Chapter 1 #2
How did he not know who I was? I was almost painfully aware of him—and we’d spoken! Like…six times? Since I moved here in my early thirties. Which…admittedly was…fuck, over a decade ago? I scrubbed a hand over my face as I watched the icon flicker in and out to show that Maddox was texting.
Only…no text came.
At least, not quick enough for my taste.
Time was of the essence here.
Which was why I bit back my pride and sent another text.
Me: The beanpole?
Brian had called me that the entire time Janis and I had dated. It was, unfortunately, not the first time that particular nickname had been used toward me. It was a comment on my height and width, obviously. A pole. Though, I’d never for the life of me figured out what the bean part meant.
Maddox: Oh.
Jesus. Why was everyone so fucking rude? It would’ve been nice to be remembered for my aptitude rather than how lanky I was. Oh well. I shook the feeling off quickly. Quick enough, I was surprised Maddox had texted me a second time before I could reply.
Maddox: Why are you messaging me?
It was a good question. Heart2Heart was a queer community app after all, and I—an unfortunately straight man—had only downloaded it so that I could hunt Maddox down. Which I was only now realizing was probably not the nicest thing to do.
Me: I need your help.
Me: Just hear me out. Please? Coffee, lunch. Whatever you want. I can explain everything.
There was another pause between texts. I could hardly breathe, the anticipation was killing me. My drive to be petty had somewhat died over the course of the last few hours, but I was still…oddly devoted to my cause.
Maddox: I’ll come by tomorrow.
Me: Yes! Where?
I grinned, elated. This had gone better than I could’ve imagined. Maybe my silly introduction had won him over? Or maybe, it was my admittance to being a beanpole. Or maybe, Maddox was simply the kind of guy who couldn’t help but say yes when someone asked for his help.
Maddox: Your store.
Me: What time?
Maddox: Lunch.
Me: How about 12:30?
Maddox: 1.
Me: Perfect! Be covert.
Maddox was the least covert person I’d ever met.
When he stepped through the door to the shop, the bell chimed, alerting me to his presence.
Or it would have, if the great stomp of his boots hadn’t done so first. I swear to god, he shook the Earth with each step.
I heard him the moment he’d stepped onto the porch, the whole building swaying with the creak of the bright winter wind.
The clomp of his boots was even louder once he was indoors.
Drowning out the bell’s tinkle and shocking the store into silence.
Maddox was a mountain of a man.
He sported a crisply trimmed white beard and mustache—longer than my own. His hair was shorn military short. Likely because he couldn’t be fussed to deal with it after he’d already spent hours on his beard hygiene.
Not to say that he wasn’t clean.
He was. Very much so. Thick gray brows groomed, his beard neatly combed, his hair fluffy like it’d been freshly washed.
That was the first thing I noticed about a person—their hygiene. As a man who prided myself on that very thing, it would be difficult not to notice.
Maddox shook off the snow that had accumulated on his shoulders. His coat was a massive leather thing that smelled like cinnamon, tea leaves, and pine needles. The scent mingled with the crisp smell of new and old books, meshing with the shop’s ambiance like he’d been made for it.
The few customers I had in the shop paused perusing the shelves, though they quickly went about their business when they saw who it was that had caused such a ruckus.
Just Maddox.
Like I said, he was recognizable.
He was well-known around town. A mystery, truly. But certainly a pillar of familiarity. He’d grown up in town, unlike me. I was a later-in-life transplant. And yet…I knew nothing about him.
Sharp grey eyes met mine, an unreadable look on Maddox’s face as he made a beeline right for me. I couldn’t help but inhale a little as he approached, that lovely cinnamon-pine combination delightful enough I wished I could bottle it up and sell it as a candle.
“He smells good,” I muttered under my breath. Dammit. Maybe thinking out loud really was a bad habit?
“Hi,” I said in greeting, stepping to the side of the till and peeling off my work apron. Penelope, my part-timer who was a sophomore in college—and the reason I knew about the Heart2Heart app in the first place—stepped up to take my place behind the counter.
Maddox stared at me but didn’t reply.
When I say stare, I mean…the kind that shakes you down to your very bones. The kind that wiggles beneath your skin to the gooey mush beneath it. That peels you back, layer by layer. The kind that makes you feel breathless because of the weight it carries along with it.
