11

Taylor was in a shitty mood and everyone in the cafe knew it.

It started when she’d tripped over a suitcase on her way out of the house that morning...

“Josh and I are going to California!”

Taylor stared at her mother calmly not at all surprised by this sudden declaration. “You’re going where?” She looked at Josh. He shrugged and returned his attention back to his video game.

“The show ‘The Race: Fathers & Daughters’ wants to do a spinoff called ‘The Race: Mothers & Sons’. It’s the same set-up; mothers and their sons will travel around North America using their wits to get to the finish line. If we get on the show, I’ll be a household name by next year! Can you believe it? The audition is in two days.”

“You’re going to California with what money?” Taylor asked abruptly.

“Calm down, Taylor—,”

“I am calm.”

“—we’re taking the bus! I got a great deal. Same with the hotel. It’ll be perfectly fine. After that young man of yours helped us last time. We have plenty of extra cash.”

Taylor felt her blood boiling. “First of all, he is NOT my young man. Secondly, there is NO extra cash. I’m working my butt off so that I can pay him back for a million things including the rent he paid and you think we have extra cash?”

“We’ll be able to pay him ten times over if I get this show, T. You have to stop worrying so much!”

“Are you kidding me?” Taylor yelled. “If I stop worrying, you’re done! You won’t get to play make believe anymore. You’ll have to go out and find a real job. God, don’t you get it? I’m keeping us afloat. I’m keeping everything together while you continue to live in some fantasyland. You want me to stop worrying, mom? I will when you grow the hell up!”

Her mother acted so quickly that Taylor felt the sting on her cheek before she realized she’d been slapped. She raised her hand to her face.

“Taylor...” her mother began.

Josh was up on his feet, his eyes wide as he watched them nervously.

“I have to go to school,” Taylor said stiffly. “Good luck in California.”

“I’m sorry,” her mother said to her back. “Taylor, baby, I didn’t mean it.”

Taylor paused at the door. “I did.”

--

Taylor shook away the memory, gripping the whip cream dispenser so hard that her hand started to throb. She didn’t regret what she’d said. Her mother had shirked responsibility for too long and Taylor wasn’t going to be around to hold her hand forever. When was she going to get it through her head that she couldn’t keep living this way?

She slammed the dispenser down on the counter and everyone in her vicinity looked up.

And, there was that. She’d hoped to have a quiet night at the coffee shop only to show up to see the place packed with people. The Arts 4 Us event had been a huge success and the Brew House had gotten incredible exposure from it. The picture of Carson and Christian on the front of the society papers hadn’t seemed to hurt either. The shop was brimming with women.

Taylor started to wipe down the countertop, her hands moving furiously against the surface. Like Christian needed any more women around him. Wasn’t Isabel and Alana enough?

Suddenly someone grabbed the back of her collar and yanked her away from the counter. “What th-?”

“We need to talk,” Christian said, frowning down at her. He let go of her collar to grab her arm and pull her upstairs.

He stopped as soon as they got into the break room. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

He crossed his arms in front of him. “I repeat, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It becomes my business when your bad attitude is making my customers uncomfortable.” He tilted his head to the side, his eyes searching Taylor’s face. “This isn’t like you. What’s going on?”

There was concern in his eyes and she softened slightly when she realized that he was worried about her. “Just family stuff. It’s nothing,” she said, looking away.

Christian walked to the door and closed it. “It’s not nothing.” He turned back to her. “Hey – I unloaded on you about my family. The least you could do is the same.” He leaned against the long dining table and waited.

Taylor shook her head.

“I’ve got all day,” he said with a shrug.

She huffed out an exasperated breath. Clearly, he wasn’t going to leave it alone and the knot in her chest was telling her that she did want to unburden herself to someone. Anyone. She didn’t have any close girl friends. Her closest friends from high school had all went away for school and as for her social life, it was hard to have one of those when all you did was go to class, work and go home.

She capitulated and the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them, “Ever since I was little, my mom was ...” She looked away.  “...a dreamer. We’d spend whole afternoons making villages out of cardboard boxes and newspaper. It was cool having a mom who was a kid at heart. But the thing is ...” Taylor sighed and slumped against the wall.

