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As the hostess returned to the front and escorted the man to a table, Holden’s request to eat somewhere other than the hotel seemed even more curious. Why would he ditch out on eating with his coworker? And then the pieces fit together. The way Holden hadn’t acknowledged him when he’d first gotten on the plane but come to the back after the first-class curtain was drawn, the way he’d suggested Greg order room service, slamming his laptop shut while he’d been in the middle of a video call. It all added up to Holden being closeted, and Greg had to wonder if it was only at work or his entire life. He was sure Holden had his reasons, but no one should have to hide who they truly were for any reason, but especially for who they loved.
The elevator dinged, and Holden stepped out.
“Ready?” he asked as he came over to Greg.
“Your coworker’s in the restaurant.”
“Brody?” Holden looked over his shoulder, a furtive glance that Greg mentally added to the “closeted” column. Was it Greg’s imagination that he seemed to relax when the man in question was nowhere in sight? “Did he say anything to you?”
“No. How would he know who I am?”
Holden shook his head and blew out a breath. “No reason.” He smiled, though it looked forced to Greg. “Ready to go?”
“Sure.”
They were almost out the front doors when Holden leaned closer, his fingers reaching toward Greg’s face. “Hold on, you must have caught yourself shaving.”
Greg jerked away from Holden, raising his fingers to the underside of his jaw and felt the bead of dried blood flake off his skin at his touch. When he pulled his fingers away, he stared at the red on his fingertips, then touched his skin to make sure he hadn’t started bleeding again. He rubbed his fingers, then shoved his hands in his pockets. “Come on.”
The walk to the breakfast place was silent as they trudged through the snow that had accumulated on the sidewalk. Greg’s mind was full of thoughts of Holden being a closet case and whether he should have disclosed his HIV status to the man before sharing a bed with him even though his status would only become an issue if they had sex or Greg was bleeding.
The moment when Holden had reached out to touch where he’d cut himself…Greg shivered because it had both surprised and scared him. It was a visceral reaction to the chance that he might infect someone else, and that was something Greg never wanted to do. Even if the risk of transmission was low, it would never be zero. The guy who’d infected him hadn’t said a thing about being positive, and Greg never wanted to put someone in the same position. That was why he’d said something to Mason’s fiancé. Even if Mason had been lying about being positive, the chance he wasn’t would have weighed too heavily on Greg’s conscience.
He risked a glance at Holden as they neared the restaurant, wondering where the man’s thoughts had gone as they trudged through the ankle-deep snow on the sidewalks.
“How’re you holding up there?” Greg asked and grinned when Holden shot him a withering look.
“They better give me a coffee when I walk in the door,” he growled. “My hands are almost frozen solid, and I can’t feel my toes.”
“Just another block to go.”
Holden muttered something under his breath, and Greg laughed. In truth, he hadn’t thought about whether Holden had proper clothes for the weather, and the snow was still coming down at a pretty good clip. The weather app had said it was supposed to taper off by midday but then start snowing again around four with possible accumulations of six more inches. Luckily, the storm would end overnight, and Greg should be able to get to Aspen in time for dinner the following day.
The sidewalk in front of the restaurant had recently been cleared, so Greg and Holden stamped their feet to remove as much snow as they could and shook their jackets out before going inside. The interior was done up like a diner right out of the ’50s with red vinyl booths and a jukebox in the back corner, but the aroma was anything but grease. Warm smells of vanilla and cinnamon and fresh-baked bread competed with the tease of sugar and bacon. It was one of Greg’s favorite places to eat in the city. If he had to be grateful for one thing on this trip, it was that he got to enjoy a breakfast at Timberline.
The place was surprisingly busy for such a snowy day, but they didn’t have long to wait before they were shown to a booth. A waiter appeared with coffee before Holden even had his menu open, and his relief at cupping his fingers around the warm mug amused Greg.
“What?” Holden asked. “I’d stick my fingers in the cup if I didn’t think it would turn this into iced coffee. It’s fucking cold out there!”
“I’ll agree it was a bit brisk,” Greg teased.
Holden grumped and turned his attention to the menu. When the waiter returned, Greg ordered the French toast with a side of bacon and hashbrowns, while Holden went with a Denver omelet and home fries. After delivering their orders to the kitchen, the waiter was back to freshen up their coffees, making Holden hum appreciatively as he wrapped his hands around the mug again.
Watching him over the top of his own mug, Greg shook his head at the incongruity of Holden sitting across from himself.
“What?” Holden asked.
Greg fiddled with the silverware, then glanced up at Holden and shrugged. “Just thinking how odd it is to be here. With you.” He picked at the scalloped edge of the paper menu. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s just…the way we met and all.”
“I get that. Not that I’m complaining either.” He squinted at Greg, the movement making lines appear at the corner of his eyes and reminding Greg of the difference in their ages. “Thank you for trusting me,” Holden said, and Greg stopped thinking about anything except how handsome the man sitting across from him was.
“Thank you for coming to my rescue last night. I honestly don’t know what I would have done.” He shrugged. “Probably ended up back at the airport trying to sleep in one of those awful chairs.” With a grimace, Greg added, “I don’t know why every airport has the same seating. It’s awful and uncomfortable.”
“How long have you been flying?”
“About ten years now. I did a four-year stint in the army right out of high school.”
“Yeah? I’m a career navy man myself.” He held his mug up in salute, and Greg did likewise. “I retired and took a job with a contractor about seven years ago.” With a quirked smile, he shrugged. “I’m not quite ready to be put out to pasture.”
