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“Do what?” Todd sank down beside him. “Gabriel, do what?” He set the urn brochure aside and rested a hand on Gabe’s thigh.

“Work on Cal,” he said softly. His breath caught, and he briefly pulled his lips between his teeth. “I tried…I tried saying Kaddish over him, but the words wouldn’t even come to me.”

“You tried what?” Todd was too rattled to process these declarations. He’d never seen Gabe hurting. It bothered him more than he would’ve expected.

“The mourners’ prayer,” Gabe said. “You’ve heard me recite it before.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot.” Gabe often, maybe always, said Kaddish over the decedents he cosmetized. It didn’t matter if they were Jewish or not. Todd had grown so used to Gabe’s murmurings, they’d become like lulling white-noise to him. The fact he didn’t understand Hebrew only strengthened the effect. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Caleb,” Gabe said in a quavering voice. “He’s…here.”

“Oh! You mean—” Todd stopped himself before he said something insensitive, like
the guy we have on ice
or
the stiff who’s headed for the incinerator
. It wasn’t that he, or most morticians, were callous. They just had their own brand of dry humor, which helped alleviate some of the business’s built-in stress. The delicate formalities and euphemisms of Funeral Speak were reserved for grieving loved ones.

Obviously, that’s what Gabriel was. But how, why?

“You mean, the man Larry thought needed our services,” Todd finally said.

“Thought?” Confusion layered the pain in Gabe’s face.

“Larry just told me Stearns will be picking him up. We don’t have to do anything.”

“What…what happened to him? Did he OD? I used to worry about all the meds he was taking.”

“Yes,” Todd said. “Accidental, supposedly. I take it you knew him.”

Gabe hesitated then nodded. “We were seeing each other for a while. It was on the verge of getting serious when his old boyfriend reentered the picture.” After a quiet sniffle, Gabe looked at his hands. He kept squeezing the right one with the left.

Todd covered them with his own hand. “I’m so sorry, Gabe.”

He wondered suddenly if any of his own former dates would be this deeply affected by his passing. The answer was a dismally obvious
no
. Todd’s family and friends would mourn. But those men with whom he’d so casually shared his body? Shit, they’d all probably forgotten who he was.

With his free hand, Todd gently cupped the back of Gabe’s downturned head, his fingers disappearing in the surprisingly soft storm of hair. It felt and smelled wonderful.

Todd wanted to nuzzle it, to pull Gabe into his arms and bury his face in that cloud. It wouldn’t have been appropriate, though—not only because of the circumstances, but because Gabriel had pegged him as a user.

“I have to go with him,” Gabe said. He moved his head almost imperceptibly beneath Todd’s hand, like a cat responding lazily to a caress.

“You can’t go with him. You know that. Only family members can view a cremation.”

Gabe looked a little desperate when he finally met Todd’s gaze. “All he has are his friends, and they might not even know what happened to him. His damned family disowned him when he came out.”

Sighing, Todd withdrew his hands from Gabe and rubbed his eyes. One of
those
situations. He hated hearing stories like that. His own family’s acceptance hadn’t come easily, but at least it had come.

“Okay, listen. Go over this”—Todd reached for the urn brochure and handed it to Gabe—”and choose something for Caleb. You’re more qualified to do it than I am. Then I’ll see if I can persuade Larry and Al Stearns to turn the ashes over to you if no family member claims them after a certain amount of time. You won’t be able to dispose of them, but you can at least hang onto them. I’m sure Al is familiar with state laws governing disposition of cremains, like how much time the family has to retrieve them.”

Gabe stared at him. “You’d do that for me?”

“Why not? The guy meant something to you. It’s a lot more respectful to turn a decedent’s ashes over to a friend or lover than let them sit on a shelf in a crematory’s basement.”

Gabe lifted his left hand, in which he held the urn brochure. “Why did you have this?

Did Larry tell you to pick out a container?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Who’s paying for it? One of Cal’s relatives or somebody else? Or Sudbury-Bischoff?”

Todd balked at answering. He hated blowing his own horn. Self-effacement had been ingrained in him during his Toad days. But honesty had been ingrained even earlier, by his parents.

“Todd?”

“
I’m
paying for it.” He felt himself blush.

