Bundled Up

Book 0: Portland Heat

by Annabeth Albert

Genres: LGBT Gay; New Adult Romance

Synopsis

All three of The Portland Heat Novellas together for the first time! Served Hot "Tremendously charming and sexy, Served Hot is a knockout!" – RT Book Reviews In Portland, Oregon, the only thing hotter than the coffee shops, restaurants, and bakeries are the hard-working men who serve it up—hot, fresh, and ready to go—with no reservations… Robby is a self-employed barista with a busy coffee cart, a warm smile, and a major crush on one of his customers. David is a handsome finance director who works nearby, eats lunch by himself, and expects nothing but “the usual”—small vanilla latte—from the cute guy in the cart. But when David shows up for his first Portland Pride festival, Robby works up the nerve to take their slow-brewing relationship to the next level. David, however, is newly out and single, still grieving the loss of his longtime lover, and unsure if he’s ready to date again. Yet with every fresh latte, sweet exchange—and near hook-up—David and Robby go from simmering to steaming to piping hot. The question is: Will someone get burned? Baked Fresh From its famous coffee to the mouthwatering fare at its cafés, restaurants, and bakeries, Portland, Oregon, has a lot to whet the appetite, including the hard-working men who serve it all up—hot, fresh, and ready to go—with no reservations… Vic Degrassi is a baker on the rise, and it’s all thanks to his rare ability to make—and keep—his New Year’s resolutions. Whether it’s losing weight, giving up smoking, or graduating from culinary school, Vic goes after what he wants—and gets it. This year? He wants Robin Dawson, the sweet-hearted hottie who volunteers with him at the local homeless shelter. When he learns that Robin is suddenly single after being unceremoniously dumped, Vic is more than happy to offer a shoulder to cry on—or at least a fresh-baked pastry to bite into. But it’s been a long time since Vic’s gone on a date, and he’s nervous about risking his friendship with Robin. So when their flirtation turns into a steamy night together, Vic and Robin have to figure out if they’re friends with benefits or lovers in the making, and if Robin is ready for something more than just a rebound. There’s only one way to find out: turn up the heat… Delivered Fast Portland, Oregon, aka Hotlandia, where the coffee shops, restaurants, and bakeries are ready to serve everything piping hot, fresh, and ready to go—like the hard-working, hard-bodied men behind the counters—with no reservations…Sure, Chris O’Neal has problems. His restaurant is still co-owned by his ex. His flannel-and-tattoos style is making him accidentally trendy. He can’t remember the last time he went out and had fun. But he’s not lonely, he’s driven. And the hot bakery delivery boy is not his problem, no matter how sweet his buns. Chris is old enough to know Lance Degrassi’s sculpted good looks and clever double entendres spell nothing but trouble. Lance is still in college—he should be hitting the clubs and the books, chasing guys his own age, not pursuing some gruff motorcycle-riding workaholic. Especially when he’ll be leaving for grad school in a few months. But Lance keeps hanging around, lending a hand, charming Chris to distraction. Maybe some steaming hot no-strings indulgence won’t hurt. Then again, maybe it will…

Release date: January 19, 2016

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 362

Sample

My nooner was late. Well, technically, David was my 11:50. Without fail, ten minutes before twelve every work day, David P. Gregory bought a vanilla latte from my coffee cart in the Old Emerson building in Portland. I only knew his name because he used his debit card to pay, and I knew the time because of the old-fashioned, massive brass clock directly across the atrium from my cart.

I knew David banked at a local credit union, knew that he worked somewhere that required a tie, knew that he had a smile that made his mouth crinkle up at the edges when I handed him his coffee, and knew that he was an excellent tipper.

What I didn’t know was whether or not he was straight. We’d had this weird dance for months now—he’d arrive for his coffee, stilted and uncomfortable, relax into a bit of small talk while I made his drink, and then he’d take his coffee to one of the metal tables out in the atrium to have with the lunch he packed in a blue bag. I liked watching him eat because he gave it his entire focus—no smart phone or gadget, no newspaper or book, no folder of work. A few times I’d caught him looking back in my direction. But his gaze never lingered and either my flirting while I served him was more subtle than I’d thought or he was simply immune.

