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  He narrowed his eyes at me. "Fine. Half. And I’ll wash her and fill up the tank when I’m done."

  I laughed and turned back to dinner. "Now, what were you saying about the land sale?" I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what he thought about why I was reluctant to see the land go to a developer.

  "It's not really my place to say."

  Well, he was right. He didn't know me, not really. I hadn't even told him until this afternoon that I'd been a marine. He was a virtual stranger, albeit one I'd like to get to know better, damn the consequences. "I'm asking, so that makes it your place."

  "It was your bookshelf."

  What did that have to do with anything? "Dad's?"

  "Exactly."

  I didn't have the first clue what he was talking about. The sound of the toaster slinging toast out made me jump slightly, and my knife slipped, narrowly missing the tip of my finger. I set it down and breathed for a second, adrenaline at the near-miss giving me a small jolt of energy.

  "You're going to have to spell it out for me."

  "I don't know for sure. I don't know the details. I'd like to, but at this point, this is all speculation. But your living room is a shrine to your parents. Have you changed anything in there besides the couch?"

  The couch was actually one my mom had picked out. Right before she'd moved to Florida hers had sprung a spring and she'd finally given in and gone to Bend to select a new one.

  "Ah," I said, not sure how to answer him. I felt like he was throwing a bomb of truth and it was about to explode all over me.

  "I figured."

  At least he didn't realize the couch had been Mom's too.

  "And in here. The dishes scream mom at me. The curtains are tiny flowers. And you don't have a dishwasher."

  His words cut me, and I started to grow angry again. "You know what, Nate? You sound just like Scott." I turned to face him.

  "Maybe Scott had a point."

  Ouch.

  He looked me in the eye with a plate of bread in his hand. "How long has it been since your dad died and your mom moved away?"

  I calculated the time in my head. "Five years or so."

  "Five years. You haven't thought about moving or making this place your own in five years?"

  Looking at my kitchen, I resisted his words. What was wrong with the furnishings as they were? "There's nothing wrong with the way my house looks."

  "No, there isn't. It's perfectly comfortable, and to you, it's familiar and homey. It's easy."

  "What was I supposed to do, let the business go under, remodeling and decorating instead of working?"

  "Have you ever thought about it creatively?" He took the knife from the counter and began chopping the rest of the carrots. I was getting worked up, but he was cool and rational.

  With a sigh, I threw my hands up. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, think outside the box. Why not expand the business?"

  "To what?"

  "To another town. To include parts or some other service. Hire a few people, hire someone to manage this place while you pursue whatever your dreams are. Make life exciting again."

  Who was he to say my life wasn't exciting? But, instead of retorting back at him, I considered his words. Was my life exciting? No. It was boring as hell. I worked until I was exhausted, slept, then did it again. The weeks that were slower were torturous. I caught up on cleaning and smaller projects, so I stayed busy, but not busy enough to keep my mind quiet.

  Damn. He might've had a point.

  Putting my hands on the counter, I watched Nate finish the carrots. He moved around me to the counter to get a tomato, putting one hand on my hip as he reached for it.

  His touch burned my side. I didn't move, the urge to lean into him strong.

  "Well, you're no better," I finally said.

  He quirked an eyebrow at me. "How's that?" He walked to the other side of the island I'd been chopping on and looked at my knives in their wooden holder. Pulling out a serrated blade, he returned to the other side of the island where I could watch his face.

  "You told me yourself you work all the time."

  "Yes, I do, but in my case, I'm escaping my past, not stuck in it. I'm probably the exact opposite of you." He grinned and waggled the knife at me. "Maybe if we brainstorm we can find a happy medium."

  "Ha, maybe so." Watching him finish the salad, I imagined what it would be like to move on. To let go of the shop, the town. To my surprise, it wasn't a horrible feeling.

  "What do you want?" I asked as I picked up the vegetable peeler from the spot I'd left it after peeling the carrots.

  "In life?" he asked as he watched me peel the cucumbers, having finished the tomatoes.

