A Thanksgiving meet-cute story

Serendipity

Adrien

 

“Excuse me. Are you Scott?”

I jumped and turned. The man lit by the parking lot floodlights was a total stranger. Sadly, because he was gorgeous. “No, sorry. I’m Adrien.”

“Oh.” His shoulders slumped. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

I’d have continued on my way in the doors, but as the man turned away I thought I saw a glitter in his eyes like unshed tears. I took a step sideways to keep his face in view and asked, “Were you looking for someone?”

“Um. Yeah. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” The guy blinked quickly and cast a look around the lot, tucking his bare hands into his armpits and hunching his shoulders.

I ran scenarios through my mind but only one added up to a guy in a nice dinner jacket a size too small, lurking on a fancy restaurant’s walkway asking strangers for “Scott,” and looking upset like that. “Did you get stood up by a blind date?”

“No, I—” He cut himself off and hesitated, brow creased as if thinking. “Yeah, you know? That’s basically what happened.”

“Well, Scott’s an idiot.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Look at you.” I swept a hand up and down him. “You’re stunning, and on time, and said the word ‘sorry’ like you meant it. Sure, the rest of your personality could be crap for all I know, but you are definitely swipe-right.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant. “Thanks.”

I shivered, the chill evening air seeping through my jacket. “Why don’t you come on inside, and wait for him in the lobby at least. You must be freezing.” His jacket looked even thinner than mine. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Almost an hour. But he said to stay out here so we could go in together. I should’ve dressed warmer.” He shuddered as if talking about the cold made it worse.

“Well, if he’s that late, he can hardly complain. What difference does it make if you arrive separately?”

“I… uh… I shouldn’t say.”

“Look, I’m not being nosy.” I was totally being nosy. “But if he’s asking you to court frostbite, hanging out here with nothing but parked luxury cars and a brick wall for company, he can hardly complain if you tell me why.”

“I shouldn’t. I… well, discretion’s implied.”

That made no more sense than the rest. “You can’t be discreet inside with central heating?”

He shook his head.

Intrigued, I said, “I know you don’t know me from Adam, or I guess, Scott, but I swear I can keep a secret. Anyhow, it’s hypothetical, right? I’ve never met Scott, so he’s just ‘Dude Number One’ in this story.”

“I guess. It’s, it’s, look, you swear you won’t say anything, right?”

“My lips are sealed.” I made a zipping motion.

“It’s important.” The guy eyed me, but something, maybe the blast of cold breeze down his neck, made him go on, “It’s kind of a fake boyfriend scenario. Um, Dude Number One said he wanted to come out to his snobby family in public where they couldn’t make a fuss. And he wanted to have someone beside him, like, a hand to hold and to prove to them he was serious and not ‘looking for attention’ or ‘in a rebellious phase’ or the other crap he thought they’d say. He said he was sick of waiting for it to really happen, for a real relationship.”

I could empathize. I hadn’t come out till I was twenty-three, and I’d done that same dance for a while. I’ll come out when I have someone who makes it worthwhile. Except eventually, I’d realized I had to come out for me, to stop pronoun-switching and hiding, and start living. In the end, my family had been great, but not everyone’s was.

I glanced at the gold lettering over the door. This place was expensive. I could imagine some folks who chose it for their Thanksgiving meal being less than accepting. I’d grown up around rich people like that. Their ability to impose their own reality on anyone who didn’t fit, and simply ignore or freeze out nonconformers, was immense. “It was really nice of you to give up your holiday dinner to help him.”

He stared down at his shoes. I noticed they were polished, but far from new under the patchy shine. “I didn’t, I mean, it wasn’t nice. I—” He bit his lip, then looked up at me. The white lights reflected blue in his wide eyes. “I’m an escort. He’s paying me to get him through the evening.”

“Ah.” Maybe that explained why he was following Scott’s directions to the letter. Although I didn’t care how much someone was paying me, I wouldn’t wait out in the cold for an hour for them to show up. Of course… I’ve never needed the money that badly. “How long are you going to give him?”

“I don’t know.” He shivered, a whole-body shake, and wrapped his arms tighter.

That settled it for me. “Come on.” I tucked a hand into his elbow to pull him forward. “At least come on inside. Do you know what he looks like? Maybe you missed each other.”

