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“I won’t insult you by asking if I can help.”
Barrett tracked the bob of Ambrose’s throat as he swallowed hard. Again. And again, before Ambrose finally said, “I appreciate it. And the intervention. He would have left eventually but only after he stuck around to argue. Cajole might be a better word.” He turned his head slowly, smashing a perfect auburn curl under his cheek. “Thank you.”
Two simple words. Why did they feel like lead in the pit of his stomach? “You’re welcome. Guess I have better timing this go around.”
The careful, slow look Ambrose gave him was steady, but lingering. “Guess you do.” He sat forward, leaning to the left to scratch Dandi under the chin. Her tail thumped against the floor with a solidwhackand they both smiled. “I might already be a little in love. If you ever need someone to walk her or watch her, just ask.”
It might have been the most genuine thing Ambrose had said in their short time together, aside from when Barrett rescued him and when he complimented the fish. He liked this Ambrose. Still quiet but… “earnest. It’s nice.”
FUCK.
Did he just say that out loud?
He did.
Motherfucker.
Barrett flinched but Ambrose’s hand shot out to land on his knee. “No! It’s okay, really. You just…took me by surprise.”
“Took myself by surprise,” he muttered. “You’ll still have to excuse me, I’m running on three hours sleep a solid forty-eight hours ago.”
“That’s right.” And just like that, the hand and the earnestness and soft grey eyes were gone, replaced by a thick worry of a different kind, silky with sadness and exhaustion. “Get some rest. And when you have the brain power, let me know what alcohol to bring over for dinner sometime.” He got to his feet, waved, and slowly walked out.
It was only later that Ambrose’s words fully sunk in, but by then Barrett had slept away the day and part of the night. But at the moment, all he said was, “Yeah, sure. And hey, yell if you start to feel like that again. I don’t want you to be alone through another attack. It ain’t fun, I know.”
Ambrose’s nod made him feel better, but not great. But he went to bed with a massive dog on his feet and the knowledge that Ambrose was a text and a thousand feet away.
One week later, now mid-February
The ice from last week’s storm had finally melted in a burst of sunny, unseasonably warm days. Had it been fifteen degrees warmer, Barrett would have been itching for the scent of potting soil and fertilizer and the ground warming in the midday sun.
Instead, his house was full of the kind of cooking smells one would expect from an Sicilian grandmother. Basil and rosemary, garlic and onion, fresh baked bread and ripe tomatoes. He was going all out, but after the last couple of weeks through which he and Ambrose had been drug, he figured the effort was worth it. While homemade pasta sauce simmered on the stove, he got to work chopping more garlic. Dandi was asleep on her blanket on the couch, and soft classical music echoed through the first floor.
Then the doorbell rang. Dandi lifted her head and gave a warning huff. “Hold on!” Barrett wiped his hands on the towel over his shoulder and ambled to the door. “Wha - hey. You’re early.”
“And prepared to help.” Ambrose thrust out a bottle. “Unless you’re going to turn me and twenty year old port away.”
Barrett chuckled. It was the only thing he could do in the face of genuine surprise. Surprise that Ambrose wanted to come over early, surprise at the generous bottle of port.
Surprise at the way Ambrose was dressed, looking like an outdoor magazine cover model in black jeans and hiking boots and a half-zip cardigan that most younger men couldn’t pull off. But it looked soft and inviting and some part of Barrett wanted to touch the deep emerald fabric.
Fuck.
Instead, he made a grand, sweeping gesture with his hand, stepping back as Ambrose entered. As his guest got comfortable, Barrett went back to the stove and his stirring.
“Glasses?”
“Top left cabinet.”
When Ambrose came back with two glasses of port and a small smile, Barrett had to grin. “You’re looking better.”
“I feel better. Been a hell of a winter.” He sipped and Barrett paused to do the same. It was easier to eye the other man over the rim of his glass. “Do I pass inspection?”
Barrett spluttered a little and Ambrose chuckled; a throaty thing that sounded nice amidst the pots and pans boiling and the slow tick of the oven. “Sorry. But yeah, what you said.” Barrett rubbed the back of his head. “Hell of a winter.”
The sound of heavy paws and nails skittering on wood paused their conversation. “Prepare for it.”
But Ambrose was already on the floor, arms out to greet the clearly enthusiastic dog and her lolling tongue and copious amounts of drool. He watched for a long moment, the two of them rolling about like little kids tussling.
