Chapter Ten #2
Joe considered that. It was an enclosed structure with some insulation. If they added more and a heat source, there was no reason why it couldn’t be comfortable all four seasons. “Like?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe an old-fashioned wood stove? It could be functional and atmospheric.”
Joe deferred to Austin’s judgement, and the man wandered off in the direction of the breezeway with his water, muttering to himself.
Joe figured a fully insulated and heated breezeway was in his future.
At least at Christmas they’d have a handy place to sequester the pets so they didn’t get their furry little paws all over Joe’s feast.
By the time dinner rolled around, Joe could admit he might have gone a little bit overboard, but Austin said he didn’t know what risotto was and Joe’s Italian heart couldn’t handle it.
Of course, it took all of three minutes for Joe to realize his mistake.
Austin eyed up the various dishes with curiosity while Joe set them out, and happily accepted his plate. Then he took his first bite and moaned like a porn star trying to entice viewers past the paywall.
Okay, that was probably an exaggeration brought on by Joe’s libido, which was cursing his poor time management. What had he been thinking? He should’ve skipped the biscotti.
Joe took several gulps of red wine and tried to remind his dick that Austin was not talking to him.
Austin was currently making heart eyes at his plate like it had offered to put a ring on it.
He was not going to suck Joe’s dick, no matter what Joe’s dick thought, because Austin was too busy sucking back veal marsala like it was his job.
Joe drank more wine. He’d picked up two bottles of his favorite Chianti; Austin gave it a curious glance and then shrugged and let Joe pour. He must’ve liked it well enough, because they managed to kill one bottle between them over dinner.
“I gotta ask, where did you learn to cook like this? And please don’t say TikTok.”
Conversation. Good—Joe could do that. “My nonna. Stereotypical Italian grandmother stuff. This is nothing; you should try her peposo. Uh, it’s a beef stew.
It’s not fancy, it just tastes like it.” He paused.
“And don’t you learn all kinds of shit from TikTok?
You told me that was how you fixed the typewriter. ”
“That was YouTube,” Austin corrected. He swiped a piece of fresh bread—Joe cheated and got that at a bakery because he only had so much time and kitchen space—through the marsala and popped it in his mouth.
“Which is fine, because the typewriter does not have a soul. This”—he indicated the risotto and the plate of caprese salad they’d demolished—“has a soul.”
Joe might have preened a little, but he wasn’t going to own up to it. “Think that might be the Chianti talking.”
Austin polished off his glass. “Well. You might be right.”
The wine had stained his lips dark red. Joe needed something to talk about stat or he wasn’t going to be able to look away. “So, you know what I did all day. What did you get up to?”
Austin pulled his lips between his teeth, almost like he was nervous. The apples of his cheeks were pink. “Okay, uh… it’s probably better if I just show you?”
They’d more or less polished off dinner anyway. A little movement would be good. “Sure.”
They took their wineglasses along—refilled from the freshly opened bottle—as Joe followed Austin into the breezeway. Somehow, while Joe was busy with dinner and dessert, Austin had found and installed a wood-burning stove, complete with a round pipe that exhausted through the smaller window.
“Dude,” Joe said. “So when you said you thought the breezeway needed a heat source, you meant, like, today?”
Austin rubbed the back of his neck. He had his hair up again, the better, he said, to not get any risotto in it.
Joe reminded his eyes they should be looking at Austin’s face, but that didn’t help much.
“Well, I mean… that was after I found this stuff in the pole barn. They must’ve had something like this before, or maybe they used to heat the barn. ”
“Either way, a pretty handy find.” Pepa would be thrilled to discover her favorite room just got cozier.
They moved to the living room and settled on the couch, the bottle of wine on the coffee table between them.
“So. I’m guessing your ex is the biggest idiot on the planet to give you up. No way his new squeeze is hotter or better at cooking.”
Well, that was forward. Also, a bit out of left field. “I mean, he never appreciated my cooking,” Joe admitted with a grimace, “which should have been a signal to me that we were incompatible.”
Austin eyed Joe over his wineglass. “Biggest. Idiot.”
“Thanks.” Joe sipped his wine.
Austin twirled his wineglass and eyed Joe up. “Though maybe next time, don’t keep dating someone that dumb.”
“Ha ha,” Joe said dryly.
“I’m serious.” Austin laughed. “Though I gotta say, I’m also curious, ’cause what were your dates even like? I mean,” he continued with a handwave to take in Joe’s everything, “you’re clearly a romantic of the red roses and candle-lit dinner variety.”
