Chapter 2
W
aterfront Park was ablaze with rainbows: banners, sidewalks, T-shirts, tattoos, wigs, face paint. I felt positively monochromatic as I brushed my hands across my black apron and peered around the balloons—rainbow-colored, of course—bobbing cheerfully from Chris’s People’s Coffee trailer. My old boss, Chris, had scored a primo spot in the park’s food vending area for Pride weekend. Since he’d helped me get my current cart, I didn’t really feel I could turn him down with “Gee, I’d rather watch the parade and find a willing stranger to make out with.”
Not that making out was likely to happen. I could count on one hand with fingers left over the number of times I’d gotten laid in the last year. Purchasing my cart, recovering from Brian, and my general awkwardness with the dating and hookup scene kept my bed cold and my wrist sore.
The line for coffee was at least six deep. I got back to work, not sure if I should feel grateful I didn’t have time to linger on my painfully single state. Even with five baristas, the line stayed long for the entire Saturday shift. By the six o’clock close of the festival, I was too beat even to enjoy the people watching. The night offered tons of parties and celebrations. But my feet ached and I could only manage going through the motions at Slaughters before giving into exhaustion and collapsing into my bed, in a quiet house.
My roommates rolled in around dawn, reminding me that I still had to get through one more day of Pride. So much for getting laid. My new goal was simply to endure. Something about being an employee again—albeit it a temporary one—made even my smallest bones ache. I’d stumbled into the coffee-cart business the same way I did everything else in my life, but it was
mine.
I’d come to Portland for college, stayed for Brian, and had a tiny inheritance land in my lap just in time to get in on the coffee-cart opportunity.
When I arrived for the Sunday shift, I was grateful to find the crowd was lighter and more hungover, which meant fewer fancy drinks and a lot more Americanos and triple shots. Lounging against the table with the blenders, I was about to let one of the younger baristas take the next customer when I caught sight of a familiar dark head.
The hair on the back of my neck perked up. David’s appearance was far more energizing than the iced soy latte with two extra shots I’d been sipping. “I’ve got this one,” I murmured to the blue-haired barista.
“Whatever,” she muttered with a classic teenage eye roll.
I sidled up to the counter. “Didn’t expect to see you here. What can I do you for?” Even though I’d already established that flirty didn’t work with David, I went for it anyway. After all, he was
here,
right?
He studied the limited menu, scratching his smooth chin. He had the sort of complexion that could easily go scruffy, but even casual he still exuded a nerdy-prep look. His green polo shirt and khaki pants with a canvas belt and loafers made me think of fancy boat parties. And of things people could get up to
on
boats. But then, something about his too-serious eyes had always made me think of sex.
“Vanilla latte. Iced. Another hot one today.” He made a vague gesture at the sunny skies.
“Gotta love June in Portland. I want to bottle up the sun and save it for January.”
“June makes monsoon season totally worth it.” He drummed his fingers against the metal shelf of the order window.
The weather. We were back to talking about the freaking weather. I wanted to let out a full-on diva scream.
I hadn’t missed Brian in ages, but I did right then. He’d always had a way of moving things along to their natural conclusion—us included. And of course his bossy self would have taken issue with my too-spiky hair and too-flashy glasses and shy smile. Brian never would have
let
me be the one to move first.
Be bold,
I lectured myself.
Clearly David’s not going to be.
“So. You enjoying the festival? See any interesting booths?”
“Not sure.” He colored an adorable shade of pink. “Just got here. Came for a coffee mainly.”
I couldn’t help it. I beamed.
Did he come for me?
My heart leapt a little, even though it shouldn’t.
“This your first Pride?”
“That obvious?” He did that nervous cough of his again.
“Just a little.” I tried to keep my voice light, even as my smile tightened up.
A tourist.
I should have figured. After Brian, I didn’t have much interest in closeted guys or being someone’s science experiment, even someone as endearingly bumbling as David.
