Macarons at Midnight (30 page)

“Millie.” Tristan had paid for the right to his damn stool, and he wasn’t leaving until he’d downed every last one of those damn macarons. Or gotten the absent Henry to forgive him, or at least hear him out.

“You broke his heart, Tristan. What did you expect?”

“I just want to talk.”

She sighed. “Well, you’re not going to talk to him here. He took the rest of today off. He won’t be in until the morning.”

“You think you could’ve told me that before I spent fifteen dollars on cookies?”

Millie shrugged. She had a little smile on her face. “Probably.”

Tristan sighed and shoved the carton of macarons in his messenger bag. He hadn’t expected Millie to be so upset with him. He didn’t know why he hadn’t, though. Millie was Henry’s friend first, and he’d screwed up big time.

“I guess I’ll see you later,” Tristan said quietly. And he would. He wasn’t ready to give up after one try.

“I don’t think Henry’s at home,” Millie said. Her voice sounded kinder than it had the rest of the time he’d been there. “He said something about spending the day with Trixie.”

“Thanks,” Tristan muttered. Henry hadn’t been letting him in the building anyway, and it wasn’t as if he was going to sit there on the stoop and stalk him. Yet. Tristan figured he’d do whatever it took, if it meant Henry would listen to him. Just once.

I
T
WAS
a gorgeous November day outside of Honeyfly. The air was crisp, birds were chirping in the trees, a soft golden glow lit up the bricks, and the changing leaves and even the bustling people in their fashionable jackets and scarves and expensive leather boots seemed touched somehow. Happy and warm and glowing.

Tristan barely saw any of it. He trudged along the streets and remembered that first night when he’d gotten lost, when he hadn’t known every brick and sidewalk crack and newspaper vendor between his place and the bakery. He’d gone that way so many times by then that he could do it blindfolded, but he missed that night and the promise of something new. He missed every night in between, all the dinners, the baking lessons, the laughing and kissing and hours spent in bed learning each other’s bodies. He’d never felt it before, that churning physical pain that came with heartache. It was awful.

When he got to his building, the one he’d not quite come to think of as home, he dragged himself up his stairs, and after fumbling with the key in the lock, let himself in. He’d only left his place that morning, small and not yet homely. He’d never decorated it with his things, but rather left the knickknacks laid out by whomever had decorated it for his company. It felt more like a long-term hotel room than a home. Henry’s flat had felt like home, every exposed brick and weathered floorboard. The big, fluffy bed and the bright white sheets. All of it was home. It had been the first morning he’d woken up there, warm from Henry’s arms, unable to keep the ridiculous smile from his face.

Tristan tossed his bag onto the tiny kitchen island and flopped down on the settee that was lovely and decorative but not very comfortable. He tried to imagine himself there for months or years, lounging or watching football games with friends he had yet to make. He couldn’t honestly picture a life there, picturesque as the street and the building both were. He tried not to think it for the millionth time, but it was just as true as it had been ten minutes before, that morning, or the previous night when he’d tossed and turned with empty arms and a heavy heart. His life was a few short blocks away, waiting for him to do everything he could to get it back.

He lay awake all night, trying not to think, which of course led to thinking. Before he knew it, his alarm was going off, and he’d not slept a single minute.

T
HE
WHOLE
walk and ride to work passed way too quickly. It was earlier than he usually went in, so the trains were far less full of commuters with their briefcases and coffees, and the walk went faster with the streets a little emptier. Tristan’s feet dragged. He didn’t want to go back into the office. He had Henry’s folder in his hands, the one that could make his career, at least for a few months, until a bigger ungettable get came along, but the thought of using it made him sick to his stomach.

He walked to his desk and flopped his bag onto his workstation and sat in his chair. The office was quiet with only a few people in. It would be at least an hour before the floor buzzed with the sounds of backstabbing and petty gossip.

I need to get out of here.

Clearly, he wasn’t quite ready after yesterday’s rollercoaster to be back at work.

“Tristan, can I see you in here?”

