Chapter 10
PIERCE
The Van Stern estate rises into view as I round the final bend of the driveway. The main house, now a museum honoring Lior’s grandfather’s stained-glass art, stands proud against the darkening sky, its windows glowing with the soft illumination that draws tourists.
It’s hard to believe that VSE started here, in this very building, where Lior’s grandfather’s first intricate handcrafted stained-glass pieces are on display.
Under Lior’s father, that modest operation grew into the multinational enterprise it is today—supplying everything from architectural glass installations to precision optical components worldwide.
My destination, however, is the smaller cottage tucked away in the corner of the grounds. His grandfather’s original workshop, where Lior carved out his own space away from the grandeur of the main house, and now shares it with his husband.
The last time I was here was for the wedding. The last time I was here, I hooked up with my now-personal assistant. A thought that makes my dick hard, no matter how much I will it to not react to anything Thatcher-related.
The party was meant to celebrate Lior and Noah’s secret Vegas wedding—a chance for the family to share what they’d missed. That night has lived rent-free in my head ever since.
Why the fuck am I here?
With a heavy sigh, I get out of the car and head to the front door. The doorbell’s chime seems too loud in the evening quiet. I reach for my tie, but when my hands touch my bare neck, I remember Lior’s express demand that I wear something casual and that he’d kick me out if I turned up in a suit.
When the door opens, all my composure threatens to crumble.
Thatcher stands there in jeans and a loose, soft sweater that makes his office attire seem like a costume in comparison.
The fabric falls down his shoulders, suggesting rather than hiding the body underneath.
His hair, free from product, curls wildly around his face.
I close my hand into a fist to stop my itching fingers from touching him.
A blush spreads across his cheeks, and I wonder if, like me, he’s remembering every second of the encounter in the bathroom that stands just a few yards behind him. His smile is bright and immediate, but also reluctant. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I was invited,” I reply, cringing inwardly at the obvious.
He steps back to let me in, and the movement brings us close enough that I catch his scent. Thatcher smells like fresh bread, clean laundry, and things I shouldn’t be noticing about my assistant.
“They’re in the kitchen,” he says. His eyes are fixed on me, but I get the feeling he’s not really looking at me, but through me, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.
“Lead the way,” I say to break the silence.
I follow him down the hallway, trying not to notice how his jeans fit or remember how those hips felt under my hands.
He pauses before we get to the kitchen doorway and turns around, close enough that I feel the heat from his body.
“Pierce,” he says quietly. “I’m glad you came.”
“Me too,” I breathe out.
The kitchen greets me with a wave of warmth and competing aromas.
I stand in the doorway as Lior and Noah move around each other with the ease of two people who do this often.
For a split moment, before they notice they’re not alone, I drink in the image of two people so totally in love they forget there’s a world out there, even inside their kitchen.
A hard knot forms in my chest.
“Pierce!” Noah grins. “Perfect timing. We’re almost ready.”
He’s whisking something that smells like garlic and wine.
“Can you chop those veggies for the salad?” Noah asks, his head pointing at the table next to me. I sit down and get to work, glad for the distraction.
“Thatcher was just telling us about his plans for the pet store illustrations,” Noah continues.
I glance up sharply, catching Thatcher’s blush. “It’s just a side project,” he mumbles, suddenly fascinated by the basil he’s mincing. “My best friend Alli owns a pet store and thinks some custom artwork would make the shop look more friendly and cozy.”
“You should show Pierce your sketches,” Lior suggests. “He has an excellent eye for detail.”
Thatcher’s hands go still on the cutting board, his face flushing pink in a way I’ve never seen before. This self-conscious, uncertain version of him is so different from his usual boundless confidence.
“They’re not really… I mean, they’re just silly doodles,” he says softly, and the hint of self-doubt in his voice intrigues me more than it should.
“You drew an ant wearing a top hat on my meeting notes last week. Your bar for ‘good enough’ seems inconsistent,” I point out before I can stop myself, watching as his blush deepens and a small smile tugs at his lips.
I look down at my celery, trying to ignore how captivating I find this newly revealed side of him.
