Chapter 13
He didn't need the entire half hour to clean up once he was home, but he took a few minutes to put away anything out of place.
Brown loafers in the kitchen, a blazer he'd left hanging on the back of the couch. He even fluffed the throw pillows and dusted the end tables before he caught sight of the clock and decided to start cleaning himself up as well.
His dress shirt and slacks could be washed using his in-unit washing machine when he eventually did laundry. As for his jacket, that would be steamed and pressed at least twice more before being dry cleaned at the end of the week. But laundry wasn’t at the top of Connor’s list of concerns.
Everything was mostly in order by the time Nate arrived.
Connor met him down in the lobby, Nate’s familiar grin a strange sight in a space he tried his best to keep so separate from everything Alarie.
But even he was dressed down, comfortable in casualwear that seemed as much a second skin as did his designer suits.
Gray sweater, light wash jeans cuffed over impeccably white high-top Converse. Hardly what Connor would imagine the son of someone like Isaac Berkshire to be wearing. Then he noticed the bottle of wine tucked under his arm, a little more fitting.
“I hope you can consider this payment for an amazing meal,” Nate opened as he offered the bottle. “You like wine, right?”
“I do.” Connor accepted it with a small smile. “You didn’t have to bring anything, you know.”
“No way. It’s like a host gift, you know? I would’ve brought you rum, but you seem like more of a wine guy.”
He thanked Nate before leading him up the elevator and down the floor to his unit.
Utterly nondescript, but for the number outside his door.
His neighbor liked to keep a rug in front of their doors to cut down on the sound of footsteps in the morning.
But his neighbor wasn’t home yet, not that Connor minded much if he was seen bringing a man home.
“Well, this is it,” he said a little unceremoniously as he led Nate inside, closing the door behind them. “Make yourself at home.”
Of course, he’d only said it out of instinct. Not because it was what he meant, but because that was what you said when you had someone over.
Connor did his best not to have anyone over aside from Junie.
Devore had never once set foot in his apartment.
[34] Not that he’d ever shown much of an interest in meeting Connor anywhere that wasn’t perfectly to his tastes–and this would have been painfully beneath him.
But Nate was an exception, one that he didn’t regret.
There was something strange in seeing Nate take in his space with wide-eyed fascination, hesitating only in the foyer to remove his shoes, mirroring the way Connor had slipped off his loafers once they stepped inside.
Nate was silent as he made his way through the small living space of Connor’s apartment, eyeing the old red surfboard hanging over his saffron-colored couch, the navy woven rug beneath a walnut-colored coffee table with an uneven leg supported by a piece of cardboard.
A pothos plant hung from the ceiling beside the balcony door, vines stretching nearly to the floor; that had been a gift from Junie many years ago.
He even paused over Connor’s bookshelf, no doubt eyeing his many half-finished titles on self-improvement, climbing the ladder to success, winning and influencing people.
The bottom shelf was stuffed full of dog-eared classics, a copy of Catcher in the Rye that survived being dropped in the bathtub once, The Lord of the Rings minus The Two Towers, and two separate copies of Nancy Drew: Secret of the Old Clock with one missing the final page.
Books Connor hadn’t touched in years.
Framed posters added pops of color to the eggshell walls–a Keith Haring print he’d picked up from The Broad the year before, a poster for a local band he’d seen at the Observatory.
Beside the couch was a photo of his parents on Lake Erie, his mom beaming at the camera while holding out a trout with his gruff dad.
All of this, Nate seemed to observe in quiet fascination, like he was studying pieces of Connor, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Your place is nice. I mean it. Really nice. Really you. It’s colorful,” Nate said, looking back at him, his gaze too-gentle.
Connor decided not to wonder what he meant by that, taking him at his word and nothing else. Anything else would have been his own insecurities talking, not Nate.
“Yeah. I’ve been here for a while.”
“How long?”
“About seven years. I moved down here with my ex. And–well, he moved out almost two years later.” Connor didn’t know why he brought that up. It had been years since he last thought about his first boyfriend. His first ex-boyfriend. But Nate asked and… there they were.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Nate looked a little embarrassed, like he’d prodded on something he shouldn't have. Connor just waved him off.
