fuck’s sake. Oliver refused to respond to that taunt.

  He was running out of polite ways to get this man out of his space, and was about to resort to threats of trespassing and phone calls to the police when he saw Daniel go over to a closet and come back out with a broom.

  Nope. Huh uh. No way.

  Oliver strode over to the man and snatched the broom out of his hands. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  Daniel held his hands up. “Relax. I was just going to help clean up. I mean, look at this place.”

  Relax? How could he possibly do that under these circumstances? He was stuck in a town he hated, full of people he didn’t want to see, in a kitchen that had him questioning his abilities, oh and his mom had been hit by a car. Now an irritating, gorgeous stranger had caught him in what was not one of his finer moments, and he’d reached his limit.

  He gritted his teeth and inhaled and exhaled slowly through his nose. “You have a lot of nerve to walk in here like this is your place and assume I need your help. I don’t. I would like for you to leave. Now.”

  “But your mom—”

  “Is not here, and won’t be for a while.” Oliver was going to have to question his mom about her decision to send this guy here. “I don’t care what it looks like in here or what you think about it. I have it under control. My mom should know that, but feel free to remind her.”

  He stared Daniel down and watched as the man’s shoulders sagged. He was perfectly content to ignore how that sight made him feel a tinge of guilt.

  “Well, can’t say I didn’t try,” Daniel said, almost like he was talking to himself. “Fine, I’ll leave you to it. Good luck. I’m sorry about what happened to your mom.”

  After a moment, Daniel nodded at him, then turned and left.

  Of course he had to go and be nice, even after being told off. Oliver couldn’t understand what had just happened, no matter which way he examined the situation.

  He waited until he heard the door close, then let out a sigh of relief. Finally he could get back to work. May as well start with the broom that was still in his hand.

  Hours and multiple batches of correctly-made cinnamon roll dough later, Oliver called it a night. He hung his chef’s jacket on the back of the office door and went into the small employees-only bathroom next to it to clean up as best he could.

  He’d had a lot of time to think while he’d been working, and all it had done was serve to agitate him more. Stress, he was used to. He dealt with it every night at work. It was feeling out of place that was kicking his ass right now. Between being back in town and trying to settle in at the bakery, he couldn’t shake off old insecurities, and he didn’t like how it was fucking with his head.

  He also couldn’t stop replaying his run-in with Daniel. At the time, he’d felt like his reactions had been perfectly reasonable, but a part of him he thoroughly wanted to smack kept insisting he’d been an ass. Not that there was anything he could do about it now, except wonder if he was going to get a lecture from his mom.

  Even though he was ready to collapse onto his old bed at the house he grew up in, he’d decided a drink was in order. He wanted to shake this day off, not bring it home with him so it could dominate his thoughts there too. It would be easy enough to leave his car parked around back and take an Uber home.

  Oliver had vaguely recalled his mom mentioning some gay club called Cinnamen next door to the bakery, and figured he could stop in there. Now that he thought about it, she might have even suggested it as a place he could go when he came to town. Truth be told, he hadn’t paid much attention to what she’d said. Whenever she talked about something going on in Easton, he tended to tune it out.

  He splashed water over his face and hair, checking the mirror closely to make sure he’d removed all the remnants of a day spent baking. His stubble was a little longer than he’d normally like, but he’d live. With a sigh, he looked down at his T-shirt and jeans. They appeared mostly clean and would have to do, assuming the club didn’t have a dress code. He made one last attempt to style his hair with his fingers, then gave up and headed out.

  Oliver could feel the bass coming from the club before he even opened the door, and it nearly blasted him when he did. He nodded at the bouncer and paid the cover, making his way farther inside. The size of the crowd surprised him, but maybe it shouldn’t have. He doubted there were a lot of other places in this city that catered to gay men. Not that he had any interest in picking anyone up.

  He ventured over to the large bar that took up nearly an entire wall, backlights showing off bottles of upscale liquor and a long row of taps indicating a large selection of beers. All of it sounded good to him, and he squeezed into an open spot between two stools to flag down a bartender.

  After a couple minutes, a man sporting long, black hair that went past his shoulders and wearing a shirt cut off above his nipples finally came over. Oliver had no idea how the scrap of fabric was supporting the weight of the name tag that said “Mateo.”

  “What can I get you?”

  “Double Tito’s and soda water with a lime, please.”

  The man looked him up and down with a smirk on his face as he reached for a glass.

  “What?” He couldn’t help but get defensive, wondering if he still had something on his face.

  “Nothing, hun. Just haven’t seen you here before. I’m sure I would have remembered. New in town?”

  What was with everyone trying to talk to him today? All he wanted was a drink, not to chat up the bartender, even if he was stunning.

  “Uh, sure, something like that.” As if he’d move here voluntarily. No thank you.

