Chapter
Eight
Mar
9: "How am I going to get home?"
“You said you’d think about it. That
didn’t look like thinking about it. It looked like you’d already made your
choice.”
Hank raised a brow and continued to just
study the elegant figure reclining against his truck. Hunter was dressed in
urban chic style, with his distressed jeans, merino wool cardigan and pricey high
tops. Looking at him made Hank appreciate Robbie's no-nonsense fashion sense.
Not that he'd thought of it before, but really, Levi's and a tee, classic, fool
proof style that didn't make Hank feel like he was under dressed all the time?
He resisted running his hands over the knees of his second-day jeans, or checking
the front of his tee for dirt or produce stains. He was working. Hunter was
playing. Hank tightened his lips and continued to stare his ex-lover down.
The silence stretched between them. Seconds
ticking away. Hank just stared until Hunter began to twitch. Never having been
one to condone a silence, Hunter eventually obliged, providing the unasked for
explanation for his presence. "You're the stubbornnest ass I've ever met.
Did I ever tell you that?"
Hank remained resolute. It made him edgy
having Hunter in such proximity to Red's restaurant. Which was ridiculous, as
it was clearly a public street. He could cut the scene short, hurry Hunter on
his way.
“Fine. I know I was supposed to call and
we would meet and all that, but… I was bored. I called a taxi and came down to see if I
could catch you, for that lunch we talked about.” Hunter straightened, sunlight
glinting off his blond hair and the dazzling white of his smile. “Saw your
truck parked here, and ….” He waved a hand expansively, vaguely indicating the
off street parking, the restaurant and shops. “I saw.”
“Yeah?” He smirked. “I don’t know what you
think you saw--”
“I saw your little friend… and I saw the
expression on your face. You’ve got it bad.”
Hank shook his head, but an involuntary
grin flirted with his lips and he was conscious of heat rising in his cheeks.
“I’ve only just met Red.” But it felt … not like he’d known him forever, but as
though he’d been waiting for him forever? Like all the other men… not that
there had been all that many-- didn’t count. The door jangled behind him, but
his tongue was on a path of its own and wouldn’t be stopped. “We’re … getting
acquainted. Not even dating. Nothing to see. I haven’t, as you say, made my
choice.”
“Oh.” Red’s soft voice was inevitable.
“Red!” He whirled around. Of course it was
him. Who else would it be when Hank was behaving stupidly? “I didn’t mean that
the way it sounded.” Why did he seem to have a chronic case of foot in mouth
disease when Red was around?
“Why not?” Red’s voice was hard and cold,
and suddenly Hank felt like making a chilled soup for tonight’s dinner. “It’s
the truth, isn’t it? We met a few times, had two and half dates… Oh, we aren’t
calling them dates, are we? You know what? I don’t know about you, but I sure
as hell don’t sleep with random people I’m not dating, so maybe we should have
talked about this ahead of time, hm? But no matter. It’s all out in the open
now, we can both make an informed decision about the situation.”
He seemed to swell, growing hard and stern
before Hank’s eyes. “And I do believe I’ll chose not to keep getting acquainted
with you.”
Hank’s jaw dropped and he stood in stunned
silence as Red threw a Styrofoam container at his feet. His gaze followed the
box, which burst open, spilling cookies onto the pavement. Chocolate chip, the
traditional favorite.
Applause broke out. A single man clapping
with a measured pace. Hank jerked his gaze from the spilled cookies to see that
Red had departed and Hunter was clapping sardonically.
“Knock it off,” He growled. He wasn’t sure
what had just happened, but he was left feeling like the biggest heel in the
universe. Bending, he scooped the cookies back into the box. His watch chimed,
followed by his phone chiming. Time to get back to the restaurant and start
dinner prep. “I already ate lunch. You’re going to have to find your own.” He
continued his original path to the vehicle’s driver’s seat.
“Wait! Where are you going?” Hunter
grabbed Hank’s arm, and halted him.
With a swift jerk, Hank pulled free. “I’m
going to the restaurant. It’s time to get dinner started.”
“But how will I get home?”
Arrested, Hank turned. “Please tell me you
have a home to go to?” He narrowed his eyes at Hunter, who smirked in
amusement.
“Planning on inviting your little friend
over again? Afraid I’ll get in the way? Oh lighten up. Yes. I booked in at the
Embassy Suites, one of those little apartment thingies with the kitchenette.”
He gave Hank a mournful look. “A kitchenette.
You’re condemning me to either suffer my own cooking or eat out all the
time.”
Hank laughed. “You can cook.”
“Not on the same caliber as you.” Hunter
eyed him hopefully. “We’re still friends, right? Why can’t you cook for your
friends?”
“I’ll cook for you whenever you want.”
Hank smiled slyly. “All you have to do is come over to the restaurant and eat,
like all my other friends do.”
It was Hunter’s turn to laugh. “Relegating
me to just another friend, huh? Okay. Here’s the hotel number, and my room
number. Give me a call, and we can hang out and talk, get caught up.” He raised
both hands defensively. “Just a friendly thing, I swear.”
Hank couldn’t help but notice that Hunter
hardly seemed devastated. “You’re accepting this pretty well.” The Hunter he
knew was a determined man, one who didn’t let go of his goals and aspirations
easily. It was a characteristic that had served him in good stead, as evidenced
by his promotion to the home office.
“I’ve been doing some thinking, too.”
Hunter grimaced slightly. “You don’t know how it is, Hank. You’ve never been
beyond the boundaries of this town. When you’re out there…” He gestured
expansively, “Far from home, at first everything is an adventure. New food, new
people, new sights. But eventually the adventure fades and you just get tired
of it. Everything back here becomes…” He paused, as though searching for words.
