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Sway’s dark blond brows rose up and a surprised look crossed his face. “I haven’t eaten.”
“Good. Dinner’s already ready.” Brian nodded to the left, where his eat-in kitchen was. “Kitchen’s this way.” Brian loved that his floor plan wasn’t all open space like the newer homes. Each of the rooms in his house had an entrance and walls and he loved that. Dana had said that Brian’s house felt so much like a maze, with all the columns and ins and outs, that they could play a real live game of Clue there.
Brian took Sway’s hand and led him down the hall and made a sharp left into the kitchen, if they’d made a right they’d be in the den. Everything was neat and clean. It came from years of military life. Brian wasn’t a slob, couldn’t be one if he tried, but he didn’t have OCD either, he’d left more than one damp towel on the floor.
He pointed to the small bistro dinette set in front of the bay windows. While he went over and got the plates ready, he noticed Sway staring out of the open window at his backyard. The globe lights he had strung across the deck were lit, illuminating his nice fire pit set up. He used it often, by himself, but he could only imagine what it’d be like to wrap Sway in his arms and sit outside, holding him under the stars on a cool evening. Stop it. Brian kept his back to Sway as he spooned a portion of the green beans onto the plate. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was thinking about the two of them in the future already. Not good.
“Smells good. What are we having?” Sway asked, picking at his fingers.
Is that a nervous habit of his? Brian signed the menu for tonight and noticed Sway crinkle his forehead and pinch his pink lips together when Brian got to the main course.
“You don’t like fish?” Brian didn’t let a defeated look play across his face but he couldn’t believe he’d gotten that wrong.
“Oh, yes, I do.” Sway chuckled nervously. “I told you my signing is a little rusty. I haven’t lived with my aunt since I was a teenager and she doesn’t visit as often as she used to, either. What was that sign you did after the potatoes? It wasn’t fish.” Sway signed fish then gave Brian a playful scowl. “Did you just make up something? You’re not one of those people that if they don’t know the sign for that word then they just do some random hand gesture then continue with their sentence.”
Brian’s surprised laugh escaped him so fast, it sounded like a harsh cough. Sway didn’t let on if he thought the sound was strange, instead he laughed more and started making some crazy signs for random meats that made absolutely no sense. Was that supposed to be the sign for frog legs or venison? Before Brian could even clarify the meal, he had to stop chuckling and get past the surreal feeling of being on a date with a man and him teasing Brian about his signing. And not in an asshole kind of way, but in an affectionate one. Brian finger spelled salmon then did the sign for it.
“Damn, this looks amazing,” Sway said softly when Brian set the neatly arranged plate in front of him. “I do like salmon. It’s my favorite seafood actually… that and crabs. Anything crabs and I love it.”
“Good to know.” Brian brought over the bottle of Chardonnay and poured Sway a glass, then refilled his own. He wasn’t much of a wine drinker, but he could tolerate a couple of glasses with dinner. “Bon appétit.”
Sway smirked. “Okay, you’re doing it again. What was that?”
“That was French, for enjoy your meal.”
“French sign language? Really? Show off.”
Brian’s chest rumbled again. He loved that feeling, especially since it didn’t happen too often. There was so much Sway didn’t know about him. Like Brian wasn’t really showing off. He spoke four languages, fluent French being one of them. At least he used to speak other languages.
Brian took a bite of his fish, surprised at the burst of flavors. He had to admit it didn’t get any easier, he’d prepared everything exactly how the recipe had instructed, and the fish was cooked through just right. It had the perfect amount of seasoning and lemon butter. The potatoes were a little overcooked, but it didn’t seem to be a problem for Sway as he dug in with gusto. Brian watched in fascination when Sway let the fork linger in his mouth for a couple of extra seconds before he slowly pulled it out, the tip of his tongue chasing the last bit of butter on his lips. Brian wiped his mouth with his napkin in an attempt to cover his gaping. What he really needed was to press down on his lap to relieve the pressure he felt building the more Sway moaned and praised his cooking. If he moans one more damn—
