by Alexa Land
“Then there’s me. I woke up this morning and looked in the bathroom mirror, and the same old River was staring back at me. I got to thinking about how much everyone else has to show for the last three years, but the only difference in my life is that I’m closer to thirty now than twenty. So, I decided to make some changes. I went out and got a haircut and bought some new clothes, but you know what? It didn’t do a thing. Not really. I still feel frozen in place, like a caveman in a block of ice, but at least now I don’t have his hairstyle.”
I turned to head back to the kitchen and found myself face-to-face with my ex-boyfriend Cole. We had a lot of the same friends, so we ran into each other all the time. That pretty much sucked, because it hurt every time I saw him. Wasn’t that ever going to go away?
Oh lord, and he looked good, too. He was wearing dark jeans, along with an indigo blue knit shirt that hugged his lean, toned body. Its wide neckline offered a glimpse of his shoulders, and it was so sexy that my breath caught.
I needed to get a grip. Seriously. They were just collarbones, for fuck’s sake! What was wrong with me? If I’d been holding a glass of water, I would have tossed it in my face to try to snap out of it.
Cole said, “For what it’s worth, I like the new look.”
I murmured, “Thanks,” and stepped around him.
Damn it! Why did he have to be so beautiful? I forced myself not to look back and check out the rear view, because I remembered those jeans well and knew exactly what they did for his perfect little ass.
Several shot glasses were lined up on the counter, and Hunter was filling them almost to the top with whiskey when I reached the kitchen. He glanced at me and said, “Those Thai noodle cups are freakishly delicious. I told Brian to slap it out of my hand if he sees me eating another one. I’ve already packed away so many that I’ll have to spend about ten hours at the gym tomorrow.”
Brian was drying his hands near the sink, and he glanced over his shoulder at his husband and grinned. He was a former Marine who’d been severely injured in the line of duty and got around on a pair of prostheses. They didn’t seem to slow him down any. Even though he usually walked with a cane for balance, he left it behind as he crossed the kitchen and slipped his hands around his husband’s tiny waist. “We’re celebrating today,” Brian told him. “Treat yourself.”
The two men were physical opposites. Brian was a tall, muscular brunet with a big build, while Hunter was a slender blond who seemed delicate in comparison, but his appearance was misleading. I knew for a fact that Hunter was strong as steel, just like his husband. For one thing, Hunter and Cole had grown up in the same homophobic, rural town in Idaho, and they’d both survived getting beat up on a regular basis. It had always seemed a bit odd to me that he and my ex-boyfriend had been high school sweethearts, because they were very different people. But they’d been pretty serious, for a while, anyway. They’d even moved to San Francisco together at nineteen, though their relationship ended soon after.
Hunter leaned against his husband and said, “Oh, I am. I’m planning to cut a path through the dessert buffet like Pac Man. Did you see those mini key lime tarts? I already snuck one out of the box and had a total piegasm right in the middle of the kitchen.”
I chuckled at that, and when he handed me a shot glass, I said, “I shouldn’t start drinking. I’m on the clock.”
“Remember what we said when we hired you for this event? You’re our guest first, caterer second. That’s why we asked you to only bring stuff you could make ahead of time, so you wouldn’t have to do much work during the party. The buffet is piled high with gorgeous, delicious things to eat and everyone’s happy, so relax and enjoy yourself.” Hunter picked up a can of diet soda and raised a toast to me.
“Well, alright. Cheers.” I tossed back the shot, grimacing as it burned all the way down, then asked as Hunter tucked a strand of shoulder-length hair behind his ear, “Aren’t you having a shot?”
He shook his head. “I don’t drink anymore.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“He gave it up for me,” Brian said as he held his husband a little tighter. “I had a problem with alcohol early on in our relationship. When I quit drinking, Hunter did too because he wanted to show his support.”
Hunter swapped out my empty glass for a full one, and I glanced at the drink in my hand and said, “Now I feel like an asshole for drinking in front of you.”
