Page 25 of Say It Again

“—were cooked to perfection and the ragù. Oh, the ragù was beautiful—no.” His lips curled into a ridiculous grin, like whatever about to roll from them was pure genius. “It was ragùtiful.”

Aaron snorted—okay, not bad—as he fanned a blanket over his body. Their conversation had bopped around all freeform and giggly with no particular objective. Daniel was easy to talk to. He was even easier to take care of. Maybe because he coasted into Aaron’s nurturing nature without a fight, or perhaps he preferred a more passive role. Whatever the reason, something about Daniel begged to be tended like a tarty little emperor, and something inside of Aaron ached to do it.

He tucked the blanket around Daniel’s chin, lapping up his sweet, humming reaction like a thirsty dog. He should probably slow way the hell down with the… fondness he was beginning to experience. Not that he was against fondness, but for all he knew, Daniel might choose to vanish after a night or two. It seemed like most guys vanished after a night or two, after going to the farmer’s market. Unless they were clients. He wished those guys would do less lingering and more vanishing.

Aaron leaned over the edge of the sofa. “You want hot chocolate?”

“Why, I’d love some, Norman Rockwell,” Daniel responded without opening his eyes. “Sounds scenic.”

Aaron tossed his gaze upward but couldn’t not chuckle as he started for the kitchen.

“I hope you know how difficult it’s going to be to get rid of me, as you’ve thoroughly spoiled me,” Daniel called out. “I might as well go ahead and move in.”

Aaron smirked as he poured milk into a pot. Of course, he was kidding, but the Fondness couldn’t tell and thus grew anyway. “You think we’re ready for that?”

“Duh. What’s up there?” Daniel pointed to the loft upstairs. “I’ll need somewhere to store all my mangling insecurities.”

“Up there?” He rubbed his fingers over his mouth as he gazed up at the loft. Man, he hadn’t been up there in a while. He grinned at the thought of it.

“Why are you smiling?” Daniel gasped as he shot up from the couch like he wasn’t just dying in a food coma. “Aaron. Do you have a sex dungeon?”

“How can it be a dungeon? It’s upstairs.”

“A sex… sky parlor?”

“Get up. Follow me.”

They trekked up the spiral staircase, and Daniel’s mouth fell agape when they reached the landing.

Aaron’s black baby grand sat in the corner, all shiny and over-the-top. It’d cost a fortune to haul up here and keep it tuned. But it sure did look objectively impressive, sitting atop a white sugar shag rug, surrounded by chic, spongy white chairs.

“Whoa.” Daniel looked afraid to touch it as he pinged around, gawking at different angles. “Holy cow. Can you play it?”

That was the typical reaction from clients. Especially if they were stressed or nervous, he’d mix them a drink, usually something more robust than hot chocolate, and take requests (of all sorts). It worked wonders to loosen up newcomers.

“Be silly to own it and not play it.” He scooted onto the bench and lifted the cover. “Your wish is my command, sweetheart. Shoot. We’ll see if I know it.”

“How long have you been playing?” Daniel asked. “Where’d you learn?”

“What’s that? Oh.” He cleared his throat. He wasn’t necessarily used to questions about it. “Since I was four. My mom was a piano teacher.”

“She was?” Daniel pressed both hands over his heart. “Oh, and look at you now. Still playing. Doing so well. If she could see you, I’m sure she’d be so proud of you.”

Aaron had wondered before if she would be proud of him. Or if she would be shocked at who he’d become. He liked to think she’d find a way to see him beneath how he made his living, but he tried not to wonder in earnest.

“Play me something she taught you. Something she loved.”

He didn’t mean to give Daniel what had to be a vacant stare.

“If you feel comfortable, that is,” Daniel hastened to say. “No pressure.”

“No, I like it. That’s, um, a different request, but nice. Nice to think about.” He scratched his cheek and scanned the walls as if they’d help. As if they were printed in music. Something she loved? Something she loved. A smile tugged at his lips. Man, what didn’t she love?

He tipped his head to the side and started to stroke the keys. Before she got sick, she loved badminton. She loved cozy mystery novels and the idea of a tearoom, even though she barely tolerated tea. Whatever he was playing began to pick up rhythm, still gentle but bubbly. Like her. She loved her fish tank. She’d make the same guilty face every time she came home with a new impulsive “fish buy.”

He softly snorted as his fingertips danced over the keys in a spry little melody that began to take shape. Cool and slick, the keys warmed as he played on.

She loved her sunroom, cinnamon-flavored anything, bluebirds, and bonfires. She loved making fun of that one lady at church who scolded Aaron for being too fidgety. She loved him and Andrew. Loved lounging around, stroking their hair, substituting the words of songs with their names to make them giggle. She loved her boys. All of them. Even their dad.

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