“Almost ready,” Noah announces, pulling something from the oven.
“Pierce, grab those wine glasses, please? Thatcher, stop stealing tastes when you think we’re not looking.
Lior, baby…you can just sit there looking like my next meal.
Lift up your shirt a little?” He looks at Lior, who, to my surprise, does as he’s told before snaking his hand behind Noah’s neck and pulling him in for a quick kiss.
I try not to look at them, or examine too hard why, instead of feeling bothered by the open display of affection, like I used to, something else has replaced it.
Lior catches my eye as we begin clearing the table for dinner, his expression soft with understanding. “It’s nice,” he says quietly enough that only I can hear, pulling at the sleeve of my sweater, “seeing you like this.”
Before I can ask what he means, Thatcher appears between us with a platter of something that smells divine. “Less talking, more moving,” he directs, all authority and domestic grace. “This masterpiece deserves proper presentation.”
I follow his command without question, and as I watch him arrange dishes with artistic precision, his sweater slipping off one shoulder and his hair curling wildly from the steamy kitchen, I find I don’t really mind at all.
The aroma of garlic and herbs fills the air as we settle around the table and take turns filling our plates. I take a bite of the perfectly cooked pasta. “This is incredible,” I say, looking at Lior. “What’s the occasion for this special dinner?”
All I’d gotten from him yesterday was a short message telling me to be at his place for dinner today. No other details. For a moment, I’d wondered if my brother had gotten to him, but it seems I was wrong.
Lior shares a smile with Noah before answering. “No occasion. Just a casual dinner with friends.” He takes a sip of wine before continuing, “And while I try to keep work separate from home, I have to say I’m pleased with how well Thatcher is settling in at VSE. It feels worth celebrating.”
Thatcher ducks his head at the praise, but I catch the happy smile that crosses his face.
As we tuck into our meal, I turn to Thatcher. “Tell me more about your drawings.”
“I’ve been drawing since I could hold a crayon,” he says.
“Mom used to say I saw stories everywhere, in everything. I guess I just got bored easily and started doodling on every piece of paper I could get hold of. It started with shopping receipts as I waited for her to get gas after we went grocery shopping. I always carried a pen or pencil with me, and at some point, I got better and drew things I saw, like the way people looked at each other, or when I saw a fun pattern on the road after a rain shower.”
The way he talks about art transforms him. His hands move as he speaks, and I find myself leaning forward, wine glass forgotten, drawn in by the light in his eyes.
“Tell him about the book concept,” Lior prompts.
“It’s still in development,” Thatcher hedges, but his fingers drum an excited pattern on the table.
“But basically, it’s about this very serious business fish who runs the reef like a corporation.
He’s all about proper procedures and protocols until this chaotic little seahorse comes along and teaches him that sometimes the best systems aren’t systems at all. ”
The parallel isn’t subtle, but his slight blush and the way he won’t quite meet my eyes send warmth unfurling through my chest.
“How does the fish learn?” I ask.
Thatcher’s whole face lights up at my question.
“Through small things at first. The seahorse leaves little presents that make him smile, organizes his coral desk in ways that shouldn’t work but do.
And gradually, he realizes that all his rules were really just a way to keep the world at fin’s length. ”
“Fin’s length?” I repeat, unable to hold back my smile.
“Well, he is a fish,” Thatcher points out seriously, but his eyes dance with mischief. “I can show you some of the sketches sometime. If you want…”
“I’d like that,” I say softly, and the smile he gives me in return makes the lights in the room seem dim in comparison.
Lior and Noah exchange glances that I pretend not to notice, so I stand and announce that I’ll do the dishes since I didn’t cook.
“No way,” Lior says. “You two go out to the patio while we clean up and bring out dessert.”
I can tell there’s no point arguing with Lior, so I grab my wine glass and do as I’m told. The warm night air wraps around us with a comfortable breeze. Thatcher leans against the railing.
“So,” he says softly, breaking the silence that’s settled between us. “You know something about me. Can I find out something about you?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me about your brother.”
“We have a complicated relationship,” I start, falling back on my usual defense, but Thatcher’s raised eyebrow makes me reconsider.