Brian said, “Don’t. It doesn’t bother me to be around it.”
Hunter added, “One of our coworkers brought us that bottle of whiskey tonight as a hostess gift. He didn’t know we don’t drink, and we didn’t want to make him feel bad by saying anything. I’m glad it’s not going to waste.”
When Hunter turned to face him and draped his arms around his shoulders, Brian grinned and asked, “Which one of us is the hostess?”
“It sounds odd to say ‘host gift’,” Hunter said, and Brian mulled that over before nodding in agreement.
“Speaking of coworkers, I heard a little about your new job,” I said. “Something about housing for veterans?”
“That’s right,” Brian said. “It began as volunteer work while we’re going to college, but it turned into jobs for both of us. We’re working with an organization that retrofits houses and apartments for disabled vets, to make them more accessible and functional.”
“That’s awesome. Do they need more volunteers? If so, sign me up.”
“Always,” Hunter said. “I’ll text you about it next week.”
Hunter’s best friend Christopher Robin came into the kitchen just then, along with his husband Kieran. Hunter and Christopher could easily be mistaken for brothers. They were both thin, blue-eyed blonds, though Christopher’s hair reached his chin in soft ringlets. Brian and Kieran actually were brothers, and while they didn’t look all that much alike, they were both tall with a big build, sparkling blue eyes, and short, no-nonsense haircuts. The brothers grinned at each other and exchanged a quick, back-slapping hug.
There were greetings all around and comments about my makeover (or possibly make-under), and when Christopher reached Hunter, he grabbed him in a big embrace. Christopher was carrying a small package wrapped in brown craft paper, and when they let go of each other, he handed it to Hunter and said, “I made you something for your anniversary. I hope you like it.”
Tears shone in Hunter’s eyes when he tore back the wrapping and revealed a gorgeous, photorealistic painting of him and his husband, sitting in front of their beautiful little home. Christopher was a rising star in the art world with a successful gallery in San Francisco, so that painting was probably worth a bundle. But that obviously wasn’t what moved Hunter to tears. He hugged his friend again and whispered, “This is amazing. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. I kept it small because you told me you were maxing out of wall space in here.”
Brian put his arm around his husband’s shoulders and thanked Christopher for the painting, and then he said, “Maybe we can hang it on the wall beside our bed, so you can start every morning with that big smile.”
Hunter looked up at him and said, “You already make sure I start every day with a smile.” That made Brian grin and duck his head embarrassedly. Hunter kissed his cheek and added, “Maybe we should find a spot for it in the living room, so everyone who comes over can see it.” Brian agreed, and when he pulled his husband a little closer, Hunter slid an arm around his waist, carefully cradling the painting with his free hand.
Kieran leaned against the counter beside me, and I asked him, “So, how’s law school? I heard you got an internship at the public defender’s office.” He was yet another friend whose life had evolved in leaps and bounds over the last two or three years.
“I did, and it’s been great so far.”
“Do you ever regret leaving the police department?”
Kieran considered the question, then said as he ran a hand over his short, dark blond hair, “I miss seeing some of my cowor
kers on a daily basis, though we get together regularly. What I don’t miss is the job itself. I just never knew what I was going to run into on any given patrol. It’d usually involve hours of boredom, interspersed with violence or heartbreak. I wish I could forget some of the things I saw on the job.” Kieran exhaled slowly, then seemed to shake himself out of the grip of whatever had flashed through his memory. He glanced at Christopher as he added, “Life feels so much calmer now. I have my weekends and evenings free to spend with my husband and plenty of time to help him run the gallery, and even though I know I’ll be working longer hours after I finish school, it still won’t be as stressful as police work.”
“It seems like you have it all figured out. I envy you,” I said.
My friends Yoshi and Mike came into the kitchen just then. They said hello to everyone and wished the couple a happy anniversary before turning their attention to me. “Look at you,” Yoshi exclaimed. “I love the hair! And the last time I saw you, you were wearing swim trunks, Birkenstocks, and a Hawaiian shirt printed with big pineapples, so this is quite the change!”
