Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

THAT SAME BEAUTIFUL DAY

“I can’t take it any longer,” Marco yells, storming into the yard but staying well away from the pool. “It’s starting to hit my friends too. Sheila just broke her arm in a freak accident with a Pomeranian. I’m sick to death of not feeling safe.”

Aaron feels tired, bone tired, and gives him a weary look. “Of course,” he says, setting down his laptop and standing from his chair by the pool. “I completely understand.”

It’s a small consolation, but Marco has lasted far longer than the others, almost six months. Aaron has seen this coming for weeks: Marco’s accidents have been escalating, and if it’s extending to his friends, a breakup really is all for the best. What if it reached his family too? That would be inexcusable. But damn it all, Aaron laments, he really thought Marco was the one this time.

“Can I help you get settled?” Aaron offers.

“That isn’t necessary,” Marco snaps. “You’ve already done too much.”

Aaron doesn’t respond to the accusation. What could he say? It’s all true. Instead, he offers, “Please take anything you like, and I’d like to help you with a new place to stay. When you find somewhere you like, please let me know.”

“I don’t want your money. I can only imagine the horrors it would bring!”

“No, no, you’ll be fine,” Aaron consoles. “My money has never come with any dangerous strings. It’s just me that’s the danger, so once you’re away from me, you’ll be safe.”

Marco’s rage deflates at this. He looks down at his feet, toeing the perfectly tiled patio as he collects his thoughts. “Sorry I lost my temper. I do care for you, and I wish we could make it work. I know you don’t do any of this on purpose, but I can’t see it getting any better, and I’m scared.”

“Really, it’s not a problem. I completely understand.” Aaron notices that Marco is fiddling with his chunky ring, a gift from when he moved in, slipping it off his finger. He strides over and takes Marco’s hand. “Please keep the ring and everything else. It will provide a nice story to tell.”

Just then, a raven flies over and craps, covering Marco’s hand and the ring in a sticky mess.

Marco’s rage again starts to simmer. He yanks off the disgusting ring and tries to hand it to Aaron, but fumbles and drops it to the patio. Aaron is not surprised when it bounces and rolls all the way to the pool, sinking with a small plop .

“Of course,” Marco says, anger boiling over. “No mess for Mr. Perfection. Goodbye Aaron.” He stalks back to the house, slamming the door.

Aaron knows it will only make things worse if he tries to follow. The damage is done and from long experience, he knows the time has come to move on. He settles on the edge of the pool, feet dangling aimlessly in the water, watching the rippling shape of the ring deep below and wondering what he’ll do now.

Maybe back to speculating at the stock market, he reflects. That might take his mind off his woes, but it isn’t really speculating when you know how it’s going to turn out. How about the lottery? It’s been a long while since he won the last one, so it won’t raise any warning flags, and Marco won’t be here to take the brunt of the blowback. But what would he do with more money? Keep giving it away, he supposes. That does seem to mitigate the consequences, at least partially. Maybe try another job? No chance of that; they always end in disaster. Hookups, dating, relationships, arguments, breakups? It’s far too soon to think about any of that. He simply doesn't know if his heart can take another.

“Hello!”

A booming voice from next door breaks Aaron out of his weighty reverie. There on the porch of the old Victorian stands a hunkier, younger version of Old Man Lucas, giving a friendly wave. He has the same natural look with long hair and beard, but with no hints yet of Lucas’s stately gray. Wow, he observes, those pecs sure fill out his sweaty tank top.

Aaron waves back and shouts, “Hey! You must be my new neighbor. Welcome! I’m Aaron.”

“Dale. Nice to meet you! I have something to show you.” He has a painted canvas in his hand.

Aaron walks barefoot across the grass to get a better look, but as he approaches the fence, he hears a groan from the old veranda next door, followed suddenly by the sound of a board snapping. He watches as Dale loses his balance, tipping off his feet and disappearing behind the railing. Aaron sighs: it’s already started, one minute after meeting his new neighbor. He gets the idea. It’s an early warning from the universe: don’t be fraternizing with this guy.

“Everything okay over there?” he calls, worried.

“All fine!” Dale answers, popping back above the railing with a big smile. “This old house and I are still getting to know each other.”

Aaron leans his arms on the fence. He’s liking this fellow already with his broad shoulders and contagious optimism. “She has good bones, so I’m sure she’ll be a grand dame when you get her fixed up. You know, you look just like Lucas. Younger, of course, but the same face.”

