Chapter One #2
The stranger just stared at him, those amber eyes radiating a quiet kind of patience. Like Danny was worth every second of his time.
“I walked past that display several times, trying to figure out—” Tilting his head back slightly, he scented the air. Curious, Danny did the same, but all he smelled were those overripe bananas. Yet, the stranger’s eyes darkened, his focus sharpening for some reason.
“Aisle seven,” he repeated, that deep voice impossibly lower, even huskier now. “Got it. Don’t suppose you have a Marauder’s Map? Might help with navigation.”
“You could check automotive in aisle 12.” Danny flapped his hand over his shoulder like he was shooing away a fly. “Though I doubt we stock any kind of boat equipment.”
“Marauder’s Map.” His crooked grin nudged gently at something deep inside Danny. “Harry Potter? Shows you where everything is? Well, technically it shows you where a person is, but it would still be cool to have one that actually worked.”
“Sorry.” Danny shrugged, mesmerized by the spark of mischief that held his attention more than it should. “Never saw the movies.”
“Not even the first one?” Mountain Man’s eyebrows rose. Not mockingly. More like Danny had just admitted to never tasting chocolate.
“Nope. I’m unique that way.” He became aware of how close they were standing. Of how the guy’s scent was wrapping around him, inviting him to lean in and just inhale.
“I’m Ash, by the way.” He extended his hand.
His palm was warm and calloused, the grip firm but not crushing. “Danny.”
“Danny,” Ash repeated, the deep timbre making his name sound filthy. “Well, Danny, this is a situation that needs fixing. You should come over tonight. We’ll watch the first movie.” He paused, eyes glinting. “I’ll provide dinner and the butterbeer.”
“That…sounds both delicious and disgusting.” Danny fidgeted with the hem of his work shirt, glancing at the woman opening a cooler door, while feeling the heat of Ash’s steady gaze.
“It’s a Harry Potter thing. You’ll understand after.” His smile had to be illegal in at least forty-eight states and a few Denny’s parking lots. “So? You in?”
Say no. Say you’re busy. Say literally anything except—
“I could bring my wand,” Danny offered. Yeah, that. Literally anything but that. You don’t even own a damn wand.
Ash’s smile was slow and soft and devastating. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Why? Danny didn’t understand half of what Ash was saying, but the lumberjack was definitely flirting. A gorgeous guy was standing there flirting with him in the middle of the grocery store, and Danny wasn’t doing anything to stop this train wreck.
“I don’t even know where you live.” Literally anything but that too. Just…stop talking.
“Give me your hand.”
Danny’s arm immediately obeyed, palm up like an offering.
Ash pulled a pen from Danny’s shirt pocket—one of the cheap ones from the customer service desk—and reached for his hand.
Danny let him take it, too stunned to resist. Ash’s fingers were gentle as he wrote an address in neat black letters across Danny’s palm. The pen tip tickled.
“There.” He capped the pen and slid it into his own pocket. “I’m keeping this hostage until you show up.”
“That’s store property,” Danny said, wondering why he cared about office supplies.
“Then I guess you’ll have to come get it.”
Danny stared at the address on his palm. At the numbers that unexpectedly felt like life had hit the accelerator.. Ash’s scent clung to him now, pine and smoke and want, and he breathed it in before he could stop himself.
This is a terrible idea. You know this is a terrible idea. Remember Brad? Remember what happens when you fall for gorgeous men who smile at you like that?
But Ash was already walking away with his cart, and Danny couldn’t make himself care.
“Seven o’clock,” Ash called over his shoulder. “Don’t be late.”
Unable to move, Danny stood there, his skin tingling where Ash had cradled it.
“So.” Isaac appeared beside him wearing a smirk. “You gonna tell me why you’re standing there looking like someone hit you with a stun gun, or was the conversation too private to share?”
“Shut up.”
“Wait.” Isaac glanced toward the deli. “Was as that the guy I saw you falling in lust with? Did he just give you his number?”
“His address.”
Isaac whistled low. “Damn. You work fast for someone who was just contemplating petty crimes for pat-down purposes. Major upgrade from Skull.”
Danny looked down at his palm again. At the ink warming his skin.
“I’m so fucked,” he said.
Isaac gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “Yeah. But like in a fun way. Now go take your break before Pike comes back and busts a blood vessel and I have to actually come up with an alibi.”
Danny headed toward the stockroom, but he couldn’t stop himself from glancing back once.
Ash stood by the meat cooler, holding a package of steaks. His head slowly turned, his grin rearranging the rhythm of Danny’s pulse.
Face flaming, Danny ducked through the stockroom door.
What have I gotten myself into?
* * * *
Hours later, Danny was sitting on his bed in nothing but a towel, the damp cotton sticking to his thighs.
Water droplets glided slowly down his back from his still-wet hair, each one tracing a path between old scars.
Summer heat pressed through the thin walls of his apartment, making everything sticky despite the rattling window unit that wheezed like an asthmatic smoker.
The address Ash had written on his palm had long since been scrubbed away, but Danny had already memorized it.
Typed it into his phone. Stared at the little blue dot on the map at least twenty times since getting home.
723 Maple Ridge Road.
Was he actually thinking of going?
Isaac was currently hunched over on Danny’s bed, painting his toenails a violent shade of purple. “Stop overthinking it.” He didn’t even look up from his careful brushstrokes. “You’re going.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t.”
“Your face did. You’ve got that constipated look you get when you’re about to bail on something good.”
Danny shifted on the bed, towel sliding dangerously low. “Maybe it’s not good. Maybe he’s—”
“What? A serial killer? A cat hoarder? Secretly married?” Isaac finally looked up, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched. “Or maybe he’s just a hot guy who wants to watch Harry Potter with you. Revolutionary concept, I know.”