I cleared my throat awkwardly then gestured toward the back where the stairs led to my apartment. “I live upstairs. Lunch?” I offered, only it came out as more of a squeak. “I made pasta.”
Maddox shoved a thermos at me to show that he’d brought his own food. I hadn’t seen it at first. Perhaps he’d hidden it in one of his many…many pockets? I swear to god, his coat had at least a dozen.
“Great. Uh.” This was awkward. “Follow me.”
Up the stairs we went, my steps light and practiced, Maddox’s clomping boots behind me. He left puddles of water in his wake, despite the fact he’d stomped off the worst of the snow at the door. I shouldered my way inside, jiggling the handle—it always stuck—before gesturing at my apartment.
“Make yourself at home,” I said. “TV’s through there. Bathroom’s down the hall. You’re welcome to grab a seat on the couch or at the table while I heat my food—seeing as I didn’t have the forethought to pack a thermos.”
He didn’t laugh at my joke.
Before I could ask him to remove his shoes, he simply did so, kicking them off and to the side, so their puddles could remain in the doorway.
“Home sweet home,” I hummed. “Grab a seat wherever. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Maddox did not grab a seat.
As I made my way into the kitchen, he made his way around my house.
He poked around my couch, looked at the pictures on my wall, and when he was done snooping, nearly got himself stuck in the narrow kitchen doorway.
His broad shoulders rammed into either wall.
With a grunt, he pulled himself free, hovering behind me with those same watchful eyes.
He reminded me of one of those dogs.
Mastin…ah. Mastiff? Maybe.
Or…the fluffier one. Yeah. Bernese Mountain Dog. That’s what it was. All too-big paws, serious eyes, and careful personality.
“Would you like some bread?” I offered. “I assume your thermos is full of soup.” Or coffee. Either or.
Maddox grunted a second time—which I translated to, “Sure, Iven, why not! Bread sounds delightful.” He continued to study me from his spot inside the doorway as I finished plating up the pasta I’d made for lunch throughout the week. His nostrils flared, and he inhaled greedily.
It did smell good.
“Would you like some?” I offered.
“I brought my own food.”
“Right.” We’d gone over this before. “But would you also like pasta?”
Maddox huffed, which I assumed meant yes, so I piled him up a plate of pasta and grabbed a loaf of bread for good measure. I had a deal with the baker across the street. If he gave me bread every morning, I’d let him peruse my manga aisle and pick whatever he wanted.
He was fair about it.
Most people in town were fair by nature. It was part of the reason I’d never wanted to move, even though the weather in the mountains was diabolical. The community was warm enough to make up for the chill.
When we sat down at my tiny dining room table, the chair beneath Maddox wheezed. I could practically see it sweating. He didn’t react. Maybe he was used to furniture attempting mutiny when he was around.
There was something comical about how Maddox looked, squashed into my tiny dining room.
Calling it a dining room was a stretch, honestly, seeing as it was simply a table and two chairs shoved into the corner by the couch.
It was next to the window, though—and I had a lovely, and sometimes lonely, view of the street below.
Outside, a cluster of women were jogging in the cold, puffs of breath clouding in the air. Snowflakes blew toward them, caught in a frosty breeze. They headed toward the bakery—no doubt to grab a loaf like the one I’d just broken into pieces to plop on Maddox’s plate.
Maddox didn’t react to the food at first. He was silent as he studied me observing the street below.
I was careful not to let him know I knew he was watching me, smiling down at the street as I waited for his attention to divert.
When he, moments later, scarfed his pasta down like he was on a timer, I was relieved.
Man.
Talk about intense. His profile had not led me astray, that was for sure.
Maddox didn’t speak as he ate.
Which meant it was my job to keep up the conversation.
And again, because time was of the essence, I cut to the chase.
“I’m hoping to be your plus-one for the ice carving competition,” I said, daintily dipping a piece of bread in a leftover glob of pasta sauce. When I brought it to my mouth, Maddox eyed me with heat. His pale eyes traced my lips, and for a moment, I forgot what I was attempting to say at all.
Which was…odd.
I’d never had that reaction to a man before.
Ever.
I chewed to stall. Maddox reached into his coat, pulled out a napkin, and offered it to me. I blinked in surprise but smiled as I wiped my mouth, neatly folded the napkin up, and set it to the side.
He watched that, too. I wasn’t sure he’d even blinked since he’d come upstairs. Okay, yes. That was an exaggeration. But still. What about me was so fascinating?