  He watched as the man poured a generous serving of vodka over ice and topped it with soda water. As soon as he set it in front of him, Oliver picked it up and downed almost half the refreshing drink.

  “Rough day, huh?”

  It took him a second to realize the bartender was still talking to him.

  “Yeah, I guess.” He wanted to shut this conversation down and find a spot where he wouldn’t be bothered. He tossed a twenty on the bar. “Keep the change,” he said, turning to leave before the bartender could ask any more generic questions.

  As he started walking toward a miraculously empty high-top table, he heard the bartender yell after him, “I do hope you’ll be around here often.”

  I don’t, he thought, rolling his eyes.
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  He parked his tired body on the lone bar stool at the table and tried to unwind. Club music wasn’t his favorite, but something about the beat coursing through him was helping to relax his muscles. He looked around, taking in all the men dancing or simply hanging out talking, and he realized this club wouldn’t be out of place in a much bigger city.

  Then his eyes landed on something that almost made him spill his drink.

  On a raised platform, not twenty feet away from him, was Daniel.

  Oliver’s jaw dropped as he took in the sight. There was the very man responsible for a good chunk of his earlier stress, wearing nothing but a harness, armbands, and white shorts so tiny Oliver had no idea how Daniel wasn’t spilling out of them. He was moving in perfect time to the music, working a body that Oliver could drool over if he let himself. Long, muscular legs were on full display, and that chest...

  He watched as Daniel’s abs rippled and hips gyrated before he crouched down so someone could stuff money under his harness. Daniel laughed at something the man said, then turned around and slowly straightened his legs, showing off his ass in a way that made Oliver unconsciously lean forward to get a better view.

  Of all the things he thought he might see tonight, a nearly naked Daniel wasn’t one of them. And he was fully unprepared for the way his own body was responding to the sight.

  Chapter Three

  Daniel

  “When I figure out which one of you is stealing all of my fucking glitter, I will end you.”

  Daniel looked up from his duffel bag to see a very small, very angry man waving around an almost empty pot of shimmering purple sparkles. Owen’s delicate features were still breathtaking, even as his mouth became only a thin line and his brows furrowed over stormy eyes.

  Laughter and a loud voice came from the other side of the room. “Reality check, Peanut. You can’t cover yourself in that stuff four nights a week and then wonder why you’re always running out.”

  More laughter, and the small man’s face and chest reddened. To the average person, it would look like Owen was blushing, but Daniel knew the quickly spreading color was due to fury, not embarrassment.

  “Fuck you, Lucas,” the smaller man spat out. “And stop calling me Peanut.”

  Lucas doubled over in laughter, and Daniel could tell Owen was clenching his teeth and his fists. The man’s quick temper overshadowed his small stature.

  Daniel tried to catch Lucas’s eye to give him a warning look. Owen was slight but had a strength that belied his size. Lucas’s eyes were closed, though, as he wiped away errant tears escaping them.

  Daniel casually put his bag on the floor of the dressing room and took the smallest of steps forward, standing just slightly on the balls of his feet. He hoped Lucas would have enough sense to let this go.

  Lucas’s voice, still laced with laughter, called out, “No one is swiping your stuff, Small Fry. Maybe you should buy your sparkling Daddy-bait in bulk. Gallon-sized containers of glitter, like you buy your lube.”

  So much for good sense.

  Owen’s flared nostrils were the only sign he was about to attack. The small man took flight as he hurled himself across the room toward his taunter.

  Like a flash, Daniel rushed forward and caught Owen with one outstretched arm. Owen struggled to free himself, and Daniel had to use his other arm to hold the surprisingly strong man.

  Lucas’s eyes widened and he took two large steps backwards. “Dude,” he said, raising his hands palms out. “I’m sorry. I was just messin’ around.”

  Owen stopped trying to get out of Daniel’s grasp, but the heat of his glare could have melted steel. Through clenched teeth he ground out, “Let me go, Daniel.”

  The other two men who were quietly getting changed in the corner slipped silently from the room.

  Daniel loosened his arms but didn’t let go completely. “Can you do me a favor and promise not to murder him? These are my favorite jeans and bloodstains are the worst.”

  Owen usually appreciated Daniel’s easygoing humor, but he didn’t crack a smile.

  Daniel sighed and released Owen, who shot one more withering glare at Lucas before stomping to the other end of the room. Daniel wondered if his disappointment showed on his face. “Why do you have to rile him up like that?” He looked pointedly at Lucas, who didn’t quite meet Daniel’s gaze.

  “I dunno, man. He’s just wound so tight all the time. I’m just trying to make him smile.”

  Daniel scoffed. “I think I know what you’re trying to do, but trust me friend, you’re going about it the wrong way.” He cast a quick look at Owen, who was frowning into a mirror as he tried to tame his wild white-blond hair. “And, I have to be honest. I’m pretty sure you’re not his type.”

  Now it was Lucas’s turn to frown before he made a quick and quiet departure.

