The thing that impressed me the most about Saul’s house was just how understated it was. You could tell almost right away that he was a man of means. Everything about the design of the house said expensive and tasteful. But it was so subtle it was easy to miss. There was no opulent furniture, no thick animal skin rugs to hammer home the point. The walls were dotted with sensual artistic sketches, not pretentious art. It was all simple and practical, like he was so rich he did not feel the need to show it off. And yet it had a certain homey feel to it, a lived-in quality that made me instantly welcome.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror for almost ten full minutes before the reality of all that had happened finally settled on me. Even in the mirror I looked stunned. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes were wide.

I splashed some water on my face, then checked to see if I was still presentable. I contemplated taking a quick shower just before dinner, and maybe a change of clothes. But the scent of Saul lingered on me, and I could still feel the heat on the skin of my forearm where he had touched me. It was silly, but I did not want to mess with that just yet. So after a generous dabbing of a wet cloth on my armpits, I stepped back out into the bedroom to finish unpacking.

More than any other room in the house, Saul’s bedroom seemed like a representation of his personality. It was a large room, with several feet of open space bookended by a comfortable-looking king bed on one end and a working area on the other. Here there was a small mahogany desk lined with a handful of dusty books. From the way the small chair was tucked into the desk, I gathered that he had not sat there for some time. Just off the writing area, a small door led into what I discovered to be a walk-in closet.

It was the art that piqued my interest the most. During my initial tour of the house, I had noticed right away that all the artwork depicted the male form. It wasn’t crude or gratuitous in any way; there were professional looking photos of models, and canvas paintings of their bodies in various poses, almost always from the back.

In the bedroom, the same theme was present. The walls were covered almost completely with similar art, from photos to oil paintings. I wondered if that had something to do with who Saul was, but the overall effect was largely pleasant. It was cozy and personal without being over the top. I would have no problem living here.

Having emptied my suitcase, it occurred to me I had no idea where to put my clothes. Saul had said to make myself at home, but I felt it would be presumptuous to dump my stuff in his closet. I walked over to the closet door and pushed it open. The lights flickered on automatically as I entered, illuminating a brilliantly white room. It was bigger than I had expected it to be. Rows and rows of clothing items spread out from the first rack, disappearing into the depths of the room. Shirts, t-shirts, sweaters…they were all lined up in perfect color coordination. There were dedicated shoe shelves, rising up into the ceiling, each filled with a range of shoes I could not believe were owned by one person. Each item of clothing seemed to have its own area.

The clothes seemed simple, practical. A lot of sweatshirts and sweaters; the clothes of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. I wondered briefly if Saul had gone out of his way to make a good impression, if his closet was usually this impeccable.

The problem of where to put my things was sorted out easily enough. Even without the little note attached to one of the shelves with my name on it, there was enough room there to fit the entirety of my belongings. It was almost funny that all I had was a single suitcase, the contents of which barely filled the first shelf. But I was impressed that Saul had even thought to make room for me. It was good to know that he had been preparing for my arrival, that he had thought about such details.

Having unpacked completely, I went back to the bathroom to freshen up. Then, satisfied that I looked okay, I ventured out to look for Saul.

The smell of frying was wafting around the house, and I thought I heard the sound of humming. I tiptoed along the floorboards, keen not to make a sound. I wanted to see him in his element, as he would be if I wasn’t there.

He was moving around the kitchen with the ease of someone who had done it a lot, someone who knew where everything was. A good cook, too?

I watched as he waltzed from a sizzling skillet, where he carefully lathered its contents with butter using a spoon, to a pot on the counter in which he was mashing potatoes. He looked comfortable and in charge, and it was beautiful to watch.

I stood there staring at him until he must have felt it, because he looked up suddenly, and when he saw me at the door, his face split into a grin that stopped my breath.

“Kyler!” he exclaimed, taking a step towards me. “How long have you been standing there?”

“A few hours,” I replied. “Long enough to see that you have everything under control.”

“Oh, you wanted to help?” he asked, in a tone of voice that suggested he wouldn’t allow it.

“Only if standing here admiring your work counts as helping.”

“Not a chance, Kyler. You’re far too big a distraction. See?”

He rushed over to the skillet, which had begun to sizzle. He turned his steak over carefully, then added a few drops of oil. He checked the timer before turning back to me.

“Dinner will be ready in less than 10 minutes. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be over here looking cute.”

