Chapter 1
On the Same Page by Kellen Sinclair
In memory of Rob Reiner
Jeffrey stood in his living room, hand hovering in front of the bookshelf.
One of the many, many bookshelves that lined almost every wall of almost every room in the apartment he shared with his boyfriend.
There was never enough shelf space for his massive collection of books.
He was considering whether he could put another shelf in the bathroom, the only room with no shelves—yet.
He was still debating delicate pages versus damaging steam, whether his boyfriend would permit rows of paperbacks watching him while he showered and shaved.
His hand continued to hover, uncharacteristically indecisive.
He had a rare night to himself. And he didn’t want it.
Tamlin, his boyfriend, was with his weekly Gateways he’d been standing against the wall, trying to look as aloof and uninviting as possible, wondering why he hadn’t brought a book so he could read until it was time to leave—why he’d turned up at all he had no clue; if any other English literature students had been there, they hadn’t been brandishing books with which to identify themselves, and they hadn’t been any less loud and abrasive than the rest of the collegiate rabble.
Instead, it had been a business student, perhaps making some ill-informed attempt at networking, who had walked up to Jeffrey, impervious to the foreboding glower levelled at him, and introduced himself as Tamlin.
Fortunately for Tamlin, he’d happened to have the same name as the main character in Jeffrey’s favourite book.
Their own romance story had started there, complete with mutual pining, idiotic misunderstandings, a well-meaning friend defending Tamlin’s honour—Jeffrey swore the shirt he’d been wearing was still sticky from Kiara tipping a drink over him—and an eventual happy ending.
Jeffrey was forever thankful for the handsome ray of sunshine who had penetrated his own grumpy storm cloud facade.
Now, as live-in boyfriend, Tamlin penetrated more than his facade—and let Jeffrey penetrate him sometimes; turned out they both liked to switch, and were extremely imaginative when it came to devising new ways they could test the structural integrity of their mattress—and their couch, and their kitchen table, and the rug on the bedroom floor, if they didn’t mind rug burn.
Dragging his mind away from that shared pastime—it would only lead to frustration, unless he read one of the spicier books in his collection; even those were less fun to read without Tamlin here to re-enact them—he extended his hand, trailed fingertips over book spines, and pulled one out at random.
Glancing down, he realised he’d been standing in front of the art section.
Amazing that his pick was from there; that section wasn’t plentiful.
He and Tamlin both appreciated art but weren’t really artistic.
Not like Adrian, who made the resin jewellery sold among the gift wares at Storyville, the bookstore where Jeffrey worked; or Jon, a local tailor who had made it big in Wrenfield as a successful fashion designer.
Or even Carson, another sales clerk at Storyville, who could talk at length—amazingly, given his shy retiring nature—about the medium and techniques used to create illustrations in the picture books he sold, explain the difference in appearance between watercolours and chalk pastels, how the soft shapes and bright colours were engaging for kindergarteners; until he realised just how much he was talking, and how many people were listening, and abruptly clammed up—which was a shame, it helped sell books.
Jeffrey suspected Carson had been to art school, but had never asked; mostly because whenever he was in Jeffrey’s presence, Carson timidity kept him from uttering anything more than a startled eep.
This art book in particular, though, was an essential on Jeffrey’s shelf—well, more essential than all the other books on all the other shelves.
The cover proudly proclaimed, Dressing the Dark Corsair: Costumes and Props from The Prince’s Pride, a Film Based on the Bestselling Novel by Chester Goldsmith, with Foreword by Actor Carly Lewis.
There had been an exhibition of the same name at the Wrenfield Arts Centre.
Jeffrey had already known about it, thanks to his subscription to Chester Goldsmith’s newsletter.
Additionally, at least ten people had told him about it—his boss Rafe, co-worker Krystal, his barista Trevor, his fencing teammate Nate, several customers at the bookstore—knowing it was his favourite film based on his favourite book.
Rafe had given him time off to go see it without him even having to ask.
