Chapter Eight

Brian’s head spun. Rob fall for him? He was the one trying hard not to make this whole dating thing into more than it was.

They’d been in bed, what, once? Then again, he and Anita had pretty much fallen into bed on the first date. Granted, they also hadn’t lasted.

But that relationship had been serious and sexy right from the get-go.

He stole a piece of lamb kebab off Rob’s plate. “When we’re done here, we can take a better look at all these photos.” He wanted to check out his own and take a better look at Rob’s.

Photography was something he could encourage, a way he could give back to Rob for the joy he’d brought into Brian’s life. The shit with the shop ate at him hard. Rob was a bright spot in his otherwise too-tense life.

Rob glanced out the window. “Seems a waste to stay inside on such a nice day, though.”

That was true. “You said you bike?”

Rob’s smile could almost be called lustful. “I do.” He snagged a piece of Brian’s chicken. “Any trails you want to try?”

“Try?” Brian leaned back in his chair. “I’ve biked them all.”

That got him an eyeroll. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that you’re part of Bike Pittsburgh.”

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Must not have kept the expression off his face, though.

“Fucking hell,” Rob muttered.

“Well, I’m a member, but a lot less active because of the shop.” He leaned forward. “Biking’s a passion.”

Silence for a while. Rob seemed to be chewing on a lot more than just the lunch. He took a sip of water, then spoke. “You gave up quite a bit for your shop.”

A stab of pain. “Yeah.” Free time. Part of his sanity. Relationships. Money. “But it’s been worth it.”

Rob nodded, but without that sense of agreement. “So, where would you recommend for an afternoon ride?”

Brian mused. Rob lived in Bloomfield. He was also the one driving and they had camera equipment to deal with. “Why don’t you drop me off at my apartment and I’ll bike to your house. From there, we can take the Heritage Trail. If you want, we can bike to Homestead or for a challenge, we could ride over and catch the Montour Run Trail.

The light in Rob’s smile sent little shivers down into Brian’s core.

“I’m game.” Rob looked down as his plate. “Though if we’re going to bike, I should stop stuffing my gullet.”

“Same here.” Brian flagged down the waiter and asked for to-go containers and the check.

When those came, Rob lifted the folder with the bill before Brian could get his fingers near it. “Hey!”

“My treat.” His voice was firm, as was the gaze he leveled at Brian.

He’d also paid for their entry into the Carrie Furnaces site. “I pick up dinner.”

Rob’s expression didn’t waver.

“I’m serious.”

A crack in that hard line, then it crumpled into a soft smile. “All right.”

Victory. He didn’t mind being wined and dined, but he didn’t want Rob paying for everything, even if the card Rob pulled out was as gold as his watch.

He divided up the leftovers into two boxes, Rob signed the check, and they headed out to the car. A few minutes later, they were back in Squirrel Hill and in front of Brian’s apartment.

“Are you one of those Lycra shorts-wearing bikers?” A good part of Brian hoped the answer was yes.

As if Rob could hear the thoughts rolling through Brian’s head, he raised a brow. “I have been. I could be if you’re wearing something similar.”

He preferred the padded and wicking clothes for longer rides. “You just want to check out my ass.”

“I’ve seen your arse. It’s quite lovely, as is your front. But you know what they say about fair play, Bri.”

“I’ll be at your place in a half-hour or so. You can see how I’m dressed then.” He unbelted and grabbed his food. “I guess I need your address.”

“I guess you do.” Rob grabbed his phone and typed something in. A moment later, Brian’s buzzed in his back pocket. “There.”

“Trunk?”

“Boot.” Rob pressed a button and the latch popped. “I’ll teach you proper English yet.”

“Eh, we won the war.” He grinned and closed the door on a huff from Rob. He grabbed his camera bag from the trunk before closing it.

After a wave, Rob drove off and Brian climbed the stairs to his apartment. It wasn’t until after he’d stowed the leftovers and his camera gear that he took out his phone and read the address Rob had texted him.

He slapped a hand over his mouth to keep the horrified laughter in. Oh, this address he knew well. Same street as his parents’ house, but a couple blocks away. Rob now owned the house of his former babysitter.

Welcome to the neighborhood, indeed.

***

Brian changed into his biking gear, grabbed his helmet, stuffed a change of clothes into his backpack, got his bike, and headed down to the street. He made sure his repair kit was in his bike bag, and headed out.

The direct route, the path he’d have taken driving, was more dangerous on a bike, so he took one with wider shoulders until he got to the bike lanes in Bloomfield, then turned onto Rob’s street. He zoomed around a parklet and down the street until he came to the house that used to belong to Mrs. Kaminski, the babysitter for all of the Keppler kids.