“The thing is I grew up. I couldn’t pretend that we were in the jungles of South America when the electricity went off, or on a voyage to the North Pole when we didn’t have heat for days. And when she got it into her head that being an actress was the path to success, I realized pretty quickly that I couldn’t really count on her.”

Christian nodded, his face attentive.

“I go to school, I work, I take care of my brother – and all I ask is that she takes care of her responsibilities. Today I – her bags were packed, hers and my brother’s – she said she was going to California and I snapped.”

“What? Forever?” Christian said with surprise.

Taylor shook her head. “No, for a few days. It’s for another stupid audition that won’t work out.” She ran a hand over her hair. She could feel tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of working my ass off while she goes off to live a dream that isn’t going to come true. I’ve got so much stuff – the bills, school ... the money I owe you—,”

“Stop,” Christian said cutting her off. “The money’s not important.”

“Oh?” Taylor gave a sarcastic laugh. “Must be nice.”

“Meaning what?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“It means you’re rich,” she said bitterly. “Of course, money’s not important to you. It must be nice not to have to worry about how you’re going to pay for your school books or put food in your fridge.” Her voice rose in anger. “It must be nice not have to enslave yourself to some asshole because you ran into his car when you were sick!”

Taylor knew she was going overboard but her emotions were high and she couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of her mouth. She’d been holding everything inside for so long, too long, and she was ready to explode.

“Taylor,” Christian ground out, his body stiffening.

Taylor ignored the warning in his voice. “What? What, Christian? You punished me for being poor the moment we met! You made me feel small,” she said, voice rising. “You made me feel like I was nothing!” 

A whoosh of air escaped Christian’s mouth, as if he’d just been punched in the gut. “Shit, Taylor,” he said softly. He looked into her eyes and the regret there made the knot in her stomach multiply, one lodging right in her throat.

She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t. She ran the back of her hand over her eyes to make sure she didn’t.

“I’m sorry.”

The words floated softly in the air, slicing through the thick tension in the room like a knife.

Taylor took a breath, closing her eyes to stop the tears, but she couldn’t. They gathered at the corners and gently trickled down her face.

She rubbed her hand over her face, eyes still closed. She was horrified, hurt, still a bit angry, but that knot, that horrible knot, was gone.

Strong arms wrapped around her and without thought about who she was, or what she was supposed to be, she let those arms comfort her. Christian was warm and sturdy, much sturdier than he looked, and she knew that if given a chance she could stay there forever.

When was the last time that she’d felt safe – when she’d felt like she could count on someone other than herself? She couldn’t even remember, it had been that long.

Taylor slid her hands against his back, liking the way his muscles felt against her palms. He was so solid. And warm. She wanted to burrow her face into his chest and cocoon herself in that warmth.

He rubbed his chin against her hair and she smiled into his chest. What would it be like if he was hers? If she could be with him like this always? If she could touch him whenever she pleased? It was a line of thinking that she should stay away from but she couldn’t help herself.

They stood like that for a while, cafe sounds muffled outside the break room door. Then there was air between them and Christian was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

“You alright?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.

She looked away. “Yeah ...thanks. Uh, I’m sorry. For what I said before.”

“I deserved it,” Christian admitted. “Taye, I don’t think you’re nothing. Far from it. The way you live, how you carry yourself – I think you’re ... an amazing person.” His mouth quirked in a self-mocking smile. “Damn, this is awkward.”

She laughed at that but her heart wouldn’t stop fluttering at his words. This gorgeous man in front of her thought she was amazing. How was she ever to get over her crush on him when he said things like that to her.

“It’s cool,” she said with a smile. “I’ll never tell anyone that you’re a marshmallow inside.”

Christian arched a brow. “And I won’t tell anyone that you cry like a little girl.”

Taylor ignoring that statement, punched him hard in the shoulder and then winced at the pain in her knuckles.

Christian snickered. "Dude, are you sure you hit puberty?"

"I wasn't using all my strength. I didn't want to hurt you," she said casually.

"Of course," he said, pulling a face that made her laugh.