  Daniel turned and walked over to Owen, his long legs eating up the distance in a few strides. “Hey,” he said, stopping beside Owen, looking into the mirror at the other man. “You okay?”

  Owen’s features twisted into a snarl, but even that was beautiful. “What do you think?”

  Daniel exhaled loudly. “Well, I think Lucas is kind of a douchebag.”

  Owen’s eyes stayed on his own reflection as he worked on his hair. “Yeah. Duh.”

  Daniel’s mouth curled into a grin. “Did you just say ‘duh’?” He was about to tease Owen about updating his vocabulary to slang popular in this millennium, but a quick glance at his face made him rethink his choice of words.

  He decided to try another tactic. “Why do you let him get to you? You know he only says stuff like that to make you mad.”

  Owen glanced at Daniel’s face in the mirror. “Why does he get to be the asshole and I have to ‘deal with it’ instead of someone holding him responsible for his actions?”

  “Fair point. Lucas was wrong to tease you, but you beating the crap out of him — and probably losing your job — would have served what purpose?”

  Owen looked down and sighed. “I know.” He covered his eyes with one of his hands. “You’re right. Thank you for stopping that.”

  “Welcome. I knew the instant I was going to have to step in.”

  Owen frowned. “Oh yeah? Was it Peanut?”

  Daniel shook his head. “Small Fry.”

  Owen grimaced and Daniel wished he hadn’t said anything. He knew how sensitive Owen was about his looks.

  Owen looked at Daniel in the mirror, eyes roaming over Daniel’s light stubble, tall build, and the T-shirt pulled tight against his shoulders and biceps. “It’s not fair,” he grumbled. “Why can’t I look like you?”

  Daniel chuckled and ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. “I’m not sure the world could handle two Daniel Dawsons. And anyway, you know you’re gorgeous.”

  Owen sighed. “I’m sweet. Cute. Adorable.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I’m twenty-six and look like I’m sixteen!”

  “Oh, come on, Owe. No, you don’t.”

  “I do!” Owen’s voice got louder and a little higher. “The last guy I tried to hit on asked me if I was in the same grade as his son.”

  Daniel flinched. “Yikes.”

  “Yeah. Yikes. I can’t even grow a fucking beard! It comes in all patchy and gross.” Owen looked back at his reflection and pointed to his face. “This combined with this,” he gestured to his slight body, “immediately makes people think I’m a naïve, angelic cherub just looking for someone to fuck me.”

  Daniel almost choked. “Yeah, an angel who will kick someone’s ass.” He sighed. “I know it’s not right or fair, but you’re going to be a happier person if you can just ignore Lucas and people like him.” Daniel lowered his voice. “You can’t fight everyone.”

  Owen looked over at Daniel, a tiny smile finding its way to his perfect lips. “Why not?”

  Daniel laughed. “Because I’m a poor grad student who can’t afford to bail you out of jail?”

  Owen’s smile
grew into something warm and dazzling. “Why is it impossible for me to stay mad after talking with you for like five minutes?”

  Daniel looked at the ceiling and pondered the question. He looked quickly back at Owen and snapped his fingers, as if just remembering the answer. “Oh! That’s right. Because I’m awesome.”

  Owen laughed his twinkling laugh before quickly sobering. “Hey, how’s Patty doing?”

  Daniel smiled. “She’s doing really well, Owe.” It had been a few days since Daniel had gone to visit her in the hospital, but they texted several times a day. She assured him she was feeling stronger and would be going home soon, but Daniel could tell she was bored. Patty had started to send him what she called “Dick Pics,” which were photos she found on the internet of handsome men named Richard. Intentional or not, it was absolutely hilarious.

  He wondered how she could be bored with her son visiting her but remembered Oliver was in charge of the bakery now, and probably wouldn’t be able to spend long visits with Patty when there were biscotti to be made. Daniel couldn’t help smiling as he thought about the prickly man. He’d run into Oliver twice — each time he acted as though he couldn’t wait for Daniel to leave, which Daniel found intriguing.

  Patty had requested he check in on Oliver from time to time. Daniel had to admit he was curious about him. How had Patty, the kindest, funniest, lovingest person he knew, raised a boy who had grown into such an angry man? And, why did Daniel feel pulled to Oliver when experience told him that each time he encountered him he’d be berated or insulted or both? Daniel wasn’t a masochist, everyone has their own kinks, that just wasn’t one of Daniel’s. So why did the idea of staying away from Oliver give Daniel a twinge of sadness?

  Owen looked relieved. “That’s great, man. I’m so happy to hear that. Does she have Emily running the bakery? I saw lights on down there yesterday.”

  Daniel cleared his throat. “Actually, her son came in from New York to take over running Cakes until Patty is better.”

  Owen’s right eyebrow nearly escaped his face. “No shit? Oliver’s coming back to Easton?”