Authors: Z. A. Maxfield
Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #LGBT WWII-era Historical
where the young couple sang about all the things they couldn’t do if they didn’t want
people to think they were in love. He didn’t know much about love, but he was stupid
for Rafe Colman. He averted his gaze.
The three of them worked in companionable silence. Ed toasted and buttered bread,
Rafe—wearing a barbecue apron over his fine clothes—fried up sausages and eggs one
handed, and Ben flipped pancakes. When they were done, they’d made a mess. Rafe
glanced around his once lovely kitchen with some asperity and Ben flushed.
“I’ll clean it. I promise.”
Rafe appeared more amused than angry. “You’d better. I would hate to have to
wait until I’ve gotten my cast off.”
When each man was seated at the table with a plate full of food, Ed cleared his
throat. “So. After breakfast, what’s it to be?”
“I have an open house in Ladera Heights, and I—”
“You didn’t mention work.” Ben put down his fork. “Are you sure you’re up to
that?” Ben hadn’t realized Rafe planned to work. On the one hand, it would give him
and Ed plenty of time to decorate Rafe’s house. On the other, it was obvious from the
look on Rafe’s face his arm still ached. “How long will you be there?”
“I’ll go from ten until about three, I think.”
“I hope you can catch a quick nap before we go to my mother’s.”
“It will be fine. My job is simply to greet people and show the house. Talk it up. Not
tiring at all. I won’t even be managing the signs. There are students for that. The
homeowners have gone to a great deal of trouble to make the place presentable and the
weather is fine, so I feel I must. There won’t be another chance until after the holidays.”
Z. A. Maxfield | Secret Light
111
“Well, I’ll drive you over there, and…would it be all right if I came back here?”
“Of course. I’ll give you a spare key. You should keep one anyway, just in case you
need it.” Rafe looked down at his coffee cup. His cheekbones were twin crests of pink
mortification. “If you want, that is.”
Ben quelled his delight. “That will save me going home and coming back here to
pick you up later.”
Rafe turned to Ed. “Did Ben tell you that his mother has invited me for a meal? I
should have broken my arm a long time ago.”
Ben glanced down at his plate. “I don’t think you have to go that far. My mother
always wants to meet my friends.”
“That’s nice. Shall I keep Mooki at my place this evening then?” Ed asked.
“That would be very nice, thank you,” said Rafe.
“She’s great company, you know? I never thought I’d be much of a dog person.
Helen always had cats. But Mooki… She’s a first-rate dog.”
“That she is.” Rafe smiled at her and slipped her a bite of egg. Soon Mooki would
be begging him for a scrap of his pancake. Even with half her normal enthusiasm, she
was still a shameless flirt.
“All right, it’s settled, then,” Ben announced. He winked at Ed. “I’ll drive you to
your open house and pick you up at three. Perfect.”
Ed picked up his coffee. “Perfect.”
Z. A. Maxfield | Secret Light
112
Chapter Fourteen
If Rafe felt as though he’d fallen into a fairy tale the evening before, it was nothing
compared to how unsettled he was when, on arriving at his home, he found the place
trimmed like a department store and ready for Santa Claus to come down the chimney.
Ed and Mooki met him at the door, both of them nearly dancing with excitement to be
in on the surprise.
A ball of something painful clogged Rafe’s throat when he realized his two new
friends had gotten together and engineered the surprise for him. There had never been
anyone in his life like these two decent men, who saw a need and filled it while asking
for nothing in return. He’d known Ed for years and had learned more about him in one
week than in all the time they’d lived next door to each other.
Rafe could hardly take it in. “
What
a surprise. How did you have time to do all
this?”
Ed sparkled with mischief. “Ben got the tree, and I had the decorations. They look
real good here, huh?”
“So beautiful. I’m so grateful. I can’t think how I could ever repay you.”
“No need for that. It made me happy to get out Helen’s things. See here?” Ed
gestured toward a pretty, iridescent glass ornament the size of a fist. It was frosted with
snowflakes and hung from a red velvet ribbon. “This was the first ornament Helen and
I got together when we were married, and every year we used to put it on the tree last,
just to remember how we started. I guess I didn’t want to think about that for a few
years.”
“It’s truly beautiful.” Rafe put his hand on the old man’s shoulder.
Z. A. Maxfield | Secret Light
113
Ed dragged a handkerchief from his pocket and gave his nose a noisy blow. “Well,
now. It’s been a while, and it seems like it’s just easier this year. I’m glad I had a chance
to bring these things out again.”
“Me too.”
“Do you like the tree?” Ben asked. He sounded like a boy, he was so eager to please.
To earn praise. And of course, it was a
lovely
tree. It stood in the window like a
Christmas card picture. It was majestic—a spare, graceful tree with short velvety
needles—and so fresh it smelled like heaven on earth.
“Very much. I like it very much.” Rafe blinked back tears. “It’s exactly what I’d
have chosen for myself.”
“I’m so glad.” Ben looked at him like he wanted a kiss. Rafe knew the feeling, but
he was probably better at hiding his emotions. Ben was younger, and sometimes what
he felt showed up on his face like a road sign.
“I must have done something marvelous to deserve friends like you. But I can’t
think of what it might have been.” Rafe kept his focus on the tree, certain if he glanced
at Ben again the entire world would find out what was in his heart. “Now I should
change my shirt, at least, if I’m going to meet the formidable Mrs. Morgan, eh?”
“You’re fine the way you are, Rafe.”
“And visit with a soiled cuff? Never. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He felt Ben and Ed watch him as he walked away.
In truth, Rafe wanted to be alone. When he got to his room, he slipped his jacket off.