“No. I mean, I don’t know him. He had my picture from the website, but I don’t have his. He told me to wear the flower.” The guy touched a white rose in his lapel, but didn’t resist as I steered him toward the door.

“So we’ll stand you up front for a minute, in case he thinks you didn’t show. What’s your name?”

“My profile says ‘Jordan’ but… I’m really just Joe.”

“Nice to meet you, Joe.” I pulled open the door and sighed at the rush of warm air, even after just a few minutes between my truck and inside.

The front lobby stood open to the rest of the room, if anyone cared to look, although several alcoves provided more secluded dining for parties who wanted it. The atmosphere was hushed and genteel, accented by quiet conversation and the clink of silverware. Not my scene, but Grandma met Gramps here almost fifty years ago, and every Thanksgiving this was where we gathered, even after Gramps passed. Traditions.

Joe hovered just inside the door. I tugged him forward a step or two, scanning the room for single-looking guys who might be Scott.

The hostess came over to us. “Can I help you gentlemen? Do you have a reservation?”

“Barrington,” I said. “But we might have someone else joining us. Give us a minute?”

“Of course, sir.” She gestured to the far end of the room. “Your party’s already seated there when you’re ready.”

I saw Mom and Dad and Grandma at their usual table, sipping water and talking. They hadn’t noticed me yet, and there was no sign of my brother or cousins. Aunt May and Uncle Stan were on a cruise this year, but the rest of us would be here if we knew what was good for us. I turned to the other tables, looking at the men around my age. That one? No, the stocky blond leaned close enough, whispering warmly to the woman at his side, to take “gay planning to come out” off my radar. The skinny redhead? Or that short guy looking acutely uncomfortable at a table of folks thirty years older?

But it was a thirty-something brown-haired man at a big table who glanced our way, did a visible double-take and then turned to the older folks at his side, his shoulders hunched, his back as much to us as possible.

“Bingo,” I murmured to Joe, nodding at the seated guy.

“Shit.”

“You could go over.” I waited to see what he’d say.

“I can’t. If that is Scott, he doesn’t want me anymore. Maybe he decided he couldn’t come out after all. Whatever. I can’t out him by walking up to him in the middle of his dinner.”

I liked that answer. Joe was sounding like a good guy. “If he had the slightest bit of decency, he’d come talk to you. Or at least message you.” Hell, if he’d had the slightest shred of decency, he wouldn’t have left Joe out in the cold. I glared at the dude, but he was very pointedly not looking our way.

“Yeah, but I still can’t go to him. I’ll just leave.”

“That sucks. Did he at least pay you for your time?”

“The up-front money. But I spent most of it on the jacket and pants.” Joe tugged at his tight sleeves. “Maybe the agency can get him to cough up the rest. Although I didn’t actually do the job.”

“I call standing in the cold waiting for an hour doing the job.”

“I bet Scott won’t.”

“He’d better, unless he wants you to go do the actual job.” I sighed. As much as I hated it, I watched an older man at probably-Scott’s table gesture at him, a haughty frown on his face, and I had a little empathy. Not a lot. What Scott did to Joe was a douchebag move. But enough recognition of how browbeating by an older relative felt not to march over there. I hadn’t always been brave around Great-Uncle Norman. “What’ll you do for Thanksgiving dinner now? Do you have friends you can still join?”

“I’ll be fine.”

That wasn’t an actual answer, which probably meant I wouldn’t like the answer. There was a simple solution. “You should eat with us. You’re here, you bought the jacket. You should get the fine dining to go with it.”

“I can’t afford to eat here. I’m not even sure how I’m going to get home.” He coughed. “I mean, the bus system must connect somewhere nearby. I’ll figure it out.”

“How did you get here?”

“Lyft. But that was when I thought I was getting paid.”

I gave Scott another narrow look. Douche. But he was a problem for another time. Instead, I said, “No way I’m letting you go wandering in the cold looking for a bus. Stay, have dinner with us, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Why would you do that?” His blue eyes clouded. “I don’t need charity.”

I thought fast. “No, man, you’d be doing me a favor. See, when you talked about fake boyfriend, I thought, ‘Why didn’t I come up with that?'”

“Come up with what?”

“A fake Thanksgiving date.”

“You’re not out?”

