The Wrong Man (3 page)

The store wasn’t as busy as it normally was on a Friday before closing. I had a few customers but not so many I couldn’t handle them on my own while keeping an eye on the old yellow Lab. Those who did come into the store immediately noticed Mack and seemingly fell into insta-love. He received so much attention, it was
kind of funny. He took the sometimes over-the-top adoration in stride, but other than wagging his tail enthusiastically, he wasn’t doing any tricks. He spent most of his time sitting or lying in front of the register so he had a clear view of the door. I tried to coerce him behind the counter, but he seemed very particular about his spot.

At closing time I flipped the sign on the front window, locked the door, turned on some happy dance music, and began the nightly chore of going through sales receipts. Mack watched my movements but lay passively nearby. When one of my favorite songs came on, I impulsively set the paperwork aside and danced around the counter. I threw my hands in the air and shook my ass in time with the happy pop tune thinking I may as well start getting in the mood now for a night on the town. Mack lifted one brow and tilted his head to the right as though he worried about my sanity. The gentle sway of his tail told me he didn’t mind if I was slightly batty though. I turned in a circle, clapping my hands and singing aloud to the upbeat lyrics. I was finishing up the bridge and moving back to the chorus when Mack startled me with a bark. He stood and wagged his tail incessantly as he made his way to the front door. I turned to see who my competition was and gave a sheepish grin and wave at the figure standing outside. Must be the hunky fireman come to rescue his poor pup. I rushed to turn the music down, then headed back to unlock the door and usher Mack’s daddy inside.

“Hello! You must be here for—”

The old dog who’d barely had enough pep to walk from one end of the store to the other suddenly barreled past my legs, almost knocking me over. Though I was on the thin side, I wasn’t easily upended. Mack, however, was on a mission. I chuckled at his exuberance and got out of the way as man and dog greeted one another like long lost friends. The man knelt on one knee and let him shower his face with loving licks. I couldn’t help smiling widely at the sight. It was cute. A little gross, but cute.

“Well, someone is happy to see you.”

The man glanced up at me briefly and grinned. “I guess so. It’s been a whole eight hours, right, buddy?”

Mack’s owner had wavy dark blond hair. I noted his brilliant blue eyes when he’d glanced up at me, but I’d yet to get a good look at him. I could tell he had broad shoulders and a muscular build. And was that a tattoo on his left bicep, peeking out under that snugly fitted black T-shirt? Hmm. I had a feeling I was going to agree with Lizzy’s assertion the fireman was delicious.

When he stood up, he wiped his right hand on his jeans and chuckled as he extended it for me to shake. I looked at his hand and then up at him as if to say “not necessary,” but I stopped. In fact everything stopped. Including my heart.

“Sorry. He gets a little excited somet—Brandon? Is that really you?”

No way. No fucking way. This was not possible. When my heart decided to resume beating, it was at a fast and furious pace. I felt lightheaded as I struggled to find words. So unlike me. I opened my mouth and closed it a moment later. Nothing. I was at a complete loss.

Jake Westley.

Lizzy had said Mack’s owner was a man named Jake. What were the odds Mack’s Jake had once been my Jake? I shook my head to clear the fog and bring my thoughts into focus. That was a long time ago. A lifetime ago. I licked my lips nervously and stepped back.

“Wow. This is a surprise.” I offered a small smile but was pretty sure it didn’t translate as a sincere gesture.

Jake took a step closer like he wanted to greet me properly with a hug. I sidestepped him and walked over to the register to strike a leisurely pose against the concrete countertop. I was working hard to give the vibe that running into my very first
everything
wasn’t the slightest bit of a bother to me. Why did he have to look so damn gorgeous after all these years?

He swallowed hard as though he was suddenly nervous too. For some reason that leveled the playing field a bit. I sighed and finally found my voice.

“How’ve you been?”

“Uh. Um… good. You? I haven’t seen you since—”

“Yeah. It’s been a while.” I interrupted.

We were not going there. The past was done. Over. It was never to be brought back out to chat about like the fucking weather. Live in the moment and move forward. That was my motto, and I wasn’t making any exceptions for an old flame. Particularly not this one.