He caught the time on his watch. “We should get back down. It's almost closing time."

Taylor sighed and looked outside. She didn’t want to go home, not to that empty house. Not to the angry words and bitter feelings that were surely still lingering in the air.

“Come home with me.”

Taylor’s eyes whipped to his face, her heart thudding hard against her chest. “Wh-What?” she stammered.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Don’t go home to an empty house.”

Taylor blinked. It was as if he’d read her mind.

“I’ve got plenty of room. Besides,” he continued, eyes sparkling. “I owe you a little something for the gift you left on my face last weekend.”

Her lips twitched at the memory. If only she’d taken a picture. “Will there be pizza?” she asked, throwing caution to the wind. She really didn’t want to go home and he was offering. What did she have to lose?

“I’m letting you sleep on my floor. Now you want me to feed you?” Christian folded his arms and raised a brow.

Taylor grinned. “That’s right.”

“You won’t starve,” he said with an amused gleam in his eyes.

Taylor hesitated for a bare second before she nodded. “Then I’m in. Thanks.”

“No prob. And if you're lucky, maybe I'll show you how to throw a punch ... like a man," he said with a smirk.

Taylor flipped him off and he laughed as they made their way back downstairs.

...

Christian scattered mozzarella over the pizza dough in front of him, then layered it with sausage, tomatoes, and hot peppers.

Taylor reached across the island and spread a handful of olives on the top. He looked up at Christian and grinned.

Christian couldn’t help but grin back at that smiling face. “Feta?” he asked, pointing to the bowl of crumpled feta beside Taylor.

Taylor scooped some of the cheese up in his hands and spread it over the pizza. “Done."

Christian grabbed the tray and slid the pizza inside the oven. 

“I gotta say,” Taylor said. “I’m impressed. Making pizza from scratch? Didn’t think you had it in you.”

The look of admiration in his eyes belied the sarcastic words and Christian felt something warm swell inside him. He wiped his hands with a dishtowel. “I learned a few things when I was living in Fiesole last year.” He pressed his hands flat against the island and leaned forward. “If you’re lucky, next time I’ll make you something more rustic Italian."

Taylor blinked at him. “Next time?”

“Uh ... yeah.” He shrugged, acting like he planned meals with guys all the time. “What? You got plans?”

Taylor laughed, easing back in his seat. “Maybe.”

Christian made a face. “I doubt it.”

A piece of tomato flew his way and Christian dodged it easily, grinning broadly at Taylor. Taylor always made him smile. It was getting to the point that Christian went to work looking forward to seeing him and when he wasn’t there, the day seemed longer somehow.

Too deep, a voice whispered in the back of his head but he brushed it aside. So, what if he was finding it hard to remember what life was like before Taylor? So what if he was already planning future evenings with the guy? Christian knew exactly what he was doing. That’s what he kept telling himself anyway.

Taylor grabbed an olive and popped it into his mouth. “So, Italy, huh? Must have been amazing, right?”

Christian could hear the wistfulness in his voice. “It’s a great place. Especially if you love history and art like I do. It’s everywhere in everything... You’ve never been?”

“No. I’ve never been out of the country. I don’t even have a passport,” he said a bit self-consciously.

Christian felt a pang at the way Taylor’s voice dropped at the words. “One day you’ll get there. Maybe after you graduate."

Taylor shrugged and dropped his head. “Maybe.”

“Not maybe, definitely. What’s the first stamp you’d want on your passport?”

“Uhh...” Taylor put his hand on his chin and thought about it for a moment.

While Taylor mulled it over, Christian bent down to open his wine cooler. “Want a drink?” he asked from below.

Taylor’s head popped over the island as he pulled a rack towards him. “Whaddaya have in mind?”

He unearthed a bottle of red and placed it on the counter.

“I’m not much of a wine drinker,” Taylor said as he picked up the bottle to look at the label.

“We’ll change that,” he responded.

Taylor reached for the bottle and a frisson of awareness shot through Christian when their fingers brushed. Taylor looked down, dropping his hand into his lap and Christian knew that he’d felt it too.

Christian mentally shook himself. No, that couldn’t be right. There was nothing between him and Taylor. Celibacy wasn’t looking good on him if this was a by-product of it.

