Served Hot (9 page)

April: Coconut Frappé

Chapter 11

“I
hope you can live without coffee for two days.”

“What? You didn’t tell me
that
was part of the bargain.” I faked outrage.

“That right there is the only place to buy coffee in town—” David pointed at a gas station across from the solitary stoplight. “And it tastes like boiled gym shoes. Mom has drip coffee, but it’s usually decaf store brand.”

“Decaf! Take me back to Portland.” I took on a princessy tone to make him laugh. Anything to get him to lighten up. As soon as we’d passed the S
MALL
B
ASIN
, P
OP.
1,112 sign, David’s back had tensed up, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. It was Easter weekend and someone had put two large wooden eggs in front of the sign. A piece of poster board taped to a street pole pointed the way to an egg hunt. Downtown was a single street, half the buildings shuttered, others looking like their last good coat of paint was thirty years ago. A couple of knickknack shops and a used bookstore. Big feed store at the end of the block with pickups lining the lot.

It was quaint and homey and made me want to check in a mirror to make sure my hair wasn’t sticking up too much. David was dressed as preppy as ever, so I’d tried not to fret too much about how Portland I looked. David had laughed when I’d gone back and forth between glasses or contacts that morning.

“That’s the school over there.” He pointed out a small cement-block building with a red metal roof. I looked over at the sports fields, trying to picture a young David there, chasing after Craig. The high school undoubtedly still had trophies and pictures of him. Somewhere in this town was a cemetery with a headstone that had Craig’s name on it. I’d asked David if he wanted—needed—to visit it, but he’d shaken his head. “Nothing left to say,” he said. And I’d believed him. The last few months, David had seemed happier, freer with his emotions, and the cloud of sadness that used to follow him around seemed to have evaporated.

His Civic didn’t exactly fit with the town full of trucks and SUVs. It was a cute little valley town, surrounded by gorgeous evergreen scenery and mountains in the distance, but every corner seemed to underscore what a lonely life it had been for someone like David.

“So, don’t take this wrong, but there’s a lot more flannel and denim here than in your closet.”

“You noticed?” He raised an eyebrow over his sunglasses.

“When did you start the whole business attire thing?”

“You saying I’m preppy?” David swung the car onto a narrow road leading out of the town. “I had this math teacher in high school. Mr. Gold. He always said a man should dress like the job he wanted to have.”

“So you took that as permission to get your inner accountant on?”

“Something like that.” He laughed. “My mom always called me her odd duck. I was always begging to wear my church clothes to school, even in grade school. In middle school, I made her teach me to iron so I could iron all my own stuff.”

“You’re cute.”

“You’re biased.” He reached across the console to squeeze my knee. “And you need to stop worrying about who’s wearing what.”

“Hey. I only made you look at three different shirts.”

“My point.”

He could joke, but I wasn’t the only nervous one. We’d been invited for Easter dinner, but I didn’t kid myself that Mel would probably be the only one happy to see us there. I’d met her a few weeks earlier, when she’d come to Portland. Several years older than David and several times more talky, she had a broad smile and a bossy, good-hearted nature.

She’d liked me, though. Told me I was good for David. And she was probably behind why David’s mom had pushed for him to come home for Easter dinner. I didn’t care how awkward it was; I was just happy to be making the trek together.

The car bounced down the country road before David turned at a metal gate, taking a long driveway up to a low-slung ranch house.

“Well. This is it.” He took a deep breath as he parked the car. “I’m . . .”

“It’ll be okay.” I grabbed his hand. I wanted to say more, but Mel was coming toward the car, black Hunter boots picking their way across the swampy, still-thawing yard. Two elementary school–aged kids trailed behind her.

“Uncle David!”

“See?” I said before we got out of the car. “You’ve even got your own welcoming committee.”

David’s mom stood at the door as we came across the yard. She was tall and broad-shouldered, with a sturdy build that said she’d had no problems corralling four kids. In addition to David and Mel, there were two older brothers. I’d meet them—and a whole bunch of David’s cousins—later. The Gregory family was expecting more than forty people at Easter dinner tomorrow. My dad’s side of the family wasn’t exactly small, but it seemed like David must be related to half the county with the list of relatives he’d rattled off to me on the drive up.

David’s mom hugged him for a long time. It was easy to see in her misty eyes how much she missed him.

“So. Let me look at you.” She stepped back, still holding his shoulders. “Are you sleeping better? Eating more than bean sprouts and rice?”

“Portland
does
have meat, Ma.”

I had to repress a very inappropriate snicker. Then his mom turned her appraising eye on me, looking me over like I was a calf she was considering buying. Finally, she gave a slow smile.

