Xylophone (16 page)

fact you went gay for me. And I kind of like it.”

“Are you out of your mind? You think you

‘turned’

me

because

you’re

so

damned

irresistible? I’ve been gay all along,
obviously
, but

I didn’t want to admit it or accept it because—”

The laughter Dare had been suppressing

finally tumbled from his mouth. “Ah, Jonah. Why

couldn’t you just say, ‘Yes, I’m still attracted to

you’?”

Jonah let out a flustered sigh, maybe of

concession. “And how about, ‘I couldn’t help it if I

tried’? You’re smart and talented and alluring as

hell, and I’m already half out of my mind because I

want to get close to you in a different way. But I…

don’t know how. I’m afraid of putting you off

again.”

Dare’s stomach fluttered as his humor fled.

“You never put me off,” he said, his tone gentling.

“Just the opposite. But it didn’t seem appropriate

for me to hit on you. It would’ve been like having

unchaste urges in a confessional.”

A squeaking noise came through the phone.

Jonah must’ve been repositioning himself. He was

probably in bed, although he didn’t sound as if

he’d been asleep. “Speaking of confessionals, that

kiss wasn’t completely a comfort kiss.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.
“I’ll tell you

what it was—a good start. Would you like to go

out sometime, on a real date? Or come to my place

for dinner? Then we’ll see what step two is.”

“You’re sure that’s what you want?”

“You bet I am.”

“Can you cook?”

“I’ve mastered one recipe.”

“Will your brother be gone?”

“Even if I have to buy him a plane ticket to

Mykonos.” Dare already knew Carver would be at

a conference in Kansas City from Thursday

evening through Sunday afternoon. He just wanted

to impress Jonah with his determination.

The thoughts that packed Jonah’s silence

were almost audible.
Does he mean it? What’s he

after? Is this the right thing to do?

“How does Friday night sound?” Dare asked.

“Lasagna by candlelight, so you can taste it but not

see it.”

Soft laughter.

“An old movie or two on a disgustingly

decadent, sage-colored sectional sofa. And if you

get too tired to drive home, we have plenty of

room for overnight guests.”

“I don’t live that far away, Dare.”

“I repeat, I have plenty of room for overnight

guests. Even weekenders.”

Dare could hear Jonah breathing, could easily

interpret the volume and tempo of his breaths.

“On one condition,” Jonah said.

Uh-oh
. Dare braced himself.
Please oh

please don’t say we can’t touch each other.

“What’s that?”

“You have to dance with me.”

Chapter Fifteen

ADORABLE. Jonah was just plain fucking adorable

as he stood on the front porch, all flushed and

soapy-smelling and looking as if he’d been

dressed by a proud, fussy mother. And when his

arm swept gracefully from behind his back, a

warm-hued autumn bouquet clutched in his fist,

Dare was so touched he felt his face slide into an

aw, gee
expression. After a blissful, misty moment,

he realized this was how he would’ve reacted if he

were twelve again and Ryan Morgan had told him,

“I think you’re the cutest and coolest guy ever.”

Maybe that’s exactly what Jonah was telling

him. Dare hoped so, as silly as such hope seemed

for a man his age.

“Wow” was all he could muster, until “thank

you” occurred to him.

“I thought they’d look nice on the dinner

table,” Jonah said shyly. “I know most people

would’ve brought wine, but I don’t know squat

about wine.”

“I don’t either.” Dare took the flowers… then

realized that his dinner table would hardly do them

justice.

Earlier, he’d tried to recall how his parents

had set up for “pig-out parties”—as a kid, that was

how he’d thought of them—but his mental images

were vague. A gleaming, everything-matches

neatness. Structurally-folded napkins. Flickering

candles. All atop a double-pedestal table, a

veritable barge of a table, that could comfortably

seat ten people on its elegant, upholstered chairs.

The barge was gone, hauled to his parents’

new residence, but Carver had replaced it with a

classy oval six-top. Dare’s napkin-folding skills

were lacking, and there wasn’t a tablecloth left in

the house, but he’d polished the cherry-finished

wood, dug up a couple of placemats, and found an

unscented pillar candle in a color that didn’t clash

with the dishes.

Now that he held the flowers, he realized he

couldn’t fulfill his other host duty. “Uh, I need to

get these in water,” he said. “The closet is right

there if you want to hang up your coat. Then go

ahead and make yourself at home in the living

room.” He took a few steps and turned. “Would

you like something to drink? Water, juice, soda?”

“Cranberry juice on ice?”

“Yeah, I think we’ve got some. Or a blend.

You know, with pomegranate or something. My

brother’s into antioxidants.”
What the hell am I

yammering about? Who gives a shit about

Carver’s antioxidant intake?

“That’s fine,” Jonah said, pulling off his

jacket.

Dare hurried into the kitchen and hoped like

hell he could find a vase.
Clip off the ends of the

stems
, he reminded himself.
Use lukewarm water
.

Set them someplace on the table where they

won’t block—

Get the fucking lasagna in the fucking oven!

Oh Christ, why hadn’t they just gone out to

dinner?

Dare was sure he’d originally had a good

reason for inviting Jonah to the house. Now he

couldn’t remember what it was. Maybe that having

Jonah here from the start would eliminate the

awkward step of getting him here after a date

elsewhere. But why did he even want to
get
Jonah

here?