He should have hooked up with Isabel.

He went through the production of finding the wine glasses and opening the bottle of wine, as he recalled how he hadn’t been able to go through with hooking up with Isabel the night of the fundraiser. A part of him had wanted to but an even stronger part of him knew that it would have been a mistake.

His employees were off limits, he’d made that rule for himself from the get-go, but Taylor had shaken him. Briefly, very briefly, he’d shaken him and Christian hadn’t known what to do about it.

But he had it under control now. He repeated it again: There was nothing between him and Taylor, other than a rapidly deepening friendship, and that was all there was to it.

He poured Taylor a glass of the deep burgundy liquid and pushed it towards him. “Drink some of the best Tuscany has to offer.”

Taylor took a careful drink of the liquid, thoughtfully assessing the taste. “Not bad.”

“Not bad? Dude, that’s a five hundred dollar bottle of wine.”

“Yeah?” Taylor looked at the contents of his glass carefully and then back at Christian. “Not bad.”

Christian’s laughter reverberated around the room. Laughter that came from deep inside his belly. He looked at Taylor who was trying to stop a smile from coming over his face and he felt a deep affection at the sight. This is why he liked Taylor. He was straightforward and unpretentious.

Taylor took another tentative sip. “Pretty good actually.”

A bit of red stained Taylor’s lips and Christian checked the impulse to reach over and rub them dry with his fingertips.

He jerked his eyes away from Taylor’s lips and swallowed. He was officially losing his mind. He took a deep gulp of his wine and finally looked over at Taylor again. Taylor made a face at him and Christian laughed, feeling no strange impulses. Good, everything was under control.

“The first place you’d go?” he picked up the threads of the previous conversation.

“Oh! Right, uh, well. I guess I’ve always wanted to try Paris. It just seems foreign and different without being too exotic, you know?” Christian liked the way Taylor’s eyes lit up when he got into a subject. The total lack of artifice was refreshing. “I like old things,” Taylor continued, “so I could probably spend days just walking and exploring the city without getting bored. I’ve always wanted to check out the Louvre.”

Christian wanted to take him there. To the Louvre and the Eiffel tower and all those tourist traps but also to the little cafe on Ile Saint Louis where he always had coffee every Sunday, to his friend Martin’s gallery in le Marais where some of his own artwork was hanging and to the seedy club in his old neighbourhood, where he’d had his share of late nights – or should he say, early mornings.

“You gotta do Greece and Japan then. Since you like old things. Maybe Egypt.”

Taylor nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. They all sound incredible. I just to want to travel, C. Experience something new.” 

He smiled at the sparkle in Taye’s eyes. There was something very young, very innocent about Taye. It still sometimes shocked him that the boy was of legal age. Taye needed someone to take him under his wing and help him navigate through manhood.

Maybe that explained these weird feelings, this tenderness he felt towards Taylor. Taylor was like the little brother he’d never had and Christian, being older and hey, more worldly, felt a brotherly need to help the kid discover life.

That’s all it was.

...

Taylor squirted a little toothpaste on the toothbrush Christian had lent her. Dinner had been amazing. Talking to Christian over pizza and surprisingly delicious wine had been the most fun she’d had in a long time. She smiled around her toothbrush when she recalled how he’d dabbed sauce from the side of her mouth. She’d been surprised by the gesture but pleased at the same.

She heard him rustling in his bedroom and she leaned her head back to look at him through the open door. He was placing a pile of clothes on his bed. He looked up and caught her watching him.

“You can borrow these,” he said, pointing to the clothes.

She looked down at the pair of jogging pants and sweatshirt and smiled. “Cool,” she said, her voice muffled by the toothbrush.

He opened a drawer, his back to her, and grasped the bottom edge of his sweater. “I got your bed all prepped in the living room,” he continued, pulling the top over his head.

Taylor inhaled sharply, her eyes ricocheting away from his body and back to the mirror in the bathroom.

The sound of clothes rustling tempted her eyes away from the mirror and back to Christian. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his broad back – tanned, smooth, and rippling with muscles. She gulped, swallowing some of the toothpaste in the process.

