Vincent's Thanksgiving Date (9 page)

“Laci,” said the one other one. She was drinking white wine that had spread a flush through her pale features, and she was wearing a very tight t-shirt that read,
Big Fat Dyke
.

Vincent blinked, then reflected that neither of them would have cared if he’d worn a sweater vest or not. He closed the door behind him. “I brought pie.” He would have cringed, but as Cory had told him, at the mention of pie, they both lit up.

“You will have no leftovers to take home,” Rhonda promised him solemnly, although Vincent shook his head.

“They might not be good. I’ve never made pie before.” A disclaimer felt necessary.

“Fuck you, bring it here and let us look at it. We’re wasting away!” Laci seemed to direct that at the kitchen.

Cory immediately poked his head around the corner. “Vincent!” He smiled widely, ignoring his two friends, as though Ricky didn’t slip out from the kitchen with a plate of some kind of snack for his friends that Cory had obviously just prepared. “They aren’t starving. Things are simply taking longer than I thought. My oven is a little small.”

“Hey.” Vincent was breathless all over again. Telling himself Cory had invited him here for Ricky didn’t do anything to stop it. “I brought your pumpkin pie.”

Cory tore his gaze from Vincent’s face to study the pie, then moved forward until the rest of him was in view. He had on jeans, a sleeveless shirt, and a black apron, which was already dotted with gravy stains and powdery handprints. “You did it,” he remarked with wonder after momentarily closing his eyes to inhale pumpkin pie scent. “Thank you.”

“Hey, Cory, what kind of cheese is this?” One of the women called out.

“Gouda. It’s Sarah’s.” Cory didn’t so much as twitch toward his friends. “You came. Did you watch your parade?”

“Most of it.” Vincent forgot how to use his limbs and gave the world’s most awkward shrug. “If the pies are bad, I have ice cream at home. We can bury them in it.”

It got him a sly grin. “Now that’s a plan. I am going to do something similar with butter.”

“Don’t tell me you’re having trouble.” Vincent openly expressed his doubt that Cory had screwed up anything, and it earned him an even bigger grin. But then Cory glanced in toward the kitchen and made a noise.

“Everything was sort of evenly paced, but as I get closer to the end, it’s all coming together quickly. I’ve got to get back to this. Let me have that and I’ll be with you shortly.” He took the pie from Vincent. “Have a seat on the couch, and I’ll get Ricky to bring you a glass of something. You can repay him by talking about your detective that he loves so much.”

“Ricky.” Vincent had almost forgotten why he was there. “Right.”

“You should be able to talk to him. I mean, did you? Was it okay?” Cory frowned. “I told him not to pressure you, but he was so excited.”

“He was fine,” Vincent assured him, and glanced over to see Laci observing the two of them. She wasn’t attempting to be covert but Cory didn’t seem to notice.

“Are we eating too early for you? It will be in about an hour, I hope. But everyone had different schedules today.” Cory lowered his voice to a whisper. “And Laci brought some kind of casserole that looks inedible.” He put down the pie as he studied Vincent more carefully. “Vin? Vincent? You seem upset. Here.” He snagged a glass that must have been his. “You drink this. It’ll be okay. Remember: they want to like you.”

“They do?” Vincent took a small, nervous sip. “Why?”

“Because I do.” Cory gave him a confused frown, then turned it to a smile. “Go. Sit. Then come visit me in like twenty minutes if you want.”

“Okay.” Vincent caught his breath, and then, when Cory disappeared into the kitchen, slowly, so slowly, came around the couch to join the others.

“Are you good at puzzles?” Rhonda demanded, eating crackers and cheese like she’d forgotten to have breakfast.

“She was at work this morning,” Ricky filled Vincent in, sotto voice, as if he knew what Vincent was thinking. “Setting up displays for the stupid sales tonight.”

Vincent nodded to acknowledge that, then made himself respond to the other issue. “Puzzles?” He had not anticipated questions about puzzles. “I don’t know. I can’t remember the last time I did one.”

“Cory bought this one to torture us.” Rhonda complained around her food. “A thousand pieces.”

