Comfort and Joy Read online

  Other than that, the room was fairly nondescript, and none of the furniture matched. The king-sized bed had a heavy, rustic wood frame, both nightstands were different styles and colors, and a chair in the corner looked like it was meant to be part of a patio set. The mantel of the double-sided fireplace was cluttered with unopened mail, a box of crackers, and a few other things that must have landed there randomly.

  When I finished getting dressed, I glanced down at myself and frowned. At five-foot-nine, I all but disappeared in those baggy pajamas, which had obviously been intended for Dakota’s muscular, six-two frame. I cinched the drawstring waist a little tighter, then folded back my cuffs before returning to the living room.

  Dakota was wiping down the newly unearthed kitchen counter, and when he saw me, he threw the sponge into the sink. Since I’d only been in the bathroom a few minutes, I assumed he’d cleared the clutter by sweeping it into some type of container and hiding it away. There had been a few clothes strewn around the living room when we arrived, and they were missing, too. He’d been busy, and I had to wonder why he’d bothered.

  He turned to the stove and poured warm milk into two mugs of powdered hot chocolate, then gave them a quick stir before rummaging in the cupboard. He’d changed into gray sweatpants, wool socks, and a form-fitting black Henley, and he still looked incredible. I had a feeling he’d look sexy no matter what he was wearing.

  He produced a bag of miniature marshmallows and dropped a few into each mug as he asked, “Are you hungry? Fortunately, I went to the grocery store this morning, so there’s a lot to choose from.”

  “No thanks, I’m fine for now.”

  “Okay, let me know if you change your mind.”

  I thanked him for the cocoa when he handed me one of the mugs, and as we crossed the living room I said, “This is a nice cabin. Do you live here year-round?”

  “Yeah. I used to live in Sacramento with my boyfriend, but when that ended, I moved up here. My granddad built this place and left it to my mom, and it had just been sitting empty.”

  I wanted to yell, ‘Yes, he’s gay!’ But I managed to keep it together as I asked, “How long have you been here?”

  “About three years.”

  The couch was positioned right in front of the fireplace, and as I settled in and tucked my feet under me, I asked, “Doesn’t it get lonely out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Not really. Like I said, I own a bar, so I’m with people all day. I don’t spend enough time here for it to bother me.” He sat down at the opposite end of the couch, facing me, and stirred his drink as he asked, “What about you? Where’s home?”

  “San Francisco.”

  “Are you in college?”

  The question didn’t surprise me, since I’d always looked young for my age. I shook my head and told him, “I graduated with an MBA this past June, and now I’m working as a data analyst.”

  “What does that involve? I mean, I get that you analyze data because it’s right there in the name, but what do you actually do?”

  “I acquire data from primary and secondary sources, interpret it, and turn it into reports that help the executives at my company make decisions. That can mean identifying trends, marketing opportunities, and so on.”

  I realized I’d strayed into total dork territory when he stared at me for a long moment. Then he said, “So…you help this company sell more shit.”

  “Basically.”

  He frowned, just a little, and asked, “Is it a fun job?”

  “No, but it’s not supposed to be. It’s a good job with excellent growth potential. In fact, the field is expected to grow by eleven percent over the next five years, significantly outpacing the national average for similar occupations.” Okay, so that was dorky too, but I couldn’t help myself.

  He asked, “But does it make you happy?”

  “Better. It offers me security.”

  “How does it do that?”

  “It’s a very stable job, and that’s important to me. I like knowing I’ll never struggle to find work, and the fact that it pays well means I’ll never have to rely on anyone else to take care of me.”

  “Finally, something I can relate to. I’ve never wanted to rely on others, either. No matter how bad my financial situation gets, I’d rather wind up homeless than ask my mom and stepdad for a dime.” Dakota picked up a small bottle from the end table and changed the subject with, “Want me to spike your cocoa?”

  “You just happened to have peppermint schnapps within arm’s reach?”

  “Tis the season. I usually make myself a hot chocolate every night when I get home, because it’s always freezing cold in here until I get a fire going. So, would you like some?”

  “Why not?” I held out the mug, and he added a generous splash of liqueur before doing the same to his drink. As he set the bottle aside, I asked, “So, what do you do for fun out here in the wilderness?”

  He grinned at me and said, “Well, normally I’m at my bar six days a week, from eleven a.m. to two a.m. So for fun, I sleep.”

  “Don’t you have any employees?”

  “Nope. I can’t afford any.”

  “Isn’t the bar turning a profit?”

  “It is, but not a very big one.”

  “Define not very big.”

  “In a good month, I clear about five hundred dollars after expenses.”

  My voice rose as I blurted, “You’re working ninety hours a week, and in a good month, that’s all you make?”

  He chuckled and said, “Now now, don’t get your MBA in a bunch. It’s not about getting rich, and I like being there. Most of the time, all I’m doing is hanging out talking to people, or watching the game with them, or whatever. You can see for yourself how isolated I am up here.”

  “Why don’t you move to town?”

  “Because I don’t have to pay rent on the cabin. I’d totally sleep in the bar, but that could cost me my liquor license.”