“Lizzy told me you’re a firefighter?”

“Yes. I just transferred to the West Hollywood station on San Vicente a few months ago. I’ve been living in Oxna—”

“Wonderful. Welcome to the neighborhood. Mack was very well behaved, and it was a pleasure having him around this afternoon. Let me grab his leash for you.” I turned away but was stopped by a hand on my arm.

“Wait! Um… look. This is crazy… running into you like this. I’m….” He swallowed again and looked down at Mack as though he might offer inspiration. “Brandon, I… can I… are you free to—”

“No. I’m sorry. I’m not.”

“Sorry. You’re busy. I get it but—”

I rushed over to grab the leash and handed it to Jake. He thanked me but didn’t turn away.

“Yes, um… busy. I’ll see you around.” I grinned with false cheer and moved toward the front door. Obviously I was going to have to shove him and the dog out of the damn store.

He stopped to stare deeply into my eyes for a long moment. I was a respectable five ten, but I was lean. Jake easily had me by three inches and twenty pounds. I doubted I could shove him out the door if I tried, so I waited patiently for him to say his piece and get the fuck out.

“Okay then. Thank you for today. Thanks for looking after Mack. I know it probably seems funny to worry about a grown dog needing a sitter but he’s had some health problems recently and—well, I appreciate it. See you, Bran.”

I nodded and this time, I think my smile made it to my eyes. I liked Mack. Spending an hour or so with him hadn’t been a problem at all. I bent to rub behind his ears and whispered a brief good-bye as Jake opened the door. He halted and turned to give me a heart-stopping grin. One I recognized immediately. It used to make me weak at the knees. Not good.

“By the way, nice moves,” he said with a wink. “Mack loves music. Don’t you, boy?”

I stood staring at the space they’d vacated until a passerby waved at me cheerfully. I returned the gesture, relocked the door, and willed myself to stay in the moment. I couldn’t begin to make sense of Jake Westley’s unexpected reappearance after twelve years. It was like a cameo appearance in the sitcom of life, I thought. But why him? Why now? On television, those comebacks were made for a reason. Real life made no fucking sense.

S
ATURDAY
MORNING
dawned too brightly. Sunlight reflected off of every possible surface, making it difficult for me to see without sunglasses. Even inside my store. Obviously I’d had one too many rum and cokes last night. Ugh. Today was going to be rough.

I took a careful sip of my coffee as I perched on the edge of the stool behind the counter and surveyed my store. Even on a weekend morning when it was difficult to leave my big heavenly bed, I had to admit there was no place I’d rather be than here. BGoods was my oasis. It was a large space with wide plank, light wood flooring. The concrete and distressed wood register counter with glass pendant lighting above was situated along one side with a faux fireplace and generous seating area flanking the opposite end. Toward the front entrance, there was a beautiful farmhouse dining table set for a party of twelve with the latest designer linens and place settings. A huge wrought iron chandelier embellished with dainty crystals hung over the space. A large bed made with a lush and comfy-looking duvet and strewn with designer pillows sat at the back of the store in front of a wall of ample shelving, which I used to showcase fabric and textile samples, as well as pre-made pillowcases. There were side tables, sofa tables, and ottomans throughout the store, piled high with lighting, knickknacks, and the latest books in home design.

A lot was packed into the space but visually it was proportionately and rhythmically perfect. My goal had been to create a comfortable “home” atmosphere. I didn’t want my customers to feel intimidated by their surroundings. I wanted them to fall in love with the ever-changing color palette, the fine accessories, and the brilliant open space. I hated going into cramped, ill-lit stores and being overwhelmed by overzealous sales people. If anything, I hoped my clients wanted to visit with me as much as they wanted to peruse the latest in home design trends.

Although not necessarily today.

Today I couldn’t wait for my reinforcements to arrive and the caffeine to kick in. I heard the rattle of a key and glanced up to see my best friend, Luke, letting himself in the front entrance. He called out a hello and relocked the door before making his way to the register.

“Good morning, honey. Happy Saturday! I’ve come to help you sell, sell, sell!” Luke sounded too fucking cheerful. And he looked it too.

