"I need to ask you a favor. —Kurt "

Luke flipped his phone over on the table, hiding the message .

"If it's important, I don't mind you taking it," Sam said, setting down his fork. "I get calls from clients all the time ."

Shaking his head, Luke took another bite of his pasta. "It's not work ."

Sam nodded, accepting the comment at face value. It was one of the things that had drawn Luke to the psychologist when he'd run into him outside a yoga class at the gym. On impulse, he'd asked him out for coffee, which had turned into lunch after they'd both had to cancel twice. It hadn't had anything to do with Marcus's monthly call to pester him about his love life .

Picking at his entree, Luke tried to remember what they'd been talking about. He drew a complete blank, and Sam didn't seem eager to continue whatever it had been. "I haven't been here before," he said, gesturing to the restaurant. "It's good." He bit back the urge to recommend a couple other restaurants with better sauce than the canned alfredo that they were using .

Sam smiled, showing off his slightly crooked teeth. "I come here every Tuesday ."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Only Tuesdays? What about the rest of the week ?"

"Mondays I go to Vargas," he said seriously. "Tuesday is here. Wednesday I bring a salad from home. Thursday I eat Thai Phoon on Mason Ave, except for the first Thursday of the month when I take my son out for pizza." Twirling his fork through the strands of his spaghetti, he took a large bite .

"You have a son?" Luke leaned in a bit. He'd always loved children, but he wasn't sure he was ready to date someone with kids. That had been the one sticking point between Liam and himself. A family history of schizophrenia had made the artist dead-set against having kids .

Sam smiled sheepishly. "Not really." He chewed another mouthful. "It's hard to explain. He's my son, but I only see him on the first Thursday of the month and Christmas." He shrugged, wiping his mouth nonchalantly .

"Oh." Luke was surprised by how disappointed he was. "How old is he ?"

Pursing his lips, the omega lowered his voice. "Thirteen. Can we please discuss something else ?"

Luke nodded. "Of course." He couldn't help but do the mental math in his head. He was pretty sure he was the older of the two of them at thirty. "Do you have any hobbies ?"

"I surf. Have you ever been? There's a beautiful beach up the coast that—" His phone chimed, and he frowned. "Sorry, that's work. I have to take this." Getting up from the table, his phone was at his ear before he made it out the door .

Sighing, Luke flipped his own phone over, signaling for the waiter to bring the check. Before he could type out a text, his phone rang .

"I'm not bailing you out of jail again," he said, ducking his head to hide a laugh when the couple at the next table gave him a scandalized look .

"Would I have a cell phone if I was in jail? I feel like I wouldn't have a cell phone," Marcus said thoughtfully .

Luke groaned. "I thought you were Kurt again. He wants to ask me for a favor." He handed the waitress his credit card, glancing toward the front where Sam was pacing back and forth. "One check, thanks ."

"Sorry to interrupt. I'm probably calling for the same favor." His voice got muffled for a moment. "Can I fax you a file to take a look at? I'm researching an inheritance case, and I could use your input ."

Signing the receipt, Luke watched his date settle onto a bench outside. "Sure," he said. "You're not interrupting anything. I was just heading out. Send whatever you have to my apartment, and I'll take a look at it tonight ."

"Thanks. I'll send it over now. Drive safely ."

Luke tucked his phone into his pocket and headed out. Sam was still sitting down, speaking firmly into his phone. He glanced up as Luke approached .

"Sorry about this. I had a good time," he said, holding the phone at arm's length .

"It's fine. I got called in to consult on a case." Luke held out his hand for a goodbye handshake, but the omega was already focused back on his call .

The trip back to his office was hot and crowded, people bumping against him as he fought his way through the flow of pedestrians. By the time he made it into the elevator, he felt worn through .

Vivian was waiting in his office, a stack of files on her hip. She took one look at him and dropped everything onto his desk. "Oh, honey," she said, pulling him into a hug. "It'll be better next time ."

"You've said that every time," he said, letting her straighten his collar and fuss with his hair .