“Oh, I’m out. My family’s great. Too great. I’m the oldest male heir, and I’m supposed to reproduce. And now that they know I’m gay, they’re all about finding a house husband and a surrogate, yada yada. If I come to dinner alone again, I’ll get the parade of every gay man they could find.” I mimicked Grandma’s voice. “You know, young man, I was married at your age. I hear Sue Forbes’s son’s roommate at Harvard is gay. I’m sure you’d like him. I’ll have her invite him to my New Year party.'” I chuckled. “And Mom will chime in, ‘The last time I had my hair colored, my hairdresser was the most charming young man. I’m sure he’d be happy to give up that kind of dull work for a man like you.’ Hah. I’ll happily feed you Maison Pastorale’s finest to avoid that.”

I was slandering my mother, who would pimp me to her hairdresser without hesitation, but wasn’t that classist. Although the imitation of Grandma was spot on.

“I don’t know.” Joe shifted foot to foot. “What do you think’ll happen?”

“A peaceful family dinner for once.” I nudged him. “Gorgeous eye candy for me. The chance to listen to Mom nag my younger brother for a change?”

At that moment, the waitstaff brought out an entire turkey dinner for a table near us. No doubt the turkey was marinated in truffles or something, and the green beans had chanterelles, but a delicious holiday aroma wafted our way. Joe stared at the food. “Just dinner, right? I don’t want you to pay me.”

“Just dinner. And I’ll call you Joe. You’re a friend, doing me a favor.”

The door behind us opened and my brother Dylan came inside with our two cousins, and Louise’s current boyfriend, Shawn. Dylan strode up to me. “Adrien.” He thumped my arm. “How’ve you been? Who’s the guy?” He looked Joe over. “He’s cute.”

“Thanks for your uneducated het opinion, bro.” I thumped him back.

“Hey, after watching you be picky for the last ten years, I know your style. I just didn’t realize you were dating anyone. About time. Mom will be over the moon.”

“If I’m lucky, she’ll start nagging you.” I raised an eyebrow at Joe, ready to give him an out, but he nodded and moved a step closer to me. “This is Joe,” I said, putting a hand on the small of his back. “Joe, that’s my brother Dylan that I’ve told you about, and these are Louise and Nina, and Louise’s bf Shawn.”

Joe shook hands a bit awkwardly. I kept my hand where it was, slowly warming the chilled fabric of his jacket.

“Come on,” Dylan said. “I can’t wait to hear what Mom says.”

Joe cast me a nervous glance but I rubbed his back. “She’ll be thrilled. Maybe too thrilled is all Dylan means. Let’s eat.”

I didn’t look over at probably-Scott as we passed his table, but I did make sure to keep my hand on Joe possessively. Scott could take that however he wanted. Hopefully as a warning someone else cared whether he paid the man he’d ditched.

There were extra chairs at our usual table, since my uncle and aunt typically joined us. Once introductions were made, I pulled out Aunt May’s chair for Joe and seated myself in Uncle Stan’s usual place, which put Joe as far from Grandma as I could manage.

She leaned forward to look down the table. “So, Joe, or is it Joseph?”

“Just Joe, ma’am.”

“What is it you do? You look young. Are you still a student?”

I whistled softly and put out my hands in a time-out T. “Nope. Uh-uh. Joe and I are really new, and I brought him because his other Thanksgiving invite fell through, but I don’t want him facing the third degree. Not yet. So the only questions you can ask him tonight are about food, and…” I almost said sports, but that was probably stereotyping his athletic build and anyway, that could become a bit too heated for Maison Pastorale. “And music, movies, crap like that.”

“Language, Adrien,” Grandma murmured.

Crap was hardly profanity, but maybe she wanted to chastise me for blocking her interrogation. Grandma did like to know everything about everyone.

“Sorry.” I nudged Joe’s knee under the table and he turned a startled look on me.

Ostentatiously, I flicked open the buttons of my jacket, telling him, “Prepare for a feast.” Hopefully that would give him permission to release the jacket straining across his chest. “This place does fancy fine cuisine all year around, but on the holidays they offer what they call a traditional country house meal with an American twist. Hence, turkey and all the fixings.” I gestured at a neighboring table where the bird was down to a picked carcass.

“It smells great.” Joe flushed and glanced toward Dylan, who, bless him, after a second of hesitation, opened his jacket too. Dylan was in med school and not slow off the mark.

