Chapter Four
Daniel woke up falling to the floor with a gasp, confused and lost. What the fuck?
Was he in a hotel?
Was he travelling?
The door burst open, a disheveled Tenor appearing, wearing nothing more than a pair of boxers riding low on his hips. “What? Daniel? Hey, are you okay, man?”
“I—” He blinked. “Where am I?”
“In my sitting room. You fell asleep and I didn’t have the heart to wake you up. Looks like you fell off the love seat. Are you okay?” Tenor bent, hands moving on him.
“Sorry. Sorry, I’m fine. I just… was confused.”
“And you fell. That’s never pleasant.” Tenor got an arm around him and helped him up.
He was propped up against Tenor. And that was a lot of skin. Warm skin.
“I just fell asleep? Just boom?”
“Yeah. I guess you really meant it when you said it was past your bedtime, eh?” Tenor gave him a wry grin.
And he was still leaning against the warm muscles. “I’m sorry. How embarrassing.”
Tenor chuckled. “Don’t be embarrassed—I’ve had much worse done to me.”
“I just… wow. I must trust you.” He winked, trying to keep it light.
“That’s good because I’m going to be taking care of your babies. And by extension, you.”
“Yes. And I guess I’ll be taking care of you.”
Delight filled Tenor’s face. “Nobody’s taken care of me for a very long time.”
“That only seems fair.” They were going to be family, right?
“Well, I like it.” Tenor glanced over at the clock on the cable box. “It looks like the perfect time for a midnight snack. You want cookies and hot cocoa?”
He blinked. Seriously? People did that? “Why not?”
“Good answer—I happen to be a cookies and hot cocoa expert.”
“I will have to learn all about it.”
“You definitely should—they’re a great conversation opener with kids.”
“Aren’t they supposed to be asleep at this time of night?”
“Yeah, but if they’re not, it’s either because of bad dreams or something is bothering them. And the hot milk helps get them sleepy again and feels safe and comforting and helps them talk about what’s bothering them.”
“Yeah. I can get that, I think.”
They headed downstairs into the kitchen, the lights on low.
Tenor moved efficiently, filling two mugs with milk, then pouring the liquid into a saucepan and putting the heat on low. Then he grabbed some cocoa and brown sugar and a little bit of water, putting it all together in a little saucepan and putting that on the heat, too. “You want to find some cookies? There’s a couple of the chocolate chip left, and I made oatmeal ones this morning.”
“With raisins?” He loved raisins.
“It’s not oatmeal cookies if there aren’t any raisins.” Tenor laughed softly and pointed to a cookie jar shaped like a giant chocolate chip cookie that he’d never seen before.
“That’s a cookie jar.” How cool.
“Yeah, and it’s a thick plastic that won’t break if it gets pulled down off the counter.”
“I like it.” It was a bright splash, something… new.
“Good deal. I’d like one chocolate chip and one oatmeal, please.” Tenor began stirring, both hands working circles in their respective pans.
“Okay. Sure.” He pulled out two of each. “You like to cook, I guess?”
“Yeah, I enjoy it. And I think it’s good for kids to see cooking. That’s how they’ll learn because they’ll want to help way earlier than they’ll actually be a help.” Tenor laughed. “But you’ve got to let them, you know? Because if you don’t, when you actually let them, they’re not going to want to anymore. I tell you what, though—when your girls get here, I will totally eat everything your chef cooks.”
“The food is really edible. I love the different pastas.” It was a necessary indulgence. He didn’t cook.
“So, do we put in ‘orders’ with him? Get him to prep what we’d like?” Tenor looked bemused by the whole thing.
“Totally. I ask for Greek pasta salad a lot.” Chickpeas, olives, chicken, spice—yum.
“You really are a pasta fan. That’s cool. There’s all sorts of pasta meals that are easy for little ones to help with. And as they get a little older, it can be their first meals.”
“I can’t even imagine them being here, much less eating noodles.”
“It feels kind of abstract still, eh?” Tenor pulled the cocoa mixture off the heat and kept stirring the milk.
“Yeah.” It felt like a dream or a fantasy or something. Most of the time it felt like a lie.
“It’ll seem real soon enough.” Laughing, Tenor poured the cocoa mix into the milk, whisking hard.
“That’s true.” He hoped so. Somehow he doubted it, but surely that was just nerves.
Tenor poured the cocoa into two mugs, then rinsed the pots and put them in the dishwasher.
“Ta-da! Hot cocoa.”
“Wow. Impressive.” He handed over the cookies.
In turn, Tenor handed over one of the mugs. “Do you think you should drink this upstairs in your rooms in case you fall asleep right away?”
“Oh.” Right. He’d woken the man up, had him make food like a spoiled brat. “I should, yes. I’m really, genuinely sorry to have woken you.”
“It wasn’t a problem. Not the first time, won’t be the last. And if it’s not too forward of me, I’d love to come with you, talk over our cocoa like we should.”
Did that happen? He supposed if Tenor thought it could, it was okay. “Sure. Come on up.”
Tenor’s smile said he’d made the right decision. He led Tenor upstairs, all the way to his third-floor suite. Tenor was clearly curious, taking everything in.
His rooms were blue and cozy and masculine and wonderful. Private and his.
Smiling, Tenor looked over at him. “I like it. Feels very authentic.”
“I spend a lot of time here.” He had a sitting area, but it wasn’t separated from the bedroom like Tenor’s was, and his had an upright piano in the corner.
Tenor wandered around, looking at everything, then sat on the couch, sitting back, relaxing.
