Chapter 6
“Fuck, I’ve missed you!”
Lucas slams into my chest, arms locked tight like he’s trying to fuse us together.
“Lucas,” I laugh, squeezing him back. “I’ve missed you too.”
“Let me see you,” he says, pushing back to scan my face. Whatever he’s looking for, I’m pretty sure it’s not there yet, because his smile softens. “Okay. Inside. Show me the famous loft.”
He hauls his suitcase in and stops dead. “Holy shit. Beckett.” His eyes go wide as he turns in a slow circle. “This place is amazing. A loft like this in LA or New York would cost… I don’t know, at least one black-market kidney. Maybe a lung.”
I snort a laugh. It would. My apartment has floor-to-ceiling windows, and three walls of exposed brick. In the center is a leather couch with a loveseat, facing a large TV hanging on the wall. And off to the side is a raised platform that my bed sits on.
“I’m sorry you don’t get your own room,” I say. “But the couch is comfortable, I promise.”
“Oh, please. You promised cuddling,” Lucas says. “I’m holding you to that.”
I sigh because he’s not joking. “We’ll… revisit the cuddle contract. Make yourself at home. There’s an old dresser against the wall. I cleared out the drawers if you want to unpack. Wasn’t sure if you wanted to live out of a suitcase while you were here.”
“I do not, thank you very much. My poor clothes appreciate you.”
I grab us beers from the fridge while he starts unpacking.
Lucas is… a clothes snob. And I mean that in the most loving way.
He himself is not a snob. He’s genuine and kind, but if you looked at his wardrobe with all his high-end looks, you wouldn’t think so.
Me, on the other hand… jeans and a T-shirt. Black. All black.
We met during the first week of culinary school and never shook each other.
When everything went to hell with Pierre, he was right there for the full implosion.
He saw me ugly cry in the walk-in coolers and still wanted to be my friend.
He kept calling after I moved, and now he’s here in my tiny Maine town, which is both comforting and vaguely alarming.
But… I get the inkling that something is bothering him. He’s been making subtle hints about wanting to move out of LA. I’m not sure if Lucas and small towns really mesh, but we’re about to find out.
I hand him a beer and take a seat on the couch while he finishes.
“So, I hate to bring up a sore subject, but… what are you gonna do about the cookbook?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t prove those recipes are mine.”
Lucas’s nose wrinkles. “I still can’t believe he pretended to be in a relationship with you for six months just to get to your grandma’s recipe book. What kind of fucked-up person does that?”
“A very fucked-up person,” I say. “But also, what kind of idiot am I for falling for it? For believing him? For finding out he’d been shopping a cookbook this whole time and got a deal with my work dressed up in his name?”
“Hey, no.” Lucas turns fully toward me, voice firm. “You are not the problem in that story. You’re the kind of person people wish they were. Pierre is the kind people warn their therapists about.”
A laugh slips out of me. “Deep down, I know that. It’s just hard to trust anyone anymore. I mean, does anyone really like me, or is it all a ploy to get information? And then he fucking kissed me, kissed me right there in his kitchen, only to walk away like it was a mistake.”
“Ummm, wait, why do I get the impression you’re not talking about Pierre?”
“Ugh,” I groan, throwing my head back on the couch.
“Gasp, did the hunky tattoo man kiss you?”
I groan again, nodding.
“You’ve been trying to get into his pants for months,” Lucas singsongs.
“Have you seen his pants?” I demand, sitting up.
“His ass is like cotton candy at a summer fair. How am I supposed to resist that? But none of it matters,” I say, heat rushing to my face.
“Because he bailed. He kissed me like it meant something, then freaked out and walked away like it was a mistake. So, clearly I’m stupid in all time zones. ”
“Okay, first of all?” Lucas lifts a finger. “I highly doubt Dom…” He fans himself, just a little. “Whew! I doubt he’d go through all this effort with the friend group, with Jaxon, just to screw with you for sport. That’s not a casual move.”
“Feels familiar,” I say quietly. “Feels like Pierre all over again. Get close, get information, get gone.”
Lucas’s expression softens. “Hey. Look at me.” I do. “Pierre targeted you. That’s what predators do. Dom is… from everything you’ve told me? A grumpy golden retriever in a hot body. Different species.”
I huff. “You’re going to meet him. And the whole circus. Tomorrow. At the kids’ carnival.”
Lucas blinks. “Excuse me. Come again?”
“Oh, yeah.” I take a long pull of my beer. “Welcome to Maine. You’re meeting the family.”
“I can’t believe I’m out in public wearing this outfit,” Lucas hisses.
“You look fine.”
“Fine! I look fine? Herein lies the problem. The word fine!”