He’d had it on all day with one arm through the sleeve—draped it over the other
shoulder with the cast underneath—an odd and uncomfortable way to wear it. He
removed his one cufflink, tossing it into a dish on the dresser, and began to unbutton
his shirt.
While he was doing this, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and—for a sick,
disorienting minute—he had to grip the edge of his dresser to stay upright.
Z. A. Maxfield | Secret Light
114
What the hell was he playing at? His home was now a treasure trove of Christmas
window dressing, and he was escorting Ben’s mother to some Catholic
church
. He’d
never felt so torn in his life. Was he doing the right thing? Could it be right to deny who
he was on so many levels that his image had become unrecognizable to him?
The man in the mirror looked like… Rafe didn’t know what. A men’s store
mannequin who wore fine clothes, drank the right whiskey, smoked the right cigarettes.
Who was great at his job and earned more than enough to keep a good home. But he’d
built his life like a movie set, all false painted building fronts with nothing inside.
Except now, when feelings he never thought he’d have and emotions he’d never felt
before erupted from nowhere, and he felt full—he was
bursting
—with things he didn’t
understand.
“Rafe?”
Ben’s voice
. “Do you need some help in there?”
Rafe called out, “I’m fine,” then covered his mouth with a trembling hand.
“All right.” Ben’s footsteps headed back down the hall, and Rafe was once again
alone.
For nearly twenty years, he’d followed his parents’ admonition to keep his heritage
a secret. On top of that, he’d taken Walter Hart’s fate as a lesson about keeping his
distance from men.
It was hard enough to bear letting those caring, wonderful men believe lie after lie
after lie. He could no longer look into the mirror and like himself when his lies negated
a family who died after saving his life.
Christ
. Ed and Ben gave and gave, and neither had any clue who he really was.
Rafe believed—
he knew
—if they had any idea, they’d be appalled.
He slipped off his undershirt and washed as well as he could before donning a
fresher one. He picked out another fine white dress shirt. After putting a different
cufflink in, he picked out a Christmas-colored tie, although it would force him to ask
Z. A. Maxfield | Secret Light
115
Ben for help. He picked up his jacket and headed for the living room, where he found
Ed and Ben unplugging the lights.
“Not going to leave them on?” he asked, holding out his tie.
Matter-of-factly, Ben turned him and flipped his collar up. “We don’t know how
long we’ll be out. Don’t want to start a fire.”
Ben worked on Rafe’s tie as he would his own—he wrapped his arms around Rafe
to tie the knot. He was standing so close it was agony. Soft puffs of breath teased the
hair on Rafe’s nape while heat from Ben’s body warmed him through his shirt, and
when at last he was finished, Ben’s exclamation of achievement rumbled through him
like an earthquake. Nearly shivering with fear and arousal, Rafe glanced at Ed. If he
saw anything untoward in their behavior, his face gave no clue.
“That’s that.” Ben gave him a small shove. “We’d better get moving.”
* * * *
homey parlor. Rafe sat on a stiff, formal couch while Mrs. Morgan eyed him from a
petite, feminine armchair. The home Ben had grown up in wasn’t particularly nice, but
care made it comfortable, and hard work kept it clean.
Every surface was covered with some sort of statuette, either pretty ceramic
figurines or religious objects. Unimpressive paintings and beautiful, framed needlework
covered the walls. It was a room full of handmade antimacassars and the scent of
beeswax furniture polish, as old-fashioned and proper as Morgan’s diminutive mother,
who sat—tiny and serene—waiting for Ben to change.
On the way there, Rafe’s imagination had run wild. He’d pictured Morgan’s mother
like an old widow in an Italian film, black garbed and severe. She wasn’t. She was
dressed demurely in a white, lacey blouse and a pretty blue wool skirt with a matching
jacket. She wore her long, salt-and-pepper braid wrapped around her head like a
Z. A. Maxfield | Secret Light
116
crown. Ben had inherited her green eyes, but his skin was darker, whether it was
naturally so or from spending time in the sun, Rafe couldn’t tell.
Right then her hands were folded, and her gaze assessed him coolly but not
unkindly.
“I was so sorry to hear about the trouble you’ve been having. How are you
managing with a broken arm? Bento said you’re still able to do some work?”
Bento
… Odd, but it fit him. It sounded playful when she said it. Boyish. yes. It fit
him well. “Fortunately I can do most of my work. I’m unable to write, so coworkers will
have to help with contracts. It’s a little bit slow during the holidays, at least until after
Christmas, so it hasn’t come up. Your son has been driving me. He seems to think it best
if I’m a passenger for a while.”
“You’re German?”
“Austrian.”
“Ah, yes.” She smiled faintly. “I remember now. Bento said you came here as an
orphan.”
“I lost my family, yes.” For all his ability as a salesman, he couldn’t get a read on
her. Did she like him? Or did she see him as an intruder? He worried he’d lost his
much-vaunted charm. Absurdly, he wondered if it was broken like his arm.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” The first genuine emotion crossed her face. Sadness—
was it for him? “Family is important.”
Rafe nodded.
“I lost my oldest son in the war.”
“Ben mentioned that.”
“And my husband died right after Bento started high school. I have two daughters.
One lives in San Diego and one in Texas now. Three grandchildren. Bento is the baby.”
Rafe smiled politely. If there was a subtext to the conversation, he couldn’t read it.
She didn’t seem unwelcoming—far from it—but she wasn’t…warm.
Z. A. Maxfield | Secret Light
117
The sound of footsteps pounding on the wooden stairs from Ben’s garage
apartment could be heard, followed by the opening and closing of the kitchen door. Ben
came into the room in a suit and tie. He kissed the top of his mother’s head. “All ready.”
“All right, then.” Regally, Mrs. Morgan got up and gathered a purse, gloves, and a