Today David was late. Unexpected disappointment uncurled in my stomach, souring my caffeine buzz. It was a good day—a steady stream of customers at my cart and bustling business for the pizza place and the vegan sandwich bar on the other side of the atrium. The hundred-year-old office building had been renovated to include a few small eateries in the newly added skylit atrium. Plenty for me to look at, but my eyes kept returning to the double brass doors that opened onto Ninth.

David pushed through the heavy doors at 12:45 just as I was finishing up a caramel soy latte for one of the Goth girls who worked at the jewelry place across the street. I hid my smile behind my espresso machine. Eager for it to be his turn, I tapped my toes against the linoleum.

“The usual?” I figured it would freak him out if I mentioned I’d noticed his lateness.

“Hmmm.” He studied my specials sign. I’d glued a chalkboard panel inside a silver frame from a secondhand place on Hawthorne and put the whole thing on a silver-painted easel. Classy on the cheap.

Today I had a half-price tuxedo mocha—white chocolate with dark chocolate swirls. David had never paid any attention to the sign before, but today he gave it a long stare, consideration tugging his mouth back and forth. God, I loved his mouth—full pink lips, a hint of stubble on his upper lip like he’d missed a spot shaving.

After a few seconds, he shrugged, broad shoulders rippling the fine cotton of his dress shirt. “Yeah. The usual.”

“Sure thing.” I grabbed the cup for his small vanilla latte.

“Wait.” He held up a hand as I started to ring him up. “Iced. It’s sweltering out.” He’d rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, revealing muscular forearms and a heavy silver, antique-looking watch.

“Meaning it’s eighty-five degrees in Portland and everyone is freaking out. You know . . . it’s good to try something different once in a while.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His mouth quirked. While his brown eyes were often unreadable, his expressive mouth provided more of a window into his emotions. “But my day’s had enough excitement. I’m not sure I can handle much new right now.”

Darn. I wouldn’t mind providing something new for him. “Rough morning?”

“Budget crisis.” A sigh rolled through him, pushing his shoulders down and making his lower lip stick out. My arms tensed with the need to give him a hug. Of course, I wanted to do a lot more than hug. I wanted to nibble on his lip, lick my way into his mouth . . .

“—so everything we did three months ago has to be undone.”

Hell. He’d kept talking and I’d missed part of it while I was fantasizing.

“Sucks.” In more than one way. I’d known he was a corporate type, but knowing he was a number-crunching guy in charge of big dollars pushed him further out of my league.

“Yeah. Wasn’t even sure I’d get my coffee fix today.”

I looked up from making his drink, hoping to see a telltale bloom of pink on his cheeks. Eagerness. Anything that would give me a teensy-tiny bit of hope. But his paler-than-usual face only showed exhaustion, revealing little lines around his mouth and eyes that I hadn’t noticed before.

“At least you get the weekend to recover, right?”

“Hah.” His forced exhalation ruffled the brown hair that tumbled across his forehead. “If I’m lucky.”

Over the months, I’d watched his haircut go through several cycles—close-cropped enough to hide his natural curl, waves tamed with lots of product, and overgrown fluff that defied any attempts to restrain it. My favorite look was definitely the latter—my fingers ached with the need to grab hold and never let go—but I knew his hair would be shorter within the next few days. Fluffy and cuddly never lasted long with him.

“That’s too bad. It’s too pretty out to stay cooped up all weekend.” Great. We were back to talking about the weather, but I was happy to grasp at anything to keep the conversation going. Sunlight flooded the atrium, lighting up the large planters in the center of the room and making the brass of the clock gleam.

“I know. I’ll try to get out at some point.” There it was: his rare half smile that on someone else might have been flirtatious. On him, it looked more like he’d surprised himself by letting a joke creep past his usual seriousness. “How about you? Big plans for the weekend?”

