25. Bad Hats & Folding Chairs #3
He sank to the floor and wrapped his arms around Ribby to settle him while he adjusted to the new location. Ribby, not himself, or not really himself.
The corner shelf had a copy of the book version of Rebecca propped on a stand, and he sensed a theme. “I didn’t know you liked that movie that much.”
“I used to watch it with my grandmother.” Jonathan’s face had some extra color that wasn’t from blush, Connor thought. “The original, not the remake. We don’t talk about that one.”
“No worries, I won’t.” The other walls of the apartment held a more eclectic collection, mostly the black and white that Connor had expected.
A few moody architecture prints, a line drawing of a woman’s head, a big photo of palm trees backlit by sun so bright it washed out the sky and left the trees as mere silhouettes.
Not one photo of a person.
The only jarring note was Jonathan’s other bike hanging from a ceiling hook near the door. It was tidy and clean and looked almost like art, but it was a large piece of carbon fiber stretching from the popcorn ceiling almost to the floor.
Jonathan stood awkwardly between Connor and the kitchen area, shifting his weight, and Connor realized the quiet had been too long. “Can I walk Ribby around the place before I let him off his leash?”
“You’re both staying the night. I have Kitten closed in the bedroom right now.” Jonathan wiped his hands on the front of the apron Connor still wanted to remove, and looked nervous, too.
“That means yes?” Ribby wiggled into Connor’s chest and back out again.
“His feet are clean?”
“I took him to the dog bath café.” He’d worked hard this afternoon to keep him out of muck on their extra-long walk, but the bath had been insurance.
“Then yes.”
Ribby nosed around, liking the kitchen, liking the cabinet door that blocked him from Jonathan’s kitchen garbage, not caring about the bathroom door, shying away from a rosemary-scented candle, and spending a lot of time in front of the bedroom door that had Pawsley on the other side.
All that finished, he let Ribby choose where to go.
“Straight for the zebra rug. Of course.” Jonathan muttered. “Of course.”
“Should I—”
Jonathan waved in the air. “No, some things are inevitable.”
He insisted that Connor sip a nice pinot noir and keep an eye on Ribby while he made dinner. It started with a jarred marinara sauce, but Jonathan dressed it up with sauteed onions, extra herbs, and a splash of cream, which reassured Connor that he wouldn’t have to lie about enjoying it.
Jonathan timed the roasted vegetables well enough that they were still warm when everything else was ready.
Dinner was good, and honestly, Jonathan’s skill with selecting wine far, far exceeded Connor’s. They made a winning team.
They could take a cooking class together. Pastries, maybe homemade cannoli, but Jonathan would probably prefer a fluffy choux pastry. Didn’t matter, as long as they were working side by side.
Flour would settle on one of his cheekbones and Connor would take his thumb and rub across it to clean him up.
Wait, not flour, a smear of pastry cream, and after he’d swiped his thumb over it, he’d suck the sweet vanilla filling off while Jonathan watched.
Jonathan’s eyes would turn all dark with promises and he’d say we’re finished here and they’d leave the kitchen, leave the copper pots and professional mixer strewn across the marble counters for someone else to clean, and get on a Vespa.
Yes, they were at a cooking class in Italy, and Jonathan definitely knew how to drive a Vespa.
“Connor?”
They were not in Italy.
“What?”
“I asked if you would like more?” Jonathan’s lips twisted in that pursed-up smile that Connor had noticed was only for him. “Before I put the leftovers away?”
“Oh. Yes, please.” He hopped off the stool. Ribby sensed a potential opportunity and twined around his leg. “Have you ever been to Italy? When you were skating?”
“So that’s where you went.”
He felt his cheeks heat, but Jonathan never judged him. Never sneered. And bonus, they chatted about Milan, where Jonathan had once been and where he claimed there was amazing coffee on every block.
After dinner, Jonathan disappeared into his bedroom to feed and care for Pawsley, while Connor washed, without copper pots or a mysterious cooking school cleaning crew appearing in his life, and Ribby sprawled between the open kitchen and the living area.
Jonathan had told him the space-age starburst patterned dishware could be put in the dishwasher because he’d only paid forty dollars for six place settings at a second-hand store, so he dishwashered it.
One thing he knew well was how to follow instructions, and he’d carefully observed how Jonathan chose to load Connor’s own dishwasher, so he could succeed here.
Jonathan came out of the bedroom without his cute half-apron and delicately shut the door.
Connor dried his hands on a dishcloth. It might have been ironed, the folds were that crisp. “So? Are we going to try it?”
Across the room, Jonathan took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Alright. I’ll hold Ribby by my legs at the couch, you get Pawsley and hold him on your lap, and we’ll let them sniff while we pet and see how it goes? That’s the plan?”
Jonathan nodded, but his lips were pressed so hard together, they had grown pale.
He had to bring all the confidence. Good thing he’d had all those teacher training and positive coaching seminars. “Let’s do this.”
It unfolded exactly as Connor had predicted, which was exactly how the successful videos had demonstrated. Ribby’s initial surge of interest mellowed once Pawsley’s smell, and especially the area around his tiny tail, had been fully explored.
Pawsley didn’t even seem to understand Ribby was a dog. He tottered around and then settled in to drink a bottle. Jonathan was the largest surprise in the entire operation.
“Are you okay?” Connor wasn’t stretchy enough to hold and pet Ribby and Jonathan at the same time. He wasn’t a human bungee cord. He wrapped his right arm around Jonathan’s shoulders, bringing him into the pocket of his shoulder so that he could more easily soothe him and continue to pat his dog.
Jonathan buried his face in Connor’s chest.
Connor assumed he kept an eye on Pawsley, who had abandoned the empty bottle and was butting into Ribby’s head and left paw where they rested on Connor’s thighs.
“Don’t look at me. Watch them right now, don’t take your eyes off them.”
“Of course. I’m watching them. I’m not looking at you.”
“Don’t look at me.”
“Told you I wasn’t.”
“You’re a bad liar.”
“Not gonna argue. Just gonna tell you what I see.” He contorted his arm so he could sift Jonathan’s hair.
Even without watching the strands fall between his spread fingers, he was mesmerized by it.
The way it felt to have Jonathan’s warm scalp under his palm, but then when he lifted his hand, he could feel only the cool strands pass slowly, so slowly, across his knuckles.
“Ribby is being perfectly still. Well, his tail is swishing on the floor, so he’s not totally immobile, but his body and head aren’t moving. And Pawsley is tottering around Ribby’s paw. Sniffing, I guess.”
He and Jonathan cuddled close enough that he might actually be able to hear the slightest swish of Jonathan’s hair falling, but that could be his imagination. No one could really hear the sound of their boyfriend’s hair, could they? “They’re fine and I’m watching them.”
“I’m fine too.”
“Of course. I know that, and I’m not even watching you.” He didn’t need to use his eyes to see Jonathan, he could use every other sense.