“Oh, am I?” Austin wasn’t wrong—Joe did like an intimate dinner—but he didn’t want to admit it, especially after the meal they’d just had.
“Uh, yeah?” Austin sounded confused by even the hint of a contradiction.
Joe snorted. Curious about this game Austin had started, he said, “And you aren’t?”
Austin shrugged.
Joe considered him. “You probably make your date pick every restaurant because you can’t decide.”
Austin was mid sip and nearly choked.
Joe grinned. “Was that a yes or a no?”
Austin wiped his chin and glared. “It was a neither. Also, you definitely always pick and refuse to let anyone else have final say.”
Joe shrugged. “Only because most people have terrible taste.” Plus, there were a lot of Italians in the area, and everybody talked. Joe knew every decent restaurant in a fifty-kilometer radius and whether the owners were assholes. He eyed Austin again. “Don’t tell me you like a coffee date.”
Austin pulled a face. Joe hadn’t thought so.
That had been a long shot, but he struggled to imagine Austin on convoluted dates.
He struck Joe as someone who liked simple.
He probably enjoyed strolls through antique shops and farmers’ markets—places he could find projects, or inspiration for the same.
“You probably love a coffee date if it’s in a fancy hipster café with pour-over and handcrafted baked goods,” Austin guessed. Damn it, why was he better at this?
“Let me guess—the ReStore is your ideal date.”
Austin pulled another face.
Joe gave up. “Okay, enlighten me, then.”
“I don’t really date.” He shrugged.
Joe gasped. “Cheater.” Here he’d thought they’d been playing a game and it turned out Austin had just thrown out the rulebook.
“I thought that was already established.”
“Not hardly.” He sipped his wine and pondered. If Austin didn’t date, then Joe only had one avenue to even the score. “Hmm. I bet you call all your one-night stands ‘baby’ because you can’t remember their names.”
As soon as he said it, he knew it had been a mistake. He’d spent the whole day trying not to think about this. Now he was not only thinking about it, he was voicing those thoughts out loud and inviting Austin to speculate right back.
Austin flushed, his mouth dropping open in offense. A direct hit. Austin Taylor was kind of a slut, and now Joe could never unknow that. “Oh, so we’re moving to that side of things?” He stuck out his chin. “Two can play at that game too.” He pointed a finger in Joe’s face. “Pillow princess.”
The accusation momentarily jolted Joe out of his more X-rated musings, and he cackled. “Swing and a miss.” Huge miss, even. He let that give him confidence as he shot back, “You probably have your hookups saved in your phone as ‘hot blond (name of gay bar) bathroom handy.’”
That got a laugh, at least. “First of all, that would never work. There’s only one gay bar in town.”
Oh, yeah. Good point.
“Also,” Austin added, “I just don’t get their numbers.”
Joe inhaled sharply. Fuck, was that… kind of hot? Or had it just been too long since he touched another person with sexual intent? He cleared his throat. “Wow. Love ’em and leave ’em, huh?”
“More like fuck ’em and leave ’em,” he countered.
Nope, nope, nope. Joe wasn’t thinking about that—not analyzing the slight drop in his stomach at the thought of how lonely that sounded. “Touché. Let me guess. You’re into back rooms or their place, never your own.”
“Obviously.” Austin tilted his head. “And you are a control freak.”
“How is that supposed to work? I thought I was a pillow princess?” Joe didn’t want to admit that the second accusation was closer to the mark. Maybe because “control freak” made him sound unreasonable, or maybe just because he didn’t want to lose this weird game.
“You’re a complicated guy,” Austin said with a shrug. A stray curl fell out of his ponytail and across his forehead. His lips were stained red from the wine, and Joe should really have remembered before now that red wine always hit him like this.
“And I guess you like it simple? Hand jobs in bathrooms? Back-seat blowjobs? Fucking in alleyways?”
Color rose further in Austin’s cheeks, and he defiantly met Joe’s gaze. “I’m not telling you which of those is right.”
“Cheater,” Joe said for the third time. How could he win if Austin wasn’t honest?
“Usually a guy at least buys me a drink before I reveal this sort of information.”
Joe pointedly looked at the wine bottle, then back at Austin.
Austin’s flush deepened. It looked unfairly good on him. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Uh-huh. So what, you saying I gotta buy you something fancier—or maybe it’s trashier?—for you to be honest? Rude.”
“You wouldn’t tell me either,” Austin pointed out, cheeks still rosy. “You neither confirmed nor denied anything.”
“Yeah, well. I didn’t want to get too far into it in case I couldn’t get back out again.”