You. An invitation crept to the front of my tongue, only to retreat before I opened my mouth. I sucked at this. For all that I loved my customers and loved what I did, I wasn’t good at taking banter beyond the superficial. I hadn’t dated anyone for two years and my last boyfriend, Brian, had been the one to pursue me, slipping me his number with a tip and following it up with an invitation that felt more like a command.

“You could say that.” I smiled nervously, not sure how much to reveal. Oh, what the hell. “It’s Pride weekend.”

“Didn’t realize that was going on.” Darn it, judging by how wide his eyes popped, he’d genuinely had no clue. Well, at least my question about him had an answer, even if it wasn’t the one I wanted.

“Not like I’m going to have as much fun this year. Working one of the coffee stalls for my old boss a big chunk of the festival.” I shrugged, like Pride was just another workday, but the motion came out as wooden as the conversation.

“Eh. Have fun.” David’s voice was weak. He coughed in that awkward rumble guys make when someone’s over-shared.

“Here you go.” I handed him his coffee, making sure my smile didn’t seem forced.

Cursing myself with every salty putdown I’d learned from my Navy dad, I watched David walk away. It wasn’t the first time I’d come out to a customer, but I didn’t make a habit of it. Portland was one of the most accommodating cities I’d ever lived in, but my cart was right in the heart of the business district, and with all the suits running around being all professional, it seemed best to keep things . . . professional.

David went right to his usual table and pulled out a sandwich and a Baggie of chips. Most of the suit-and-tie lunch crowd got coffees on their way over to one of the atrium’s overpriced eateries. There was something endearing about a guy who got a four-dollar coffee to go with his daily PB&J on whole wheat and potato chips. Made my insides go all fuzzy. His Spartan lunch was the main reason I’d been optimistic he’d been coming around for more than coffee. Seeing him sitting there in his white shirts and boring ties, looking deep in thought over a lunch most people left behind in grade school—well, it made me want to be the thing on his mind. But of course it was highly unlikely it was me causing the furrow in his brow and the faraway look in his eyes. So what the heck was he thinking about? Numbers, probably. Budgets and columns and spreadsheets.

I got lost in deciding whether David was an accountant or a manager type and inventing a whole fantasy life for him. For long stretches of my day I had no customers and nothing to do but wait and people watch. Usually I kept half my brain on the cart, but this afternoon it took the distinctive snick of fingers snapping to break my daydream.

Sheila smiled broadly at me. She was another regular, a businesswoman with short eggplant-colored hair and a penchant for purple business suits and skinny mochas. “Big weekend, huh?”

“Yeah.” My disappointment over David faded a little in the face of her excitement. Shelia occasionally brought her graphic designer girlfriend around. Said girlfriend had figured me out in under a minute. It was probably my glasses. They were a bit of a splurge, but hipster glasses seemed to yield higher tips, so they stayed.

“You and . . .” I struggled to remember the girlfriend’s name. “You going to any of the events?”

“Laura. Laura and I will be around to watch the parade, but we’re getting too old for the rest of it.” She winked at me, making me feel like a high schooler getting a free pass to stay out late. I wasn’t that much younger than her—twenty-seven to her late thirties. And the lease I’d signed for the coffee cart space a year ago made me feel plenty adult.

“Your loss.”

“Hey! Someone left their wallet.” Shelia held up a brown wallet.

David. “Heck.” I jerked my hand, dribbling a bit of mocha on the side of the cup. I shot a glance toward his regular table. It was empty. Damn. I’d have to move fast to catch up with him. It was Friday, and I didn’t want him to go the whole weekend without his wallet.

As soon as I handed Shelia her coffee, I opened the wallet to verify it was David’s. My fingers itched to thumb through the contents, but I pinched the wallet shut as soon as I saw his debit card.

I stuck my BACK IN FIVE MINUTES sign on the counter and speedily navigated through the seating area. If I was lucky I could catch him before—I caught sight of him at the doors leading out onto Ninth.

“Hey! Wait up!” I sped after him, red apron flapping in front of me like I was trying to run down a bull. Actually, a bull wasn’t a bad metaphor for him, what with his broad shoulders and wide chest and deep scowl.