"One of these days, I'll be right." She picked up the files again, sorting through them with her brightly colored fingernails. "These are urgent, but the rest of them can wait." The stack was over an inch thick .

Luke pulled up his desk chair with a sigh and got to work .

The slow fade of the light until he was squinting at the pages made him realize how late it had gotten. Setting aside the last of the urgent files with a groan, he stretched his back until it popped. Outside, the fiery glow of sunset was faded to purple in all but the smallest strip over the beaches in the distance .

Vivian glanced up when he dropped a stack of files into her outbox, doing a double take when she realized that he had his briefcase in his hand. "You're heading out? Already? It's not even eight. Are you feeling okay ?"

He stuck his tongue out at her. "I have some work to do at home ."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" She smirked at him, ducking his swat .

"I'm older than you," he said, trying to smother a laugh as the elevator door slid open. "When I say I have work to do, I mean that I'm going home to look over stacks of papers ."

She shook her head at him, calling out just before the doors closed, "A girl can dream ."

He hadn't bothered driving to work because the weather had been unseasonably pleasant, but he found himself regretting it as he emerged onto the street. The sidewalk was still crowded despite the late hour, people laughing and cheering nearby. Luke found himself slowing down as he passed, trying to see over their heads as someone shrieked .

The bulk of the group was packed around the edges of a small slice of grass that the city had generously named a public park. In the center, a woman in a glittery costume flipped through the air and landed on top of a giant who stood head and muscled shoulders over the crowd. Everyone clapped, and they both bowed, the woman flowing flawlessly to stand between his shoulder blades .

"We'll be in town for two weeks. Eight different performances a day, and extras on the weekend." A heavily tattooed omega pressed a shiny flier into his hand. "Carnival games and rides, all certified and inspected by the city ."

Luke stared at the flier as the man moved on, leaving just a hint of cotton candy scent in the air. He hadn't been to a carnival in years, but he could still remember the lights and the giddy, weightless feeling of the rides. Swallowing hard, he stuffed the flier into his pocket, trying not to remember the breathless laughter and sweaty hand of the boy who'd been with him. The boy with paint smeared across his nose and flyaway red hair that clung to everything in the wind off the lake .

His apartment was cold and quiet, and he had to resist the urge to start a batch of cookies just to make it smell more lived in. Instead, he made a quick dinner and sat down to look through the file Marcus had sent. It wasn't thick, which was a relief .

Flipping through the first few pages, he almost threw the folder across the room in frustration when he read the name Jay Collins scrawled across the top of every page. The deeper he got into it, though, the more intrigued he became. Scribbling notes across the margins until his pen ran dry, his dinner sat untouched as he growled and grumbled under his breath .

After the second read-through, he picked up his phone. "You know this is a load of crap, right ?"

"Oh, good. I'm glad it isn't just me," Marcus said, unfazed by the lack of context. "Laws are always different when it comes to inheritance, but that didn't make any sense. Then again, what do I know? I'm just an accountant ."

"I'm sending my notes back right now," Luke said, stabbing at the button on the machine. "The only reason this has managed to go on for so long is because Jay didn't know to challenge them ."

Marcus hummed. "I have a feeling that there's a lot of money involved in keeping anyone from looking at this whole situation too closely," he said, shuffling papers. "If you agree with me, though, then he might not even need to hire a lawyer ."

"For a case like this," Luke said, "even you could file the injunction. Jay's father's will was never challenged, only Jay's access to it. It's not an unusual move if the family thinks that a child is too young to handle the money, but Jay is well over the age where any judge would agree to continue keeping it from him ."

"And either way," Marcus said thoughtfully, "that doesn't give them the right to sell the house ."

"Exactly." Luke grimaced as his stomach growled, grabbing the cold plate and heading for the microwave .

"I'll get the paperwork put in tomorrow. If we're lucky, they won't try to drag this out ."

Luke snorted. "Having met Mr. Danville, I wouldn't recommend holding your breath ."

"Good to know," Marcus said, his voice solid steel. "Thanks for the help ."

"Anytime," Luke said, munching on a chocolate chip cookie while he waited for his food to reheat. "Have you heard from the others lately ?"

