We Were Here: A New Adult Romance Prequel to Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Stories Book 1) (42 page)

After too few hours of sleep, we decided to revisit the Castro for a late morning Bloody Mary before catching our flight back to Seattle. Like Stonewall in the Village in New York City, Twin Peaks was a must visit stop on the gay pilgrimage route. Inside the funky old bar, a group of even funkier old queens sat at several tables shoved together.

They welcomed us with a cheer and a shot of whiskey. “We’re toasting to Aaron. Everyone who comes in has to have a shot.”

“Which one of you is Aaron?” I raised the shot glass to toast to our generous host.

An older, very thin man pointed to the beautiful wooden box on the table.

“Oh.” I gulped down the burning liquid. I nudged Lizzy to drink hers. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have no idea. He’s our sixth friend to die since summer.” Tears spilled down his face and the guy next to him slung his arm over his shoulder in a hug. I immediately recognized the dark spots on the exposed skin.

Lizzy took an empty seat and hugged one of the strangers. “Oh my gosh, that’s terrible. AIDS is heartbreaking, horrible.” She patted one of his arms. “My uncle’s neighbor has it. In Miami.”

Her uncle’s neighbor. Aaron. Keith Haring. Rock Hudson. Freddie Mercury. Little Ryan White. An endless list of names and nameless faces of the dead or infected ran through my head.

“To our friends who are no longer here, but still with us.” She poured another shot and raised her glass.

The motley group clinked glasses with her.

Two shots of whiskey were enough to give us a buzz. We skipped the other cocktails. Instead, we sat at the table and listened to old stories of the glory days of bath houses and wild Quaalude fueled parties.

I had to cover Lizzy’s ears a couple of times. I didn’t want her to think all gay men were complete sexual deviants. Some of us wanted the husband, two-point-five kids, and a pure bred lab like anyone else.

By the time we left, I felt I’d inherited seven gay uncles. They were like Snow White’s dwarves, including Carl in his powder blue cardigan, who kept falling asleep at the far end of the table.

Lawrence, the skinny one who first spoke to us, gave me a somber warning about reckless behavior. “At your age, you think you’ll live forever. But we all die someday. Don’t make it sooner because you were stupid, arrogant, and young.”

I gave him a salute and my word.

Outside, Lizzy snapped a picture of the neon sign. “Forget a fairy godmother, I want godfather fairies.”

I loved her acceptance of everyone she met. It had always been one of my favorite qualities about her. “I’ll be your fairy godfather, Lizzy.”

“Promise?” She clapped her hands.

“On one condition.”

“If I ever fall in love—”

She interrupted to correct me, “When, not if.”

“Okay, when I fall in love, and if—”

“When.”

“Fine, when I fall in love and when we have a commitment ceremony, you’ll be there standing beside me.”

“Of course! You couldn’t keep me away from it. I’ll wear a pretty vintage dress and toss birdseed like a pro. Or we could release butterflies. Oh! We could throw glitter.” Her favorite charm bracelet jingled when she tossed imaginary glitter.

“No glitter.” I hugged her and kissed her forehead.

“Who knows? You could be a dad someday, too. Then I’ll come over and babysit for you. Auntie Mame will have nothing on Auntie Lizzy.”

I laughed at her optimism. “Are you going to carry the baby, too?”

“For you? Anything, Q.”

I completely believed her. When we were together, she convinced me I could do anything. Me having a family? Crazy, but at least one of us believed in the impossible.

“Finally” ~ CeCe Peniston

POST HOLIDAYS, I
bribed Moping Maggie to get out of the apartment with the promise of French coffee and pastries at the Heron Bakery. I figured maybe something French in her mouth would help. First, I’d made her shower and change out of her pajamas.

All last year I’d dealt with Grumpy Gil. Magpie was home, and he’d become David Copperfield. Poof! Gone. Disappeared. I barely saw him.

Every once in a while, he’d hang out with the group at Lucky’s, but ever since last summer, things had changed. No more sleepovers with Maggie. In fact, they never spent time together at all unless it was the entire group.

Hell, none of us really spent much time with him. He claimed a lack of time with a heavy class load and studying for the GREs, plus work and band rehearsal.

He could say all those things were the reason, but he lied like a rug. He avoided Maggie. Spent a year pining, then he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

It was the worst non-break up break up ever.

Nothing could be done.

Maggie fell in love with love. Gil was determined to be “fine.”

If my heart wasn’t cold and black, it would have hurt for them both.

I could only meddle so much in the love affairs of my friends. A few weeks ago a random postcard from London arrived for Lizzy. She’d clutched it to her chest and refused to talk about it despite my finest attempts to wiggle the truth out of her.