“Yeah?” He said the word as if I might be about to toss a coffee on him. Or, worse, ask him out. Great. As I’d suspected, I’d totally mucked things up with my word vomit about Pride earlier.

“You left your wallet.” I sounded breathless and way too unsure.

“Thanks for spotting it.” His expression softened a little, mainly around his eyes, but it was enough to make him look more approachable. Our fingers brushed as he took the wallet from me. A deep sizzle ran from my hand all the way up to my mouth, forcing me to grin.

“No problem.”

“I appreciate it—it’s got my security card for work and my MAX Pass. I’d have had to hightail it back to try to catch you before you close.” His smile made his soft brown eyes dance. And made my pulse race, but I’d keep that fact to myself.

“No problem. I’m usually around, even after five. Gotta clean up.” The business traffic dictated our hours. I hadn’t been able to justify evenings or weekends. The odd tourist or Saturday shopper wasn’t enough to keep us afloat. We weren’t in a residential area, and we were a fair hike from most of the touristy stuff.

“Good to know. Not the first time I’ve left something important behind.” He looked sheepish, and my chest expanded. I liked knowing that little hint of a weakness about him; it made him more real, less of a fantasy dude.

A little idea niggled at my brain—like an evil elf had tapped me on the shoulder. “You know, if you give me your card, I could call you if you leave your wallet behind again.”

There. His cheeks went dusky pink. I finally got a blush out of him, but hell if I could decipher what it meant. I could predict people’s taste in coffee, down to preferred syrup flavor, but I still sucked at decoding anything as complex as human emotions.

“Ah. Um.” He did the nervous cough thing again.

“Never mind.” I wiped my hands on my apron. “I’d better get back.”

“Wait.” He opened the wallet, plucked out a white card with a blue logo, and offered it to me. His broad fingers brushed mine again as he handed it over. Another barely there touch, but I felt the charge all the way down my spine, like I’d chugged a triple shot.

My breath tripped with wishing he’d add a “call me anytime.” Brian would have. But David just stood there silently. Straighter than the Fremont Bridge and denser than a concrete pylon.

“I’m Robby, by the way,” I offered, mainly as a way to fill up the awkward silence.

“Thanks . . . Robby.” David said the name like it didn’t quite fit. And I guess it didn’t—people expect to hear an Asian name like Kim or Jae, not Robert Edwards Junior. I was Robby, Dad was Bob, and we hadn’t spoken in weeks. Dad was actually cooler with the whole gay thing than my Korean mom, but it was an uneasy acceptance, punctuated by uncomfortable phone calls and infrequent visits.

The pink had returned to David’s cheeks and I almost said something else, but then he pushed through the doors and was gone.

As I walked back to my cart, I glanced down at his card.

Huh. Not so very corporate after all. And he’d been walking six blocks—past a Starbucks, a Tully’s, and two other buildings with coffee carts—to my cart. Those two small facts made my stomach all quivery again.

Waterfront Park was ablaze with rainbows: banners, sidewalks, T-shirts, tattoos, wigs, face paint. I felt positively monochromatic as I brushed my hands across my black apron and peered around the balloons—rainbow-colored, of course—bobbing cheerfully from Chris’s People’s Coffee trailer. My old boss, Chris, had scored a primo spot in the park’s food vending area for Pride weekend. Since he’d helped me get my current cart, I didn’t really feel I could turn him down with “Gee, I’d rather watch the parade and find a willing stranger to make out with.”

Not that making out was likely to happen. I could count on one hand with fingers left over the number of times I’d gotten laid in the last year. Purchasing my cart, recovering from Brian, and my general awkwardness with the dating and hookup scene kept my bed cold and my wrist sore.

The line for coffee was at least six deep. I got back to work, not sure if I should feel grateful I didn’t have time to linger on my painfully single state. Even with five baristas, the line stayed long for the entire Saturday shift. By the six o’clock close of the festival, I was too beat even to enjoy the people watching. The night offered tons of parties and celebrations. But my feet ached and I could only manage going through the motions at Slaughters before giving into exhaustion and collapsing into my bed, in a quiet house.