He hooked his thumbs around the waist of his jeans to pull them down and Taylor saw an inch of curved backside before her eyes skittered away.

Christian was getting naked. Right in front of her – okay, maybe not right in front of her but it was close enough – and the worst part of it all was she wanted to watch!  Her cheeks heated at the thought.

She heard him moving and she willed herself not to look back at him again. Not that she needed to anyway. Her imagination was filling in all the blanks. 

She rinsed out her mouth, eyes still averted, and put away the toothbrush. She counted to ten, then thirty, then sixty, before she turned to leave the bathroom.

Christian had already left the room, which explained why she hadn’t heard any noises for the last minute or so.

She raced to the bed and picked up the jogging pants and sweatshirt he’d left for her and turned right back into the bathroom to change.

Once done she walked back into the living room to find Christian lounging on her “bed” –he’d flattened his convertible sofa into a serviceable bed – and watching his flat screen.

“Make yourself right at home,” she said staring at him pointedly.

“Done,” he said grinning. “Pull up a pillow. We’re watching Shawshank Redemption.”

“You like this movie?” she said with surprise, plopping down on the sofa.

“Who doesn’t?”

“People who don't have taste,” she said with a grin. “It’s the greatest movie of all time.”

“Okay, simmer down over there," Christian interjected. "It's good but it's not that good."

“Oh? What’s better?” she demanded, turning her body towards him.

“The Godfather. Unforgiven. Star Wars—”

“Star Wars?” She burst out laughing. “I never pegged you as a sci-fi geek.”

“I’m not. And it’s speculative fiction,” he said with a cocked brow.

“Wo-ow,” she said stretching the word out as she fell back laughing. She clutched her stomach. “And I used to think you were cool.”

Suddenly the sofa cushion hit her squarely in the face – well, that was one way to shut her up. She gazed up at him from her position on the sofa with narrowed eyes.

He grinned, looking quite pleased with himself. Taylor grabbed the wide cushion in both hands and with her whole body dived towards him.

She came up against something hard and looked up to see him pushing the cushion back with his fists. His eyes glittering with mischief, he shoved the cushion so hard that she fell backwards.

He pushed the cushion against her chest, locking her between it and the sofa. She struggled against it but he just shook his head. It reminded her off that day in the snow when he’d tackled her. He’d been looking down at her just like this – the kind of look that said he couldn’t think of anywhere else he wanted to be – but his smile was different today. It was happy, yes, but also soft and tender and it made something inside her crack.

Before she could stop herself, she reached for him, her hand cupping his cheek, feeling the smooth, sharpness of his jaw. Christian stilled, his eyes boring into her face, but she barely noticed. She was too enraptured by the feel of him, by her hands curling against his cheek, by the back of her fingers sliding over his lips.

She sighed, and that small bit of air acted like lightning, breaking the thick, heavy silence between them.

Christian lurched backwards and was on his feet in an instant. “I’m going to bed,” he said abruptly, already turning away.

“Christian...” she began, her eyes wide with shock. What had she just done?  What had she been thinking?

“Good night.” His voice was harsh and she pressed her lips together tightly to avoid saying more.

She slumped down, her traitorous hand now curled up into a fist at her side, her chest so tight that she found it hard to breathe.

How was she supposed to face him again after this? She couldn’t – she really couldn’t. So she did the only thing she could think of to do, she grabbed her things, shoved on her boots and left.

...

Christian heard the sound of his front door closing from his bedroom. Another surge of anger swept through him and he punched a wall barely feeling the sting. Shit. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bruised hand over his face, his body pulsing with emotion. SHIT.

He could still feel Taylor’s hand on his face. The slow slide of his fingers on his lips. He groaned – frustration bubbling up inside him.

He’d felt it. That pulse of desire, the urge to take, and it scared the shit out of him.

He’d never been attracted to another man before. Never. Yet in that moment where fingers had touched lips, something powerful had overtaken him. It had taken everything in him to just. not. move.    

He shook his head, dragging his hand angrily through his hair. No. What he’d felt was an anomaly. A glitch. And it was never going to happen again.