“You won’t be able to move by the end,” Dylan said, “but it’s sooo worth it.”

Joe slid a hand to his chest and opened the buttons. Then he eased the white rose out of his lapel. “Um, Adrien told me this place was fancy, but I wasn’t sure how much fancy.” Turning to Mom, two seats down and across the table, he held out the flower. “Seems like this would be more appropriate for a pretty lady.”

Mom blinked but accepted it and took a sniff. “Lovely, thank you, Joe.”

He ducked his head, looking down at the silverware.

“Now, Adrien,” Grandma said, a little bite in her tone. “Since I’m not allowed to get to know this lovely young man you brought with you, tell me what else is going on in your life. How’s the construction business?”

Gramps made his money in medical devices, and married more with Grandma’s blue-blood Boston family. Dad followed in his footsteps as company president. With Dylan the Brilliant just two years behind me and laser-aimed at medical school, I’d insisted on doing my own thing. No medical whatever for me. My family elders indulged me, although I was pretty sure they expected me to take over the business when Dad retired. He was healthy at fifty-three, so I was hoping I had decades yet.

I babbled on about easements and drainage and soil testing and more until Grandma’s eyes glazed over. By the time I was done, she turned to Dylan eagerly, asking if he’d had time between exams to meet a nice girlfriend yet. And if not, the Goldsteins’ oldest girl was in town. I side-eyed Joe and smiled.

The arrival of the meal put a halt to conversation. Mom turned to Joe. “We order the family feast every year. I hope that’s all right for you. Do you have allergies? You’re not vegetarian, are you?”

“No, ma’am.” Joe’s eyes widened at the array of foods being set on the table and serving cart for us.

“Call me Deb, Joe. You can’t say ma’am when you’re dating my son.”

“Yes.” I could see him swallow the ma’am back. His voice held a tiny twang, Texas maybe, or somewhere like that in his background. I wondered if he’d been through a Minnesota winter yet.

The wait staff served out food from the many covered tureens and bowls and carved the turkey with an expert hand. When all our plates were loaded, they set the remaining dishes among us and headed off to the next table.

Grandma held out her hands to Dad and Louise. “The blessing, everyone.”

Joe took my hand when I reached over, his fingers still cool in mine. I was glad Nina sat on his other side and joined hands with him casually. We bowed our heads for Grandma’s invocation.

“Lord, we’re thankful for the food before us, and for a year of health and prosperity. Our gratitude to You for finding Shawn for Louise, for bringing Adrien someone special at last in Joe, and I hope You have a nice young lady in mind for Dylan in the next year. We’re thankful for the expansion of our family and the love within it. Amen.”

I was watching Joe, so I saw him blink at Grandma’s words and his “amen” came a beat late. I squeezed his fingers, trying to suggest he not take her too seriously.

“Now, let’s eat,” Dad said.

The next twenty minutes were occupied with some serious chowing down, mostly punctuated by “Is there more cranberry sauce?” and “Pass the stuffing.” Mom and Grandma conferred between bites on a charity event they were sponsoring for a women’s shelter. I saw Nina staring down at her plate as if her appetite was off, and empathized. Her ex hadn’t been physically abusive but he’d done a number on her confidence, and part of my family’s enfolding her back among us was Mom and Grandma diving into the appropriate charities. When I came out, they’d done a year of LGBTQ organizations, which had been excruciatingly embarrassing. Also useful and generous, so I hadn’t been able to complain.

I stretched under the table, trying to guess which foot was hers to tap in empathy. From Dylan’s startled glance at me, I missed. I nodded to Nina and he turned to her, and began talking about some disease thing he had been learning. She was a physical therapist, so the distraction brought color back to her face as she tilted her head, listening.

Leaning closer to Joe, who’d been totally silent, I murmured, “Food okay?”

He chewed a big mouthful of turkey and said, “It’s incredible. Best I ever had.”

“I’m glad. This place is—” I lowered my tone to a breath. “—expensive and a bit pretentious, but they sure know their way with food.” In a normal voice, I added, “Wait till you taste the desserts.”

“Yeah,” Louise chimed in on his other side. “They’re different every year, but awesome. Remember the pumpkin-lemon-candied-ginger cheesecake, Adrien?”