My roommates rolled in around dawn, reminding me that I still had to get through one more day of Pride. So much for getting laid. My new goal was simply to endure. Something about being an employee again—albeit it a temporary one—made even my smallest bones ache. I’d stumbled into the coffee-cart business the same way I did everything else in my life, but it was mine. I’d come to Portland for college, stayed for Brian, and had a tiny inheritance land in my lap just in time to get in on the coffee-cart opportunity.

When I arrived for the Sunday shift, I was grateful to find the crowd was lighter and more hungover, which meant fewer fancy drinks and a lot more Americanos and triple shots. Lounging against the table with the blenders, I was about to let one of the younger baristas take the next customer when I caught sight of a familiar dark head.

The hair on the back of my neck perked up. David’s appearance was far more energizing than the iced soy latte with two extra shots I’d been sipping. “I’ve got this one,” I murmured to the blue-haired barista.

“Whatever,” she muttered with a classic teenage eye roll.

I sidled up to the counter. “Didn’t expect to see you here. What can I do you for?” Even though I’d already established that flirty didn’t work with David, I went for it anyway. After all, he was here, right?

He studied the limited menu, scratching his smooth chin. He had the sort of complexion that could easily go scruffy, but even casual he still exuded a nerdy-prep look. His green polo shirt and khaki pants with a canvas belt and loafers made me think of fancy boat parties. And of things people could get up to on boats. But then, something about his too-serious eyes had always made me think of sex.

“Vanilla latte. Iced. Another hot one today.” He made a vague gesture at the sunny skies.

“Gotta love June in Portland. I want to bottle up the sun and save it for January.”

“June makes monsoon season totally worth it.” He drummed his fingers against the metal shelf of the order window.

The weather. We were back to talking about the freaking weather. I wanted to let out a full-on diva scream.

I hadn’t missed Brian in ages, but I did right then. He’d always had a way of moving things along to their natural conclusion—us included. And of course his bossy self would have taken issue with my too-spiky hair and too-flashy glasses and shy smile. Brian never would have let me be the one to move first. Be bold, I lectured myself. Clearly David’s not going to be.

“So. You enjoying the festival? See any interesting booths?”

“Not sure.” He colored an adorable shade of pink. “Just got here. Came for a coffee mainly.”

I couldn’t help it. I beamed. Did he come for me? My heart leapt a little, even though it shouldn’t.

“This your first Pride?”

“That obvious?” He did that nervous cough of his again.

“Just a little.” I tried to keep my voice light, even as my smile tightened up. A tourist. I should have figured. After Brian, I didn’t have much interest in closeted guys or being someone’s science experiment, even someone as endearingly bumbling as David.

The barista working the machine slid me David’s drink and I gingerly handed it over.

“Thanks. Guess I should . . . look around a bit. I’ve still got some work to catch up on later.” After he paid, he lingered at the window, his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something else.

Hope, stupid and unwarranted, reared its head again, taking over my better sense.

“Wait. Want me to show you around? I can take my break.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem. Be fun.” Please don’t make me play some sort of offer-and-refuse game.

“Really? Um. Okay. That would be . . . nice.”

Thank the flying spaghetti monster. The distant beat of the music stage thrummed through me, muscles twitching with nervous energy. I hadn’t taken many breaks, so when I asked to be cut loose for a while Chris waved me off without looking up. I exited the trailer through the rear door. An awning had been erected to cover the trailer’s extra supplies and I tossed my apron next to a big carton of cups.

Running a quick hand through my hair, I made my way to the front of the trailer, where David had taken a seat at a folding picnic table.

“Hey.” Hell. I didn’t have a clue what to say.

David blinked a few times, like he’d stared too long into the still-new June sun. His gaze held a whole lot of scrutiny and nowhere near as much heat as I’d wished.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” A faint flush crept up his neck. “Just realized I’ve never seen you without your apron on.”

