No Place That Far (10 page)

Well then, next time.

Seemed that four-night stand was upgrading to five.

He prodded the burgers to check how cooked they were, then served them on half the bun, with the other half askew on top. He spooned the salad on the free space on the plates. He'd been good at presentation if he bothered, but just the perfectly cooked dark meat between the golden toasted buns and the vibrant Italian salad did it. No need to mess around with fresh, well-matched ingredients. He grabbed cutlery and plates and stepped into the living room.

Where Timur was just standing up the near-completed bookcase. “A lot of books.”

Marcus nodded. “Yeah, I've accumulated a few. You read?”

Of course he does, idiot. He said he has books in his bag…

“Not…” Timur gestured at the stack, “…not English.”

Marcus set the plates on the coffee table—he really needed to get the dining room furniture together—and took a seat. “Wine?”

“Da.” Timur paused. “Yes.”

“It's okay. I do know that word.” Their eyes met, and they both smiled before Marcus stepped back into the kitchen to grab a couple of glasses of wine. When he returned, he handed one to Timur and sat down again. “Bon appétit.”

Timur's eyebrow arched. “You speak French?”

“What? No. No, just… Americans use that phrase.”

“I see.” Timur eyed the burger in front of him as if he wasn't quite sure what the customary method was for consuming such a thing. Fork and knife in some places, pick it up and shove it in your face in others.

Tonight, Marcus was totally on board with the more informal approach, and picked up his own burger. “Like this.”

Timur glanced at him, nodded and then did the same. The instant he took a bite, Marcus's heart fluttered—how long had it been since he'd seen that kind of sheer ecstasy on someone's face? Well, outside the bedroom, anyway. Cooking was his passion, and he lived for the “oh my God, this is
amazing
” moments.

Timur swallowed it and took a sip of wine. “This is…is good.”

“Glad you like it.”

“Never had it.”

“They don't serve that in the field?”

Timur laughed. “No.” He took another bite, and the two of them ate in silence for a little while.

Halfway through his burger, Marcus set it down and sat back, cradling his glass of wine. “So I'm curious. Where did you learn English?”

“Julien.”

“Really?”

“Da.” Timur drained his wineglass and set it aside. “He thought he'd forget. Taught me to practice.”

“He taught you well.”

Timur just smiled.

Marcus finished his own wine and raised the glass. “More?”

“Da.”

“Might as well bring the bottle in here. Be right back.” He left both of their glasses on the coffee table and retrieved the bottle—hell, both bottles—from the kitchen. After he'd topped off their glasses, he sat back again.

Timur sipped his. “Is good wine. Always heard American wine is…” He wrinkled his nose.

Marcus laughed. “It can be. I refuse to drink the shitty stuff.”

Timur raised his glass in a mock toast. “Life is too short.” He furrowed his brow. “Did I… Is right? The phrase?”

“Yes, yes, it's right.” Marcus cocked his head. “Julien teach you that one?”

“Da. Was what he said before he came back to find Chris.”

“I'm curious.” Marcus took a sip himself. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want.”

“Sure.” Timur met his gaze.

“You and Julien—you were close. You're still close friends. How…do you feel about him getting married?”

Timur nodded, as if to confirm he'd understood the question. He impaled a couple of cherry tomatoes and ate them, chewing thoughtfully for a few moments. He swallowed. “Was surprised.”

“About?”

“That he married a man. He told me about Chris, but I didn't think he was more than a friend.” He lifted an eyebrow in an
aren't I stupid
expression.

“Were you jealous?”

Timur frowned and looked down at his plate. “Was just strange. Didn't know he was homosexual.” He sounded a little sheepish. Marcus couldn't quite grasp what was going on here—embarrassment for the oversight, or a straight guy shocked that his opportunistic fuck buddy was actually gay instead of occasionally gay.

And that lay at the core of it, didn't it? Regardless of how enthusiastic Timur was with a guy in bed, he'd never referred to himself as gay. Was he playing it safe, or maybe he didn't even have a gay identity at all. Maybe the closest category he fit in was “man who had sex with other men”.