“Well, I’m working now,” I said, trying to downplay the transformation.
“You were working then, too,” he pointed out.
Yoshiro Miyazaki had a knack for always looking perfectly polished, and I took a moment to study his effortless style. He was dressed head-to-toe in black, as usual, and somehow he made his fitted T-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket look expensive and sophisticated. I’d never given a lot of thought (or any, really) to clothes before, but now that I did, I realized he was doing something very right.
And then there was Mike Dombruso. He and I were wearing exactly the same thing, except that he hadn’t jettisoned his charcoal gray sport coat like I had. Since Mike was an accountant and definitely dressed the part, it occurred to me that my recent style choices might be slightly lacking in panache.
Not that he looked bad by any means. Actually, he looked a hell of a lot like Superman trying to blend in with the puny humans in his generic blue shirt and black pants (okay, yes, Skye was right. My outfit was so generic that it might as well have had the word CLOTHES printed across the front of it). Mike’s Clark Kent vibe was aided by his nerdy, black-framed glasses, his awkwardly slicked down black hair, and especially by the fact that he was about six-four with a muscular build. Beneath the boring clothes and glasses was a seriously hot guy, not that he seemed aware of that fact.
“You look great,” Mike said enthusiastically. “Before, all I saw was the long hair. Now the focus is on you instead.”
I tugged on a strand of my collar-length hair as I said, “I’m glad I cut it, even though right now, I feel like something’s wrong, kind of like I forgot to put on pants before leaving the house this morning.”
“You’ll get used to the change,” Hunter said.
I nodded and looked around as I asked Mike, “Where’s your girlfriend?”
He fidgeted a bit and turned his gaze to the wood floor as he said, “Marie and I are taking a break.”
I blurted, “Oh! I’m sorry,” because I didn’t know what else to say, then immediately realized that sounded stupid.
“No, it’s a good thing.” The sadness in Mike’s eyes contradicted that statement. “I need to figure some stuff out. We’ve been dating for two years, and she’s been wanting us to take the next step.”
“And you don’t?” Hunter asked.
“I don’t know what I want. That’s why we’re taking some time, so I can think things through. The worst part is that my boys miss her, and that makes me feel like such a jerk.” Mike sighed and added, “This is exactly why I was so hesitant to start dating again after my wife died. I was worried about my sons getting attached to someone who might not always be around. If Marie and I split up, I hate to think about the impact it’ll have on them.”
Yoshi squeezed his friend’s shoulder and said, “They’ll be fine no matter what, not only because you raised three strong, resilient kids, but because their amazing dad is always there for them and will help them deal with whatever happens.”
Mike grinned at him embarrassedly, then looked around at our little group. “You can tell I don’t get out much. We’re supposed to be celebrating, but here I am, acting like Debbie Downer. Sorry about that.”
“No worries,” Hunter said with a kind smile. “I hope it works out, Mike.”
After visiting with us for a few more minutes, Hunter and Brian went to the living room with Christopher and Kieran to figure out where to hang the painting, and Mike looked around and said, “I could really go for a glass of wine, but I know our hosts don’t drink, so I don’t suppose there’s any to be found.”
“They actually did buy beer and wine for their guests, but I have a better idea.” I’d been leaning against the kitchen counter, and I picked up two of the shots behind me and handed them both to Mike.
“Is this a good idea? I don’t usually drink hard liquor.” Mike held up the glasses and eyed them suspiciously.
“It’s a great idea,” Yoshi told him. “I’m appointing myself your designated driver, and the boys are spending the night with your grandmother, so go crazy.”
“I’m not really a ‘go crazy’ kind of guy,” Mike said.
That made his friend grin. “Oh, we know. But tonight, you should make an exception.”
Mike still looked skeptical, but then he surprised us by slamming down both shots, one right after the other, just as Trevor and his husband Vincent came into the kitchen. Mike exclaimed, “Holy crap!” He returned the empty glasses to the counter, then pounded on his chest and wheezed, “Instant heartburn.” Yoshi was still grinning as he handed Mike a bottle of water and grabbed one for himself.