“It’s fine. It’s what happens, dating someone who’s more committed to work than to you.” He’d meant for it to sound humorous, a little self-deprecating. Instead he felt like he’d bared his throat for Nate, waiting to feel teeth in his jugular.
“Was that his problem?” Nate asked gently.
“That was his problem with me,” Connor answered in a hollow voice.
“Oh.”
He only watched Nate for a moment before stepping back into the kitchen, setting the bottle of wine on the counter.
It looked entirely out of place here. Even if he didn’t recognize the winery, the label alone looked fancier than anything he’d buy for himself. Not that Connor knew much about wine past the basics.
His kitchen was too simple, pale yellow walls against a marble backsplash that hadn’t been replaced since he’d moved in almost seven years ago now. It was clean–of course it was clean, it was Connor’s space, but outdated. Plain.
The silver knobs on his pantry should at least have been replaced. Maybe that would have tied everything together.
He did his best to pull himself together, trying not to get caught up on the little things. But it was hard not to, not when he realized that he wanted Nate to be impressed. He wanted to show himself as–what, exactly? A good host? A good potential partner?
Ridiculous.
That wasn’t what they were, and the whole point of this dinner was to tell Nate that just that. They would never be anything like that.
“You must get a lot of light during the day,” Nate commented as he followed Connor into the kitchen, gesturing with his chin at the sliding glass door, the large windows, the blinds he never liked to close.
Despite himself, Connor smiled.
“Yeah. Great sunsets. My neighbor said he can see the ocean but–” He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I’ve never made it out past the hills.”
“The beach is only, what, ten miles away?”
“A little further than that. That’s just the bay.
” Connor hesitated before he started pulling out ingredients for dinner.
It wasn’t fancy, but he knew a few tricks to make a simple dinner seem a little more lavish.
For one, he liked to make his own alfredo sauce.
A little cream and butter, a little cheese and garlic and it came together as nicely as if he’d bought a jar from the store.
“Still not far, right? That must be nice for a guy who surfs. Dig the board, too.” Nate jerked his chin over at the red surfboard hanging above the couch.
“Yeah, it is,” Connor answered with a smile. “I don’t use that one anymore. I use a six footer out here–it’s on my balcony now–but that board up there is what I learned on back home.”
“You learned to surf back in Ohio? I thought it was landlocked.”
That brought a laugh out of Connor as he started grating parmesan.
“Landlocked? Not Ohio. I grew up on Lake Erie. My dad, he, uh, pilots tugboats for Canadian freight.”
Nate straightened up at that, surprised.
“Really? I wouldn’t have expected that. And there’s surfing on Lake Erie?”
“More than you’d expect.”
“I’ll say,” Nate replied with an arched eyebrow, one that had Connor hiding his own smile as he maneuvered his way through his small kitchen.
Letting Nate in like this, it felt good. Well, it felt better than he thought it might have. But then again, when was the last time Connor had let someone in at all? Or more, someone who wasn’t Junie. Or Devore.
“You’re not… from California, are you?” Connor asked, tossing everything together into a saucepan before pilfering through his spice cabinet for some flavor. "I think you mentioned, you’re from the East Coast, right?”
“Yeah,” Nate’s expression looked a little pained. “New York, born and raised. El Barrio. Real Puerto Rican neighborhood. Even went to NYU for undergrad.”
“And Cornell for your MBA, right?” Connor recalled.
“Yeah. And then I did my internship in Syracuse.” His smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “The first time I ever left New York was just a few months ago. I mean, unless you count seeing friends in Hoboken, but even then… not if I could help it, you know?”
“Makes sense. I’ve always wanted to visit New York.” Connor peeled a few cloves of garlic, throwing them into the saucepan with the cream, cheese, and butter. “Almost went there instead of here.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“California’s further from Ohio. Easy winner.”
“Oh.”
Nate had gone quiet again, Connor looking up from the saucepan to see his face falling. And he realized–Nate was homesick. Homesick in a way he could never comprehend, because he'd left and hadn’t looked back.
“I needed some distance from my family. My parents, I mean.” He explained, as strange as it felt to be giving someone so much insight into his life, his choices.
But here he was, holding open the door and inviting Nate in.
“My ex and I were getting serious, so I came out to them. And it didn’t go well. ”
Nate looked like he was getting ready to apologize, so Connor cut him off before he could.