The old Victorian house had changed. Rather than the drab beige and brown, the house was now dark blue, with teal and white accents. Decorative scrollwork had been added.

Shit, the place looked good. High-class. Gourmet. He walked the bike onto the porch. At least Rob had kept the stained-glass window transoms—though a clear pane had been added in front, probably to protect the older glass.

He rang the bell.

Moments later, Rob opened the door, his trim body encased in dark biking pants and a bright yellow and white top that clung to his chest like a second skin. Rob looked Brian up and down. “Nice.”

That smile knocked Brian off his feet every time.

“Should I come in or—”

“Why don’t we save the tour until after, if you don’t mind? We’ll have more time to . . . linger.” Rob’s gaze raked over Brian’s body again.

Yeah, that was true. “Plan.” He handed his backpack to Rob. “Mind stowing this for me?”

“Not at all.” Rob vanished for a moment, then rolled his bike out the door before locking it behind him.

As they headed down the stairs to the street, Brian spoke. “I already know my way around this house.”

Rob’s eyebrows hit his hair. “You do?”

A tingle of delight in surprising Rob. “Yeah. My folks live on the other side of the parklet”—he gestured down the street—“and the lady who lived here was the aunt of my mom’s best friend, so she’d babysit us sometimes.” He climbed onto his bike.

“When you said you grew up in Bloomfield, I didn’t think you meant right here.” Rob pointed at his feet and mounted his bike.

“Well, more down there than here, though we roamed all over. Bloomfield isn’t that big a neighborhood.”

Rob looked back at the house. “I kind of gutted it.” A hint of nervousness in his voice. “Hope I didn’t kill any of your childhood memories.” He strapped his helmet on.

“I doubt it. Was very seventies inside. Figured anyone who bought it would do that. Outside looks great.”

“Thanks. Though it was more like very sixties.”

He chuckled. “I’ll give you that.” Mrs. Kaminski had been stuck in an era. “Ready to go?”

“Lead on.”

Brian pushed off and led Rob through Bloomfield and down into the city until they got to the bike and walking trail that ran along the river. Nice day to be out, which meant for a good portion of the ride they rode single file, and took care not to startle the walkers and runners. The trail widened up at Point State Park, and Rob moved next to him.

“I never get over that.” He nodded at the fountain.

It was pretty impressive. A 150-foot plume of water shooting straight into the sky. Brian slowed. “Wanna stop for a bit?”

Rob nodded and they did. “Do they pull the water from the river?” He tipped his head back and shielded his eyes from the sun.

“Nope. There’s a fourth river underneath.”

“Really?” Rob lowered his hand. “You’re not taking the piss are you?”

Ah, there was a true Britishism. Brian gave him his best cheesy smile. “Look it up sometime. There’s a glacial aquifer.”

From that dubious expression, he had no doubt Rob would. It was a wonder he didn’t whip his phone out right there.

Rob shifted on his bike seat and took off his helmet. “I’ve read they do fireworks down here on your holiday.” He fiddled with the straps.

“You mean the one where we celebrate kicking British ass?”

Rob’s reply was dry, but came with a smile. “That would be the one.”

“Yeah, they do. It’s a madhouse, but worth seeing at least once.” He looked out over the river. “We should come down for them.” He spoke softly. A chance, to suggest an event like that months in the future.

The sound of Rob’s bike moving closer. Fingers cupped his neck. “I’d like that.”

He turned and met Rob’s kiss. It was fairly chaste as kisses went—lingering, but not devouring. Still, it put more desire and heat into his body than any of the others had.

They were truly dating. Not a one-night stand. Not a trial thing—no. Long-term. Into the future.

In his bones, he felt that potential. A joining of histories. In the taste on his lips, the way Rob smiled at him, the lift of his red hair in the wind and the trace of freckles across Rob’s nose.

He couldn’t breathe for what that meant. This wasn’t what he’d anticipated when Rob had walked into his shop, but here he was, falling and falling and falling.

“What’s the matter?” Rob brushed a thumb over his cheek.

“Nothing. Just . . . heavy thoughts.” So many.

Something in Rob’s expression shifted. “Good ones?”

“Yeah.” He breathed the word out.

Rob’s smile warmed Brian’s soul. He nodded at the trail. “Shall we keep going then?” Rob strapped his helmet back on.

“Yes.” For as long as this path took them together. He wanted to ride forever.

They pushed off and continued down the trail.