"Of course," Marcus said, always eager to share news. "Did you hear about Teddy's nomination ?"

"No," Luke said, grabbing another cookie .

"He's up for some kind of international award for that housing project he designed ."

By the time they hung up, Luke was yawning. He pulled his plate out of the microwave, frowning as he realized that he wasn't at all hungry. Licking chocolate off his fingers, he shoved the empty Tupperware with its sad pile of cookie crumbs into the dishwasher so that he wouldn't have to look at it. He wrapped his dinner in foil and stuck it in the fridge, dragging himself off to get ready for bed .

Two and a half hours later, still staring at the ceiling, he groaned .

The lights of the city shone in stripes across his ceiling, reminding him of the neon of the carnival. He'd been so grateful to Jay for getting him out of the house. The carnival had been bright and alive, something he'd needed after his father had extended his vacation for two more weeks. They'd ridden all the rides, eaten deep fried sugar in all its forms, and then played the carnival games .

It would have been the perfect night if it hadn't been for that damned monkey. There wasn't even anything particularly special about it, just a cheap, green gorilla with sunglasses and a coconut drink. Jay had fallen in love instantly. He'd spent all his money playing the rigged game without getting enough points for the stupid stuffed animal. Pushing out that kissable lower lip, he'd stared at Luke with big, blue eyes and begged. He had to have it .

Unable to resist, Luke had given over his last dollar to give it a try. Maybe the carny had taken pity on him, or he'd had a severe case of beginner's luck. He'd landed every throw, and in the heat of the moment, Jay had kissed him .

Rolling out of bed with a growl, Luke pulled on a t-shirt and headed back out into the kitchen. He refused to open his recipe book, pulling ingredients from memory. It helped keep his mind off things right up until he put the first batch into the oven .

The smell of hot sugar reminded him of waiting in line for funnel cake, sweaty hands entwined. Jay had felt perfect standing next to him, like they'd been made for each other. He'd fit just right in the curve of Luke's arm when he pulled him in to shelter him from the wind .

Slamming drawers, Luke dumped another heap of flour into his mixing bowl. It had been ten years, for God's sake. He knew better now. Every omega seemed perfect at first, but none of them were. The last thing he needed was to get involved with another artist .

Towards dawn, out of flour and surrounded by cooling cookies, he pulled out his phone .

It took three tries for the call to go through. "Who died?" Marcus asked, his voice sleep-rough .

"I'm about to do something stupid, and I need you to talk me out of it." Luke stuffed a cookie in his mouth, hissing as the melted chocolate burned his lip .

"How stupid are we talking? Kurt-stupid or Cody-stupid ?"

"What does that even mean?" he asked, leaning against the refrigerator to finish his glass of milk .

"Are you going to make a fool of yourself or try to get yourself killed ?"

"Do they know you use them as a standard of measure?" He set his glass in the sink and shuffled toward the bedroom. He could barely keep his eyes open, and every time he closed them he saw the Ferris wheel, the lake, and the boathouse that Jay had used as a studio .

"Kurt thinks it's hilarious. Quit changing the subject ."

Luke flopped down on his bed, shaking away the image of pale skin and red hair sprawled across a paint-stained dropcloth. "I need you to refuse to give me Jay Collins' phone number ."

There was a long pause, Luke's eyes sliding closed before Marcus said, "So this is more a Nikolai-stupid, then ."

Snorting, Luke dragged the covers over his head. "Sounds about right ."

"Luke," Marcus said solemnly, "I am not going to give you Jay's phone number. He's technically my client, and it wouldn't be ethical ."

"Thanks, man," Luke slurred, sleep sliding over him in a wash of moonlight on water. "You're the best ."

* * *

S omewhere between the dreams of running along the beach laughing and the phantom lover that caressed him with paint covered hands, Luke's phone gave up and shut off. It wasn't until he stumbled into work and plugged it in that he got the landslide of texts waiting for him .