“You never guessed?”

Timur shook his head. “Didn't…care. He's my comrade.” That word seemed to hold a lot more meaning than
buddy
or
friend
. Seemed the closest thing to
blood brother
.

“And Chris?” Marcus asked softly. “What do you think of him?”

At that, Timur smiled. “He is good. For Julien. Good man, but very good for him.”

“How do you mean?”

Timur absently swirled his wine, eyes unfocused. “He is, for Julien, peace.”

“Peace?”

“Da. Since he came back to America, Julien is happy. But with Chris, he has peace. Always wanted peace, never found before.”

Marcus stared into his own wine. Who the hell did he have to sell his soul to for a man who could make him feel at peace the way Julien apparently did with Chris? Because for Marcus, relationships had been the polar opposite. Conflict. Frustration. Tension. Peace? Like hell.

“That's good,” Marcus whispered, bringing his wine up to his lips. “It's good he found him.”

“Yes,” Timur said with a nod. “Is good.”

Marcus smiled a little. That phrase of Timur's wasn't grammatically perfect, but it worked. And it was so…him. Whenever Timur said it, Marcus couldn't help thinking he sounded adorable, just like he'd looked adorable this morning with the cat perched on his back. The big man who was so tender with little animals, and who struggled with English but could still find a way to express how he felt about his best friend's marriage. Is good.

“What about you?” Timur's question jarred Marcus out of his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“You like Julien? And Chris? Together, I mean?”

“I don't know Julien that well.” Marcus set his glass down again. “I've worked with Chris for a little while. They both seem like good guys.”

“Why do you work in bar?” Timur gestured at the food. “Should be cooking.” The comment was obviously meant to be a compliment, so Marcus smiled through the pang of sadness in his gut.

“I was.” He topped off his glass, because if they were going down that road, he needed a little help. “Head chef and sort of owner of a Michelin-starred restaurant in Seattle.”

“But now…a bar?” Timur lifted his eyebrows. “Why?”

Marcus could've sworn this wine was fairly sweet, but it suddenly tasted dry. No, not dry. Bitter.
That's
what it was.
Thank you, Ray—you can even ruin a good bottle of wine without being in the same fucking room.

“The owner of the restaurant was my husband,” he said through his teeth. “When we divorced, he got the restaurant and I got a brand-new job slinging booze.”

“Needed distance?”

“Yeah. Recalibrate my head. I needed to get him out of my head so I couldn't hear him criticizing how I do things, how I cook, what I do in which order…” Marcus waved it off. “Two perfectionists work out as long as you're on the same page. Move just a step to the side, and it's hell. We should have seen it coming. And I'm not innocent. Far from it.”

“And is he out of your head now?”

“Almost, I think. We can have a conversation without shouting at each other, but I don't think either of us will ever forget…”
or forgive,
“…what hell it was. Divorce is done now, though.” He shook his head. “It's done.” And he was moving on. Or maybe he was a bit stuck in between things, not quite sure what the next thing would be, but he still needed the time to figure it out. But for the first time in months, it felt like the next thing was just around the corner—and like he was willing to turn that corner. Considering he'd declined all offers of help and wasn't actively looking for a job outside of Wilde's, that sense that something would soon happen was a little disconcerting.

Timur watched him, then, seemingly happy with whatever he'd seen, went back to demolishing the burger and salad, looking blissed out with every bite. Marcus was touched, again, at the way Timur embraced the simple pleasures without reservation.

“You'll go back to the Legion after the month is over?”

Timur nodded. “Fifteen years for pension. Have ten.”

“Seen a lot of action?”

Timur nodded. “Africa. Afghanistan.”

Clearly no war stories coming forth, though Marcus was almost glad for it. He was one of those civilians who preferred not to know too much about warfare, mostly because he couldn't influence it or help anyway. And Timur seemed pretty well adjusted and not broken at all. He'd done ten years; what were another five? “And once you've done the full fifteen?”

Timur placed the plate down. “I'll build things.” He nodded at the bookcase that only needed the actual shelves fitted in now. “Repair things.”

“Like an engineer?”

