Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Austin
I’d caught him looking earlier, and I knew he was my dad’s friend and all, but when I looked at him, with those Clark Kent glasses and that awkward smile, all I could see was a handsome man.
A man I was about to be stuck with, possibly for days on end, in a beautiful, open, cozy cabin in the mountains, secluded together in the woods.
It was the stuff of romance movies or horror films or porn.
But one look at Randall freaking out and trying to pretend he wasn’t freaking out, because I had placed the remote on the coffee table, had me thinking this encounter had rom-com written all over it.
The stressed-out look certainly didn’t make him any less attractive, so maybe what it really was, was one of those not-safe-for-work movies.
I took him in as he flitted around the kitchen, trying hard to think of him as one of my parents' dorky friends. Trying, and failing.
While the bells jingled and a talented woman assured us she didn’t want that much for Christmas, I bopped my way around him and offered to help.
“I …” he began, placing the frying pan on the stovetop that was housed in the kitchen’s island. I could see his wheels grinding, looking for a reason to shoo me away. “You’re my guest; don’t be silly. Go, relax, drink a beer.”
“Don’t be ridiculous; we’re stuck here for God knows how long.
You’re not going to wait on me hand and foot.
Besides,”—I opened the fancy wine cooler built into the kitchen cabinets and pulled out a bottle of white—“if anyone should be relaxing, it’s you.
” I started opening drawers, looking for a corkscrew, and without my having to ask, Randall pulled one out and handed it to me.
“Much as neither of us may want to admit it”—I pointed the corkscrew at him—"that drive was harrowing. You got us here in one piece, and I know that wasn’t easy. If you don’t want to share kitchen duty”—the cork popped—“you go relax, and I’ll cook dinner.”
Glasses were easier to find, on a rack above the wine cooler. I poured two glasses and passed one to Randall.
He let out an enormous sigh while smiling at the same time, and those dark eyes danced in the overhead kitchen light. “It was fairly bad there toward the end. I could barely see the roadway! I’ve only lived here a few months. I’m glad the roads are so well marked.”
“It was bad, wasn’t it?” I agreed.
“But we’re safe and sound now and …”
“And we’re going to make some dinner!”
“I am quite hungry.” Yeah, he was going to have to stop using the word quite in that oh-so-subtle British accent if he didn’t want me thinking naughty thoughts about him.
Oh, and he was definitely going to have to stop checking me out, which he did again as I opened the refrigerator and grabbed the pack of fish.
Him jerking his head, averting his gaze, and pushing those adorable glasses up with one finger did nothing to camouflage his gaze.
I turned to the island, and Randall came up behind me to place a cutting board in front of me. I slapped the package of fish down and worked to open it.
“Hang tight,” he said, fluttering around behind me, opening the refrigerator and a few cabinets and moving toward me.
He came up next to me, a bowl in hand. “Lemon pepper with capers. Here, let me trim those, and we’ll let them soak for a bit while we prepare the vegetables.” There was that accent again.
I beelined for the fridge, thankful to be able to hide my head for a moment and for the cool air against my heated face.
I came up with a bag of brussels sprouts, and we worked together in companionable silence to prepare a dinner, which we ate around that sleek little table that jutted out from the kitchen island.
I surreptitiously slid my wine glass away when my thoughts started to venture to what my dad’s friend could do to me while I was splayed out on the table.
Let’s just say he’d be wearing those Clark Kent glasses and nothing else.
“Did you live in England long?” I asked to distract myself from my sexy thoughts. He was my parents’ friend, and no amount of him checking me out, or me thinking we could find a great way to kill time while we were snowed in, was going to change that.
He took a beat to think about his answer, as if I’d asked him something tricky, or personal.
“I moved there right before you were born, actually. Was there about twenty years. Hence the purported phantom accent.”
“Please tell me you can hear it? You have to be able to hear it?”
“I really can’t.”
“Can’t,” with a long “a.” I fucking loved it and realized that it was going to be very difficult to keep my thoughts pure if it got me revved up every time he talked. I snatched that glass back up and finished my wine in one gulp.
“I moved to England for a great job opportunity. Then I met my husband …”
There was a husband, then. He stopped speaking, his eyes going wide, like he’d said something wrong.
“Ah, yeah. That’s … that’s not something I’ve told your parents about quite yet.”
“That you’re married?”
“Was married. Divorced now. And yes, I mean no. I mean yes!”
He was adorably flustered.
“Your parents don’t know I’m gay, ergo, they don’t know I was married to a man.”
“Oh!” I let my surprise seep out for a beat before reigning it back in. “Yeah, coming out’s a bitch. I told them when I was twelve, and they were super cool with it, so you’ve got nothing to worry about where they are concerned.”
