A Heart for Robbie (21 page)

bookshelves and exquisite prints in the spaces. A handsome leather chair sat near the hearth, with a throw over the back.

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He slid off his jacket to reveal his third-choice button-up shirt. The

first and second choices were at home, lying on his bedroom floor, each

cast off for some kind of imperfection. He tugged at the cuffs to get them to come down from where they strangled his forearms. His jeans were

snug but not obscenely so. Simon had tried to make himself the best

possible package for his very first date with a man.

“Could you hold this just a sec?” Julian asked as he thrust the wine

back into Simon’s unprotesting hands. “Thanks.” His fingers traced the

lines of Simon’s face for a moment as their eyes met.

In the blue depths of Julian’s eyes, Simon found acceptance, and

need, and maybe a bit of hope. He understood that hope all too well.

Leaning forward, Julian covered Simon’s lips with his own in a slow,

gentle kiss. Julian was making a promise. He didn’t know what kind of

promise, but it was a promise nonetheless. They kissed for a long moment, until a tiny cry came from somewhere within the house and Julian pulled

away.

“Come on. I think someone wants to meet you.” Julian took his hand

with a smile that would have warmed any blustery Chicago night and led

him into the living room where Robbie lay in a play yard under some kind of hanging toy contraption. Julian lifted Robbie from under the mini

circus.

“He can’t get the hang of batting the hanging toys yet, but he kicks

the hell out of the foot buttons to make it play music. I’m going to have that song stuck in my head until I die.” He laughed, and Simon grinned

back, having no real idea what that meant. He’d never been around little kids, not even his own nieces. His sister had the only little ones, and he didn’t see them often.

“Hey, buddy, I want you to meet someone,” Julian crooned to

Robbie, holding the baby close against his strong chest. “This is Simon, and he’s a good guy, so none of that projectile vomiting stuff, okay? I like him. I want him to stick around for a while.”

He said the words to Robbie, but Simon knew they were really for

him. Wait, what did he mean projectile vomiting?

“You want to hold him?”

Simon froze, a little panicked at the thought. He didn’t want to screw

up and hurt the little guy, and he was so fragile. Oh, and what about that projectile vomiting thing?

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“It’s okay to be nervous. I was at first. Let’s let him get back to his

gymnastics, and we can finish up dinner.” Julian didn’t look disappointed or even surprised, and Simon relaxed a bit. He waited for Julian to put

Robbie back in the little play yard and position the circus above him. As they watched, Robbie’s eyes found the hanging toys. Recognition sparked

in the blue depths, and he moved his hands and feet in spastic,

uncontrolled jerks of muscle. Julian reached in and slid him down an inch or two on the little mat, and his feet connected with the piano keys on the bottom of the gym.

“Mozart, he’s not,” Julian said with a laugh. “I hope you like stir-fry.”

Simon sat at the small island on a barstool and watched Julian set a

large wok pan onto the stove. On the counter, he’d laid out about a dozen different ingredients all chopped and ready to be put into the wok. Farther along on the counter, a rice steamer sat perking away with condensation

on the lid.

“How did you get all this together so quickly? I can’t feed myself

this well most of the time, and I don’t have a baby to manage.” Simon

popped the cork on the bottle of wine and left it off to the side to breathe.

It was one of the very few things he knew about wine.

“Should I try to impress you or tell you the truth?” Julian asked with

the flash of a smile over his shoulder. He poured oil into the pan and set the bottle off to the side. Simon slid off the stool, prowling the few steps across the kitchen to wrap his arms around Julian’s waist.

“I’m already impressed,” he murmured against Julian’s ear, eliciting

a low moan.

“If you want to eat tonight, you really don’t want to be doing that.”

Simon grinned and stepped back, not wanting to take the night in the

wrong direction. They were there to get to know each other, not spend all evening fucking on the kitchen island. His dick perked a bit with that idea.

“Robbie, Robbie,” Julian called, and Simon noticed that the music

had stopped. He held the chicken aloft over the heated wok and waited.

After a moment, he said it again, and a little gurgling sound came from the living room, along with the music.

“The apnea monitor is so restricting, and it goes off when he kicks

like that anyway.”

“Does it go off in the middle of the night when he gets restless?”

Simon asked.

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“Constantly.”

The hiss of raw chicken splattering into hot oil drowned out the

awkward silence that followed. Simon watched as Julian flipped the meat

around the wok with a wooden spatula. After a few minutes, he added a

few other bowls of vegetables, and then a few more. The wok nearly

overflowed with food by time Julian finished flipping things around. He

turned off the flame beneath the pan and reached up into a high cabinet for plates.

“Can you set these on the pub table over there? The silverware is in

the drawer right where you’re sitting,” Julian told him, pulling the cover from the rice and transferring the steaming piles of white grains into a serving bowl. He set it on the pub table while Simon set the table. Then he put a potholder down and put the entire pan of stir-fry next to the rice.

After grabbing two wineglasses from a cabinet full of baby bottles, Julian sat, not at the seat across from Simon but next to him, pulling his place setting with him.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any chopsticks. I never really got the hang of

using them,” Julian admitted. He ran a hand back through his black curls with a sheepish grin.

“I don’t know how to use them either.”

“Maybe one day, we can teach each other.”

He leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on Simon’s lips. Simon

watched Julian’s eyes for a long moment, losing himself in the gorgeous

blue hue of the ocean on a sunny day. They kissed again, a little less

chastely, until they were interrupted by a small cry from the living room.

“Let me put him in the bouncer and bring him in here. Because of

the hospital and my paranoia, he doesn’t really like to be alone.” Julian stood up and moved away from the table before leaning back and kissing

Simon on the cheek. Then he laughed, and the sound transported Simon to

a place he never thought he’d find. Julian disappeared for a long moment and then came back with Robbie tucked under one arm and a baby seat

dangling in the other hand.

“The bouncer is upstairs, and he doesn’t really bounce anyway. He’s

not big enough.” He dropped the baby seat onto the island, directly in the middle, a good foot from any edge, and placed Robbie in carefully, as if he were made of spun glass. Then he took the two steps that brought him

back to the pub table and his seat facing the island.

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Simon grabbed the rice and put a small mound of it on the center of

his heavy square stoneware plate. The deep, rustic orange plates worked

on top of navy placemats. Simon spooned a healthy portion of rice for

Julian. “Are you going to feed me too?” Julian asked with a sly grin.

“Maybe,” Simon countered with a wink. Julian picked up the stir-fry

and spooned a few heaping mounds onto the center of Simon’s rice and

then his own.

“There’s no way I’m going to eat all of this,” Simon said with a

laugh as he picked up the soy sauce from the center of the table.

“You need to keep up your strength for later.” Julian waggled his

eyebrows, and Simon giggled. Out and out giggled, like a thirteen-year-

old girl, giggled. Which, in turn, made Julian laugh so hard he couldn’t pour the wine he’d picked up. He waited for a minute, for the worst of the belly laugh to subside, and tipped the bottle again.

“I had no idea what you were making for dinner, but the guy at the

liquor store said that this goes with lots of things.”

“Chinese isn’t one of them, but that’s okay. If you’re happy, I’m

easy.” Julian didn’t waggle anything, but the intent seemed clear.

“How are things coming on your new book? In your text, you said

that you’d gotten an outline done and were starting to write.” Simon took the wineglass Julian offered, drinking a bit before he set it on the table.

Julian dug into his food while he thought a moment about the

question.

“I’m about ten thousand words in, give or take. My novels are

generally around a hundred to a hundred and twenty thousand words, so

I’m maybe 10 percent in. I’ve been laying the foundation, setting up the inciting incident, refreshing the reader’s memory about established

characters, and building up to introducing new ones. Liam and Clay have

been helping. Clay’s really excited about—” Julian broke off, his eyes

wide. “What?”

“I…. Nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I just… I forget that you don’t know who Liam and Clay are,”

Julian said, his eyes averted. He seemed to be taking great interest in his plate, chasing rice around the raised square corners.

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“Liam moved to Tempest with his family after one of his best friends

was killed in a New York City school shooting,” Simon started, and Julian looked up, startled. “He moved into a house which had once belonged to

an eccentric family who disappeared one night nearly ten years before.

The house had been kept up by a distant relative and contained in it an

amulet that Liam eventually used to save Eve, the love of his young life.

The amulet kept her, and by extension some of her classmates, from

manifesting matter from thought. Matter like demons, monsters, zombies,

and the like.”

“You’ve read the Black Heart series?”

“I’ve read the first one.” Then it was Simon’s turn to look surprised.

“I found myself in that bookstore over on Broadway one day shortly after your son was admitted, and I was curious. I’m going to read the other two.

I just haven’t had a chance.”

“Well, when it’s finished, you’ll be able to read number four before

it goes to the publisher,” Julian told him with an expression of awe and joy. Simon might have just told him that Robbie was the most beautiful

baby he’d ever seen. It was that kind of look.

“So, are you going to tell me what Clay is so excited about, or do I

have to wait?”

“You don’t think it’s weird that I talk to my characters?” Julian

asked, suddenly serious. His shoulders tensed as if in anticipation of a blow.

“How else are you going to tell their story?” Simon asked, genuinely

confused. “I mean, I’ve never written a book, but the stories have to come from somewhere, don’t they?”

“Clay is going to get a boyfriend.”

“Sweet. I like him, he’s a good character.”

They talked for another hour as they polished off more stir-fry and

rice than Simon thought possible. Robbie began to cry as Julian stood up to clear the table. He went to the little boy and picked him up, whispering nonsensical words. The domesticity of the evening nearly knocked Simon

to his knees. It was everything he’d ever wanted. Cooing, eating, and

clearing the table with a partner, maybe taking care of a baby in a home of their own, away from his mother’s interference. He felt like he’d stepped into a storybook and found his happily ever after.

A Heart for Robbie

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Chapter 12

JULIAN SAT in the rocker watching Robbie’s eyes droop and close.

They’d had a full day at his mother’s, then getting ready for their date and having a stranger in the house. No wonder the little guy was tired. Julian glanced up and caught Simon watching them from the couch. The firelight

reflected in Simon’s eyes, giving them a glow, an intensity in them Julian loved.

He’d excused himself from going upstairs with Julian to change

Robbie for bed by offering to clean up the table. Normally Julian would

never let a guest, especially a date, clear the table, but he didn’t want Simon to feel awkward sitting there waiting for him. He recognized the

hesitant way Simon had around Robbie. He’d had it too those first few

days. Babies were fragile anyway, but sick babies might break just by