“Thanks! I’ll take that as a compliment. I’ve seen his photos and he was a looker, but I’m afraid I only met him one time, when I was a child. Speaking of pictures, you might want to see this.” He holds up the painting, a brightly colored picture of a man by a pool. The pool, Aaron notes, looks just like his.

“I’ve been looking through his things and got a big surprise: Uncle Lucas was a painter! Apparently, the man in the paintings is named David. Does that sound familiar?”

“Sure thing!” Aaron says. “Uncle Dave. Rather, he was my great uncle. He owned this place and left it to me a few years ago.”

“So we’re in the same boat,” he says, patting the porch railing. “Uncle Lucas left this lovely wreck to me, and I think he’s also my great uncle or something like that. So it looks like your Uncle David had a secret admirer.” Dale points up to a window on the second floor. “There’s a cute little art studio up there with a perfect view of the pool.”

“Ah, so that’s what it looks like from above. Very nice!”

Dale leans his thick arms on the railing, with more ominous splintering sounds. Aaron warns, “Maybe you should get off that porch until you have someone look at it.”

“Smart idea. Looks like I’ve inherited a truckload of to-dos. By the way, Lucas suggested you might like to have a painting. I think this one may have been one of his favorites.”

“That’s sweet! I’d love to see it.” Aaron looks with trepidation at the yard, trying to imagine Dale picking his way through the wild tangle. That would definitely not be a good idea, given the unlucky effect he has on anybody near him. So he suggests, “Please don’t brave that yard. The thorns will rip you to shreds. Instead, just sail it over to me like a frisbee.”

Dale gives him an incredulous look and says, “Really?”

“Trust me and try it.”

Dale gives a little shrug, adorable on this mountain of a man, and does as told. The painting spins gracefully over the yard, and Aaron retreats a single step, nimbly catching it in his outstretched hand.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Dale says. “Probably the only lucky thing that’s ever happened in my life. I’m usually a butter-side-down kind of guy.”

Aaron smiles, wondering. He’s never met anyone who bounces back from mishaps like this. There’s something special about this new neighbor.

“I should dash inside,” Dale continues with that unquenchable smile. “I scraped up my leg and I should patch it up before I bleed out on the porch.”

“Do you need any help?” Aaron asks, worried. “Should I call someone?”

“No, it’s not a problem. I’m used to it by now, but I’d love to chat and compare notes on our mysterious uncles. Are you free tonight?”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Aaron says, even more worried. “As you may have already noticed, people around me seem to be prone to accidents.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a big boy. Maybe you could introduce me to one of the local restaurants, safely away from this naughty house. I would offer dinner here, but I wouldn’t want to subject you to that.” Dale gives a theatrical wink. “At least not yet.”

First day and already flirting, Aaron thinks. He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, but it could be fun, and maybe provide an opportunity to learn more about his uncle.

“Let’s do it,” Aaron agrees before he can talk himself out of it. “It’s been a long time since I ate out. There’s an Italian place in the center of town that everybody raves about. It’s an easy walk, if you’re up for it.”

“It’s a date,” Dale confirms as he stumbles back into his house.

Aaron tries to dress down, but everything he pulls from the closet invariably makes him look like something from the pages of GQ. He slips on a pullover and it lays perfectly, the light casting sensual shadows under his pecs. A T-shirt is even worse: his arms bulge obscenely, and his nipples strain for attention through the fabric. It’s like he’s not wearing anything at all. He settles on his favorite button-down; at least it’s a color he loves.

Then there’s the matter of his pants. He still hasn’t found anything that doesn’t show every contour of his cock. There’s certainly a time and place for inviting packaging, but it’s just embarrassing for a casual dinner. His first attempt at some slacks is an epic fail, with the sleaziest bulge imaginable, so he tosses the briefs in the hamper and tries some loose, baggy jeans with boxers, deciding it’s the best he can do. At least it’s hanging down and won’t poke Dale’s eye out.

He looks in the mirror, checking his hair, and of course, it’s perfect. The perfect blond curls naturally pile in artful swathes that perfectly complement the angular lines of his perfect cheekbones. It’s all so boring. There’s no need to touch a thing.