Not that I had my own love life to fret over. The most action I’d seen had been the random street kiss at Halloween. Three months ago.

Sad, sad, sad.

Inside the Heron, Maggie saved us a table while I waited at the counter to order drinks from the very cute blond guy behind the counter

“A cafe au lait for my friend the francophile and the biggest, blackest cup of joe for me.”

“No one here is named Joe.” The cute barista winked at me.

He. Winked. At. Me.

Flustered, I stumbled over my words. “I’ll . . . have you. I mean . . . take you . . . have whatever you’re having.” I glanced at his name tag. “Warren.”

Charming and handsome chuckled and leaned his elbows on the top of the pastry case. His biceps stretched the cotton of his black T-shirt. “I’m having a break in about twenty minutes. If you’re interested.”

I stumbled to our table in a daze of bulging muscles and winks.

“Where are the coffees?” Maggie stared at my empty hands.

“They’re right here.” Warren placed a beautiful bowl of cafe au lait in front of her. In front of me, he set a very tall mug of black coffee. “Can I get you anything else? You have the coffee. Tea? Pastry? Me?” He stared down at me.

Unsettled.

He unsettled me. His blond hair was darker than mine, but also pulled back into a ponytail. Rich, chocolate brown eyes. Taller than me, but similar lanky build.

Maggie giggled, her focus bouncing to Warren’s sexy smirk and back to my stunned expression. “I think if you keep it up, Quinn’s going to need a cold shower.”

“Margaret!”

“What?” She had the nerve to bat her eyelashes at me. “I’m merely pointing out you look a little overheated.”

The bell above the door jingled, calling Warren back to duty at the counter.

I fanned my face. “It is warm in here, isn’t it?”

“No. It’s really not.” She sipped from her bowl. “Since when do you take your coffee black?”

I stared at the dark liquid. “I got a little flustered back there.”

“I’d say. Your cheeks are pink like a little school girl.”

I tried to drink the bitter liquid and almost spat it out. “This is terrible.”

“Get some milk and sugar added to it.”

“I can’t go back up there and ask him.”

Maggie leaned over to peer around me. “I think he’d be more than happy to give you some sugar.”

“You think he was flirting with me?”

She snickered and tried to hide it behind her coffee. “Flirting? No. Definitely not run of the mill flirting. He had you stripped and naked in his mind.”

“He did not!” I accidentally hit my hand on the table, causing my coffee to tip and spill.

“Oh, he did. He’s coming back over here. Pull yourself together.”

“Looks like you got a little excited.” Warren appeared next to our table with a white bar towel. “Let me clean you up.”

“Warren?” Maggie focused all her attention on him. “What brings you to be working in this fine establishment?”

“I studied glass blowing at Pilchuck but started working in a studio down here.”

My jaw dropped. “With Chihuly? The glass genius?”

Warren grinned. “The one-eyed pirate of the glass world himself.”

“You’re a blower?” Maggie’s eye twitched. It might have been an attempt at a wink. I would have to remind her to never do it again in public.

“I prefer glass artist, but I can blow with the best of them.”

I groaned. This was too much.

Warren looked concerned.

Maggie poked me under the table with her foot, waggling her eyebrows like some silent movie actor. A really bad one.

“Don’t like your coffee?” He pointed at my completely full cup.

“He likes his sweet and full of cream,” Maggie murmured.

“Let me add some cream for you.” He whisked away my cup.

I returned Maggie’s poke with a kick to her shin. Not hard enough to bruise, but enough she got my point. “What are you doing?”

“I’m playing you if the situation were reversed.”

“Huh?”

“He’s very cute. He’s a glassblower, which means he’s artistic. Like you.”

“Not all artists are gay, Magpie.”

“True. But he’s also flirting with you. Why would he be flirting if he were straight?”

I didn’t have an answer to her question. It had been too long since I’d personally engaged in flirting as a means to an end. I went through my days flirting with everyone as a default.

This was different.

This flirting had a not so subtle undercurrent of sexual chemistry.

Undercurrent didn’t cover it.

Tsunami of sexual chemistry.

Synapses fired in my brain I swore had gone dormant.

Things zinged.

Warren returned with a fresh cup of caramel-colored coffee. I took a sip and the sweetness erased the horrible taste from the unadulterated muck I’d first sipped.

“Better?”

“Perfect.”

“Great. Ten minutes.” He tossed his towel over his shoulder and returned to his post.

“What’s ten minutes?” she asked me.

“His break.”

“Oooh, are you going to go make out behind the dumpster?” Delight shone in her meddling expression.

“Classy, Magpie. Very classy.”

“It’s kind of hot.”

“I’m not that kind of boy.”

“Maybe not, but maybe he is.” She drank from her cup, then smiled at me with a foamy mustache.