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He wasn’t angry, not in the least, and his biting little comment made Barrett laugh; which had been the intention. Ambrose liked to think Barrett was coming to understand his strange, dark sense of humor. Dandi danced between them, her big brown eyes jolting from him to Barrett and back while Barrett laughed. “Figured you could discover that on your own. Like a freight engine, this one.”
“Did you want to come in? I just put coffee on.”
Ambrose stepped back, out of the doorway, but Barrett shook his head. “I’m gonna try to get a few hours of sleep before Oz swings by. The investigator assigned to…whatever the hell is going on.”
He frowned. “That sounds serious. Is anyone hurt?”
Barrett shook that shaggy head of his head again, brows drawing down. “No, but between the bridge incidents and some stolen supplies and now the fire watch tower being sabotaged, they’re wondering if it’s connected.”
The wind kicked up and Ambrose shivered. “Well, I’ve read enough mystery books to make me rather wary of coincidence in general. But it all sounds a little dangerous. Are you all right?”
Barrett swiped a hand down his face, his other hand stroking Dandi’s head. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks. I’ve got to get at least a few hours of sleep before Oz comes over with reports to review.”
“No rest for the wicked.” But Ambrose was sympathetic; it sucked running on no sleep no matter what, but especially if you weren’t an insomniac like he was. He was used to operating in that hazy, fuzzy space between waking and sleeping, most of his motions automatic. But Barrett looked bone tired, his eyes sunken and his normal color now more pallid. His heart gave a funny little flip at seeing his friend’s exhaustion. “Do you want me to keep watching Dandi? She’s no bother.” He looked down, as if yanking his gaze from Barrett’s would make the admission easier. “It’s nice, having a dog around.”
Barrett gave him a little sideways grin. “They’re pretty great. But I think we’re okay for now. Appreciate it.”
“Sure.” Silence fell over them, broken only by the crunch of loose snow under Dandi’s feet. “I shouldn’t keep you, you’ve been up all night and you’re still working.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “One coffee to go?”
Fuck. Well, that was fucking cheesy. Shit. Ambrose winced but Barrett laughed. “Yeah, you know what? I could use it. But if it’s okay, I’d like to talk about the tower sabotage. Get it right in my head. Could use a friendly ear and Oz is about an hour away.”
Music to Ambrose’s ears, honestly. Something about the way Barrett looked now - in dark, heavy winter gear, his nearly black beard and hair getting longer by the day, but those eyes… He could get lost in those eyes, as deep and dark as they were.
Shit. Shit.
He had a crush.
On his neighbor, his friend.
So stupid.
“Ambrose?”
“Wha -huh?”
Barrett was trying so hard not to smile but he was failing. Delightfully failing. His friend (friendfriendfriend, the word rang in his head) had a face made for little smirks and mischievous twists of the lips, but it was properly, fully used when he smiled wide and earnest and honest. That was what Ambrose got now, a slow, steady spread of lips, those eyes mirthful. Genuine. Not laughingathim. With him. For him.
Ambrose stepped back more and in they came. Barrett smelling of snow and diesel, his cheeks a little red and chapped from the cold. He wondered if his lips were chapped, too.
Fuck. Shit.
Ambrose shook himself one more time and focused on getting out cups and creamer. Dandi immediately took up the spot he’d made for her, on a few old blankets near the fire. He heard the couch squeak as Barrett sat. “So, what kept you up?”
“General insomnia, but also I’m…” He paused. Unsure. Did Barrett really want to hear about his writer’s block? Whatever lashed out inside him - pride, maybe - he pushed down, stepped on it to say, “I took a freelance gig writing short fiction for a zine.”
“Wait, really?” Barrett’s grin was wide now as Ambrose brought two steaming cups over and sat down in the recliner opposite the couch. “That’s fantastic! Val, my sister, did some gigs like that back in college. The competition was stiff. I bet you’re damn good.” He sipped his coffee while Ambrose tried not to squirm under his praise. “Any chance you’ll divulge the name of the zine?”
Ambrose hadn’t thought this far ahead. Hadn’t really thought about it at all because, like so many things he did, he simply…did. Or, created. However one wanted to phrase it. He’d done that his whole life; the pouring of so much effort and sweat and stress into poems and songs, stories and articles. In every work, Ambrose left little bits of himself and over the years it wore down, dragging. He’d stepped away from most creative endeavors for a while, thinking it would recharge him. But he missed those bursts of inspiration, the way a new idea made his fingertips tingle and something swoop in his belly.
It was a lot like how he felt after a really good kiss. A little warm and shaky, the ground under his feet uneven enough to make him question his balance. Looking at Barrett now, one of Ambrose’s stone coffee cups cradled in his hands, wasn’t helping his balance currently.
Maybe he preferred uneven ground.
“It’s a sci-fi and fantasy publication calledNosferatu Starship.” Ambrose swallowed a little too hard against the next mouthful of coffee, winced against the sting. “I have one article a month, one story every quarter, until either they cancel my contract or I decide to stop. A year, minimum, though.”
Barrett whistled, long and low. “Congrats. Seriously. That’s amazing. I can’t wait to see what you write.” His gaze slid to the corner, where Ambrose’s guitar sat. “You really are a man of many talents. I’m a little jealous.”
“Jealous?” He frowned. “You’re a forest ranger, and was a paramedic before. You save people. That’s impressive. It takes guts.” Ambrose squeezed the cup in his hands just for something to do with them. “I just make up shit in my head and try to put it down on paper.”