He’s ready a few minutes early, given that there’s never really any need for preparation, so he heads out to the sidewalk to wait. The day is cooling into a balmy evening, perhaps a tad warmer than the typical California winter weather, and a gentle breeze ruffles the remaining leaves in the sycamore trees lining the street. Inheriting this house was a true boon of his inexorable luck. The neighborhood is charming and picturesque. Of course, the neighbors won’t have anything to do with him, since his reputation quickly made the rounds as soon as he arrived, but just the same, there are worse places to land than a cozy cottage in suburbia.

Dale bounds out of his new house, carefully gripping the rails as he descends the stairs from the porch. Halfway down, he snags his sleeve on one of the rambling rose vines. Aaron hears a rip as he yanks it free, but fortunately, there’s no sign of blood. This date is off to a great start, Aaron sighs. We haven’t said a word and already the disasters have begun.

Dale is a picture of sexy informality and Aaron can’t take his eyes off him. The blocky way he walks is arresting, like he doesn’t quite trust the ground to support him. His clothes hang loosely over his muscular frame, approaching disheveled but not quite getting there, clinging for dear life as they navigate the mountainous curves of his chest and arms. He’s so natural and so appealing, perfect in his own imperfect way, but by far the most enchanting sight is the big friendly smile that never leaves his face. How can you not smile in return?

“Hey Aaron. You look sharp,” Dale says, shoving the elaborate picket fence gate closed with his hip and catching his shirt on one slat. “That shirt perfectly matches your eyes.”

Aaron is instantly charmed. He did, in fact, choose it specifically to highlight his clear blue eyes.

“Will this be okay?” Dale continues, unhooking his shirttail from the fence and gesturing to his clothes.

“You look great,” Aaron says, giving him an appreciative and very obvious once over, coming to rest on the inviting thatch of hair peeking over the top of his plaid shirt. He can feel the heat rising. This man, at least physically, is a dream come true.

“Where are we headed?” Dale says, breaking the spell and bringing Aaron back from lusty thoughts of burying his nose in all that fur.

“It’s a few blocks away, in our little town square. You haven’t seen it yet?”

“I drove through on my way here, but didn’t stop.”

“You’ll love it. It’s like something from an old movie musical.”

As expected, the walk is pleasant with the setting sun and the gentle breeze, tempered only by the way the other pedestrians invariably cross to the other side of the street as they approach. As always, nobody wants to be anywhere near him, but instead of descending down that rabbit hole, he shakes it off and tries to capture some of Dale’s good humor. He vows not to let it get to him like it usually does.

“The Farmer’s Market is here at the park on Sundays,” Aaron says, playing tour guide as they reach the circle at the center of town. “It’s not to be missed if you like fresh produce. There’s a concert most Saturdays in the gazebo, and there are rumors about replacing that loathsome statue, so keep your fingers crossed about that. We’re headed to Mario’s, over there by the post office.”

They’re early enough to get a nice table outside. Aaron breathes a sigh of relief when the waiter immediately approaches, not avoiding them at all, and hands them menus. “We haven’t seen you in a long while, Aaron. Welcome back. And you must be Lucas’s nephew; you look just like him. Welcome to town. Would you like to start with some wine?”

After they’ve selected a bottle of Chianti, Aaron says, “I have to thank you for that painting. It’s a wonderful remembrance of Uncle Dave, and it’s going to have a place of honor above the fireplace after I get it framed. It’s so nice to get this glimpse of him in his younger days.”

“There are many more in the studio,” Dale says. “If you want to take a look, let me know. I’m going to hang a few up in the house, but the rest are up for grabs.”

“I might take you up on that. It got me thinking: Uncle Dave had an artistic side too. He has journals filled with his writings, and even some poetry. I pulled some out this afternoon, and I think most of them are about your Uncle Lucas. Some sound like Lucas in his later years, and now that I see you, I bet the earlier ones are also about him. Descriptions like swarthy and earthy are used a lot, and there was one line describing the tactile pleasures of a silky nimbus . I’m guessing that could describe the carpet of fur you probably have hidden under that shirt.”

“Ha!” Dale says. “Yes, I’m certainly covered head to toe in a silky nimbus of fur. I’ve found it appeals to a select class of guys. All these paintings and poems make me wonder about their relationship. The note Lucas left me mentioned your uncle by name. So what do you think?”

“Some of the poems are rather, um, spicy. So maybe there was something there.”

“It was a different era back then,” Dale observes. “Maybe they didn’t feel free to make it public. I hope they were happy.”

“Well, judging from the poems and that rather sexy painting, it seems like they had something going.”