“Mmmmmmm.” I drew the sound out. “I wonder if they ever repeat a dish on request. I could bring a whole one home and eat it all by myself.”

“I know where you live. I’d come after my half.”

Joe ate a bite of stuffing, and I thought I finally saw the hint of a smile. He’d been so stiff at first, brittle and careful. I was grateful for my family’s warmth, and obedience to my demand not to pester him. I’d noticed Mom and Grandma sneaking looks our way, but as long as they kept it low key, I’d be happy.

The servers brought out the dessert selections and made their rounds of the table. I was restrained and only took two desserts. Well, three, because Joe had two already and I saw him look longingly at the chocolate ganache torte, so I took a third choice in encouragement. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

When our plates were loaded with little slices of pie and cheesecake and torte and fruit tart glistening with glaze, Grandma tapped her water glass with her fork. Joe startled. He’d had his dessert fork in hand, but hadn’t dived in, eyeing the table as he had through the meal for cues. Now he set the fork down abruptly.

Grandma turned a penetrating look on him. “We have a little Thanksgiving tradition, where we go around the table. You don’t mind, do you Joe?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good boy.” She smiled at me with a glitter of triumph. “So, three things you’re grateful for. Let’s start with Nathaniel.” She turned to my father.

“My wife, my kids and…” Dad drew it out, meeting her gaze. “This amazing food.”

Grandma pursed her lips. “Always the same, Nathaniel?”

“But so true.”

“No doubt. Debbie?”

My mother got creative with hers, and the process went around the table. Nina went for lightness, calling out stuffed purple unicorns, peanut butter cups, and comfortable shoes. When it was Joe’s turn, he hesitated, looking at me.

“Whatever you like,” I told him. “If you hate peanut butter, go for chocolate truffles. Or you can pass.”

He nodded slowly. “I’m grateful for good food, kind hearts, and Adrien.”

“Aww.” Mom apparently couldn’t hold that back. “You’d better keep this boy, Adrien, or someone else will snap him up. Your turn.”

I’d planned to do a joke version, with Batman, banana pancakes, and epoxy resins. But after Joe’s, that might seem like a criticism. So I said, “Family even when they’re pushy.” I wrinkled my nose at Mom. “Work I enjoy, and a chance meeting with a very handsome man who turns out to have a good heart.” And no one needs to know that happened an hour ago.

Joe flushed and looked down.

Dylan said, “Now I’m grateful for all non-rectal thermometers—”

We burst out laughing, with Dad admonishing, “Avoid the gross, young man,” and the emotional moment passed. But I couldn’t pull my gaze away from Joe. He stared at his plate, fiddling with his fork against the linen tablecloth, but his lips curved upward and he seemed more relaxed than he’d been all night.

When we had ended up with Grandma, she said, “Now dig in.”

Joe took a bite of the torte and made a noise that seriously should’ve been illegal in public. He flinched and said over the mouthful, “Sorry. So good.”

“I’m regretting some life choices here,” I teased. “I didn’t pick that one.”

“Try a bite.”

I wondered if he’d do the cheesy romance thing and hold out a bite on his fork for me to lick off while gazing into his eyes. Do escorts get some kind of training manual? Is that in it? But he just cut off a piece and pushed his plate close enough for me to fork it over.

That was stupidly disappointing. I tasted the torte and resisted returning the porn sound. “Yeah, that’s rich.”

“It’s all so good.”

Mom said down the table, “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. We don’t come here often, but it’s a favorite for celebrations.”

“I can see why.”

Mom added, “I’ve always thought it would be perfect for a wedding rehearsal dinner. Don’t you think, Adrien?”

Not subtle, Mom. I went with, “Are you and Dad planning to renew your vows?”

Dad said, “We’d hardly need a rehearsal for that. We’ve been practicing for thirty two years now. I think we’ve got it right.”

As Mom opened her mouth, Nina glanced from me to Joe and leaped into the breach. “Well, I think it’s a lovely idea. Thirty-three is a nice mystical number. You could do a little ceremony in the summer in the garden. Your anniversary’s in June, right? A reason to get family together.”

Mom hesitated, sidetracked. “I hadn’t considered it. You think people would want to come?”

“To one of your parties, Aunt Deb? Absolutely. Throw in a vow renewal and it’ll be the event of the summer.”