“To keep you busy!” Cory sang out from the kitchen. “You like it.”

“I do,” Rhonda grumbled. “That’s the worst part.”

Vincent swallowed more wine. “I could… try, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit!” Laci took the plate from Rhonda and held it out as he came over. “With wine and cheese for breakf—lunch, now, where can we go wrong?”

Vincent took a piece of Gouda then handed the plate back to Rhonda, who gave him a grateful look. He felt safe enough speaking to her. She shared his love of food. “I’m sorry you had to work today.”

“At least it wasn’t during the free-for-all. Pity my coworkers.” Rhonda finished off the snack plate and then gulped her wine. “Babe, you’re driving us home.” She ignored Laci’s outraged protest and snagged Vincent’s glass, although it wasn’t empty. “I’ll get us some more. You stay here and finish this damn thing for me.”

Then she left him alone with the other two, and the puzzle. They’d done the borders, but the inside needed some work.

“Oh my god. Not the puzzle.” Ricky sighed dramatically from the couch. “Let’s talk about this
someone
of Lando’s.”

“Has he been buzzing about your books the entire time?” Laci glanced up from her pile of blue pieces. “He’s making me curious. I might have to read them.”

“Oh. You don’t have to. Unless you want to. I don’t expect people to.” Vincent bent over a pile of white pieces and began trying to fit them together.

“Like we meet authors every day.” Laci snorted. “No need to be shy about it. But if you want, we can talk about something else. Like Black Friday shoppers.” Her voice dropped ominously. “Curse them and the corporations who have made them so desperate.”

“Now, now.” Rhonda returned with more wine. “Don’t forget to curse the people who moved Black Friday to Thursday so that no one gets a day off anymore.”

“If we’re going to curse people and things, might I again point out the origins of this holiday?” Ricky tossed in from the couch. “Not that I am going to deny myself potatoes… and pie. Vincent, come sit with me and tell me all about your next book.”

“Guys, I said to go easy on Vincent.” Cory, apparently, was listening to all of them as he cooked.

Vincent turned around until Cory was in his sight. “It’s all right.” He had no idea if it truly was, but he couldn’t give up after five minutes. He wanted Cory to think better of him than that at least. But he blushed, obviously and pathetically, when Cory beamed at him, and then turned back to face the others, hoping they wouldn’t notice his red face.

Laci pursed her lips.

“This is some wine,” Rhonda offered politely, although Vincent had barely tasted his. He glanced at Ricky, who appeared to be pouting on the couch, and remembered why he’d been invited.

He took a drink and then moved to the couch too. He sat at the other end and exhaled in relief when Ricky didn’t invite him closer. It wasn’t nice of him. Ricky was good-looking and friendly. Vincent should have been grateful if Ricky was interested, not fighting the urge to sneak glances into the kitchen. But he took another sip and then forced himself to say something else.

“So what do you do?” People always asked that. Vincent felt it would do.

Ricky waved a hand. “Tend bar, do some side jobs like at the convention where I saw you.”

“You remembered me from that?” Vincent took another sip and it wasn’t even early afternoon yet. He’d probably been in the back row, trying to hide behind potted plants.

“I’m good with faces. I’ve seen some of those authors around before and they told me all about you when you showed up. Then I saw you here and I had to read your stuff.” Ricky held up his wine glass at Rhonda and made pleading faces. She shook her head.

Vincent handed him his. It was Cory’s anyway, and it seemed polite. “Did you work last night?”

“Yes. Ugh.” Ricky accepted the wine with a surprised expression. “Aren’t you a sweetheart? Sorry if I get drunk, but, the holidays. I’m not with my family!” He saluted Vincent with the glass. “So,” he started after taking a drink, “How is it a cute little bear like you was alone today?”

Vincent choked and he wasn’t drinking anything.

Laci seemed ready to smack Ricky. “Very tactful there.”

“I’m not alone,” Vincent argued, with what he hoped with an inoffensive smile. “I’m with all of you.”

“Oh.” Rhonda exhaled, and dropped the puzzle piece she was holding.