“Why? You didn’t know Cal, did you?”

Todd shook his head. He couldn’t meet Gabriel’s gaze, but he felt it moving over him. “I’ve bought urns before. It just seems right when no one else is around who cares.”

“That’s an incredibly kind thing to do.”

“It’s no big deal, Gabe.”

“Yes it is. I didn’t think you—”

Something inside Todd snapped. He shot a look at Gabe. It carried fifteen years’

worth of frustration and resentment and despair—over that brittle façade he’d constructed to conceal the shortcomings of his past; over others’ admiration of that façade, which never brought him any genuine satisfaction; over the hideous rash that now marred the façade and put even the most superficial appreciation beyond his reach. All the accumulated crap came crashing down on his good will, because he knew what Gabriel was about to say:
I didn’t think you were capable of it.

“I’m not insensitive,” he said, trying hard not yell the words. “I know how it feels when nobody gives a shit about you.”

Gabe shifted to face Todd, and before Todd could make a bigger fool of himself by ranting further, Gabe’s arms came around him. Todd didn’t resist. He reciprocated.

The embrace was an unexpected and bountiful comfort. Todd closed his eyes and absorbed Gabe’s heat, reveled in the closeness of his solid body, the subtle flexions of his muscles.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Gabe said. “I can’t stand making anybody feel bad, especially someone I like.”

They clung awkwardly to one another—faces pressed together, legs angled to form a loose knot, chests rising and touching on each strained breath.

“I need this,” Todd said close to Gabriel’s ear. “I need warmth.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Gabe’s hands smoothed down his back, then moved up, then glided down again.

They snuggled closer.

“It’s hard—isn’t it?—always dealing with the cold,” Gabe murmured. “Being here, touching cold flesh. Being out there, trying to touch cold hearts.”

That was it exactly. Leave it to Gabriel to find the words. Leave it to the lover of songs and prayers and poetry.

“Skylark,” Gabe whispered.

At first Todd didn’t know what he meant. When Gabe started humming, the meaning of the word came to him. It was the title of Gabe’s favorite song, filled with a personal significance Todd had never bothered trying to understand. Now he wanted to understand.

“Play it for me.”

Gabe rose and grabbed his jacket, which he’d draped over one arm of the couch. He pulled his iPod with its portable speaker system from one of the pockets. Todd watched him set it up on the coffee table.

It was ironic, how much effort he’d put into turning a blind eye toward Gabriel. The misery that had saturated Todd’s youth had been caused by other people’s blindness toward
him
. Sure, he was noticed now…but was he any better off? Hardly. By cultivating his appearance, he’d simply been fostering another form of blindness. Few people saw beneath his groomed and sculpted surface.

He got up and sat on the couch, where Gabe joined him.

“Maybe I should have the Ella Fitzgerald or k.d. lang version,” Gabe said, his voice still muted with sadness, “but I like Linda Ronstadt’s the best. It’s more poignant than jazzy.”

The singer’s voice blossomed throughout the room.

Todd, eyes lowered, listened. His right arm rested snugly against Gabe’s left. He could easily have gotten teary if he’d let himself, but he wouldn’t let himself. He had something important to say.

When “Skylark” ended, he looked at Gabe. “Maybe, if we give each other a chance, we can make that song irrelevant. I’d like to try. And not because you’re my last resort.”

“No?” Gabe’s tone was neutral. He was still guarded, and understandably so.

He deserved an explanation.

Todd’s gaze moved aimlessly over the floor, as if he hoped to pluck that explanation from the nap of the carpeting. He wished he had a better mastery of words. His solitary profession didn’t require much in the way of communication, and it occurred to him that was one of the reasons he’d chosen it.

He forced himself to look at Gabe. “I’ve always been afraid of disappointing you.”

There. He’d finally admitted to the fear. Beneath all his dismissive blather about Gabe’s height, Todd had been terrified of falling short. He was four years older than Gabe. He wasn’t nearly as outgoing or openly compassionate, as intelligent or articulate or creative. He’d turned down all those invitations because he liked Gabe too much, not because he didn’t like him enough, and could foresee only rejection in his future once Gabe tired of him.