I was able to bow out of the conversation and blessed my youngest cousin as I leaned toward Joe to whisper, “Any other orgasmic desserts on that plate?”

He chuckled, although it sounded a bit forced. “You’re welcome to taste anything of mine.” I waggled my eyebrows at him and he choked and dropped his fork. “Anything on my plate.”

“Spoilsport,” I murmured. The bit of bashfulness and confusion looked attractive on him.

On an escort. I wondered, in a flash of cold water through my veins, if he was acting. Playing a part, the role that he’d prepared for Scott-the-douche. Were practiced lies working here on my unsuspecting family? Surely an escort should be too jaded to react to innuendo. I’d almost forgotten why he was here.

I sat back and picked at the pie on my plate, suddenly over-full.

Joe threw me a look, then began doggedly eating his cheesecake, gaze fixed on his plate. I wondered if my thoughts somehow showed on my face. I didn’t like seeing his shoulders tighten and the lines of his jaw carved sharper. When is he acting? What’s the truth? Not knowing soured my stomach.

Dinner ended shortly after that, with a general groaning and pushing back of chairs. Mom and Dad turned to me as they stood. Mom said, “Adrien, you have invited Joe to Christmas dinner, right?” She smiled at him. “It’s nothing like this, just home-cooked for the family. I’d love to see you there.”

“Uh.” Joe eyed me from under drawn-down brows.

“We’ll see, Ma,” I said, using the unfavored nickname to draw her attention to me. “I told you, we’re new. By Christmas, Joe might’ve found a man who doesn’t track construction dirt in the house or cheer for the Packers.”

“Packers,” he said. “That’s basketball, right?”

Dylan and Louise groaned in unison. “Oops, way to blow the invitation,” Dylan told him.

Joe smiled, but only his mouth participated, his eyes still cool. A little more drawl flavored his voice. I had the feeling that was deliberate. “I’m teasing y’all. I grew up on football. But the Packers might be where I draw the line.” He ducked his head at Grandma. “Thanks so much for letting me join your holiday dinner. Seriously, best food I’ve ever had.”

Dad said over Grandma, “Any friend of Adrien’s smart enough to dislike the Packers is welcome, anytime.”

“I should be going. Thanks again.” Joe cast a look at the table, plates still holding whole slices of dessert and his brows pinched together, but he straightened and pulled his jacket tight, forcing the buttons closed. “Good night, everyone. Happy Thanksgiving.”

He headed toward the front of the restaurant, not looking back.

I remembered what he said about the bus and threw “Happy Thanksgiving” over my shoulder as I strode after him. Well, scurried, maybe. He had long legs.

I caught up at the edge of the parking lot. “Come on, I’m over this way.”

He didn’t look at me. “You don’t have to give me a ride. My share of that meal probably cost more than the Lyft to come here.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I hurried to get ahead of him. “Look, if you don’t want to get into a car with a stranger, I totally get that. But it’s still cold and you still don’t know where the bus stop is.”

“I can find out. I do have a smartphone, you know.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that he wouldn’t. Different worlds. But I wanted to know more of his. “Look, I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you run off.”

Joe stopped and eyed me. “Yeah, I don’t get what I did. One moment the fake boyfriend stuff is going great, the next you’re looking at me like I had shit on my head.”

“My bad. I had a thought. Some totally bullshit out-of-the-blue paranoia.”

“About me?” I saw a muscle in his jaw jump. “Might be right. I’m a broke escort in a jacket from a concession store, scrounging for bus fare. Might not be paranoia.”

“It wasn’t about money.”

“Escorting, then.”

“Just that you probably have to be a good actor to do that job.”

“Might be why I suck at it.”

Do you ever suck at it? Things I shouldn’t ask. I said, “You did awesome tonight, though. My family loved you.”

“Yeah, but tonight I didn’t have to act. Not much, anyway.”

“I’m glad.” I gestured at my truck. “Let me give you a ride home, at least.”

He turned and blinked. “That’s yours? I didn’t see you park. I figured…”

“What? That I’d have a Porsche?”

“Or a Lexus or a BMW or a fucking Lamborghini. Yeah.” He tilted his chin at the array of luxury vehicles around us.

“I’m a simple guy at heart, and I drive onto active construction sites.” My Ford pickup was a few years old but it got the job done.