“It’s a pity I didn’t know him,” Dale says. “My parents kept me away after one disastrous Thanksgiving visit, and I got distracted with other things when I grew up. I never reached out.”

Aaron says, “That’s a coincidence. The same happened with me, with a tree fire on Christmas Eve. I didn’t know much of anything about my uncle until I inherited the house. Remind me when we get back and I’ll give you a few of his books.”

“It’s so romancy,” Dale says, delighted. “Our uncles had a secret affair!”

The waiter arrives with the wine, hands nervously shaking, but he puts on a brave face and takes it slow and steady. Aaron handles the familiar ritual of opening and tasting, which goes off without a hitch. Dale’s smile fades to a worried frown as his glass is poured—the wine is red and the tablecloth is so very white—but regains its brilliance when he has his glass safely in hand. They toast, “To new neighbors and artsy uncles!” But by some unspoken agreement, their glasses never touch.

The waiter returns for their order and Aaron says, “I’m in the mood for some seafood.”

“You’re in luck. The chef prepared a salmon special today, with seasonal vegetables and wild rice. It’s been getting raves all evening.”

Aaron nods, saying, “Perfect!”

Dale doesn’t look at all sure, but says, “Sure, I’m game too.”

When the waiter leaves, Aaron suggests, “You can order something else if you like.”

“No, it sounds delicious, but I’ve had some dicey experiences with fish in the past.”

As the restaurant fills, they do some people watching along with their minestrone, and soon their entrée arrives. As Aaron expected, the dish is beautiful, and he savors the first bite, filled with interesting flavors of lemon and capers. Dale, however, takes his time getting started. He spends a full minute poking around the plate, examining both sides of the salmon filet and searching through the entire pile of rice with his fork.

“Everything okay?” Aaron asks.

“Actually, yes,” Dale says, finally taking his first bite. “It’s heaven. I think this is the first time I’ve ever had a meal at a restaurant where something didn’t go wrong, or lots of somethings. As I said, I’ve had some bad experiences in the past.”

“Seriously? Like what?”

“You name it. Moldy spots on the bread, sand and rocks in the salad, absurdly tough gristle in the main course. In college, I had every type of food poisoning you can imagine. I was worried because I’ve had some major problems with fish bones—we’re talking emergency room here. I even found a live cockroach under a chicken parmesan one time.”

“Ugh! No wonder you’re wary.”

“I’m used to it by now, but it pays to be careful. This is delightful. It was a lucky choice.”

“So are you getting settled?” Aaron asks, realizing he knows almost nothing about his date, if this is even a date at all. “This is your first day in the house, right?”

“Yes, and there’s still a stack of boxes to unpack. But I have all of Uncle Lucas’s stuff, so there’s no emergency. I can take my time with it.”

“So what do you do for work?” he asks, hoping it doesn’t sound like an interrogation. “Are you going to be able to find something here?”

“Nothing right now,” Dale says. “But I had a massage business back in the city. I’ve never had much luck with traditional jobs—I always cause some disaster or another and I’m out on my ass—but I had a good clientele for my bodywork. I was sorry to let that go. Fortunately, Lucas left me a little nest egg that will tide me over, so I have some breathing room. How about you?”

“David also gave me a generous start and I’ve had good luck with investments, so I also don’t have a traditional 9-to-5 job. I’ve never been good with people-facing things.” Aaron doesn’t really want to talk about the chaos that always swirls around him, so he changes the subject to something he does enjoy. “It looks like that garden of yours needs some taming.”

“You know it! I want to get some pups to keep me company, and they’ll need room to run. Your garden, at least what I can see from the window, looks amazing. Maybe you can give me some pointers.”

From there the conversation flows easily with his hunky neighbor, focused mainly on plans for rejuvenation of his tumbledown Victorian and yard. He watches Dale as they discuss contractors and irrigation and hardscape and pollinators, trying to capture how he does it. He’s so free and easy, picking up conversational threads and guiding them to the next, seemingly with no thought. It’s an art that has eluded Aaron for as long as he can remember, perhaps because he so rarely gets to have a conversation with anyone.

When the plates are cleaned, the waiter approaches and asks, “Do you have room for dessert?”

“Always,” Dale says with gusto. “Do you have panna cotta?”

“Naturally! It’s a specialty of the house. It comes with a nice raspberry coulis and a touch of honey.”

“Make it two,” Aaron says.

