Elliot was at the stove cooking coq au vin. Hudson sat at the kitchen bar with his wine glass and watched him work. He looked hot in his low hung jeans, a fitted white T-shirt and a brown leather apron around his waist. Oh—and the tattoos.
It smelled of garlic, red wine and the herbs Elliot had cut from the garden this morning.
“What are we making Saturday?” Hudson asked.
Marguerite and her boyfriend Antoine were joining them for dinner. Antoine was a retired schoolteacher fromVilleurbanne who was apparently an expert on cheese, which meant Hudson had been Googling camemberts and bries excessively for the last couple of days.
“I’mmaking bouillabaisse.” Elliot adjusted the heat. “You’re making sure we have enough wine.”
“Hm, why do I feel like that's a downgrade?”
“It’s not. The right wine’s just as important as the food.”
“Then I accept.” Hudson topped up both their glasses. “Can I learn to make bouillabaisse?” His pronunciation was so flat, Elliot chuckled.
“Depends. Can you dice an onion without crying?”
“Of course I can.”
Elliot set a knife and an onion on the cutting board at the end of the counter without comment. Then he resumed his work at the stove with what might have been a ghost of a smile.
Hudson slid off the bar stool and picked up the knife.
He cried like a baby.
When Hudson realized cooking wasn't all that fun, he moved behind Elliot and slid his arms around his waist. He pressed his mouth to the curve of his neck.
“Smells incredible.”
“It’s not done yet.”
“I meant you.” Hudson felt Elliot exhale. “Also the food. Both. Strong showing all around.”
Elliot turned around. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Mhm…” he reached behind Elliot and dialed the burner down to a minimum. “I’ve heard coq au vin needs a lot of time simmering.”
Elliot backed Hudson toward the counter’s edge. Then he had both hands on his hips and lifted him onto the surface with ease. “Look who’s the chef now.”
Hudson’s lips grazed gently over Elliot’s cheeks, his jaw,the crook of his neck. The moan that escaped Elliot was more satisfying than any wine or food.
“Give me an hour,” Hudson said. “Then the kitchen is all yours.”
The curtains movedin the warm night air, slow and irregular, letting in the smell of the garden. The room was dark except for the strip of moonlight coming through the open French doors and the small lamp on Elliot’s side.
Hudson was in the crook of his arm, Elliot’s hand resting on his shoulder. He listened to Elliot’s steady heartbeat, thinking about how he’d memorized this exact rhythm in a hospital chair in Germany and never wanted to forget.
“You know,” Hudson started. “After my dad left I spent so much time and energy on being loud and funny and making sure everyone was paying attention to me. Taylor used to say I was so brave, but that was not what it was about.”
Elliot’s hand was in his hair, fingers circling tenderly. “What was it about?”
“I think I wanted to make sure no one would forget about me. Would leave and not come back.” The curtains played in the wind and Hudson focused his eyes on them. “I did it with you for six years too. Wanted you, stayed near you, made sure I was loud enough that you wouldn’t forget.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Elliot said.
“I know.” Hudson pressed his hands flat against Elliot’s chest. “I’ve known for a while. You’re not exactly the person to do anything halfway. I think you’re the leastlikely person I’ve ever met to just leave.” He exhaled. “Voluntarily.”
Elliot was quiet for a beat. Then, “I’m leaving the military.”
