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My brother laughed. “You’re always claiming to be her favorite, so you shouldn’t have any problem figuring out what she likes.”
I scowled, knowing he was setting me up to fail. Not purposely, no, but he was enjoying my predicament nonetheless. I had no clue what my mom might want for her birthday. But, I might know someone who does.
Shoving his shoulder playfully, I smirked right back before jogging upstairs to make a call. I got comfortable on my bed, reclining against the pillows with one leg propped up on the other, and dialed his number.
“Hello?”
A smile broke free before I could stop it. Ryan’s voice was distinctive, unique—like him. Soft and smooth, slightly effeminate, higher in pitch than mine. The sound of it, and that he answered on the first ring, felt so good.
“Hey, Boytoy. Are you busy?”
“Not really. Why?”
“I’m in a pickle, and I need your expert advice.”
“A pickle? Who says that anymore?”
I could hear the amusement in his voice and I laughed, liking too much the fact that I could entertain him so easily. “Are you going to help me out or not?”
“That depends on what you need.”
His statement was loaded with innuendo, and I’d bet he had no idea what he suggested. “A birthday gift for my mom.”
“Oh, sure. I can definitely help you with that. What does she like?”
I tried to tamp down my exasperation. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling you.”
“Well, I’ve never met your mom. How would I know?” He huffed like I was putting him out, and I chuckled, loving when his fire poked through the placid layers of his personality.
“What wouldyourmom like?”
“Not all moms were created equally, Carson. Does your mom cook? Bake? Exercise? What is she into?”
“She reads a lot, cleans, and loves to shop. Should I get her a gift card for Target?”
“No! That’s so impersonal. She’s your mom. You can do better than that. Let me think.” He hummed some gusty showtune as he contemplated, and I smiled. Ryan was an oddball with tons of personality. The more he revealed about himself, the more intrigued I became. “Does she wear perfume? Makeup? Does she like bubble baths?”
“Uh, yeah. She likes perfume. Wears it all the time.”
“Great! What kind does she prefer?”
“How would I know? I don’t pay attention to women’s perfume. I may be gay, but I’m still a man, Ryan!”
Ryan laughed. “Okay. Is it floral? Fruity? Citrusy?”
“I thought we were talking about perfume, not flowers and food?”
“Try and keep up, Cary. I’m talking about the fragrance notes. It could be woodsy, musky, spicy—”
Interrupting his monologue, I explained, “She smells like apples and vanilla. Does that help?”
“Actually, yes.” Ryan hummed that song again, and I followed along in my head, hoping it didn’t stick. “I’m sending you several perfumes I found that have notes of apple and vanilla. All are available at any department store.”
A plan formed, and I smiled, pleased with my genius. “Ryan, be ready in thirty. We’re going to the mall.”
* * *
When I pulledup outside of Ryan’s condo, he was waiting for me, looking delicious in navy skinny jeans and a steel gray sweater. Ryan laughed when I stared too long.