“I have a better idea,” he said. “Why don’t you pick out some music? I have an old fashioned system, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out easily enough. It’s over in the den.”

By old fashioned, he meant a turntable. And it was far too sleek and good looking to be called old fashioned. The turntable rested on a small, sturdy table. I could not see any sign of speakers, so I assumed they were connected wirelessly. Just behind the turntable, a low shelf was lined with several vinyl records. I reached up and began looking through the collection.

Unsurprisingly, Saul was apparently a fan of classical music. Bach. Mozart. Beethoven. He also had quite a few soundtrack albums, including the scores from films such as E.T., Jurassic Park and Edward Scissorhands. It was fascinating. Each new record I thumbed through was like a little nod to what he related to. Unfortunately, Saul had clearly not been in the world for quite some time. There was not much there in the way of popular modern music.

I settled on D’Angelo’s Voodoo, which was just about the only record there I was familiar with.

The sound rose up from somewhere close by, and then swelled around me and all through the house. I guessed he had speakers lined throughout the walls, in every room of the house.

When I got back to the dining room, Saul was setting the table. It was a relatively large table, but he had set two places. Right next to each other.

“Great choice,” he said, nodding along to the music.

He pulled out a chair for me, and I sat down. He excused himself and dashed off, returning with a bottle of red wine that he held up for me.

“This is a 1990 Pinot. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

He poured me a glass, then stood back and watched as I took a tentative sip. It had a rich, fruity taste, and a strong dusky aroma. It lingered on the tongue too. I loved it.

“This is delightful, Saul,” I said earnestly.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Next, he ushered in the steak, steaming invitingly on a wide wooden board. He sliced off a few pieces and ladled two onto a plate. He served mashed potatoes on the side, with steamed green beans. He placed the plate in front of me, then served himself and finally sat down.

The food looked incredible. It smelled even better. It was only then I realized I had not eaten since that morning.

“What are you waiting for?” Saul asked, grinning. “Dig in!”

I did, taking a few hesitant bites at first. The food was so delicious I closed my eyes and let out an involuntary moan. Saul laughed at that, and I had no doubts as to why. It was such a perfect meal, paired with an excellent wine. The music was soulful, and there was a beautiful man beside me. This right here was everything.

“So,” I spoke up after a few bites. “I saw this story on YouTube some time back, about a series of questions that are supposed to help any two strangers get to know each other better. Did you see it?”

He shook his head.

“Really? What rock have you been living under?”

“Uh, the Roch Mountains? You might have seen them as you were coming in.”

I smiled. I had walked right into that one.

“Right. Basically, it’s 36 questions, reflecting increasing levels of intimacy. Two people take turns asking each other the questions, and they are supposed to answer truthfully and openly. At the end of it, they will apparently have the other person all figured out.”

Saul nodded, his eyes a little too cautious and uncertain.

“And you want to give this a try?” he asked.

“Well, not the whole thing, obviously. Just the ones that I can remember. And the objective is to get to know each other a little better, that’s all.”

I sounded defensive, and I hated it. I may have imagined it, but it seemed his body language had changed ever so slightly. He paused, his mouth chewing slowly as he thought about it. Eventually, he nodded.

“Okay, let’s give it a shot.”

I racked my brain, trying to remember what the questions had been.

“We’ll start with the easy stuff,” I said. “What would a perfect day be like for you?”

I could tell Saul was one of those people who took their time to find their words before speaking. It was almost a full minute before he responded. That dark look of quiet intensity returned to his face as he sat there thinking, the fork suspended in midair between plate and mouth.

“I have found that a lot of my days here have come pretty close to perfect,” he said. “There’s something about the solitude, the communion with nature, the freedom to do whatever you want… But to answer your question, the perfect day would probably begin with a nice, proper breakfast by the porch as the sun came up. I would read for a bit, then shower and head out. I would visit all my favorite spots in the mountains. The secret caves, the tiny little fork in the river where the water runs clear and you can sometimes catch fish. I would trek through the woods, make my way to the lake on the other side of the mountains, lounge on the beach and maybe work on my tan. Then I would go up the lowest peak of the Roch to watch the sunset, because there isn’t a better view of it anywhere in the world. Dinner, then, some music and then bed.”

“Wow. That sounds lovely.”

I wanted to say that I would love to do all that with him, but I bit my tongue.

“What about you?” he asked.