Life at the beach with his soccer-star boyfriend definitely agreed with him. Luke was a quintessential California kid with short-cropped blond hair worn stylishly longer in the front, gorgeous blue eyes, and golden skin. He had a lean physique and moved with a graceful, elegant air. Luke liked to say we looked alike… one light, one dark. He could be correct except for tiny differences like eye color—mine were hazel—and hairstyle; I kept mine close-shaved. Either way, Luke was a beautiful man. And my oldest, dearest friend.

Luke and I met in high school our freshman year. I was the gawky new kid from Alabama. My Southern accent, tall lanky frame, and skin color made me an instant standout. Not exactly what the average teenager wants when trying to navigate a new system and hopefully make friends. Needless to say, it wasn’t easy. Thankfully I found a kindred spirit in Luke Preston. He was petite, fine boned, and pretty. Luke sat next to me in American Literature. He used to sit with his hands tucked under his chin, giving the teacher his rapt attention while the rest of the students kept an eye on the clock. Luke was bookish and did his best to stay under the radar. I was the opposite.

I was smart enough, but my true talents were of an artistic nature. Oh… and a social one. The move to Southern California gave me the second chance I needed as a teenager. I couldn’t change my tendency to lace my conversation with effeminate gestures and phrases, but I did my best to lose my country twang. I’d tried very hard to conform in Birmingham, but my movements and speech ended up sounding contrived. Phony. I decided to give the real me a go at age fourteen. The result wasn’t an overnight success by any means. Most kids stayed clear. They weren’t sure what to think of me and didn’t want to be associated with a weirdo. Except for Luke.

He invited me to sit with him at lunch and offered to help me study for literature quizzes. I realized later part of him wanted a reason to recite poetry. Whatever his motivation had been, he became my first true friend in California. And when I met his mother, Mara, I knew I’d do anything to remain in their orbit. She was… magical, larger than life, beautiful and eccentric in the most fabulous ways. When she entered a room, everyone turned to see the gorgeous platinum-blond bombshell bedecked and bejeweled in strands of faux pearls and rhinestones. She wore brilliant color combinations most women would never be brave enough to try, and yet she always looked amazing. However, it was when she spoke you knew you’d met someone special.

My mother had been an absentee parent at best. The only thing she and Mara had in common was they were single mothers. Unfortunately, mine cared more about men, booze, and drugs than she did about her kids. She was never home. Supposedly she was working two jobs. After all, the move to California was for the sake of opportunity. Oh yeah… and to follow her latest boyfriend. Mandi Pettigrew Good had a thing for men. Black men in particular. My older sister, Trish, and I were mixed race. Who cared, right?

Well, I’d agree except for the glaring fact I was a standout in grade school. An anomaly amongst the blue-eyed, blond-haired white kids and the dark-skinned, dark-eyed black ones. The thing about being different from everyone else was I didn’t know I was until it was pointed out to me. All the fucking time. When my fellow elementary-aged peers asked the stupid question for the umpteenth time about why I looked nothing like my blond-haired, green-eyed mother, their opinion about the color of my skin was clearly written in their expressions. I was an outsider. Maybe things would have been easier if I’d been athletic. Sadly, I wasn’t. At least I had my mother and sister.

But as I grew and morphed into a fabulous gay teenager, I was no longer so sure my mother and sister liked having me around either. I learned to steer clear of home as much as possible during my first couple years of high school when it became apparent they didn’t approve of the
real
me I was trying to embrace in California. My “gayness” embarrassed them. And when I came out… well, let’s just say an already uncomfortable environment got downright hostile. I was given ten minutes to get my crap and get the hell out.

Luke and his mother were my lifeline. They accepted me, no questions asked, and gave me a home when my family turned me away. Fast-forward almost fourteen years, Luke and Mara
were
my family. They were the two people on the planet I trusted with my life who inexplicably loved the real me.

I adjusted my sunglasses as Luke approached the counter and gave him a weak smile. It actually hurt to move. I hoped the caffeine worked its magic soon.

“Uh-oh. Someone had too much fun last night,” Luke singsonged. He kissed my cheek in greeting before leaning against the counter with his arms crossed to give me a good once-over.