It had indeed been inconceivable that Jeffrey would miss seeing that exhibition. He had been sure that Tamlin, also a fan of the book and film—the main character was his namesake—would agree to go see it with him.
But he hadn’t wanted it to be just himself dragging Tamlin along while they did what Jeffrey wanted; he’d wanted to make it special for Tamlin too.
So he had secretly called Randall, the owner of Schooner bar where Tamlin worked. Having secured time off for Tamlin too, he’d set about surprising his boyfriend with a full weekend getaway.
When Jeffrey drove them over to Wrenfield, Tamlin had thought they were just going to see the exhibition, with bags packed in case they decided to stay overnight at Jeffrey’s sister’s place.
Instead, Jeffrey had pulled up at the Wrenfield Plaza Hotel, where they had checked into their premium suite, with craft beers waiting on ice, matching robes laid out by the whirlpool bath—which was big enough for two grown men—and a king-sized bed.
They’d had fun soaking—and sexing each other up—in that bath, then thoroughly testing out the bed.
They’d dragged themselves away from bath-banging and mattress-measuring to actually go see the exhibition.
Afterwards, they’d had dinner at an amazing tapas restaurant, then gone to a gay club for drinks and queer revelry, before returning to the suite and assessing the bed one more time; it passed with flying colours—and nary a squeaky spring—despite very rigorous testing.
Tamlin had surprised Jeffrey in turn, somehow sneaking off to buy him the very expensive exhibition book from the gift shop, as thanks for giving him a romantic getaway.
Jeffrey hadn’t expected anything in return—Tamlin had also insisted on buying dinner and drinks, to go some way towards repaying Jeffrey for the opulent hotel room—but he appreciated that Tamlin had known how much it would mean to him.
Having that book on his shelf allowed him to relive his ardent enthusiasm for the novel, the exhilarating experience of watching the movie adaption for the first time, and the wonderful weekend he’d spent with the love of his life, all at once.
Jeffrey grinned down at the book without actually seeing the cover. The memories of what he and Tamlin had shared that weekend were far better than the book’s actual contents.
Though he supposed he could flip through the book anyway, since he needed something to pass the time until Tamlin got home, and he really had enjoyed the exhibition—seeing the original prop sword wielded by Ignatius Morello actor Marty Aitken had been the cherry on an already very scrumptious cake; even if it still didn’t quite compare to sampling Tamlin’s cake in the privacy of their suite.
Trying to put aside salacious recollections long enough to focus for a few minutes, he lifted the front cover.
To his surprise, writing greeted his eyes, on what should have been a blank flyleaf.
He thought at first someone had written on the page itself. Quelling a surge of outrage, his closer inspection revealed it was a note written on a bookmark.
He recognised that particular bookmark as being from the exhibition gift shop, with The Prince’s Pride quote—as you like—scrawled in an old-timey font across the foot of the otherwise blank white card stock.
Another glance told him it was in Tamlin’s handwriting. Neat and legible from taking down drink requests and food orders at his job as a bartender, the cursive letters were slightly cramped to fit on the narrow space of the bookmark, but still just as elongated and elegant as Tamlin himself.
Carefully lifting the bookmark by one corner, Jeffrey held it up to the lamplight so he could read it:
Had the most amazing weekend in Wrenfield! I knew Jeffrey would want to see this exhibition, but he surprised me with a stay in a private suite, with iced beers waiting, a hot tub big enough for two, and a huge bed—lots of options for places I could properly reward him for his thoughtfulness ;)
Once we peeled ourselves off the bedsheets—and each other—the exhibition was great, it was so cute watching Jeffrey get excited over the original Dark Corsair costume right there in front of him :3
Dinner after at a tapas bar was delicious!
Then we went to Banned Books Speakeasy for mocktails (Parker put just the right ratio of grenadine to grapefruit juice in the Fuchsia Fable) though Gino serving drinks shirtless actually made Jeffrey nervous, I’ve rarely seen him so flustered!
He didn’t know where to look when Gino leaned forward to place his drink on the table and put him at eye level with a nipple XD