“I’ve been trying to perfect my panna cotta for years,” Dale says after the waiter leaves. “It’s ideal for a klutz like me—no baking, no flames, no knives or chopping—but I can’t quite get it right. It will be fun to see how they do it.”

The waiter returns with the plates, and that’s when disaster finally decides to strike. Time slows and it all happens as if carefully choreographed, scripted down to the last movement. Aaron follows each step in horror.

The opera music, quiet and atmospheric throughout the meal, suddenly cuts through the evening air as the tenor hits his crescendo. The bread basket on a neighboring table gets too close to the candle and catches flame. The diner jumps out of his seat, brandishing the flaming basket and knocking into the waiter, causing him to stumble. The waiter, a true professional, keeps his plates steady and almost catches his balance, but another table chooses exactly that moment to drop a spoon. The waiter, on cue, steps squarely on the stray utensil and skids ponderously across the floor. One dessert lands perfectly in front of Aaron, delicately wobbling to a stop with the spoon perfectly placed on the side. The other is dumped unceremoniously into Dale’s lap.

This is no surprise to Aaron. In fact, he can’t believe it didn’t happen earlier with the wine or the fish. But amazingly, inexplicably, it’s not over. He watches as Dale’s spoon falls into the mess in his lap, bounces off the plate, and does a perfect backflip, catapulting a ruby red bead of raspberry coulis across the table to land on his chest.

Staring dumbfounded down at the tiny stain on his favorite shirt, Aaron marvels: this is too wonderful to imagine.

He looks up at Dale, covered in his panna cotta, and is speechless, seeing him in an entirely new light. He might be the one, the one who can finally stand up to his miserable good luck.

“I’m so sorry,” the waiter apologizes, whipping a towel from his back pocket and bringing Aaron back to his senses.

By this point, Dale is having a good laugh, scooping the plate and half of his dessert up onto the table. “No worries,” he says. “It will all come out in the wash. Believe me, I know this from experience.”

“Let me get you another,” the waiter offers, moving to clean up the mess. “Or some cappuccinos, on the house.”

Aaron cuts in and says, “Let’s not tempt the Fates, shall we? We can share mine.”

The waiter fusses a moment more, then leaves them with their spoons.

Aaron bends forward and deliberately blows out the candle on the table, forestalling any conceivable problems with that. “I’m going to move slowly and carefully,” he says, grinning and sliding his perfect dessert to the center. “Get your spoon ready.”

He catches Dale’s eye and they share a look of pure understanding.

“I’ve heard rumors,” Aaron says as he takes his first bite.

“Have you now?” Dale says, taking his own bite. “This is tasty, by the way, thanks for sharing. I might just eat mine too, at least what’s left of it.”

“Yes. Rumors about your Uncle Lucas and his incredibly bad luck, and in spite of that, the constant traffic of friends through his door, and their remarkably good fortune. I seem to remember highly attended parties right until he passed. Will I be hearing similar rumors about you?”

“I imagine so. In fact, it’s already started. Bob and Marsha from down the block poked their heads in this morning and seemed intent on shaking my hand.”

“So here’s the thing: you’re bound to hear rumors about my Uncle David and his phenomenally good fortune, and how it just seems to sap anything good away from anyone in the vicinity.”

“Ah,” Dale says, understanding. “Which might cause people to cross the road, or spook a waiter, if his nephew happened to show similar tendencies.”

“Now you’re getting the picture. Watch this.” Aaron carefully places his spoon on the table, then reaches up and roughly musses up his own blond curls. Within seconds, a breeze wafts across the patio, blowing his hair perfectly back in place. At the same time, it blows Dale’s long hair over into his face, dribbling the ends into his ruined dessert.

“Sorry about that!” Aaron exclaims, mortified. “I didn’t realize it would do you too. But can you see the challenges?”

“I’m beginning to,” Dale says with his signature grin. “Can I borrow your napkin? Mine’s a disaster.”

When Aaron hands him the napkin, Dale finally notices the little stain on his shirt. “Oh Aaron, I’m so sorry!” Dale exclaims. “Your beautiful shirt. I’m sure we can wash it out—let me help. As you can probably guess, I’m a whiz at cleaning up spills.”

Aaron is awestruck: not once in his entire life has he gotten a stain on his shirt. This hunky, hairy man is something special. As he watches Dale dab the dessert out of his hair, Aaron struggles, trying to sort out the mechanics of it. What happens when the luckiest man on Earth meets the unluckiest? Does it magnify or cancel out? He has no idea, but he intends to find out.