"I'm not sure calling Jay Collins qualifies as stupid. —Marcus "

"I think it might be good for you. —Marcus "

"I was serious about the ethical implications, though. —Marcus "

"This is the best idea ever. —Kurt "

"You need to get back in the saddle. —Kurt "

"Jay's a good guy. —Kurt "

"Sending you Jay's contact card now. —Kurt "

"Name your firstborn after me. —Kurt "

"I may have made a mistake. Sorry. —Marcus "

Luke rested his cheek on his desk, staring at the messages. His head was pounding, and all he wanted to do was sleep for a week .

"I hate you. —Luke "

Mainlining coffee got him through the morning, but when lunch rolled around, he found himself slumped over in his chair staring at the new contact on his phone .

"You look like shit," Vivian said as she bustled in with his lunch. "Are you coming down with something ?"

"I don't date artists," he told her, his finger hovering over the delete button. "That's a good policy to have, right ?"

She frowned, tugging his phone out of his hand. "You can't blame all artists for what Liam did." She paused, the lines between her brows deepening. "And Bailey. And the other one. What was his name? Crockett ?"

"Cricket." Luke glared at her, trying to grab his phone back without expending any actual energy. "If that's the best argument you can come up with, then I'm done here ."

"Okay," she said, rolling her eyes at him. "You've picked some really bad apples over the years. But ask yourself this: What was so bad about them?" She leaned over him as he drooped in his chair, too exhausted to play keep away even if he was six inches taller than her. "I'll break it down for you, shall I ?"

"Don't you have a job to do?" he muttered .

"My job is assisting you," she said sweetly. "I'm assisting. The problem with Liam is that he's too much like you ."

Jerking out of his seat, he grabbed his phone. "We couldn't be more different." He tapped back into his contacts and glared at Jay's phone number .

She crossed her arms and leaned one hip against the corner of his desk, ignoring his outburst. "You were both more invested in your jobs than you were in your relationship ."

"I was going to take him to Ireland." He slammed the phone down on his desk, trying to get rid of the image of the empty paint shed .

"Honey," she said, her voice kind but firm, "a week of vacation doesn't make up for a year of neglect, and you know it." It was the same voice she used on problem clients, smooth and calm with nothing to fight back against .

"I went to every gallery show, every opening night party. We lived together!" Frenzied energy shivered through him, and he paced across the room. "If he wanted more time, all he had to do was say so ."

"How many times did you cancel dinner plans to work late? How often did you guys take a weekend trip to wine country or sleep in on Saturday after watching bad movies?" She nodded when he glared at her. "Exactly. I'm not saying it's your fault, boss. I remember when Liam first moved in. You started working Saturdays because he would spend the whole weekend at his studio without coming up for air. Schedules didn't mean anything to him." He turned his back on her, and she sighed. "No one is perfect, Luke ."

"So this is all my fault?" Hunching his shoulders, he stared at the green on green canvas that he had mounted opposite his desk. Even though it had only been there for a week, he was addicted to the soothing effect that it had, a dappled light effect like sunlight in a forest .

She gave him an unimpressed look, tapping her nails against the screen of his phone. "Don't be dense. Bailey, from what you told me, had the opposite problem from Liam. He wanted all of your time, and he threw a tantrum every time you couldn't give it to him. That's not healthy ."

"And I suppose Cricket thought I was too needy." Growling under his breath, he threw his hands up in the air and dragged his eyes away from the painting. "I don't date artists because they're flighty, and I need a partner I can depend on ."

"My last blind date skipped out on the check and left me stranded in the club district without a ride. He was a pharmacist," Vivian said bluntly. "Flighty people are everywhere, but you're not saying ‘I don't date flighty people .’"

"Everyone knows that artists are flightier than normal people ."

"Everyone knows, huh? Is that the kind of evidence that would fly in court, counselor?" She stared down her nose at him, and he ground his teeth. "Maybe what you should really be asking yourself is why do you date so many artists? What do you like about them?" She waved his phone at him. "Maybe now you can find out ."

Horror crept up his spine as he realized that his text messages were open. "What did you do ?"

"I assisted," she said cheerfully, pressing his phone into his hand and walking out of the office with her head held high .