I laugh as we step out of my car onto the gravel lot. Lucas is just upset because he doesn’t, and I quote, “own carnival attire.” So I lent him a nice pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
“So you’re saying my clothes are only fine? I gave you my nicest shirt.”
“And a very nice shirt it is, babe. It just doesn’t go well with these shoes.”
“It’s not my fault you wear penny loafers twenty-four seven.”
Lucas rolls his eyes at me. “Come on, introduce me to this hunk of a tattooed god who has your briefs all in a bunch.”
“Who also kissed me and ran away—let’s not forget that detail. God, he can be such a boneheaded dick sometimes.”
“Ohhh, then you can make him grovel.”
We walk into the carnival, and it’s bigger than I expected: kids sprinting everywhere; laughter ringing across the field; a Ferris wheel turning, slow and pretty; booths lined up with games, food, crafts; a petting zoo; and what looks like a three-legged race in progress.
“Wow,” Lucas breathes. “So this is what a carnival actually looks like.”
“It’s more small-town charity carnival than full-blown theme park,” I say. “But it’s perfect. Matthew House puts it on every year—it’s a local organization that supports queer kids, run by Marcus and Jacob. Marcus invested in Alex’s gaming company, and Alex is Jaxon’s boyfriend.”
Lucas blinks. “I’m going to need a dot-org chart.”
I spot the Ink Me tent Jaxon has set up. He had the idea of doing temporary tattoos for the kids. I absolutely love the idea, and so did Marcus and Jacob. Olly has a cupcake stand around here somewhere that we need to check out too.
“Hey, guys,” I call as we walk up. Looks like most of the crew’s here, plus Marcus. “This is my friend from Los Angeles, Lucas. Lucas, this is… everyone.”
There’s a round of greetings and handshakes.
“Lucas, how’s it going?” Finn says, coming in for a hug. “I can’t believe you’re here. Never thought I’d see you out of the big city. And that outfit is…”
“Shut it, Finn,” Lucas cuts in. “Beckett failed to mention there was a dress code for carnivals.”
“Is that even a thing?” I hear Dom mutter to himself as he shoots daggers at Lucas. Marcus, on the other hand, has a look of intrigue.
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you,” Jaxon says.
“Likewise,” Lucas replies smoothly. “I’ve heard a lot about Beckett’s infamous group of friends.”
“Well, I’m glad you could join us. I hope you take the time to look around and join in on the fun.”
“I might do that. In fact, I saw someone earlier who was selling lotions and soaps, so I need to investigate.”
“I’m gonna help them finish setting up,” I tell him, nudging his arm. “If you want to wander, that’s fine. We’ll meet back here.”
He’s not listening—too busy staring at Marcus.
“Lucas.”
He startles. “Right. Yes, wandering. Wonderful idea. I’ll meet you back here.”
He heads off, looking wildly out of place and completely delighted. I don’t miss the extra glance Marcus sneaks his way.
Jaxon hands me a stack of tattoo sheets to sort while he and Marcus start tag-teaming an explanation of Alex’s new game, each taking turns roasting him affectionately. I settle in behind the table, but I can feel Dom nearby like static, and I know sooner or later I’m going to have to talk to him.
I don’t know Jasper all that well, though I feel like we’ve become friends over the last few months, but I’m not prepared for what happens next.
“Marcus isn’t only Alex’s Mr. Moneybags… He’s also my doctor, and he’s been treating me since the incident,” Jasper says with a rushed exhale.
Well, that’s a mighty coincidence.
“And he also raised me along with his husbands. From the age of sixteen, I grew up as a part of Matthew House.”
Holy. Shit. I was not expecting that. An entire group of eyes ping-pong back and forth between Jasper and Marcus.
“I think we both know that you were a little more than just a part of Matthew House,” Marcus says, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you,” he whispers before making his way out of the booth.
Spencer chuckles. “So let me get this straight. First, Olly, with a mysterious baby—not that we’re complaining, of course—and now you have a Scooby Doo–type mystery.
It’s like pulling the mask off over and over.
It’s Marcus… no wait, it’s Mr. Withermore…
no, it’s Doctor Who… or maybe, dun-dun-dun… Dad?” We all laugh.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not Dad.” He holds his hands up with a smile. “He’s something much, much better. A friend, a guide. He’s family. They’re my family.”
“Wait, that means you knew Matthew. Like you really knew him,” Alex says, putting two and two together.
Jasper looks at Olly, who squeezes his hand and gives him a nod of support. “I was there when he was healthy. I was there when he got sick… and I was there when he died.”
Oh, poor Jasper. I lost my parents when I was young, so I understand grief and the toll it takes on loved ones. I’m glad he still had Marcus and Jacob, plus he has us now too.