  “I’d be happy to take a look at your business plan and help you develop a marketing strategy if you want me to. I spent a lot of years in college and grad school learning exactly this, and I’d love to use that knowledge to help you maximize your earning potential.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t need any of that stuff. As long as I’m not actually losing money, I consider it a win.” I opened my mouth to offer a rebuttal and closed it again, which made him smile. “This is driving you crazy, isn’t it? You can’t stand how thoroughly I’m mismanaging my business.”

  “What I can’t stand is someone working that much and making so little in return.”

  “But I’m also my own boss. Do you know how great it is, not answering to anyone?”

  “I know I should just agree with you, especially since I’m a guest in your home. But I have to point out that you could be your own boss and still earn a living wage.” I met his gaze and added, “I’ll shut up now.”

  “It’s fine. I think it’s cute that you want to help, and hilarious that this is making you so twitchy.”

  “I’m not twitchy.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “Okay, maybe. Do you even have a business plan?”

  “Fuck no. I have a leased building filled with booze and licenses that let me sell it to people. That’s it. Somehow, I’ve still managed to keep that shit going for almost three years.”

  I knew I was being annoying, so I left it at, “Well, that’s good at least,” and drank some of my spiked cocoa.

  “Same question you asked me before your rant, what do you do for fun?”

  “It wasn’t exactly a rant, and I guess I don’t make much time for fun, either. I’ve only been at my job for six months, and I want to prove I’m valuable to the department, so I tend to work long hours.”

  “How long?”

  “I’m usually at the office from seven a.m. to seven or eight p.m. during the week, and then I go in for about five or six hours on Saturdays.”

  “That’s not much less tha
n what I’m working, but you went on and on about it.”

  “I wasn’t objecting to the long hours,” I clarified, “just what you’re making for your efforts.”

  “That’s fair. So, when you’re not in the office, how do you spend your time?”

  “By the time I get home from work, about all I have the energy for is takeout and some knitting before falling into bed.”

  “You knit?”

  I raised an eyebrow and asked, “What, guys can’t be knitters?”

  “Oh no, they absolutely can. You just seemed a little high strung for that.”

  I stared at him for a moment before continuing, “Anyway, on Sundays I usually try to spend some time with my brother and his family. Sometimes I babysit, so Jessie and his husband can go on a date.”

  “So, you don’t have a boyfriend?”

  I shook my head. “What about you?”

  “Not since that disastrous relationship in Sacramento.”

  “Can I be super nosy and ask what went wrong?”

  Dakota finished his hot chocolate, and then he said, “He got bored and restless, and he ended up cheating on me. I know I had a role in that too, though.” He glanced at me and asked, “Why are you frowning?”

  “Because it sounds like you’re making excuses for the cheater.”

  “I’m not. I just get why he found me annoying. He was very ambitious and career-oriented, and I was…well, me.” He grinned and added, “But I don’t need to explain that to you. You’ve known me less than an hour, and you’re already completely frustrated by me.”

  “But there’s never a reason to cheat on someone!”

  “I totally agree.”

  “How long were you together?”

  “Six years.”

  “That’s a long time,” I said. “Can I ask how old you are?”

  “I just turned thirty. How about you?”

  “I’m twenty-five.” I watched him for a few moments before asking, “Are you still in love with your ex?”

  “No. Definitely not.”

  “Then why do you look so sad right now?”

  “I just make a lot of bad decisions where he’s involved. Even I find me frustrating.” He tried to smile, but didn’t quite pull it off.

  “Make? Present tense?” When he nodded, I said, “So, he’s still in your life?”

  “Yes and no. We’re not a couple anymore.”

  “There’s a but at the end of that sentence, isn’t there?”

  He looked pained as he admitted, “Every three months or so, he stops by on the way back from his sister’s house in Nevada. He claims it’s so he can check on me—”

  “But really, it’s a booty call,” I guessed.

  “Exactly. I always end up hating myself for it, but I keep letting it happen.”

  “I don’t get it. You could have anyone you want. Why would you let this guy keep coming around?”

  “It’s not like there are a lot of gay men in a town this small, and I get lonely sometimes.” He seemed embarrassed, and he got up and said, “I’m going to bring us a blanket. It’s still pretty cold in here.”

  As he went into the bedroom, I called after him, “Do you mind if I take a look at your guitar?”

  “Help yourself.”

  I retrieved the instrument from the corner, then took a seat again. As I plucked the strings one by one and tuned it, Dakota returned with the comforter from his bed. We sat facing each other, both of us leaning against an arm of the big, brown leather sofa, and he draped it over our legs. I glanced at him and asked, “Am I keeping you up?”

  “Not at all. I usually don’t get home until two-thirty, and then it always takes me a while to wind down. I’m surprised you’re wide awake, though.”

  “I’ve had insomnia for years.” I searched my memory for a moment, then began playing a song from my childhood.

  “You’re good at that.”

  As I watched my fingers on the strings, I said, “You’re just being nice. I haven’t played in years, so I wanted to see how much I remembered. Not surprisingly, I’m pretty rusty.”