While Mike chugged the water, his brother Vincent raised an eyebrow and said, “That’s new. I wasn’t expecting ‘Mikey Gone Wild’ tonight. Or any other night, for that matter.”
“He’s long overdue,” Yoshi said.
Mike looked flushed as he screwed the lid back on the empty bottle and asked, “Is it hot in here? I think I need some air.”
“I do too, actually. Let’s go out to the patio,” I said. “Come with us, Trevor. I know you’d rather micromanage the buffet table than take a break, but it’s totally stocked right now, and it’ll be fine without us for a few minutes.”
He glanced at the empty trays near the sink. I knew my perfectionistic friend was itching to clean them up, but Trevor took his husband’s hand and said, “Yeah, okay. I could use fifteen minutes off my feet.” He and Vincent followed Yoshi and Mike through the crowd. I searched my canvas shopping bags and produced a bottle of bourbon and a stack of plastic cups, then grabbed my coat before heading into the garden.
The first party I’d catered for Hunter and Brian had taken place in Hunter’s designer, high-rise apartment. He’d been a famous porn star back in the day and had made a great investment in that piece of real estate. When he and Brian got together, Hunter retired from the business and sold his apartment, and they bought a place for the two of them that was uniquely San Francisco.
I joined my friends around a freestanding metal fire pit surrounded by patio chairs and glanced at Hunter and Brian’s home. It was a tiny, white, ninety-year-old guest house, nestled amid trees, shrubs and flowering vines at the very end of a long, fairly big backyard. They shared the yard with the tenants of the six-unit apartment building behind me, which at one time had been a single-family home. The cottage was probably only five hundred square feet or so, but it was loaded with charm and had everything anyone would need to live comfortably, including a bedroom, bathroom, and a combination living room, dining room which opened onto the cute kitchen. Basically, they lived in my dream home, ‘dream’ being key, since I’d never in a million years be able to afford something like that in San Francisco’s insanely overpriced housing market.
As I poured the bourbon and handed around the cups, Skye and his husband Dare joined us. There were two chairs left, but they just used one. It w
as a bit chilly out, even though it was the first weekend in June, and Skye climbed onto Dare’s lap, slid his arms inside his husband’s jacket, and snuggled close. Then he quipped, “Three of you look like you’re playing hooky from Catholic school in your identical uniforms. Just saying.”
“Dude, you’re wearing a T-shirt with a picture of a Smurf on it,” I said. “That automatically revokes your fashion police badge.”
“You bought me this shirt, so that invalidates your argument,” Skye shot back.
“What can I say? Annoying blue cartoon characters remind me of you.” That made him chuckle.
While Skye and I teased each other, Mike pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. When Vincent saw that, he said, “You’re checking on your kids, aren’t you? You know, Nana managed to raise first her sons, and then you, me and our brothers without any major catastrophes.”
Mike shot him a look. “Your twin babies are over there, too. Do you expect me to believe you haven’t checked up on them tonight?”
“I haven’t, actually, because I know everything is fine,” Vincent said.
I glanced from one Dombruso to the other. Like their brother Dante, they both had a big build and dark hair and eyes. And they both wore glasses, but while Mike exuded an unmistakable nerd vibe, his older brother reminded me of a 1920s gangster with his dark, expensive suit, quiet confidence, and air of detachment. Funnily enough, the Dombruso family actually did have roots in organized crime, though from what I’d heard, that was in the past. Mostly.
Trevor’s blue-green eyes crinkled at the corners as he shot his husband a smile and told us, “The only reason Vincent hasn’t been checking up on the babies every few minutes is because our son Josh keeps beating him to the texts. He’s spending the night at Nana’s too, and he’s been sending us photos and messages every ten minutes or so. I swear, the kid is sixteen going on forty, so even if Nana somehow didn’t have the situation under control, Josh certainly would.”