“Oh wow,” Ricky added, then sat up and leaned closer. “Now I’m beginning to really understand the fuss. I should have expected it to come from the guy who invented Lando.”

“Lando? Is this a sci fi thing?” Rhonda wondered as she searched for the piece on the floor. “Are your books science fiction? Because then I’ll read them too.”

“They are mysteries, and they are queer as shit,” Ricky informed her smugly before easing toward Vincent. “Lando is the battered detective with a heart of gold, and Vincent here is going to tell me about the love of his life, aren’t you, Vincent? Please? I’ll worship you forever.”

“Vin?” Vincent should have jumped at the hand sliding into place at his shoulder, but Cory’s voice kept him still. His heart continued to race, nothing new when Cory was around, but didn’t jump, which was good. He twisted around enough to look up. Cory studied him, then flicked a glance to Ricky. “What’s all this?” Cory asked, and though he was smiling, something in his tone made Vincent shiver.

Ricky stopped in what could have been amazement. Laci chortled.

Cory kept his hand on Vincent’s shoulder. He was very, very warm from the kitchen. Vincent’s skin was getting just as hot the longer Cory touched him.

“The love of his life in the
book
, idiot,” Ricky commented in a slightly strangled voice. “How dare you think I would do that you?” Despite his words, he didn’t seem upset anymore. If anything, he seemed amused as he leaned against the arm of the couch to stare at the two of them.

That was easy to do since they were still together, Cory’s hand resting purposefully on Vincent’s shoulder.

Vincent’s mouth fell open. He tilted his head further back. Cory regarded him steadily, handsome even with sweat dotting his forehead.

“Ricky likes the detective in my books.” Vincent wet his mouth. Cory watched him do it. Vincent’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. “But you haven’t read them.”

He had no idea how to classify his tone, shy, challenging, a soft complaint. Flirting, he thought. This felt like flirting in a way nothing else had. Perhaps because Cory gave him a searching look before quirking his lips up in an electric smile.

“I’m taking my time,” Cory told him, and brushed Vincent’s neck with his thumb.

Vincent audibly gulped.

Cory nodded, satisfied with something, and took his hand away. “You want some more wine, Vin honey?” he inquired, all pointed politeness. His friends were suspiciously quiet.

Vincent nodded in return, because he couldn’t manage a word, and Cory headed into the kitchen. He reappeared with a new glass, and took a sip before he handed it over.

“Subtle.” Ricky muttered and then cracked up laughing when Rhonda threw a puzzle piece at him.

Vincent couldn’t make himself mind, though he was burning beneath his skin, though they could have been amused at his silent shock. Subtle hadn’t been working for him anyway. He watched Cory dive into his cooking, then slowly recalled where he was, and tore his gaze away.

The ladies were again bent over their puzzle, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about Cory wanting Vincent, despite how it was
Cory
wanting
Vincent
. Ricky gave Vincent a thumbs up, then stretched out on his half of the couch until his turkey hat fell over his eyes.

They weren’t acting as though anything about it was strange, which was kind of them since Cory was clearly out of Vincent’s league. He wondered how it was that all of them had ended up without their families on Thanksgiving, but then thought he should be grateful that they had, even if that was selfish. They seemed good, the sort of people to put up with him and ignore his quirks if they found them annoying.

Not that any of them seemed annoyed. Vincent honestly didn’t know what to make of that.

“Hey, Vincent,” Cory called from the kitchen, startling no one, Vincent noticed, but Vincent. “You want to come help me for a while?”

Vincent stood up before he could rethink acting too eager.

“Ha,” Ricky scoffed sleepily. “You can’t save him from his fans forever, Cory.” But when Vincent left, he only stretched out to take up the rest of the couch.

“So you like mysteries?” Vincent finally got a chance to ask Cory about two hours later. Cory was next to him on the couch, their thighs and knees pressed together as they ate. They both had plates of food in their laps, although Cory was picking at his food more than eating. He claimed cooking always ruined his appetite and that he’d suddenly get hungry a few hours from now.