Fantastic.
His direct boss, Terry, usually stayed out of his way. Tristan hadn’t even noticed him lurking in his little corner office.

He stood tiredly and made his way back to Terry’s office.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m glad you’re here a little early. I’m going to assume you had a family emergency yesterday, because my team members don’t take off in the middle of a workday without any sort of notice or explanation. Do you understand?”

“My family’s in England, sir.” He wasn’t trying to sound like a sarcastic shit, but his patience for everything at Blanchard and Starr had run out. Maybe it was lack of sleep; maybe it was his broken heart. Tristan didn’t give a shit about anything.

“Tristan, I mean it. I like you, but I can’t let that slide.”

Tristan lost it in that moment. It was quiet, and Terry probably would’ve never noticed anything off. The sheer doneness just slid through him, icy and certain. He didn’t want to be there anymore. Ever. Not in a day or a week or a month. Never again. He didn’t like who he had to be to succeed, or what he’d been willing to do to fit in to a place he’d never fit in. He was… done. Finished.

“It won’t happen again, Terry.”

“Good. Now do you have those Rolex lay—”

“No, it won’t happen again because I’ll be quitting. This office and I aren’t a good fit.”

“Are you sure you want to make that choice?”

Tristan already felt a world better. No job, soon to be no flat, and he felt more like himself than he had in months other than when he was in Henry’s arms.

“I’m very sure. I’ll pack up my desk and be gone within the hour. Thank you for the opportunity.”

He knew he should give his two weeks and do it the right way if he wanted any sort of a reference, but he couldn’t do it. The moment he had his few personal items from his desk, he was gone.

The morning felt like a different world when he walked out of Blanchard and Starr. It was chilly and crisp, overcast and gray, but it was the most beautiful day Tristan had seen in a long time. He couldn’t help but to feel optimistic. Henry hadn’t listened to him before, but things were different today. He had to listen. He had to give Tristan a chance. He hopped onto the subway with a smile, hoping to catch Henry alone before Millie got there for the day. It was going to go well. It had to. Tristan just felt it.

“H
ENRY
,” T
RISTAN
said quietly. He’d snuck in the alley door to the kitchen. Not fair, and probably illegal, but Tristan was desperate. He had to get Henry to at least listen. Then, if he shipped himself back to London, jobless and boyfriendless, then he’d know he’d tried.

“Tristan. You can’t be here.”

“I
have
to be here.” He angled himself into the corner so even a wily Henry couldn’t manage to herd him out the door. “I have to explain everything to you.”

“I think you did an excellent job of explaining at the party.”

“No.
No.
It came out all wrong. Literally. I didn’t mean it how it sounded. I wasn’t using you, Henry. I wasn’t.”

Henry looked puzzled. And hurt. It was the first time since the party he’d seen vulnerability on Henry’s face, and it sliced deep. “When I asked you if you planned everything to get to my father, you said yes. Now you’re telling me you didn’t? That doesn’t make any sense, Tristan.”

“I misunderstood your question. When you asked if I’d planned everything, I said yes to the party. I planned the
party
to introduce you to my boss. It wasn’t even my idea and I was so stupid for agreeing to it, Henry. I wish I could take it back every second of every day.”

“You planned… the party?”

“Yes. Nothing else.”

“So us meeting, that wasn’t a setup from the start?”

“Lord no. I’m not smart enough to be that devious, and you know it. Plus, I’d never do something like that. I don’t care what it got me.”

Henry huffed out a breath and shook his head. “I thought I’d read you all wrong.”

“You didn’t. I promise. It was all real. Every minute of it. I’m so sorry that I let my insecurities get to me. I just had a moment where I wanted to fit in. I thought maybe then I’d be happy at work, but it was never going to happen. I haven’t fit in anywhere except with you since I moved to this city. I don’t even want to. I just want to be with you.”

“Wait, you brought me to that party to impress your coworkers?”

“I just wanted them to think I was a team player. They found out that I knew you.” Tristan blushed, hot and embarrassed. “Okay, I told them that I knew you. But only a few days before the party. Other than that, it was all me. All me falling really hard for you. I wish I could rewind time and never agree to dragging you there like a show pony.”