“So. You must be the coffee guy?”

“I’m the coffee guy.” I smiled back, and I knew then that no matter how awkward things got later, we were going to be okay.

After the greetings, we headed into the house, David’s mom leading the way.

“So tell me, Robby,” she said over her shoulder, “how do you feel about venison?”

“I’m sorry,” David whispered next to me.

“It’ll be fine,” I whispered back, leaning toward him a little. “But I’ll let you make it up to me later, if it makes you feel any better.”

 

 

“You sure I’ll like this?”

“Of course I am,” I lied.

“Well, I suppose I do owe you.”

“You do.” I grinned up at him, all teeth and sass. It was good to be home.

“Well. It’s only paint. And only one wall.” David glared at the living room wall like he was daring it to object. Three of the walls were a pale cream shade called Coconut Frappé that I’d fallen instantly in love with—and named this week’s drink special after. However, all cream would be as boring as beige, so I’d talked David into a light teal accent wall. Of course, by
talk
I meant
arrived home with paint
.

Home. It was still such a fragile, new word. We’d lucked into a rental off of Alberta—walking distance to our brunch place and close to transit for me. And when the landlord offered us a chance to paint the place in our own choice of colors, I did a little happy dance right there in the property management office. The past owners had made some seriously bad choices. We’d painted the blood-red bathroom pale silver and the dank gray bedroom a cozy taupe. Now, here in the living room, it was time for some
color.

“You’ll see. You’ll love it.”
I hope.
I smiled encouragingly as I pried open the paint can. “You can take out your stress on the paint rollers.”

“Flinging paint as therapy?”

“If it works.” I dipped a fingertip in the blue paint, threatening to flick a drip at him before he captured me in a hug.

“It’s my legs that need a workout more than my arms. All that driving. I’m still stiff.”

“I have a cure for stiff.” I leaned into him. We’d gotten back from Easter with his family the day before.

“I know you do. But you’re the one who wanted to paint. Three days with no sex and
you
would rather hang out with Benjamin Moore here.”

“Three days? Does this morning not count?” We’d collapsed into bed together after the long drive but had ended up rubbing off together before I’d had to leave for work and David went back to sleep.

“Not nearly enough.”

“Hey, I’m just happy your mom let us share a room.” She’d turned bright pink when she’d shown us to David’s old room, but at least his folks hadn’t insisted on separate rooms or something equally archaic. But separate room or no, convincing David to do more than cuddle in Idaho had been a no-go.

Lack of sex aside, it hadn’t been nearly the ordeal David had feared. No one force-fed me venison or any of the other seven meat dishes on display at Easter dinner. I’d eaten my mashed potatoes and listened to David’s siblings tell stories about how he used to wear ties to elementary school. Sure, there were plenty of people at the dinner who didn’t talk to us. And there were more than a few stupid questions. But they were David’s town and David’s family and David’s past, and because they meant so much to David, it mattered a lot that he had shared them with me.

And I was David’s future. So was this house. It had challenges like horrible paint—which we were taking care of—and a backyard with some sort of weird six-arched pagoda thing happening, along with some funky raised garden beds, but there was room to grow here.

“Are you sure we have to paint?” David hugged me tighter, snuggling into my neck.

“We could paint really fast first—” I ended on a squeak as his hand snaked down the front of my pants. “Or paint second. Second totally works too.”

As he pulled me toward the newly taupe bedroom, I thought,
this is what hope feels like.
Since David had come into my life I’d learned a lot more about hope. It looks like ivory sheets and stacks of paint cans and two pairs of shoes next to the bed. It sounds like rustling bedcovers and murmured endearments. Hope tastes like skin and soap and victory and coffee. And I can say now with absolute certainty that hope
does
come in a paper cup and smells an awful lot like a vanilla latte to go.

If you loved
Served Hot
, keep reading for a special sneak preview of the next Portland Heat romance,
Baked Fresh
, coming in May . . . And don’t miss the third in June . . .

 

 

Vic Degrassi is a resolution maker. He’s given up smoking, gone back to school to be a pastry chef, and lost over a hundred pounds. But this year, he’s taking on his hardest challenge yet—winning the heart of Robin Dawson. The two friends volunteer each week at a Portland homeless shelter, and when Vic learns that Robin has recently been dumped, Vic knows this is the chance he’s been waiting for.

 

But Robin’s not sure he’s ready for another relationship. When their friendship turns to passion, Vic wants more than just a single night of sheet-searing action, but Robin is haunted by past mistakes. Vic agrees to keep things casual, yet tries hard to sneak into Robin’s heart. However, when tragedy strikes the shelter, love may not be enough to keep these two friends together.