Every spare minute I’m not trimming stems or overthinking Hayden goes straight into the garden plans. Budget tweaks, emails to the city, midnight sketches…it’s the second job that’s got me running on fumes but is every bit the dream I’d hoped it to be.
By Friday night, my brain is a scrambled mess of flowervarieties, city permits, and Hayden saying “no sweetener” on loop. Only one thing can save me now: trivia night at Franny’s with Dominic, Elijah, and an obscene amount of gin.
Franny’s is Stonevale’s treasured gay dive: sticky floors, rainbow lights, karaoke, bartenders who know your drink, your ex, and your darkest secret. It’s home and our sacred weekly ritual. Surely tonight’s rounds of dirty martinis and competitive answers will finally clear any thoughts of “Mr. Broody.”
Dominic’s in rare form, glowing obnoxiously under the neon lights in some cropped sweater-vest that’s absolutelynotweather appropriate. Elijah, poised as ever, sips an Aperol spritz, amused by his husband’s antics.
“Next round is…” Benny, emcee extraordinaire, announces from the stage. He dramatically raises his trivia cards. “ ‘Obscure Historical Disasters.’ Hope you studied, nerds.”
Dominic elbows me. “You got this. Your Netflix history is ninety percent tragic documentaries.”
I start to defend my taste in comfort binge watches when the bar door swings open, sweeping in a rush of cold winter air…and Hayden Harlow himself.
“Holy shit,” I whisper under my breath.
Hayden pauses inside like he might bolt. Dark hair mussed by the wind, black overcoat skimming his lean frame, jawline weapon sharp. He’s so out of place it should be comical, like a raven in a sea of parrots. There’s something in the way he holds himself, still and careful. A man who’s used to being seen and forgotten in the same breath.
I find it mesmerizing and I have no idea why. The best I can manage is I’m a sucker for a good puzzle, and Hayden? He just might be the puzzle of all puzzles. He scans the bar nervously. His coat billows around him and the hem of his trousers reveals an intentional taper at the ankle as he glides to the take-out counter.A whisper of cool air that isn’t the door draft skims my arms. Nerves, poor insulation, or something else. I’m choosing insulation inadequacies.
My heart skips. Apparently, I have the emotional maturity of a high schooler.
“Okay. Don’t look, but behi…”
Dominic immediately whips around, all subtlety abandoned, followed swiftly by Elijah and half the bar.
“Oh my god, you guys,” I hiss, melting into my barstool. My stomach flips; I blame the gin and side of extra olives. “Subtle much?”
Dominic turns back with a wicked grin. “That’s him, right? Funeral Guy?”
Elijah eyes Hayden appreciatively, still sipping his spritz. “I told you he was hot. The lighting is forgiving. He, annoyingly, does not need it.”
Dominic leans back with a pointed stare. “Oh, Mr. Doom-and-Gloom couldabsolutelyget it.” Then the unthinkable. “Hayden!” he calls, waving like an old friend.
“Dominic!” I choke out. “I will murd—”
“Oh, hush,” he says, jabbing me with his elbow.
I grit my teeth. Hayden spots us, new hesitation flickering across his face. But to my astonishment, he makes his way over, take-out container held neatly in one hand.
“Levi,” he says, voice rich and unbothered by the music. “Good to see you again.”
Dominic beams, Elijah looks delighted, and I could melt right out of my skin.
“You’re…here,” I manage.
Hayden shrugs, glancing at his takeout. “I’m having some…plumbing issues handled. A run-in of convenience, if you will.”
Dominic raises his glass. “Lucky us!”
Hayden’s lip curls up just enough that I might feel comfortable counting it as a smile.
Feeling brave…or delusional, I pat the stool next to mine. “Join us. We’re reigning trivia champions.”
He lifts an eyebrow, but after a silent standoff, he slides onto the stool, draping his coat over its back. I catch the scent of juniper and black tea. Understated and ruinous. “Fine. You’ll have to excuse me eating.”
“Only if you don’t mind sharing,” Elijah says, leaning forward to steal a fry.
Hayden eyes Elijah with mild amusement before neatly rolling up his sleeves and picking up a fork and knife. I watch, mesmerized, as the refined funeral director tackles bar food with meticulous manners, cutting a cheeseburger and fries into precise bites.