“a sacred memory. Nothing is as good as the food you got at home, no bed
compares to the one you slept in at home, the sun rises brighter at home, the
moon shines more brilliantly, and the love you left behind.... It’s a the magic
of distance.”
It was a relief to hear Hunter say it.
Nevertheless, Hank had to hear it in plain English. “So, what you’re saying
is…”
“I love you, but I’m not in love with you.
I guess I had to come back home to see that. Now, that boy? He looked
devastated. I’m guessing that whatever his grand speech was meant to do, it was
a cover for something a lot deeper.”
“I know.” Hank ducked his head in guilt.
“I know. Look, Hunter, Red… it’s complicated. And I really am running late now
for tonight’s meal.”
“Just don’t let love slip you by, Hank
because you’re hung up on the past. Not like I did.”
He was nearly at the restaurant before he
realized that Hunter wasn’t referring to him as the lost love. It seemed that
Hunter had stories to tell that might be just as complicated as the mess that
was tearing Hank apart right now.
It wasn’t even Red’s apparent knack for
appearing just when Hank was being at his most stupid.
No. What tore at him, what kept him on
this strange up and down ride of wanting to see Red and wanting to avoid him
like the plague, was the certainty that sat like a rock in his stomach that if
he let him, Robert Redding could change his life in unforeseen ways.
And whatever Hank might say to Hunter, he
preferred his change in small, well thought out, risk free doses. Like a
vacation somewhere sunny where you came home in two weeks, or a restaurant
where you got to cook whatever you wanted.
He wasn’t ready to call it love. And that
was a good thing, since whatever it was Red felt it apparently wasn’t strong
enough to put up with a few obstacles.
“Which is the way you wanted it, anyway,
right?” He asked the windshield. You can’t seriously be blaming Red for not
liking what he heard?
He should have known I didn’t mean it. “I
told him I didn’t mean it.”
The debate continued, all the way to the
restaurant. He reached for his phone several times to call Red and ask for a
chance to explain… But he never made the call.
He’d hurt Red’s feelings, but it hadn’t
been a death blow. At this point, Red would recover, find someone else to
lavish with love and attention and chocolate chip cookies.
Hank didn’t need it. He was used to being
alone, to losing himself in his food creations and his work. Whatever flaw it
was in him that made him so hard to love… that sent Hunter flying off to
foreign climes and stranger’s beds, he was used to it.
But that didn’t mean he needed to court
pain by encouraging Red to hang around.
Red would get over him, he’d get over Red,
and change… well, change was great for a menu, but not so great for a way of
life. Stability. That’s what Hank needed, and he’d had his own brand of it
carved out for a while now.
***
Robert watched the two gorgeous men
chatting by Hank’s truck. His cheeks burned with humiliation, and his brain
buzzed with things he should have said, wished he’d said, instead of what utter
garbage he’d spewed. Why couldn’t he ever think of the right words when he was
around Hank?
He kept seeing the look on Hank’s face
when Hank realized Robert had heard what he’d said. He hadn’t meant it… that
much had been clear from his pained expression. But Robert had to admit that it
wasn’t the first time that Hank had denied them having any sort of
relationship.
It was a huge contradiction with the way
he acted, cooking those decadently sexy meals, claiming that Robert inspired
them, the way he made love…
You don’t know. He may be like that with
everyone. That may be part of his technique. For all you know he pulls out the
same tired lines every three weeks with a new guy.
“He’s not like that.” He spoke aloud,
“He’s not a liar.” Just confused. “And too confusing for you to deal with.”
But oh how he wanted to deal with Hank… If
only Hank were willing to deal.
The debate… between trying again or
walking away… continued throughout the afternoon. Finally, Bella and the night
shift manager had had enough and forced him out. At loose ends, unwilling to
venture back to the gym in search of Saul, and afraid of turning up at Hank’s
door, Robert stopped by a grocery store for a couple of pints of Ben and
Jerry’s and then drove with single minded intensity to his grandmother’s
apartment in the retirement community.
She answered his knock dressed in a pink
housecoat, furry slippers and a sparkly feathered boa. “Robbie! Did we have
plans?”
He leaned forward and brushed a kiss onto
her papery skin. “Hi Grandmere. I came because it’s all your fault.”
“My fault?” She stepped back, letting him
pass into the small apartment. “What’s my fault?”
“Hank and I broke up. Well, not really,
because to hear him tell it, we weren’t ever together. But anyway, since I only
went after him because you told me… hell, practically dared me to. Well, he
doesn’t want me, so it's time for a pity party.”
“My fault?” Grandmere glared at him. “I
told you to have coffee with him. Beyond that, it’s on you.”
“I know.” He raided the plastic shopping
bag. “I brought ice cream. Haagen Daz.”
“What kind?”
“What?” Laughter bubbled up, some store of
happiness he hadn’t been aware of holding inside erupted. “Are you going to
kick me out if I got the wrong kind?”
Grandmere eyed him.
Robbie opened the bag. “Um… green tea and Applewood
smoked caramel almond?”
Sprightly blue eyes blinked in astonishment.
“You’re making that up. No one made such a thing.”
Robbie held up one of the cartons. “I kid
you not.”
“I ought to throw you out. But I won’t.
Come on, Robbie. Green tea ice cream is an adventure I never expected. I can
hardly challenge you to live life to its fullest, and then turn my nose up at …
imaginative ice cream flavors, can I?”