“To be perfectly honest, I can’t think of many better days than today. I got to reboot my life, I’m in this ridiculously scenic place, in this unreal house, with a beautiful man.”

Too blunt? But Saul only grinned.

“And,” I went on. “About to have the night of my life.”

Not for the first time, I felt that magnetic pull, that undeniable sizzle in the air between us as he stared at me. His eyes were hard and intense. I felt his leg shift between us, and then his knee grazed my thigh.

“What’s the next question?” he asked, his voice gruff.

I drained my glass of wine to settle my nerves.

“Hmm. Let’s see. What do you value most in a friendship?”

“That one is easy. Loyalty. Everything else is meaningless if there is no loyalty. Honesty, understanding, compatibility… those are all important in a friendship or even a relationship. But loyalty is what makes it worth it.”

I knew he was referring to the incident with his ex-fiancé. It hit me that I had not mentioned that I had already looked him up and knew a lot more about him than he thought. But I decided it was best to let him reveal himself in his own time, as he saw fit.

“I’m more of a romantic, I suppose,” I told him. “I want my friendships to be telepathic. I want them to know everything about me and me them, so we can know what the other is thinking, what they want, how they would react to different scenarios and so forth. I don’t know if I can sum it all up in one word.”

“Have you had such a friendship?” Saul asked.

“I do have such a friendship. My best friend. Her name is Jess.”

“Oh. That’s nice. I would love to meet her, get the dirt on you.”

I imagined Jess spilling all my secrets to Saul and made a mental note not to leave her alone with him.

“Right. Next question. Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?”

He bobbed his head this way and that as if to say, “Interesting question”. Noticing my empty wine glass, he reached over and filled it almost halfway.

“I have always wanted to be a professional photographer. For some time as a child, I thought I might even get into film production. But I slowly learned that my true passion lay with photography. I figured the best place to pursue my dream was in Hollywood, but it never really worked out the way I wanted. And then I came here, and I just sort of dropped it. I’m not sure why, now that I think about it.”

“Are all these yours?” I pointed around the house, indicating some of the paintings and photographs.

“Some of them, yeah. Daily reminders of the life I left behind.”

“I think they’re amazing,” I told him earnestly.

I was feeling happy and full from the food, and the wine was seeping into my brain pretty quickly.

“Thank you. That means a lot. What about you? Hopes and dreams?”

“I never really figured out the one thing I was better at than everybody else. Nothing I could make into a skill, anyway. As I got older, I realized the most important things to me are happiness and family. I know it’s cliché, but that’s about it for me. Whatever I end up doing, as long as it brings me joy I’m good.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Saul said. “Ultimately, that’s all anyone really needs.”

“Okay, I think this is the last question. And the most important one. What do you like about me?”

He put down his wine glass and turned his body in my direction. Below the table, I felt the knee brush again at my thigh, sending shoots of pleasure right into my crotch. It was suddenly very difficult to hold his gaze.

“I like a lot of things about you, Kyler,” he said. “I like your eyes. I like how they dance with mischief and excitement when I touch you. I like your wit and charm. I think you have an easy confidence that I find refreshing. I like how easy it is to talk to you, and how well we seem to click. But mostly…”

He leaned forward, so that the full extent of his maleness hit me in the face.

“I like how your body perks up in my presence, how it calls to me, begs me to take control of it.”

The silence fell over us suddenly. Or it may have been gradual. I was only vaguely aware of what was around us. From the depths of my mind, I noticed the music had stopped playing, and that the sound I was hearing was the drumming of my own heart.

Emboldened by the wine, I leaned forward also.

“I forgot to mention,” I said, my voice thick. “I’m wearing those cute little panties I bought for the wedding night. You know, the ones you’re supposed to take off me with your teeth.”

I could see the muscles around his jaw working.

“You’re a little drunk,” I heard him say. “I’m not the type of guy to take advantage of my husband like that.”

All I heard was ‘husband’. He was right. My body was on high alert, my every nerve was tingling in anticipation. If I had not drunk so much wine, I would probably have ignored the voices screaming in my head imploring me to kiss him and leaned back into my seat. As it was, my inhibitions were shot. I could only think of his lips, inches from mine, and wonder how I had not kissed him yet.

And so I did. It was the easiest thing to lean in all the way and meet his lips. The room fell away in a whoosh. I kissed him hard, and a million little lights exploded behind my eyes.