Oh yeah. Because he knew Carver would be

safely out of town, and he was hoping to take

advantage of the privacy and get lucky. Only now

he wasn’t sure that getting lucky was either

feasible or desirable. He and Jonah both seemed to

be on the intact-but-fragile side of nervous wreck.

Or maybe only
he
was.

What if the opportunity arises but I can’t?

“One step at a time,” he mumbled to himself.

He finally managed to get the flowers into a

cut-glass vase and pour Jonah’s drink.

“Can I help you with anything?”

Dare jumped and slapped a hand to his chest.

“Shit.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Jonah

stood, smiling, just inside the kitchen.

“Guess I’m a little anxious. I’m not used to

entertaining guests. Not, you know, in
this
way.”

Jonah’s smile stretched into a grin.

Dare froze, looking at him. “You really

should smile more often.”

Up came a blush. Of course. “Here, let me put

those on the table.” Jonah walked to the center

island and lifted the vase.

“You look like a Christmas tree.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Bright red cheeks, bright green eyes,

glowing smile. A really… handsome Christmas

tree.”

They stood less than a foot from each other.

Nothing happened for a moment, yet a whole lot

was happening. Dare felt a soft blanket forming,

the kind that wrapped around two people at the

precise moment their desire for each other

deepened into something more, and both feelings

became undeniable.

“That’s probably the lamest compliment you

ever got,” Dare said.

“I wasn’t even sure it
was
a compliment.”

“It was. I love Christmas.”

A more self-conscious version of Jonah’s

smile resurfaced. “So do I.”

THEIR date went smoothly after that. Dare judged

his meal tasty if not aesthetically perfect; Jonah not

only agreed but ate heartily. Even the store-bought

bread, baked in a deli that morning, seemed fresh

once it was warmed. The candle didn’t drip, no

food fell from forks onto shirtfronts, and (the

greatest triumph of all) conversation never sagged

into awkward silence.

Dare caught himself smiling a lot, and Jonah

just as much. Sometimes their smiles broke for

laughter. They learned more about each other. And

Dare learned more about himself.

From the day Howard Pankin had entered his

life, he’d lost sight of what he wanted.
Everything

he wanted, really. That damp fog of self-blame and

shame and secrecy had swallowed all his dreams.

Dare suddenly remembered that his sixth grade

teacher, Ms. Gunturu, had called a person’s

collective aspirations a “hopescape.” Tonight the

word seemed especially apt. Throughout his post-

Pankin years, Dare thought he’d been trying to

retrieve his dreams, but he’d only been going

through the motions, groping blindly along.

Now, his shattered hopescape was re-

forming. Its resolution and clarity increased with

every minute he spent in Jonah Day’s company.

The vision even scintillated with promise. True

joy no longer seemed quite so elusive.

A major component of Dare’s hopescape—at

least since early adolescence, when his first crush

had consumed him—was a longing for A Boy to

Call His Own. As he gazed at his dinner

companion and confidant, he realized he might

finally be able to realize that dream. Less than an

arm’s reach away sat someone who just might fit

the bill.

Jonah didn’t look the part, but that didn’t

matter. A boy didn’t need the polish of celebrity to

be beautiful or to grow into a beautiful man. He

didn’t have to be a photographer’s dream. He only

had to be Dare’s dream. And maybe one that could

push the nightmares aside.

Toward the end of dinner, Jonah got to talking

animatedly about ballroom dancing. He’d taken

lessons for a while, which hadn’t come without

mishaps. The longer he talked, the more he

gesticulated, made faces, gave in to amused

laughter. Dare was more than entertained; he was

enchanted.

“Then there was this woman, Jayne Arthur.

She was a freakin’ Amazon. When she wore heels,

she was an
über
-Amazon. One evening she had to

do a tango—American, not Argentine—with this

kind of portly older dude named Bernard.

“So they get into their dance embrace, which

was pretty comical in and of itself, and I notice

Jayne’s earrings, these dangly beaded things, are

sort of skating around Bernard’s hair. I’m thinking,

Whoa, that could be some hurt waiting to happen.

Then Jayne and Bernard do a head snap—you

know, like this.” Jonah demonstrated as Dare,

smiling, settled his chin into his palm. “And

damned if one of those muskie-lure earrings didn’t

catch in Bernard’s hair. I winced… but that snag

wasn’t the worst of it.” Jonah began laughing. “In

like two seconds, this little black
pelt
is hanging

from the earring! And now Jayne’s wincing, not to

mention listing to port, ’cause her earlobe is like

halfway to her shoulder while her partner’s

freakin’
hairpiece
is swinging in the breeze!”

Dare was laughing too, even while he kept

gazing at Jonah, even as he knew another

something extraordinary was happening. The pond

with its thin ice was behind them now. They were

making their way through a whole new process,

like a baby becoming ambulatory. Lift head, roll

around, sit up, belly scoot, crawl, stand, walk, run.

Each stage took some getting used to—staggering

always preceded confidence—but once the new

skill was mastered, damn, what possibilities lay

ahead.

Jonah took a drink, dabbed at his mouth, laid

his napkin next to his plate. He rested his forearms

on the table and leaned toward Dare. “Do you

realize you’ve been looking at me kind of strangely

for a while?”

Dare kept looking. “Strangely in what way?”

“Like….” Smiling self-consciously, Jonah