“Guess not.” I resisted the urge to preen. Since it was Pride, I’d worn my tight red KEEP CALM T-shirt and wriggled my ass into my tiniest black jeans. My boots had thick lug soles but, even so, when David stood he had a good two inches on me. He wasn’t crazy tall, which was good because I didn’t like being with dudes who made me feel like a midget. David’s wide shoulders and sturdy, capable build made him seem substantial without teetering into overpoweringly ripped.

“So . . .” He fiddled with his straw, and I half-expected him to bolt any second.

“What would you like to see first?” I gestured at the booths surrounding us. I needed this conversation to move out of awkward land and walking around could only help.

“I have no idea really. I’m not picky.”

“Easy to please, huh?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I guess.” His cheeks went ruddy and he looked away. Hell. I had no idea what to make of that blush. For the millionth time I wished I were better at interacting instead of merely observing.

“How about the music stage?” I wasn’t much in the mood for visiting the same vendors I saw each year. There were only so many T-shirts one could own after all. If I hadn’t been working for Chris, I would have spent most of the day watching the bands.

“Sure.” He followed me as we headed toward the main stage, winding our way through the crowds and tents. After we made our way out of the rows of tents, we had an impressive view of the waterfront and the bridge. While we walked, I kept glancing over to see what David was thinking about the rainbow explosion.

Exuberant is the best word for Portland Pride. It’s not the spectacle of San Francisco or the statement of New York and Boston. Hamburg’s Pride had been my first, almost a decade ago. I’d snuck away from the German base where my dad had been stationed to attend the parade. I hadn’t been out to my parents yet, and I barely knew enough German to get around public transit and buy food. It didn’t matter—merely being around so many out, happy people had given me a rush I’d felt for weeks afterward.

Ever since, I’d made a point of attending Pride regardless of where I lived. Portland was my favorite because of how laid-back yet unabashedly happy everyone was. It was a little like a giant family reunion, only with a lot more color, and everyone liked each other or at least pretended to for the weekend.

Even as I told myself not to care, I found myself watching what made David’s eyes go wide, like a quartet of drag queens who towered over both of us and a woman holding a poodle dressed in a rainbow tutu. Skin—half-naked people like the guy on a unicycle with a seat shaped like a dick wearing nothing but a G-string—earned a double take from David, as did couples draped over each other.

Guess I was watching for more clues about who David was. Freed from the counter between us, he felt more . . . real.

“So how is it that this is your first Pride?” I asked. It was a clear fishing expedition, but I needed to know more about the status of his closet door.

“Up until two years ago I lived in Idaho—and Small Basin isn’t exactly a hotbed of Pride activities.” His half grin didn’t provide nearly enough answers to the questions that abruptly formed on my tongue.

“You move here for your job?” What I wanted to ask was whether he’d moved here to be out. But I kept dancing around the things I really wanted to know.

“Something like that.” Damn cryptic man, making things twenty times harder. I couldn’t ask and he couldn’t tell. My inner Navy brat gave a snicker.

David and I stood at the edge of the crowd; some people sat in folding chairs, others on blankets, and plenty of people stood too. The areas closer to the stage were tightly packed. Back where we stood it wasn’t as crazy crowded and we could still hear each other speak.

“How about you? You a Portland native?” David’s desire to move the conversation away from himself was almost palpable, his eyes going more eager and his lips turning upward.

“Nah. I’m from everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” Ordinarily when people ask me if I’m from here they pause expectantly, their tone not unlike when they compliment me on how good my English is. But David’s tone held nothing but genuine interest, and that made me more talkative than usual.

“Military brat. Born in South Korea, then we hit Maine, Florida, Japan, and Germany before my dad got his twenty years.”

“What was his job?” David moved closer to me as the music swelled, giving me an almost light-headed sensation.

“He worked as a Naval medic, but he’s a nurse now. Met my mom in Korea, but they live in Virginia currently. She owns a clothing store and . . .” I was rambling, but being around him was a strange mixture of giddiness at his nearness and nervousness that I would screw things up. The dueling emotions were par for the course for me, but I still had to take a deep breath. Not that it helped, because I could smell David—faint ocean-scented soap, a little sweat, and something unique to him that made my blood hum like a MAX train.