Timur nodded. “Yes.”

“Where?” Marcus picked at his salad. “I mean, are you staying in France? Going back to…”

“Ukraine?” Timur shook his head. “Don't know. Things are…not always good there.”

“Hmm, yes. I've seen that on the news. Russia and Crimea and all that.”

Timur blinked. “Oh yes. That. No, I mean my home. Family is…” He waved a hand and then reached for the wine bottle. “Is not home anymore.” There was a note of finality in the statement, as if he'd said as much as he was going to on the subject, and the discussion was over.

“I see,” Marcus said.

Timur added some wine to his glass and offered some to Marcus. Oh hell, why not? Marcus nodded and slid the glass closer. Timur poured it carefully, and as he tipped the bottle back up, twisted it slightly to keep it from dripping. Just like a skilled bartender, or at least someone who'd been taught how to pour wine. Not a skill Marcus had ever associated with a soldier, but he was quickly learning how little he really knew about men like Timur. Especially since he'd never
met
a man like Timur. Soldiers? Yes. Guys from various parts of Eastern Europe? Sure. A French Foreign legionnaire? Well, Julien counted.

But someone like Timur?
Nyet.

Three-almost-four-night stand be damned, he was intrigued by this guy. And it wasn't like Timur was staying in the area for any length of time.

“So.” He swirled his wine slowly. “What are your plans before going back?”

Timur shrugged, watching Marcus over the rim of his own glass. “No plans. Take care of cats. See the city.” Another shrug. “Nothing else.”

“Hmm.” Marcus took a sip of wine and rolled it around on his tongue. He was about to swallow it and suggest they spend the next month or so together—sex, food and tourism, why not?—when he realized Timur was watching his mouth. When Marcus swallowed, Timur gulped and then lowered his gaze and took a sip from his own glass.

Marcus cleared his throat. “I work a lot of evenings, but…I could show you around the city.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Cook for you.”

“Yes. I like your cooking.”

“Good.” Marcus laughed softly. “I can't promise I'm the best tour guide in the world, but I'll try.”

“Okay.” Timur set his glass down, and when he slid his hand over the top of Marcus's thigh, Marcus's pulse skyrocketed. “Sightsee. Food.” His grin made Marcus's breath catch. “Nights.”

“Yeah.” The word was barely audible, so Marcus cleared his throat and tried again. “Food, sightseeing and all the sex either of us can handle.”

“Da.” Timur's fingers twitched on Marcus's leg. “Is good.”

Marcus finished his wine. “Should we take it to the bedroom, then?”

Timur just nodded. The only thing Marcus did was take the plates and glasses into the kitchen and dump them in the dishwasher, before he led the way to the bedroom.

Chapter Eight

No touristy outing in Seattle was complete without going up into the Space Needle. It was a nice, clear day, perfect for spending a little time on the observation deck.

But first, lunch in the rotating restaurant. The food in there had never impressed Marcus—to be fair, Gordon Ramsay would've had to work at it to impress him—but it was kind of cool to sit at a table and get a rotating view of the city. So he called ahead and made a lunch reservation, and at a little before eleven, they stepped into one of the yellow elevators that climbed up from the ground to the observation deck.

Marcus and Timur both stumbled a little on the way from the unmoving floor to the rotating one, but quickly regained their footing. The hostess showed them to a table against a window and left them with a couple of menus.

No surprise—Timur was more interested in the scenery than the menu. Who wouldn't be? It really was a spectacular view. When they first sat down, they were facing Lake Union, slowly panning toward a gorgeous view of the Cascade Mountains with the sprawling city in the foreground.

Eventually, they remembered the menus and took their attention away from the ever-changing view long enough to order. Marcus went for the hazelnut-crusted chicken sandwich, and Timur ordered the alder-smoked rib eye. Just for the hell of it, they also ordered some prawns as an appetizer.

While the restaurant rotated, the window sills stayed stationary. Every so often, as their table passed a window, there'd be a coin sitting on the sill.

Timur pointed at a dime. “Coins?”