“S-so what you told me was real?”

“Yes.
Yes
.
Oh my God. I could never say that if I didn’t mean it with fucking everything I’ve got. Yes. I—”

Henry held up his hand. “Not quite ready for that.”

“Okay.” It hurt. He wasn’t going to lie. But at least he was getting to talk. That was more than he’d had that morning when he woke up. There was a chance.

“Setting that party up without telling me was a dick move, Tris. I wish you hadn’t done it. You know how I feel about my dad and that part of my life.”

“I know. I wish I hadn’t done it too. I don’t know how many times I can say that. I’ll say it again and again if you’ll let me.”

“Hey, at least it got you some cred at work, right? You got the meeting.”
Ouch. Too soon to joke about that.

“Actually, I didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Tristan shrugged. “I threw it away. I didn’t want any part of that tainting us. Even if I didn’t get a chance to ever talk to you again, even if you still never forgive me, I couldn’t sit in a meeting room with your dad’s people and try to sell our relationship for a leg up in the business. I didn’t want anyone else to do it either.”

“Damn. Come here.” Henry held out his arms, rueful smile on his face.

“Really?”

“Yes. Really. Before I change my mind you, you…
wanker
.”

Tristan giggled and stepped into Henry’s arms. He wrapped his own arms around the lightly muscled body he’d come to think of as his. Tristan breathed in Henry’s smell. It made his whole body shiver and come to rights.
Yes. That’s how it should be. I love you.
Even if Henry wasn’t ready to hear it aloud again, Tristan could think it as much as he wanted. Henry tugged him down for a kiss, a familiar, deep, so-perfect-it-felt-like-he-couldn’t-possibly-be-living-it-again kiss. He decided he’d do whatever he could to hold on to Henry’s kisses for the rest of his life.

“I still can’t believe you just gave the meeting away,” Henry finally said when they drew apart. “It would’ve been a huge move for your career.”

“Ex.”

“What?”

“Ex-career. Yeah, so, um, I might have a small problem.”

Henry looked up at Tristan from underneath those huge, fringy lashes. His lips were still wet with kisses, and Tristan wanted more. He wanted to kiss and kiss and fall into bed, fall into each other, and above all, Tristan wanted to never wake up from the dream where Henry wanted him again.

“What’s that? I thought we just got rid of the problems.”

“Well, I’ve just quit my job. I’m in the US on a work visa, hence I need to, you now.
Work
.”

“Is that it?” Henry nuzzled his face into the crook of Tristan’s neck. He shivered and nearly lost all trains of thought bound in every direction from his fuzzy brain.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I think that problem is solved.”

“Really?” Tristan smiled at Henry. “How so?”

“I just happen to know of a place that’s hiring.”

Ingredients

• 1 quirky independent baker
  
• 1 shy but sarcastic Brit
  

Combine slowly and let the mixture simmer on low heat until it comes together. You might have to be a little patient, but the results will be worth it. We promise!

M.J. O’S
HEA
grew up and still lives in sunny Washington state, and while she loves to visit other places, she can’t imagine calling anywhere else home. M.J. spent her childhood writing stories. Sometime in her early teens, the stories turned to romance. Most of those stories were about her, her friends, and their favorite cute TV stars. She hopes she’s come a long way since then…

When M.J.’s not writing, she loves to play the piano and cook and paint pictures, and, of course, read. She likes sparkly girly girl things, owns at least twenty different colored headbands, and she has two dogs who sit with her when she writes. Sometimes her dog comes up with the best ideas for stories… when she’s not busy napping.

Visit M.J. at http://mjoshea.com. E-mail her at mjosheaseattle@ gmail.com or follow her on Twitter.

A
NNA
M
ARTIN
is from a picturesque seaside village in the south-west of England and now lives in the slightly arty, slightly quirky city of Bristol. After spending most of her childhood making up stories, she studied English Literature at university before attempting to turn her hand as a professional writer.