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Jordan looked at Holden. “He’s in the back.”
“Uh-huh. Get me a latte, please.”
“Oat milk?”
“Yeah.”
“Coming right up.”
Brandon glanced at Holden. He was a six feet hunk of a guy who strained his shirts the way Tyler did and make Holden feel what he was—small and inadequate. A fuck up who wasted everybody’s time.
Brandon looked towards the kitchen door and so did Holden, anxiously. Don’t go in there and find him crying or something, please man.
Then the kitchen door swung open and Finn exited with two plates. “Hey, you,” Brandon said with such a smile lighting up his face that Holden ached. Nobody had ever smiled at him like that in his life. Certainly not Leo.
Finn smiled back with the fakest smile Holden had ever seen and came from behind the counter to walk down to the tables by the window with the two plates. Two women sat there and he chatted with them for a few seconds, keeping that smile on his face. Holden saw it slip as he turned away and came back to the counter, catching Holden’s eye.
Brandon missed it. He faced front, sipping from his latte. He had picked up on something, though. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Finn said and started wiping down the counter.
“You didn’t sleep well last night,” Brandon said, lowering his voice.
“Nightmares,” Finn said in a whisper that Holden caught and that made him wish that Dominic the abuser had suffered terribly when Brandon had put a bullet in him.
Brandon reached across the counter. Holden watched him lay his hand over Finn’s and the two men’s eyes meet. They needed no words. Brandon brought Finn’s fingers to his lips and kissed the knuckles before he let go. His eyes were tender with deep feelings. Holden had a lump in his throat. He lowered his head and looked into his coffee cup. Never had he felt more alone in his life and not even the thought of Tyler could raise his spirits because voicing his book ideas had fucked it all up with him too. But they had almost kissed. Holden didn’t know why Tyler wanted to kiss him after their argument. But he had been keen to get out of there, maybe recognizing it for the mistake it was.
He heard the burst of static from the radio on Brandon’s shoulder. Brandon clicked a button. “Say again, Jonah.” Some garbled words came forth and Brandon sighed and took a hefty slug of coffee before he wiped foam from his top lip with a strong hand that Holden eyed and imagined sliding down Finn’s slender body. He liked that idea. He looked from one to the other, conjuring up X-rated scenarios. Just one more part of his addiction was imagining people having sex. He’d do it with strangers or friends who weren’t even a couple, but knowing Finn and Brandon really did it in real life added extra spice. He could think about the two of them tonight while lying in bed, and he would, almost definitely. Think of the hottest, dirtiest things he could imagine them doing. Better that than think of his dead in the water chances with Tyler.
“No rest for the wicked,” Brandon muttered. Holden wasn’t sure if he was replying to this Jonah guy or talking to himself, or Finn. “On my way.” That last was said into the radio and Brandon fished some money from his pocket and left it on the counter before he slid from his stool.
“I’m cooking tonight,” Finn said.
“Looking forward to it as always, baby,” Brandon said with a wink and a smile before he turned and strode away.
“Liar,” Finn said under his breath.
Startled, Holden glanced at him, but Finn was smiling and he was watching Brandon disappear out of the diner with a longing look.
Chapter Nine
Finn
Finn couldn’t cook for shit but he made a mean lentil Bolognese that Brandon professed to love. He wasn’t sure Brandon was telling the truth because the guy had never said a mean word to Finn in their entire history, not even when Finn asked him if he looked okay when he wasn’t sure about his clothes, or he had a big spot on his chin or his nose was bright red with a cold and the skin flaking off from rubbing it so much. Brandon always said Finn was the smartest, most beautiful, most wonderful human being in the world, so he was hardly going to tell him that his one good dish, the dish he had perfected since he had met Brandon, was shit, was he?
The spaghetti was cooking and the sauce was ready when Brandon opened the front door and unlaced his boots, leaving them on the mat. He hung his hat on a peg in the hallway. “Hey, beautiful,” he called.
“Hey,” Finn called back and busied himself stirring the Bolognese because he knew Brandon would see he was faking being okay and he wasn’t okay, not since he’d seen Holden at the diner.
Brandon came through to the kitchen. He approached behind Finn and slid his arms around his lover’s waist. “What’s going on?” he said softly against Finn’s ear.
Finn sighed inwardly. There was a reason Brandon was a cop. “It’s nothing.”
“Yes, it is. Something to do with that writer.”
Shit, there were no flies on him. He didn’t miss the slightest glance, the barest nuance in body language. Finn licked his lips. “Let me dish up.”
Brandon stepped back. “Sure. I’ll wash my hands.”