  "In life."

  "To never, ever be poor. To never, ever make my kids feel like they can't have new shoes or money to go to the movies."

  "You’ve got kids?" I asked, surprised. If he did, he was a piss-poor dad, ‘cause it was the first time he’d mentioned them. My hands paused in their rhythmic swiping across the vegetable.

  "No, just eventual kids."

  Oh, thank goodness. Now to ask about the second part. "You grew up poor?"

  "We didn't starve. Nothing so dramatic. But I also couldn't go out to eat with my friends. I never wanted to go over to their houses to play video games, because we never had the same games so I sucked at them. I played a few sports in high school, but there were school grants to pay for that. My mom was good at being discreet, so she outfitted me in used and donated clothes, and nobody was the wiser. It wasn't a horrible childhood, by any means, don't get me wrong."

  He was a little bit humbler than I'd thought he would be. At least he knew there were those that had it a lot worse than he had.

  "That doesn't mean you can't work hard to make sure your kids don't have the same problems."

  He perked up a little at my words. "Very true. And that's exactly what I've done. I also helped my sister when she first started out, and that meant the world to me to be able to do."

  "You have a sister?"

  His jaw dropped. "I can't believe I haven't mentioned her," he said with a laugh. "We really do have a lot to learn about each other."

  I contemplated his words. He said it as if there was a reason to get to know one another. As if there was a future in which we'd need to know lots of things about each other. His light touches as he moved around my kitchen had been great. And as much as his words had floored me, he'd been right. I really was stuck in the past, not moving forward or backward.

  It was time for a change. I had no plans to move into the city or do anything drastic, but as I looked around the kitchen, I considered the idea of moving.

  It wasn't the worst idea I'd ever had. Well. It wasn't the worst idea I'd ever heard from Nate. Maybe he'd have better ones the more I got to know him.

  "Did you make this from scratch?" Nate asked in surprise as I pulled the glass dish from the oven. "I assumed you'd popped a frozen one in."

  "The sauce is jarred, with a few extra spices, but the rest of it I made," I said proudly. "Old family recipe."

  "Excellent," he said as I dished out the gooey meal. "And it'll make for great leftovers."

  Scott had hated leftovers. He'd refused to eat them, no matter how delicious the meal had been. "Me, too," I said with a smile as I set his plate of lasagna in front of him.

  "Next time, I'll cook. Especially as we don't know how long I'll be here." He blew on the steaming meal, then pushed it to the side to work on his salad instead. I did the same while mine cooled. "And don't forget, we still need to make a grocery store run."

  "Yes, and soon. This depleted most of my pantry. I'd been putting it off even before I picked you up. I hate shopping."

  He gave me a scandalized look. "As a gay man in the modern age, you're supposed to love to shop. Didn't you read the manual?"

  "I think they forgot to give me my manual," I said wryly. "I'm not your typical homosexual. At least, I'm not like most of the men you see on TV, l
oud and boisterous."

  Thinking back to one of the flings I'd had with a vacationer, I grinned. "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

  "I'm not either. I know I can be a little effeminate, but I think most gay men are nothing like what is portrayed on TV. We're just people, just men. We still have the same quirks and tendencies to be hotheaded and controlling."

  "Exactly," I said with a smile, glad he got it. "We just happen to like dick."

  My casual use of a sensual word struck him as hilarious and he nearly spit his tea across the table. I began to laugh at him as he mopped up his face and the edges of his plate. By the time we'd both calmed down, my sides were sore.

  "Come on, I'll wash this time." After several cups of tea, we still sat at the table with our leftover food cold in front of us. We'd talked about everything from our favorite bands to the age we'd lost our virginities. The dishes were done far too quickly, then we said goodnight. I took the risk and gave him a soft kiss, cupping his stubbly cheeks. He'd sighed and leaned into me.

  After the emotional roller coaster we'd been on that day between the nature of his work and the discussion of my being stuck in the past, I didn't invite him to my room.