Marcus chuckled. “It's kind of a game people play. Leave a coin on the sill and see if it's still there when you come around again.” He gestured at the dime. “Sometimes kids do it to see if someone will replace it with a bigger coin.”

Timur laughed. “I should have brought euros.”

“They wouldn't have expected that.”

“No.” He shrugged. “Next time.”

Damn it, Marcus. Don't read into that.

He cleared his throat and picked up his drink. “Next time. Definitely.”

“Good.” Timur gestured at the window. “Mount Rainier?”

Marcus nodded. “Yeah. Looks gorgeous from up here. Good thing we came up on a clear day.”

When it was hazy, the snow-covered volcano was barely visible, but days like today? It was breathtaking and made a gorgeous backdrop for the skyscrapers of downtown Seattle.

“Have you ever been?” Timur pointed at the mountain again.

“I've been to the park. Done a little hiking.”

“To the top?”

“The—
No.
” Marcus shook his head. “That is one long, cold hike.”

Timur laughed. “Is hike? Not climb?”

“I think you
can
climb it on one side, but most people just hike it.”

“Bah.” Timur waved a hand. “Is easy, then.”

Marcus eyed him, then laughed. “Remind me not to let you choose the route if we ever go hiking.”

Timur just chuckled.

Their food arrived, and they enjoyed a long, leisurely lunch while they watched the scenery go by. Another point in Timur's favor—comfortable silence. They could sit and eat, gaze out at the city, and Marcus didn't feel that awkward need to say
something
just to occupy the space between them. Every quiet minute that went by was perfectly pleasant, not another piece of evidence to come up in an “if you're not mad at me, why aren't you talking to me?” screaming match later on.

I could really get used to this.

No, don't go there.

Just eat.

As it always was in the Space Needle, the check was steep, but Timur insisted on paying.

“Are you sure?”

“Da.” Timur counted out a few twenties, even accounting for American tipping practices, and slipped them into the leather folder. “You cooked. I buy.”

“Thank you. Next one is on me.” As they stood, he added, “While we're up here, we should go out on the observation deck.”

Timur nodded. “All right.”

The observation deck didn't move like the restaurant did, which was nice. Marcus got a little bit of vertigo just standing out here, looking down at the city from five hundred plus feet in the sky, with the wind whipping at his hair. At least it wasn't a seriously windy day—a swaying Space Needle would've been a bit much.

Doesn't it sway like twenty feet during earthquakes?

Oh crap.

He grabbed the railing and swallowed.

Timur put a hand on Marcus's lower back. “All right?”

“Yeah. I'm good.” Marcus swallowed again and steadied himself. “Not a huge fan of heights.”

“But you came up here?”

“I thought you'd want to see it.” Marcus forced a smile. “I'm okay. Honestly. Just usually like to stay a bit closer to the ground.”

Timur chuckled.

“What about you?” Marcus asked. “You don't mind heights?”

“This isn't height.” Timur gestured up at the sky. “
That
is height.”

Marcus glanced upward. “How high have you been?”

Gazing at the sky, Timur shrugged. “Many heights. I've never done…” He scowled. “The word…” He snapped his fingers a couple of times. “HALO. Never done.”

“HALO?” Marcus blinked. “You mean, jumping? Like, out of a plane?”

Timur nodded. “HALO is…” He raised his hand as if to indicate something high up. “Jump from here.” Then he lowered his hand. “Open chute here. Very low.” He grinned. “Is fun. Like flying. Have jumped many times. Someday, HALO.”

“Oh God…”

“What's wrong?”

“You're insane.”

“Of course.” Timur eyed him. “Is requirement for Legion.”

Marcus arched an eyebrow.

Timur snickered. “Is joke.”

Marcus laughed and shook his head. “Gotcha. Though I'm starting to wonder if they do require you boys to be insane.”

Timur shrugged as they started walking along the deck again. “Is not really requirement. Helps, though.”

“I have no doubt.”

They continued around the deck, making their way almost as slowly as the restaurant had moved.