He sat too, turning the stereo on low, filling the room with Mozart’s Symphony no. 15 in G major. It was so joyful, so happy-making.
Tenor smiled wide. “Oh, this is nice.”
“Thank you. I love it up here.”
“I can see why.” Tenor sipped his cocoa and closed his eyes, humming along to the music.
“Yeah.” He ate a cookie, then curled into the corner of the sofa.
It was different, having someone up here with him, but he kind of liked it.
He didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t feel like he had to say anything either. He hadn’t been able to just sit in silence with anyone except Matt. Usually it felt uncomfortable and like he had to fill the quiet with conversation. He didn’t with Tenor.
The cocoa was delicious, rich and thick and comforting.
Tenor offered him a grin. “Do I make great cocoa or what?”
“It’s sort of amazing. An addiction.”
Tenor looked very pleased with his reply. “Can you imagine talking to your kids over a mug of this? It cures a lot of ills.”
Could he? He didn’t know. He thought he maybe could.
“It’ll make you sleepy, too—just you drink it and see.”
“It’s lovely. You did it like it was so easy.”
Tenor shifted and nodded. “I’ve made it a few hundred times. Maybe even a couple thousand times. So it is easy for me. I could teach you if you want.”
“Sure, although there’s something wonderful about someone caring enough to make something for you.” It had surprised and pleased him that Tenor had.
“How about I teach you so you can give that feeling to your girls, but I will still make you cocoa anytime you need it.”
“That’s an incredibly kind offer, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Tenor took another mouthful of his cocoa, then his first bite of the chocolate chip cookie. “I believe in working with the parents of my kids. We’re a team and the more we can support each other, the better we can give the kids what they need. I think that goes double when it’s a single parent.”
“Yes. That’s the goal. The family.”
“If they take after you, they’re going to be gorgeous kids,” Tenor noted.
“I—” He hoped they looked like him, at least sort of. He wanted them to be recognizable as his.
Tenor touched his thigh, a soft poke. “You what?”
“I don’t know. I hope you can tell they’re mine.”
That earned him a soft chuckle. “I don’t think it’s going to matter. You’re going to love them regardless.”
“Yes. Do you think so? Do you think it’ll be okay?” He was so worried he’d be a bad father.
“I think you should try not to worry so much. Every parent does stuff right, and every parent does stuff wrong. We’re all only human, and as long as we do our best and love them, it’ll be okay.” Tenor took his hand and brought his cup up toward his mouth. “Drink. Relax. Breathe.”
“Right. Relax. Drink.” Breathe. He got that. He did.
“I know it’s way easier said than done, but worrying now about what’s going to happen later isn’t really helpful. If there’s specific areas you want more information on or want to practice, I can totally help with that. But just worrying isn’t doing anything but giving you crow’s feet. And possibly ulcers.”
“I could rock crow’s feet.”
“You could, but they’ll eventually show up anyway, and ulcers suck. Hey, do you meditate at all?”
“I play. That’s the ultimate meditation.” There was nothing more relaxing than playing to play.
Tenor looked at him for a moment, then blinked. “Oh! Right. Play music. What instrument do you play to relax?”
“Piano. I can play a number of instruments, but that’s my stock in trade.” His heartbeat.
“Will you play for me? Not now—now you’re supposed to be getting sleepy again. But soon?”
“Of course.” He smiled over, nodded. “Trust me, you’ll get used to the sounds of music all the time.”
“There are worse things to have to get used to,” Tenor noted, chuckling softly. “Seriously, I want to hear you. Anything that makes you that happy has to be good.”
“Yes.” He hoped so. His entire career was based on it.
Tenor finished his chocolate chip cookie and started on the oatmeal raisin one. For a big guy, he ate fairly daintily, nibbling at the cookie instead of taking big bites.
Maybe it was because Tenor had to make them. Something.
“You like the cookies?” Tenor asked like the man knew where his mind had been wandering.
“I do. There’s something neat about having homemade ones. These are great.”
“That’s because a machine can’t put love into cookies.” Tenor said it so matter-of-factly, he couldn’t quite tell if it was a joke or not.
He got it, though. Music was passion, life. Cookies were love, home.
Tenor took a few more drinks of his cocoa, looking like he was going to doze right off on his couch.
“Bed.” He tugged Tenor up. He’d shared a bed with a lot of musicians and dancers and actors. Not for sex, but for a place to rest, sometimes comfort. “Come on.”
“Hmm?” Tenor got up, though, and followed him.
The bed was warm and the blankets were heavy. He pushed Tenor in, then slipped between the sheets. So sleepy.
“You want me to sleep with you?” Tenor asked.
“Shh. Sleepy. I won’t touch you. Just tired.” He wasn’t a perv.
Tenor chuckled as he climbed in under the covers. “I won’t mind if you touch me.”
He snuggled into the bedsheets, sighing softly.
Tenor lay on his side, eyelashes dark smudges against his cheeks.
“Nice bed, huh?” He blinked slowly.
“Very comfortable. The company is pretty good too.” Tenor offered him a lazy smile.
He chuckled. He didn’t know about that, but this was easy and comfortable.
“Are you going to get pissed off if I wind up spooning you in my sleep?”
“No. I can tell you’re a snuggler. You’re very tactile.”
Tenor chuckled. “Guilty as charged.”
“Okay, then. Sleep, Tenor. My head hurts.”
“You want me to get you some aspirin or something?” Tenor asked, eyes closed, words just the barest bit slurred.
“Shh.” He turned the lights off.
“’kay…” Tenor’s voice faded into a snuffle.
Daniel melted and let himself rest. Hard.