Something— maybe the mud on the tires or maybe just the cold wind down our necks— convinced Joe. “Okay. Thanks.”

We got in and I cranked the heat as I pulled out of the lot. “Which way?”

“Toward the U.”

I turned left. “Are you a student after all?” When he hesitated, I quickly added, “None of my business.”

Joe nodded. I wasn’t sure which part that was a yes, so I focused on driving. As the interior warmed up, Joe undid his jacket with a sigh and loosened his tie.

“That jacket’s a little tight,” I suggested.

“Best I could find secondhand on short notice.” He smoothed a lapel. “I didn’t spill anything on it so I might be able to sell it back.”

“And buy another the next time you’re supposed to wear one?”

His sigh wavered. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this stuff. The public escorting, I mean. Fucking would be easier.”

“Would be?” Had he not done that yet?

“The agency has tiers of services. A friend who knew I needed money got them to take me on for this kind of job, like a date, going somewhere with someone. I’ve been to casual parties with a couple of women, and did a charity event with a guy, but it was charity bowling.”

“Did you win?”

“I can’t bowl for shit. But I made the donors look good and gave folks a laugh. The guy tipped me.” He hunched in his seat. “This was my first more formal booking, and I’m never going to look like you in that.” He waved at me. “How much did your suit cost, anyhow?”

“Too much.” I didn’t want to put the number on it. “You looked good, though. Great, even, just not quite comfortable.”

“And that wasn’t just the jacket. I am so glad I ended up with your family, and not that table with Scott. Did you see how the old man glared when he saw your hand on my back?”

“I wasn’t looking.”

“Almost made me feel bad for the guy. If I wasn’t going to come up short on my rent, I’d say tonight was a warning I’m getting in over my head. But I need the bucks.”

I bit back the impulse to offer a loan. Joe clearly had his pride. “You said the other times were better?”

“Well, no one looked like they wanted to drown me in brimstone. But escorting’s acting, really, and schmoozing, when it’s not fucking. I’m a plain Texas boy. I don’t do well with those. Not sure why Vic thought I could.”

“You underestimate yourself. Mom loved you.”

“No offense, but I think your Mom would love a chimpanzee if you brought him home and looked like you might settle down.”

I snorted. “And you’re a great judge of character too.” I focused on merging onto the freeway. “What’ll you do? Look for a different job?”

He shook his head. “I’ve tried. It has to be evenings and weekends because… reasons.”

“It’s getting into the holiday shopping season. Retail sucks—” Or so I was told. I’d only ever been on the other side of the counter. “—but there must be something.”

“Minimum wage or close to it. I can’t work enough hours to make what I need.”

I ran through the people I knew, wondering what job I might be able to finagle. Construction season was ending, so unskilled labor would be in oversupply. Medical grunt work paid grunt work wages. I could ask around, very discreetly. “Would you… If the fucking kind of escort was the option on the menu, would you do it?”

“Maybe.” He fiddled with his tie, winding it around his hands, suddenly seeming younger and unsure. “How bad can it be?”

I didn’t try to answer that.

“At least the agency screens their clients. It’s not like working the streets. As long as it was guys, I could do it. I don’t think I could satisfy a woman.”

“Gay like me, then,” I said, to get that out there.

“Yeah.” He looped the tie around his wrists like handcuffs. I had a flash of someone tying him to a bed, hurting him.

Not on my watch. “Hey, dude, you now have a connection into a grapevine of job possibilities.”

“What?”

“Not what, who. Me.” I thumped my chest. “Not to boast, but I was prez of my fraternity in college and I can schmooze with the best. I hate it, but I have all kinds of connections. Let me put feelers out. There must be some job that doesn’t require you to take a dick up the ass.”

“I’d rather take it physically than metaphorically.”

I blinked, because that was an interesting statement for a plain old Texas boy, but I totally got the sentiment. “At least let me ask.”

“Why would you do that for me? Next exit.”

Signaling my lane change, I spared a second to think of how to sell this. Because you’re totally my type was true, but too close to the bone for someone considering fucking for money. It wasn’t the important truth either. “Because you didn’t march up to Scott and make him pay. Because you froze your ass off for an hour, to meet an obligation. Because you gave my mother a flower. Because when Shawn said something ignorant to you about women, you kept your mouth shut and let Louise correct him.” I’d seen the impulse he’d smothered.