Randall looked duly surprised. “Times really have changed. I never would have thought to tell anyone what I was at twelve.” He looked down at his wine glass as he continued, “I don’t even think I understood it at twelve.
Hell, I didn’t even tell my mother until after I’d graduated from college and she got sick.
” He looked up from his wine glass. “Those two things happened around the same time. I was out in England, obviously. Married, as I was.” He said that last sentence as if it was akin to spending eternity in hell.
“Not a happy divorce, then?”
“Oh no, a very happy divorce. Just not a very happy marriage. These things just take time and distance. Putting a whole ocean between us makes for a very happy divorce.” He chuckled a wonderfully accented, and slightly embarrassed, laugh.
I laughed right back, and the mood lightened.
“Seriously, though, you don’t need to be weird about my parents. I mean, other than that they will probably be surprised they didn’t know all these years, they’re going to be totally cool with it.”
He looked at me oddly, then his brow furrowed.
“Shit, fuck, sorry. Queer one oh one, right! People need to come out in their own time. I’m so sorry for pushing. Your secret is, obviously, safe with me.”
A flushed Randall took his dish to the stove and procured more food, returning and pouring himself more wine before sitting back down.
“You’re in medical school?”
“Will be, next fall. I’m finishing up my undergrad this spring, at Hampstead.”
“And you’re headed off to ...”
“Actually, I’m staying at Hampstead. They have a state-of-the-art facility. I’m going to go into pediatrics. I’m thinking I’ll maybe even stick around here. Treat all the professors’ kids. That’s my secret! I haven’t mentioned that to my parents yet.”
He pretended to lock his lips and throw away the key. Adorable.
“Wow, that’s amazing. Pediatrics.”
“And you're in computer science?” I asked cautiously, trying to remember how my dad had corrected me when I’d asked about his friend the banker.
I hadn’t really been listening when Dad had explained about companies merging and needing loans from Mom’s bank, instead assuming that Randall was in finance, like my mom.
He nodded and started to tell me about his company in England and how partnering with the famous New Day Technologies had brought him back to the US.
We continued chatting, and Randall became more and more at ease.
When he next filled our glasses, I rose with my dish and put a hand on Randall’s shoulder when he tried to rise with me.
“I’ve got this,” I assured him as I cleared the table in one trip.
“You go relax, and I’ll get these in the dishwasher. ”
“Impressive,” he complimented, his eagle eye following me as I cleared up around him. “My ex always used to say the caliber of the restaurant is partially in the food but partially in the service as well, and he always measured good service on whether or not the table was cleared in one go.”
“Living near the beach, if you wanted a job as a teen, it was either lifeguard or wait tables, and my parents own a restaurant, so … Money’s better waiting tables anyway.”
Randall rose, wine glass in hand, and was walking to the living room as he mumbled, “Pity. I bet you’d look lovely up on one of those chairs.”
I almost dropped the stack of dinnerware then and there.
Dad’s best friend, I repeated on a loop as I rinsed the dishes and fed them to the dishwasher.
When I turned the water off, Randall leaned over the back of the couch.
A gust of wind rattled the cabin, and the lights flickered for a second.
We watched each other for a beat, waiting for it to happen again.
When it didn't, Randall spoke. “How about a movie? Maybe some popcorn? May be our last chance before the power goes out.”
“Sounds good.”
“There’s microwave popcorn in the cabinet just above your head. What are you in the mood for?”
Randall stood and turned to face me, the glow of the fireplace dancing behind him.
What had we been talking about? What had he asked me? I stood stupidly, hand on a cabinet knob, eyes locked with his. What was I in the mood for?
“Action? Superheroes? Sci-fi?” He paused, and my brain tried to process his words. “A rom-com?”
Right! Movies. We’d been talking about movies! I was in the mood for … a movie.
“Your choice. I’m easy.” I shrugged and smiled. Randall’s eyes flashed wide at my comment before he quickly reset his features. “Fine, okay. Superheroes it is, then!” I started opening cabinets, knowing that he’d told me which one, but for the life of me, I was too distracted to remember.
“I know every gay man with a pulse is hot for Thor,” I babbled, “but I’ll take the snark of Robert Downey Jr. any day.” I remained very focused on opening and skimming every cabinet.
Randall shut off the music, and I looked over my shoulder to find him staring at me in amusement.
“In that one, sweetheart.” He pointed, and ungh, that accent.
“The green box,” he added, his eyes slightly glassy and dancing.
“With the images of popcorn all over it.” He’d said words.
British-sounding words that had included the word sweetheart.
“Green. Got it!”