“It’s been a year since—”
“Since Brad,” Isaac’s said quietly. “And you’re letting that asshole still control your life. You know what that means?”
“That I have excellent self-preservation instincts?”
“It means he’s still winning.” Isaac scooted next to him, making the springs creak. “Every time you say no to something that might be good, every time you hide, he’s still controlling you. Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“Then get dressed. Go watch wizards or whatever. Worst-case scenario, the movie sucks and you never have to see him again.”
Worst-case scenario is a lot worse than that.
But Danny was already standing, already pulling open his closet door, revealing a sea of black fabric, chains, and leather.
Band shirts from concerts he’d gone to before Brad decided they were “too loud” and “attracted the wrong crowd.” Ripped jeans the asshole had hated.
The leather jacket he’d hidden once, claiming he’d “put it somewhere safe.”
All the pieces of himself he’d slowly reclaimed over the past year.
Too much. Ash had seen him at work, in his polo and khakis. Showing up looking like he’d raided Hot Topic would be... what? Trying too hard? Not hard enough?
Plain T-shirt. Blue. No band logos, no skulls, nothing that screamed anything. Jeans that weren’t ripped. Safe. Boring. Nonjudgemental.
Danny grabbed a black Misfits shirt instead then put it back. Grabbed it again.
“Jesus Christ, it’s not prom.” Isaac had returned to his toenails. “Just wear something that makes you feel like yourself.”
Himself. Right. Like Danny even knew who that was anymore.
“Oh my god, you’re being tragic.” Isaac flopped backward on the bed. “He literally asked you out after seeing you in your work uniform. With the black nails Pike hates. He knows what he’s getting.”
Maybe. Or maybe Ash liked the idea of fixing someone. Brad had been like that at first too. All smiles and patience until Danny had trusted him enough to let his guard down.
Don’t think. Just put on clothes.
Twenty minutes later, Danny stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’d compromised—black T-shirt, regular jeans, no chains except the one attached to his wallet because leaving it felt like surrender.
The guyliner took another ten minutes. Too much looked desperate.
Too little and why bother? He settled for just enough to make his eyes pop without looking like he was auditioning for a metal band.
Then Danny lifted his shirt to check. The scars didn’t show through the fabric.
Good. Nobody needed to see those on a first…
whatever this was. Not a date. Just watching a movie.
With a guy who looked like he bench-pressed trees and smiled at Danny like he was something worth smiling at.
Stop it.
“You look good.” Isaac appeared in the doorway, holding Danny’s keys. “Like yourself, but dialed down to suburban-acceptable levels.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Isaac stepped closer, and for a second, Danny thought he might cry. His best friend’s arms wrapped around him, surprisingly strong for someone built like a pixie. He smelled like vanilla body spray and the joint he’d definitely smoked on the fire escape earlier.
“You deserve good things,” Isaac murmured against his shoulder. “Even if you don’t believe it yet.”
Danny’s throat closed up. He pulled back before he could do something stupid like actually cry.
“Text me if you need an escape call,” Isaac said, pressing the keys into Danny’s hand. “I’ll fake a medical emergency. Or a fire. I’m flexible.”
“You’re insane.” Danny grinned.
“That’s why you love me.” Isaac nudged him toward the door. “The safe word is glitter. Text that to me and I’ll haul ass to you with a shovel and a bad attitude. Maybe two shovels. That guy is huge.”
With a chuckle, Danny walked out of their apartment.
The drive to Ash’s took twelve minutes according to GPS. Danny made it in twenty, because he’d pulled over twice. Once at the 7-Eleven to buy gum, and once two houses down from the address when his vision started to tunnel.
Not now. Please not now.
But his body didn’t care about his plans. His lungs squeezed tight, refusing to take in enough air. Sweat broke out across his forehead, under his arms, everywhere at once. The car felt too small, the seatbelt too tight, everything closing in.
Brad’s voice echoed in his head. Nobody else is going to want you. Look at you. Pathetic.
Danny pressed his forehead against the steering wheel. The horn gave a short honk that made him jerk back.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Five things he could see. Dashboard, green lawns, streetlight, stop sign, his own hands shaking against his thighs.
Four things he could hear. His own ragged breathing, someone’s TV through an open window, a dog barking, wind through the cracked window.
Three things he could feel. The seat beneath him, still warm from the drive, his wallet chain cold against his hip, sweat rolling down his back.
Two things he could smell. The pine-scented air that came from the mountains, his own deodorant failing.
One thing he could taste. Hope, because for the first time since Brad, Danny was taking a shaky step forward.
He inhaled slowly, counting to four, holding for seven, then exhaling for eight. The way his therapist had taught him before he couldn’t afford therapy anymore. His breathing slowed. His vision cleared. The vise around his ribs loosened enough to let him take a full breath.
You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.
Just a movie. Just watching a movie with a guy who probably invites everyone over to watch movies. Nothing special about it. Nothing special about you.
Except Ash had looked at him. Really looked, not through him or past him but at him, like Danny was worth the effort of focusing.
“Because you are,” he said out loud, mimicking what he knew Isaac would say. “Because you deserve to be seen.” The words came out fragile, barely audible.
He started the car again, inched forward until he saw the mailbox. 723.
A modest house stood back from the street, golden light pouring from windows onto a wide porch that wrapped around one side. The place looked lived-in, cared for, a home rather than just a place to exist.
Danny parked behind a truck that probably cost more than he made in a year. He cut the engine and gripped the steering wheel, counting to thirty while his legs remembered they were supposed to work.
Before his courage could desert him, he was out of the car and walking up the path toward the front door.