  "Goodnight. I’m going to head to bed." I walked toward my bedroom and looked back at him, where he sat smiling at me. "Even though we had some difficulties, I had a nice time with you today." It was too fast for me, but it had been difficult not to ask him to bed. I'd been hard since we first sat down at the table. Besides, I'd forgotten to grab a box of condoms the day before.

  11

  Nate

  My 6:00 a.m. alarm woke me up after another night sleeping like an angel. It had taken a while to actually get to sleep after that dinner, but once I was out, I hadn't even dreamed. I had to ask Ian where he got his mattress. I'd need one in my apartment in Portland.

  After brushing my teeth and downing some water and a fruit bar I found in Ian's cabinet, I went back to my room to find my workout clothes. Knowing Ian was sleeping in the room right beside mine made it difficult to put my pants on. I wanted to leave them off and join him in his bed.

  Our dinner had started rough, with me being brutally honest when perhaps I shouldn't have been. Ian had started to get upset, but then he'd quieted and calmed. Our evening after that felt very much like a date, and not like a mechanic letting a stranger stay in his spare room.

  Ian hadn't made any moves to get a repeat performance of our first night together, so I'd held myself back, but just being around him, touching his back, and then watching him eat had been enough to harden my dick in my pants under the table. I wanted to feel his lips closing on my cock instead of the fork.

  I'd found myself touching his hand several times, rubbing my thumb across his rough knuckles. The hands of a man that worked hard for a living. Damn it, it was hot. And when we did the dishes, we both were intentionally making sure our fingers touched each time he handed me a plate. It was almost innocent, the flirting, like two kids not ready for more would do, but knowing how sexy he was under his t-shirt made the simple touches far more erotic than innocent. I knew exactly what he could do with those fingers, and I was sure I'd just barely cracked the iceberg.

  As soon as I'd shut the door behind me to go to bed, I'd ripped off my clothes and taken care of the raging hard-on. I hoped he heard my moan as I came all over my own stomach, and I hoped he heard me leave the bedroom to clean myself up in the bathroom. I'd left the evidence of my orgasm all over my stomach as I walked across the hall, tempting fate, but my luck had been nil. He hadn’t come out of his room.

  Dressed in running clothes, I paused in the hall, having given him plenty of time. He'd said he was an early riser, but I saw no sign that he'd been up yet. Oh, well. I jogged down the stairs and out the front door of the shop, which was locked. I hoped he didn't mind that I left it unlocked. He hadn't given me a key to lock it back from the outside.

  My energy levels were through the roof after the frustrating night and the great sleep. I'd rather have turned it into sexual energy but running would have to do. I started at a slow jog, making my way down the main street of the town.

  Ian's shop was situated at one end, with several stores lining the street. I peered into the diner, a used bookstore, and an antique shop on the same side of the road as Ian's shop. Several people moved around the businesses, even this early. I got a few waves, which startled me at first. People in the city were rarely so open and friendly. Everyone walked around with their heads down in their phones. Here, the cell phones didn’t work, so neighbor greeted neighbor.

  The grocery store was in approximately the center of the street. Delicious smells wafted from its general direction. I ran past quickly. It smelled like baking donuts, and that was the last thing I needed. I picked up my speed, all the way to the auto parts and hardware store that seemed to be the endpoint of the grand main street.

  Wow. A handful of businesses, the police station, and a church. That was it, too. There were no side streets with more options. Nothing but a bunch of houses spread out around the county. How had they kept the town alive for so long? Maybe there was another commercial district nearby that I’d missed in my study of the county.

  A bed and breakfast sign was beside the parts shop and a winding lane into a wooded grove. The guests would feel like they were miles away from civilization, even with a small town steps from their bedrooms.

  At the gas station across from the grocery store, I stopped and looked around. Spying a small box of condoms, I grabbed it and took it to the counter. The woman behind the counter gave me a bright smile. "Anything else, dear?" she asked as she bagged the condoms.