The barista working the machine slid me David’s drink and I gingerly handed it over.
“Thanks. Guess I should . . . look around a bit. I’ve still got some work to catch up on later.” After he paid, he lingered at the window, his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something else.
Hope, stupid and unwarranted, reared its head again, taking over my better sense.
“Wait. Want me to show you around? I can take my break.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s no problem. Be fun.”
Please don’t make me play some sort of offer-and-refuse game.
“Really? Um. Okay. That would be . . . nice.”
Thank the flying spaghetti monster.
The distant beat of the music stage thrummed through me, muscles twitching with nervous energy. I hadn’t taken many breaks, so when I asked to be cut loose for a while Chris waved me off without looking up. I exited the trailer through the rear door. An awning had been erected to cover the trailer’s extra supplies and I tossed my apron next to a big carton of cups.
Running a quick hand through my hair, I made my way to the front of the trailer, where David had taken a seat at a folding picnic table.
“Hey.”
Hell.
I didn’t have a clue what to say.
David blinked a few times, like he’d stared too long into the still-new June sun. His gaze held a whole lot of scrutiny and nowhere near as much heat as I’d wished.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” A faint flush crept up his neck. “Just realized I’ve never seen you without your apron on.”
“Guess not.” I resisted the urge to preen. Since it was Pride, I’d worn my tight red K
EEP
C
ALM T
-shirt and wriggled my ass into my tiniest black jeans. My boots had thick lug soles but, even so, when David stood he had a good two inches on me. He wasn’t crazy tall, which was good because I didn’t like being with dudes who made me feel like a midget. David’s wide shoulders and sturdy, capable build made him seem substantial without teetering into overpoweringly ripped.
“So . . .” He fiddled with his straw, and I half-expected him to bolt any second.
“What would you like to see first?” I gestured at the booths surrounding us. I needed this conversation to move out of awkward land and walking around could only help.
“I have no idea really. I’m not picky.”
“Easy to please, huh?” I raised an eyebrow.
“I guess.” His cheeks went ruddy and he looked away. Hell. I had no idea what to make of that blush. For the millionth time I wished I were better at interacting instead of merely observing.
“How about the music stage?” I wasn’t much in the mood for visiting the same vendors I saw each year. There were only so many T-shirts one could own after all. If I hadn’t been working for Chris, I would have spent most of the day watching the bands.
“Sure.” He followed me as we headed toward the main stage, winding our way through the crowds and tents. After we made our way out of the rows of tents, we had an impressive view of the waterfront and the bridge. While we walked, I kept glancing over to see what David was thinking about the rainbow explosion.
Exuberant
is the best word for Portland Pride. It’s not the spectacle of San Francisco or the statement of New York and Boston. Hamburg’s Pride had been my first, almost a decade ago. I’d snuck away from the German base where my dad had been stationed to attend the parade. I hadn’t been out to my parents yet, and I barely knew enough German to get around public transit and buy food. It didn’t matter—merely being around so many out, happy people had given me a rush I’d felt for weeks afterward.
Ever since, I’d made a point of attending Pride regardless of where I lived. Portland was my favorite because of how laid-back yet unabashedly happy everyone was. It was a little like a giant family reunion, only with a lot more color, and everyone liked each other or at least pretended to for the weekend.
Even as I told myself not to care, I found myself watching what made David’s eyes go wide, like a quartet of drag queens who towered over both of us and a woman holding a poodle dressed in a rainbow tutu. Skin—half-naked people like the guy on a unicycle with a seat shaped like a dick wearing nothing but a G-string—earned a double take from David, as did couples draped over each other.
Guess I was watching for more clues about who David was. Freed from the counter between us, he felt more . . . real.
“So how is it that this is your first Pride?” I asked. It was a clear fishing expedition, but I
needed
to know more about the status of his closet door.
“Up until two years ago I lived in Idaho—and Small Basin isn’t exactly a hotbed of Pride activities.” His half grin didn’t provide nearly enough answers to the questions that abruptly formed on my tongue.