“What are you doing in the Northwest?”

I was tempted to give as cryptic an answer as he had, but the warmth in my chest made my tongue loose.

“Came for college at Reed. Stayed for an evil ex-boyfriend. Decided PhD track in linguistics wasn’t for me. Lucked out on landing the coffee business.”

“Evil ex, huh?” His lips twitched. Oh, man. I loved that he’d latched on to the ex bit almost as much as I loved the way his lips moved. Warmth spread from my chest farther south.

“Yeah. Very evil and very ex. And he’s probably wandering around here somewhere.” I sighed, having long resigned myself to the relative smallness of the Portland gay scene and Brian’s ability to turn up where I least wanted him.

“Really?” David craned his neck as if Brian might pop up at any moment. It was a ridiculously cute, almost protective gesture. His shoulders seemed wider, his hair more ruffled. Jealous? My insides bubbled up like an Italian soda, all sweetness and giddy anticipation.

“Who knows?” I shrugged. “Probably somewhere avoiding people with cameras. He’s out in Portland, but not Provo.” That part of Brian I hadn’t made peace with, not during our four years together and not after. It was especially hard because after we broke up I’d watched him cannonball into the bar scene, making a desperate splash by sleeping with anyone and everyone, all the while drowning in dishonesty, undoubtedly hurting himself and a lot of other people.

And here I was standing with a guy who was quite possibly more closeted than Brian. David’s nervous glances said the entire scene was new to him. Of course the Portland scene was usually a bit more subdued, but Pride was special, bringing out skin and body paint and screaming-loud outfits. A guy in front of us was wearing pink briefs and rainbow knee-highs and nothing else. To our left, the Portland Leather Men were all decked out, complete with chaps and studded harnesses.

I adored this sort of people watching, but I could tell it unsettled David. He kept shuffling his feet, his face alternating between horrified and fascinated.

“Want to walk a bit more?”

“Sure.” He shoved both hands in his pockets as he walked next to me.

Well all righty, then. Not that I’d been planning on holding his hand or anything, but his very clear keep-your-distance signal deflated whatever stupid hope had been brewing in my brain. My skin felt chilled, despite the unseasonably balmy breeze.

We walked the perimeter of the concert, still able to hear the music as we traveled the park’s sidewalks. I asked him about his job and some of my tension eased when I saw a little smile tug at his lips.

“I love what we do at the Library Trust,” he said. “I’ve loved libraries ever since I was a kid. It was my favorite building in town. One of the only brick buildings and one of the few air-conditioned public spaces.”

“Me too. Always loved when we lived places with a good library.”

“Can’t imagine moving as often as you.”

“Eh. It wasn’t terrible.”

“I lived my whole life in Small Basin, except for two years of graduate school in Spokane. And then I moved here.” His eyes darted away from mine, but not before I saw a flash of pain. It made me want to hug him, but his hands were still jammed into his pockets, his shoulders stiffer than a new recruit’s. No hugging happening here.

I plopped down on a nearby bench. From here we could see the river as well as the sea of festival tents. I needed to be getting back to the coffee trailer, but I was reluctant to walk away from David.

Even as frustrated as my libido was, the rest of me really liked hanging around David. I felt calm, my usual frantic mental life slowed to his meandering pace. I was nervous, sure, but I was always nervous. With David, I wanted to work past the nerves and frustration over how hard he was to read because of the undercurrent of rightness—like we’d sat like this a hundred times. He was a fabulous listener, and gradually my nervous rambling slowed to a leisurely talk about our jobs. Budget cuts across the country were affecting both of us, although inadequate funding for summer reading programs felt a bit more urgent than my inability to shake free of my roommates. We were both dependent on how much spending cash people had.

I thought again about his bagged lunch and the contrast of his coffee habit. He loved his job—that much was clear even if nothing much else about him was. Could it possibly be that he’d been coming for me and was just shy? Or was I merely a convenient gateway to a community he had a passing interest in? O