Gabe not only met Todd’s gaze, he seemed to be peering deeper, digging past all the posturing. “You’ve never disappointed me. Except by refusing to let me into your life.”

“I’ve always wanted to,” Todd said ardently, determined to make up for his phony indifference. “I’d love to spend more time with you, away from here. But I wouldn’t blame you if you’re put off by the way I look now.”

Without hesitation, Gabe leaned forward and gently touched his lips to Todd’s. Todd drew in a sharp breath. As light as it was, the kiss held more promise than all the sloppy tongue-thrusting he’d engaged in with his pick-ups.

“I’ve listened when you’ve talked,” Gabe said. “About Toad, and your dog Sparky, and your grandmother’s death, and all the hope you’ve squandered on your tricks. I know how you feel about our work and the people we’re doing it for. You have a tender heart, and if I didn’t think you had a lot to offer, I wouldn’t have asked you out in the first place.” Gabe drew back a little farther. He added with a hint of a smile, “How you look is just a bonus.”

“I don’t understand.” Todd was deeply touched and insanely grateful and completely baffled all at once.

Gabe made a sly pass along Todd’s inner thigh. His hand came to rest high up, his little finger barely grazing Todd’s cock. “Your allergic reaction is obviously clearing up.”

Todd tried to ignore his flare of arousal and process what Gabe had just said. “You mean it’s cleared up since the last time we saw each other?”

“I mean it’s cleared up since you walked into the room.”

Reluctantly, because he still dreaded what he would see, Todd got to his feet and went to the wall mirror. The face that stared back at him was the face he was used to, at least on the right side, and it sure as hell hadn’t been that way when he’d left the house.

Funny, that was the side of his face he’d nuzzled against Gabe’s.

“Would you like to have lunch,” Gabe said, “and see where things go from there?”

Todd turned away from the mirror. The invitation made his reflected image unimportant. “Yes, I’d like that. I’d like it very much.”

Simultaneously, they smiled. Todd would’ve bet anything the funeral home had never been filled with such warmth.

Jake had no idea what he was going to say when he opened the door to his condo. He stood nearly eye-to-eye with David, who smelled delectably of that triple milled, citrus-and-cedar soap that was one of his rare indulgences, and suddenly, Jake wanted to hold him and kiss him as if they were long-lost lovers.

Why have I been resisting?
What
have I been resisting?

David smiled uncertainly.

“Hi,” Jake said, trying to be casual. For both their sakes, he wanted to keep the drama to a minimum. “Thanks for coming over.”

“No problem.” David definitely wasn’t his usual easygoing self. He must’ve known something was up. They almost always met at the office.

After he closed the door, Jake led David to the conversational grouping of couch, loveseats, and chairs before his fireplace. “I just made some lemonade. Fresh squeezed.

Want some?” A tray bearing a pitcher and two tumblers already sat on the cocktail table.

“You don’t have to treat me like a guest, Jake. I can serve myself.” David peeled off his jacket and sat on one of the loveseats. His gaze immediately went to the thin sheaf of pages lying near the tray. “Is that my story?”

Jake cleared his throat and poured himself a drink. “Yeah.”

“Have you read it?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why I’m here?”

The ice cubes clinking in Jake’s glass seemed to mimic the pattering of his heart. He sat in the chair beside the loveseat and took a quick drink. “That’s why you’re here.”

After a moment of utter stillness, David rose and also poured some lemonade. When he resumed his seat, he took a swallow then stared into his glass, cradled loosely in both his hands.

“The story is very good,” Jake said. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

The tension in the room wound tighter.

“By the way,” Jake said, “how does my face look to you today?”

David, cheeks flushed, slid him a glance. “Worse, actually. I didn’t want to say anything. I know it upsets you.”

“According to your theory, then, I’m lusting after you.”

David chuckled. “That’s nothing new. You always lust after me when you haven’t scored a piece of ass in a while.”

‘“I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.’”

After taking another drink, Jake slid his glass onto the coffee table. When he sat back, he noticed David’s face was nearly as red as his own. “Short stories don’t normally come with epigraphs. I didn’t know you were a fan of Edna St. Vincent Millay.”

“I’m not,” David muttered, “particularly.” He spoke to the drink in his hands.