Chapter 2 Magic Hour #4
“Well, I can send some home with you,” Isaac said with another one of those happy smiles. “And I can be Gay Uncle Isaac to Roxy’s kids, and her husband, Brian, can have me over to watch hockey, and….” His eyes darted around his plain, boring, large house. “And anyway, yeah, it’s a good system.”
Luca was hit suddenly with a terrible sense of loneliness. Not just from the aftermath of his husband’s death, but from the void the man seemed to have left before.
Tread carefully, Luca. This isn’t some guy you dragged home from a bar and then decided to keep seeing.
“So what plans you got for the place now?” he asked, and Isaac’s eyes went from his all-in-neutrals kitchen and living room back to Luca’s face.
“I don’t know,” he said softly, thinking about it.
“I…” He glanced into the living room again, at the prissy little couch up on peg legs and the two not-so-comfortable wingback chairs.
Everything was done in ecru, and underneath a couple of different yarn-project baskets, the table looked like it was made of glass and mirrors.
“I guess I could go shop for some more comfortable furniture,” he said, sounding surprised at himself.
“And maybe an area rug that….” Suddenly his eyes went dreamy again.
“They come in some lovely colors. I wouldn’t mind something like a traditional Persian rug, with deep reds and blues, and maybe some blue-gray couches and a love seat—nobody likes wingback chairs, right?
And… and one of those coffee tables that pops up so you can eat dinner on top and keep magazines or crafting stuff inside? ”
His smile at Luca was no longer dreamy—it was intense. “Oh wow. Where did that come from? It was like I forgot I could order stuff I like now.”
Luca gave a happy little shrug. “But I guess no time for Allegra’s blanket—”
“Oh no,” Isaac said. “No, don’t think that at all.
Blankets take a couple of weeks. It’s the sort of thing you do when you sit down to watch television or listen to music or podcasts.
You pull out your knitting. So if I plan now, I can purchase the yarn after school tomorrow, depending on what you want, and get a start on it.
It’ll be great to have a project between this year’s hats and scarves for the students and next year’s. ”
“And no more brown sweater?” Luca asked hopefully.
Isaac frowned. “I… you have to understand how expensive that yarn is. And for brown, it’s very pretty—there’s lots of blues and reds and greens in the fibers in the sunlight.
It’s just that there’s so much of it. I…
.” He shook his head. “I’ll have to ponder it for a while,” he said with some resolution.
“I don’t believe in throwing away perfectly good wool—it’s bad karma—but I do believe in repurposing it.
That’s what that wool needs. A new purpose. ”
Luca couldn’t have agreed more, but at this point he thought it was best to dig into his soup and nod appreciatively.
HIS NEWLY resolved quiet lasted about half an hour.
He offered to do the dishes since Isaac had cooked, and while he was loading the dishwasher and finding his way around Isaac’s orderly kitchen, Isaac ran to organize his yarn bins.
After Luca had wiped the last crumb off the counter and packaged the leftovers in the containers Isaac had provided, he walked past the staircase that started in the front room and down the hallway, where, he saw, there were two guest bedrooms, a bathroom, and a den.
The yarn bins were in the den—the smallest room of the house.
But this, Luca thought, taking in the accent wall in shades of royal blue and magenta, the brilliantly colored wall hangings, and a truly delightful stained glass piece capturing moonlight over a pond full of lily pads, was where Isaac lived.
“Oh wow,” he said quietly, feeling like he’d just fallen through an IKEA catalogue to land in a fairy grotto. “Isaac, this room—”
“I know it’s terrible,” Isaac said, ducking his head and keeping his attention on the contents of one of the big plastic bins absolutely full of the fiber Isaac loved so much.
“Terrible?” Luca replied, stunned.
“Too loud, too gaudy, too precious—it’s not a room for grown-ups.”
“Too…?” Luca couldn’t breathe, he was suddenly so angry.
Isaac shrugged, still looking abashed. “It’s the one room I got to decorate—”
“I can tell,” Luca said. “It’s the best room in the house!”
Isaac glanced up, surprise all over his face. “You think?”
“My God, I was wondering where your soul was,” Luca burst out.
“I… the rest of this house is so bland! This room”—and it was barely big enough for a desk, an armchair, and the yarn bins—“this room is just glorious. This room needs to spread to the rest of the house! Every room needs to be an Isaac room. You need to get more than new furniture. You need to do this to the rest of the place. It will be amazing.”
Isaac stared at him, big hazel eyes wide and a little starry “Wow,” he said, his expression a cross between elation and absolute dismay. “That’s… that’s the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me.”
Luca gaped, fighting the temptation to fall to his knees, kiss the guy, and make wicked sexy love on the brilliantly hued area rug, surrounded by plastic yarn bins.
And that was when he knew he was really in trouble.