  "No thanks and no bag, actually, but thank you. And no receipt." I smiled at her and pocketed the condoms after sliding my card. "Have a nice day."

  "Oh, you too," she said in a bright voice. I wondered if she knew what I was going to do with the condoms. It was a really small town, after all.

  After passing a hairdresser and barbershop combo and a co-op type store for farms and farm animals, I found myself at Ian's again, but still full of energy.

  Looking down the road, I opted to make another lap rather than go in and run into the man that was causing me to fight an erection even though I was panting from my run.

  More people were moving around in the diner this time, and I got a few more waves. The lady at the bookstore had put out a sandwich board with a silly saying on it about reading. At the grocery store, which was so small I wondered how they had any variety, a man pulled a rack of produce out of the front door.

  Ian had joked about it not being Mayberry, but it really wasn't far off.

  An old man stepped out of the parts store as I passed it. "You Nate?"

  "Yes, sir." This felt like a sir sort of town. I’d found myself saying it more and more often.

  "Tell Ian the part will be here in eight days if the man on the phone at the corporate office can be trusted. Said it had to come from Japan."

  Damn. Eight days. I’d be done with my business there in three, maybe four. "I'll do that, sir, thank you." I gave him a head nod and continued toward Ian's shop. Would it be worth trying to take a bus back to Portland for the extra five days until the car was fixed? Or try to wait it out?

  Maybe Sara could come to get me after the meeting.

  Even in the early morning mountain chill, I managed to move fast enough to work up a sweat. The silence in the shop indicated Ian was probably still sleeping. Heat blasted me in the face from the hallway as I opened the door to the stairs. My already overheated body protested the extra warmth. Ripping off my shirt, I headed straight for the shower.

  As I reach my hand out to grab the doorknob, wondering when Ian would show his face, the bathroom door opened. Ian stepped forward, his damp, bare chest nearly touching mine. With wide eyes, he huffed out a gust of minty fresh breath. "Holy shit."

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." I backed up just a few inches, giving him enough room to slide out of the ba
throom.

  The last thing I wanted was to let him out of that bathroom. Everything in me screamed for me to push him back in, turn on the shower, and do every dirty thing I'd ever thought of.

  Ian moved forward slowly, his eyes on mine. "Good morning."

  His husky voice sent shivers straight through me, hardening my dick—again. "Morning. Sleep well?" We turned, so we could squeeze past each other. "Excuse me, sorry. I'm sweaty from a run."

  "Yeah, I heard you go out. And saw you lap the shop from my window." The towel around his waist brushed against my bare lower stomach. "I must’ve been tired. Normally I would’ve been up a couple of hours earlier. I rarely even need to set an alarm."

  His bedroom looked out onto Main Street. "I needed to burn off some energy." My eyes drifted down his chest to his towel as we moved slowly past each other.

  The progression was torturous. Fighting the itch in my hands to run them slowly across his pecs, I finally stepped fully into the bathroom, turning back to him.

  He faced me from the hall. "Enjoy your shower." His eyes were on my abdomen, so I clenched my muscles. I didn't have quite a six-pack, but I definitely wasn't ashamed of how my torso looked.

  He had a six-pack. I'd been looking. Extensively.

  "Yeah, thanks."

  He turned toward his bedroom, and I shut the door, leaning my head against it. Son of a bitch. Would this ever get easier? We couldn't possibly have a future together. I turned on the faucet and waited for the water to heat as I stared at the toothbrush Ian had given me, sitting in the holder next to Ian's. Shit, but I liked seeing it there. A toothbrush with mine. I hadn't seen that since I lived at home with my parents and sister. My whole adult life, it had been nothing but flings, one-night stands, and avoidance.

  Grabbing the toothbrush, I scrubbed my teeth voraciously, angry at the situation, at my inability to do what everyone else in the world did with ease. A relationship, what was so hard about a relationship? Spitting out the toothpaste, I sighed and hung my head. Maybe I was too damaged to deal with shit like this.