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The knock sounded again. Louder, more insistent. Connor quickly finished his thought. Sighing, he got up and moved to the front door, expecting a delivery or one of his neighbors.
When he looked through the peephole, though, he got a shock. It was not UPS or Glenda from upstairs wanting to borrow his stick blender again, but Steve Marsden, his ex.
Connor hadn’t seen the man in months, unless you counted the many Facebook and Instagram pictures Steve put up regularly of the bliss he and his fiancé, Rory, were experiencing. In the social media world, there was no end to seeing Steve and his unfettered joy. Connor could recite chapter and verse every long weekend the couple had taken, every meal they’d consumed, what ferry they’d boarded and where it had taken them, what play they were seeing of a Saturday night, what club they were hanging out in, older than most of the regulars by a good couple of decades.
Stop. That last part is mean. You’re no spring chicken yourself.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why the man with whom he’d shared home and hearth for close to two decades was showing up at his front door, unannounced. What was particularly aggravating was that one thing Steve knew for sure—Connor worked in the early morning and loathed interruptions. Even soft music was distracting enough to make the attempt to write futile.
So what’s he doing here? Now?
Steve peered at the peephole, leaning in toward it. Connor jumped back, feeling seen, despite knowing that wasn’t possible.
He placed a trembling hand on the doorknob, not certain at all he wanted to open the door. He’d done so well lately with forgetting the man out there, with his thick head of dark hair, a little salty these days, and bushy mustache. But Connor couldn’t deny, in the flurry of emotions he’d had in the few seconds’ realization that Steve had come back, that there wasn’t a little thrill that he was here—again.
He debated. The right thing to do was simply to ignore the knock and pretend he wasn’t home. His life had been wrecked by Steve’s sudden departure, and Connor had shed more tears than he cared to recall.
But he couldn’t.
He hated to admit it, even if it was only to himself, but he was happy to see Steve. His heart pounded a little harder and it wasn’t simply from nerves, although that played a part. But there was also joy, and relief, delight, excitement. All those things a married man shouldn’t feel at the sight of another guy.
But Connor wasn’t about to let Steve know any of the positive vibes Steve’s arrival on his doorstep engendered.
He swung the door open, making sure his frown was firmly in place. His eyebrows arched upward, and he cocked his head. “What are you doing here?”
Steve’s dark eyes, as they always could, drew him in, held him. He gave a humble smile, full of sorrow. “I don’t suppose I could come in for a few? I need to talk to you.”
“What? After all this time?”
“Yes, after all this time. Please, Connor, it’s important. I know you were working, but I didn’t know who to turn to. Actually, that’s not true. There’s only one person I need to turn to, and that’s you.”
Nice. If you think I’m still here for you in times of trouble, think again, mister. I am not your bridge over troubled waters.Connor stood back and opened the door wider. “I only have a few minutes. Work.” He wondered when Trey would return and what he’d think when he opened the door and found Steve here.
Steve walked in as though this were still his home. He kicked off his shoes at the door and placed them next to one another on the little mat they’d bought for wet days. Connor noticed he’d lost weight. He was almost too skinny. Maybe it was the black garb—the T-shirt and jeans, the combat boots. But the fault couldn’t lie entirely with garb. Steve’s face was gaunt, drawn. His body, once beefy, now appeared angular, that of a boy’s.
Steve paused as he stood after removing his shoes. “I reveled in this same view for so many years, but it never loses its power. It’s gorgeous.”
Connor followed Steve’s gaze outside. The day was rare for April, sunny and clear, with a few fluffy clouds floating lazily above the Cascades. A trio of sailboats, slanted by the wind, crossed the surface. The scene could have been a postcard.
Steve turned to Connor. “I’ve missed this.”
“Why?” Connor snapped, not moving farther into the condo. He crossed his arms, unsure he wanted Steve to stay. He definitely hoped he’d be out of here before Trey returned from his run. “You and what’s-his-name have that nice Craftsman up in Maple Leaf.”
“Yeah, but it only has views of the neighbors around us.”
“Oh well, one can’t have everything.” Connor sighed. “I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about the view. What’s up?”
Tentative, Steve asked, “Can we sit?”
Connor rolled his eyes, and then realized he wasn’t being very nice, even if Stevehadwounded him deeply. “I’m sorry. I just am a little taken aback that you’re here. I never expected to see you again. Miranda did, though.” He frowned. “You told her you’d stay in touch. She thinks of you as her dad. You realize that?”
“I know, I know. I’ve been a fool.”
“Well come on in. I suppose the writing for today will keep. You want a cup of coffee? There’s still some in the French press from earlier. You just have to heat it up in the microwave.”
Steve shook his head. “Thanks, anyway.” He moved into the living room and perched on one of the wingback chairs on either side of the fireplace. Connor took a place on the couch. He’d been tempted to blurt out that he was married and was expecting hisgorgeoushusband home very soon, but felt like that would have been petty and vindictive. It was obvious Steve was in a state of despair and agitation. There was no need to make it worse.
To draw his gaze away from the floor-to-ceiling windows, Connor leaned forward. “What do you want, Steve? I thought you were finished with me, us.”