“You move here for your job?” What I wanted to ask was whether he’d moved here to be out. But I kept dancing around the things I
really
wanted to know.
“Something like that.” Damn cryptic man, making things twenty times harder. I couldn’t ask and he couldn’t tell. My inner Navy brat gave a snicker.
David and I stood at the edge of the crowd; some people sat in folding chairs, others on blankets, and plenty of people stood too. The areas closer to the stage were tightly packed. Back where we stood it wasn’t as crazy crowded and we could still hear each other speak.
“How about you? You a Portland native?” David’s desire to move the conversation away from himself was almost palpable, his eyes going more eager and his lips turning upward.
“Nah. I’m from everywhere.”
“Everywhere?” Ordinarily when people ask me if I’m from
here
they pause expectantly, their tone not unlike when they compliment me on how good my English is. But David’s tone held nothing but genuine interest, and that made me more talkative than usual.
“Military brat. Born in South Korea, then we hit Maine, Florida, Japan, and Germany before my dad got his twenty years.”
“What was his job?” David moved closer to me as the music swelled, giving me an almost light-headed sensation.
“He worked as a Naval medic, but he’s a nurse now. Met my mom in Korea, but they live in Virginia currently. She owns a clothing store and . . .” I was rambling, but being around him was a strange mixture of giddiness at his nearness and nervousness that I would screw things up. The dueling emotions were par for the course for me, but I still had to take a deep breath. Not that it helped, because I could smell David—faint ocean-scented soap, a little sweat, and something unique to him that made my blood hum like a MAX train.
“What are you doing in the Northwest?”
I was tempted to give as cryptic an answer as he had, but the warmth in my chest made my tongue loose.
“Came for college at Reed. Stayed for an evil ex-boyfriend. Decided PhD track in linguistics wasn’t for me. Lucked out on landing the coffee business.”
“Evil ex, huh?” His lips twitched. Oh, man. I loved that he’d latched on to the ex bit almost as much as I loved the way his lips moved. Warmth spread from my chest farther south.
“Yeah. Very evil and very ex. And he’s probably wandering around here somewhere.” I sighed, having long resigned myself to the relative smallness of the Portland gay scene and Brian’s ability to turn up where I least wanted him.
“Really?” David craned his neck as if Brian might pop up at any moment. It was a ridiculously cute, almost protective gesture. His shoulders seemed wider, his hair more ruffled. Jealous? My insides bubbled up like an Italian soda, all sweetness and giddy anticipation.
“Who knows?” I shrugged. “Probably somewhere avoiding people with cameras. He’s out in Portland, but not Provo.” That part of Brian I hadn’t made peace with, not during our four years together and not after. It was especially hard because after we broke up I’d watched him cannonball into the bar scene, making a desperate splash by sleeping with anyone and everyone, all the while drowning in dishonesty, undoubtedly hurting himself and a lot of other people.
And here I was standing with a guy who was quite possibly
more
closeted than Brian. David’s nervous glances said the entire scene was new to him. Of course the Portland scene was usually a bit more subdued, but Pride was special, bringing out skin and body paint and screaming-loud outfits. A guy in front of us was wearing pink briefs and rainbow knee-highs and nothing else. To our left, the Portland Leather Men were all decked out, complete with chaps and studded harnesses.
I adored this sort of people watching, but I could tell it unsettled David. He kept shuffling his feet, his face alternating between horrified and fascinated.
“Want to walk a bit more?”
“Sure.” He shoved both hands in his pockets as he walked next to me.
Well all righty, then.
Not that I’d been planning on holding his hand or anything, but his very clear keep-your-distance signal deflated whatever stupid hope had been brewing in my brain. My skin felt chilled, despite the unseasonably balmy breeze.
We walked the perimeter of the concert, still able to hear the music as we traveled the park’s sidewalks. I asked him about his job and some of my tension eased when I saw a little smile tug at his lips.