“It wasn’t my place to say something. And I just wanted to get rid of the damned flower.”

“You could’ve dropped it on the floor, or flushed it down the john, or sent it back with the dirty dishes.”

“Sent it back. Jesus, you do live in a different world. It’s not their job to take care of my trash.”

I didn’t say that it was precisely part of their job, in a place like that.

Joe shifted in his seat. “Left here. You know, I really wanted to ask for a doggy bag. All that leftover food. Will it just go to waste?”

“Probably.” I couldn’t deny it. “I’m sure if you’d asked, they’d have conjured some pristine cardboard box with a discreet logo and filled it for you, and not said a word.”

“And your family wouldn’t have stared at me?”

“I can’t vouch for Grandma and my parents.” Or Shawn, who I was starting to think wouldn’t be around much longer. “But Dylan’s cool. And Nina and Louise.” I might envy my brother’s smarts and the way he fit in my Dad’s footsteps, but he was a good guy.

Joe shrugged. “Maybe I should’ve, but I bet they’d have asked you a bunch of questions about me, afterward.”

“No doubt.” I laughed. “Mom would’ve started creating Care packages.”

“You’re so damned lucky—” Joe cut off his words and turned to look out the side window. “Next right.”

I wanted to tell him I knew exactly how lucky I was, but did I? How much was I taking for granted that Joe didn’t have? His hunched shoulders didn’t invite more conversation, so I stayed quiet, following his directions through the dark and holiday-quiet streets to a line of aging three-story houses.

“Next corner’s good,” Joe said.

I pulled over where I was told, and put the truck in park.

He turned slowly and met my eyes. “Thanks. Tell me something. If you hadn’t met me, would you have considered taking a fake date to that dinner?”

Sure. No. I wouldn’t have thought of it. Answers leapt to mind, but the most true one was, “No. But I’m very, very much not sorry I did.”

Joe nodded a few times. “I guess I’m not sorry either.”

That wasn’t a ringing endorsement, but I took it as hopeful. I pulled out my phone. “What’s your number? So I can let you know if I find any leads for jobs, of course.”

“You don’t even know what I can or can’t do.”

“But I want to know.” He was reaching for his door handle and I had only seconds left to make my pitch. “I want to get to know you. No fake anything. Can I call you? Take you out for coffee and a crappy donut? Find out what kind of work you want and what stupid football team that’s not the Packers you cheer for?”

He eased out of the truck but stood in the open door. We both shivered and he looked at me. “I shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, you should.”

The streetlight outlined a hint of stubble on his lip and caught red lights in his short dark hair. His eyes were too shadowed to see, but I already knew their clear blue. His lips parted, stilled. Then he recited a series of digits.

I nearly dropped my phone, fumbling to get the number entered, then sent a fast ~This is Adrien text and heard a ping in his pocket. “That’s me. I’ll text you. Or you can message me or call or whatever. Any time.”

He stood looking at me a minute longer. A thousand words hovered on my lips, but the moment felt fragile, full of hope, but easily shattered. Then Joe sighed and shook his head, not in dismissal, but like a man who’s going to eat that third dessert he probably shouldn’t and can’t resist. “Yeah. Text me.”

He jogged off the way we’d come, his hard-soled shoes tapping on the sidewalk. At the corner, he turned left out of sight. I’d have to drive around the block to see where he went.
I wasn’t that kind of stalker. I’d have to wait till he trusted me enough to tell me.

But before I put the truck back in gear and drove home, I messaged, ~I never thought I’d be grateful for another gay man being a douchebag, but I’m very grateful for Scott. What kind of donuts do you like?

I wasn’t expecting an answer and didn’t get one. Not till I was home, much later, relaxing in sweats on the couch with my cat. Then my phone pinged. ~Can’t go wrong with classic chocolate iced

Laughing to myself, I lifted Minx high in the air under her arms and pressed a kiss to her furry forehead. “I think he likes me too.”

When I met Joe for coffee the next evening, I totally deserved the red scratch that marred my nose. And as he came into the little cafe, looked around, and saw me, I vowed to work hard to deserve the smile on his face, too.

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Part 2 of this story can be found in the next post: Serendipity, Part 2