  “When did you learn?”

  “I guess I must have been seven or so when one of my cousins started giving me lessons.”

  “That’s pretty young.”

  I grinned and told him, “Acoustic guitars are standard issue for preachers’ kids. You can’t drag the church organ to Bible camp or on retreats, but you can bring along one of these for hymns on the go.”

  “Really? You’re the son of a preacher man? And yes, I had to say it that way.”

  “I am.”

  “Did that make it tough to come out?”

  “Jessie came out first and it was awful for him, so I knew exactly what to expect. That’s why I did it in a letter after I went away to college, because I knew for a fact I’d never be able to go home again.”

  “Sorry to hear that. I’m glad you had your brother, though.”

  “Jessie was always in my corner, but growing up we never talked about being gay. I don’t think either of us wanted to admit it to ourselves, since we always knew it would mean losing our entire family. He came out when I was seventeen and he was nineteen, and after he was disowned and took off, we lost touch for a few years. That wasn’t his fault. He knew our parents would throw him out of the house, so he left a letter for our sister Ruthie and me with his new address. But our so-called friend never gave it to us.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “It was for a few years, but then the family he was working for tracked me down. We were surprised to discover we’d both moved to San Francisco.”

  “Wow, small world. Where did you grow up?”

  “A farming community in the Central Valley, about an hour outside Modesto. What about you?”

  “Yuba City, which is north of Sacramento.”

  “I know right where that is. In fact, when I was seventeen, my youth group stopped at the Yuba City IHOP on the way back from a convention. I’ll never forget it, because the parking lot was full of chickens.”

  Dakota chuckled and said, “It’s so sad that feral chickens are my hometown’s biggest claim to fame.”

  “Hey, it’s more than my town had going for it. In fact, Yuba City seemed like a burgeoning metropolis compared to where I grew up.”

  He was still grinning. “Your town must’ve sucked.”

  “Oh, it did. Where’d all the chickens come from, anyway?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  “Seriously?”

  “There are a lot of stories about the chickens’ ancestors escaping from one of the local farms and breeding all over town, but that’s just a theory.”

  “A poultry-based mystery. I love it.” I held out the guitar, and as he took it from me, I said, “Rather than continuing to massacre Michael, Row your Boat Ashore, show me what you can do with this thing.”

  “Okay, but don’t expect much.”

  He retuned it, basically to correct what I’d done, and then he launched into a flawless rendition of Tom Petty’s Free Fallin’. When he finished, I exclaimed, “You’re so good!”

  “No, I’m not. That’s just an easy song.”

  “Play something else. Please?”

  He thought for a moment, then began playing Have You Ever Seen The Rain? I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was absolutely gorgeous as he bit his lower lip and concentrated on what he was doing.

  When he finished, I said, “You’re an old soul. I’m surprised you’ve even heard of Creedence Clearwater Revival.”

  “My taste in music has always been old school. What’s your excuse?”

  “During my freshman year of high school, my friend and I found a bunch of records from the sixties and seventies in his attic. The fact that rock music was on the very long list of things my parents forbade made it totally irresistible.”

  He smiled at me and said, “You rebel.”

  “I’m really not. It’s sad, actually. All through my teens, I couldn’t wait to move out an
d cut loose. But you know what I did when I was finally on my own?”

  “Studied hard in college, got good grades, went on to grad school, and landed a responsible job?”

  “Exactly! Even if I hadn’t told you about the job and the MBA, you could just take one look at me and figure out my entire life story.”

  Dakota set the guitar aside and said, “You know what this conversation needs?”

  “Alcohol.”

  “Right.” He got up and went into the kitchen as he asked, “So, what’s your drink of choice?”

  “I usually just order a beer whenever I go out, but I’m fine with whatever you have on hand.”

  “I have a fully stocked liquor cabinet, so I can make you almost anything.”

  “In that case, surprise me. Give me something that packs a punch.”

  “You sure?”

  “Definitely. Why not live it up a little?”

  “I totally support that.”

  Dakota quickly and efficiently prepared a pair of drinks, returned to the sofa, and handed me the taller of the two glasses he was carrying. I thanked him and took an experimental sip, then drained my glass before saying, “That tasted great, but you didn’t have to hold back on the alcohol. I could have handled a stronger drink.”

  He said, “You just downed a Long Island iced tea. It had five types of liquor in it.”

  “Oops.”

  “Well, at least you don’t have to drive anywhere.”

  “Which is good, because I’m already starting to feel that.”

  “So, tell me. When you were a teen, what kinds of things did you imagine your grownup self doing?”

  “For one thing, I always dreamed of dancing the night away in some hot nightclub, surrounded by sexy guys. But when I finally moved to San Francisco and went to my first gay club, it was just loud and awkward, and I ended up leaving after twenty minutes.”

  “Did you get to dance before you left the club?” When I shook my head, he asked, “Would you like to?”

  “Like to what?”

  “Dance.”

  “You mean now?”

  “Yup.”

  I stared at him for a long moment, and then I admitted, “I really would.”