A quarter of the way around, a woman glanced at them, wrinkled her nose and stalked off. What the hell? It wasn't as if Marcus had never gotten a dirty look in public, but how the hell did she even know Marcus and Timur were more than just a couple of guys hanging out together? There was a baseball game today. For all she knew, they were just here killing time before heading over to Safeco Field. How in the—

Timur stopped to look at something, and Marcus stopped too, which was when he realize Timur's hand was still on his back. Well, that explained how the woman had known they were
together
. No one else seemed to mind, at least. And especially now that he was aware of—and couldn't ignore if he wanted to—the big gentle hand on his back, Marcus didn't mind either.

It wasn't a possessive gesture, not holding Marcus against him like Ray had done sometimes. Timur's hand just rested lightly above Marcus's belt, his palm warm through the thin T-shirt, and…Marcus liked it. A lot.

He wrapped his arm around Timur's waist. Timur glanced at him, a slight smile pulling at his lips, and then looked out at the city.

Why can't I be this comfortable with men who actually
live
here?

Ah well. Just enjoy it while it lasts.

“I'm sorry, sweetie,” a woman's voice caught Marcus's attention. He turned his head to see a mother speaking to her little girl and gesturing apologetically at the telescope. “I don't have quite enough change.”

The little girl stared sadly at the telescope. “But…”

Marcus glanced at Timur. “I'll be right back.”

Timur nodded, and Marcus stepped away, the small of his back cool where Timur's hand had been resting. He fished a couple of quarters out of his pocket and handed them to the woman, who passed it on to the girl. She offered a shy “Thank you” and stepped onto the platform behind the telescope.

Her mother turned to Marcus. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

While the woman helped her daughter with the telescope, Marcus turned back toward Timur, but paused for a moment to watch him. Timur didn't notice—was leaning on the railing, his gaze fixed on something in the distance. The wind was playing with his collar and the ends of his short black hair, and he didn't seem the least bit bothered by being over five hundred feet in the air, held up by nothing but concrete and human ingenuity. But then, that wouldn't bother him, would it? After all, that crazy bastard wanted to leap out of a perfectly good aircraft at some absurd height Marcus didn't even want to think about.

He laughed at the thought and started toward Timur.

But then a scrawny guy in a tight T-shirt stopped in front of him. “Hey, you work at Wilde's, don't you?”

Marcus glanced around. “I do, yes.”

“I thought I recognized you.” He came closer, teetering right on the edge of Marcus's comfort zone. “I've seen you there a few times.” The guy grinned, adding an unspoken
I like what I've seen.

Marcus managed a smile that was hopefully convincing. “Well, I'll be there tonight, so…”

“Good.” The guy stepped a little closer. “You're kind of new there, aren't you?” Behind him, Timur turned, and he peered at the guy, then at Marcus.

“Yeah, I've only been there a few months. Anyway, it was nice to see you.” He forced the smile to stay in place, and then sidestepped the guy to head toward Timur.

Undeterred, the stranger fell into step beside him. “So, um, any chance we could meet up for coffee or something? Before your shift?”

“I appreciate the offer.” Marcus stopped beside Timur. “But…” He nodded toward Timur.

The kid looked at Timur and shrank back a little. He cleared his throat. “Uh, okay. I'll, uh, probably see you at Wilde's. Have a good one.”

With that, he was gone.

Timur watched him. “Strange guy?”

Marcus gestured dismissively. “Just one of those idiots who thinks it's open season on anyone who tends bar at Wilde's.”

“Huh?”

“Sorry.” Marcus shook his head. “Some of the customers, they think we're all single and interested in them.”

Timur glanced past him in the direction the guy had gone, and then laughed softly as he placed his hand on Marcus's back.
Ah, there you are.
“Idiots.”

And with that, Timur scored another point in the you're-so-much-better-for-me-than-Ray-was category. Ray would've been grilling him, demanding to know what he'd done to give the stranger a reason to approach him out in public like that, and for days afterward, if the kid had come into Wilde's.

After a while, he turned to Timur. “You enjoying yourself?”

“Da. Is fun.”

“Good.” Marcus gestured downward. “There's a music museum on the ground. The Experience Music Project. We could check that out?”

“Sounds fun.”