Page 11 of Last Resort

The Spike was known as much for its live music, firepits, and perpetual cornhole challenges as it was for its menu. It was a local favorite for all those reasons, but it held a special place in Erik’s heart for being where he and Ben met for the first time.

The memory made him smile even as Erik hunched against the cold. He’d been new in town, feeling lonely after leaving his old job and a bitter breakup with an unfaithful partner, and finally gave in and used a dating app. When he showed up at The Spike in the agreed-upon meeting place, Ben had taken the seat next to him, and they had struck up a conversation. They had immediate chemistry, giving Erik the mistaken impression that Ben was his date.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. The guy from the dating app was a complete bust, and when Erik saw Ben joking with another man, he concluded that Ben was already taken. It took a ghostly mobster and a haunted clock to finally get them together.

The glow of the firepits cheered Erik as The Spike came into view. He stepped into the lobby to warm up at the large hearth before venturing to the outdoor bar.

“Come here often?” he said in his most seductive voice as he sidled up to Ben, taking the barstool next to him.

“Only with my sexy boyfriend.” Ben reached over to give Erik’s knee a squeeze. “Good thing you got here on time—I’m cold enough to be a popsicle.”

That put all kinds of naughty images in Erik’s mind, and Ben’s smirk confirmed that to be his intention.

“I like popsicles.” Erik held Ben’s gaze. “I was counting on licking one tonight.”

“None of that canoodling,” Sherry Weller, The Spike’s owner teased. “This is a respectable bar.”

“Since when?” Ben joked.

“Well, before you two walked in,” she shot back. Sherry and her wife Jo took a hands-on approach to running the venue and were usually behind the bar if they didn’t have to pinch-hit elsewhere.

“I’ll take an Irish coffee,” Erik ordered. “It’s cold out here.”

“Make that two.” Ben turned back to Erik. “I put in a request for an indoor table, and we can stand next to the firepits while we wait.”

They took their drinks to the circle of light and warmth from the large iron firepits circled by Adirondack chairs. Off to one side, the cornhole games were lively despite the chill. Erik noted that the night’s musician had set up at the inside bar, probably to avoid being too cold to sing.

He tightened his grip on the mug with one hand and reached over to take Ben’s hand with the other. “How was today?”

Ben shrugged. “Things went okay. Since it’s the off-season, that means repairs, remodeling, and touch-ups. We’ve already made a list of which units need work. Now I get to prioritize what starts first. There are a lot of properties. It’s going to take until next summer to work through them all.”

Erik smiled. It wasn’t hard to picture Ben as a Newark cop or as a private investigator. He had the body for a uniform and the looks to be a noir sleuth. His current job required polo shirts with the rental company logo and khaki pants, which always made Erik think Ben was undercover.

“You’ll do a great job. After all, you’ve been doing a lot of the hands-on stuff since you were a teenager, right?” Erik replied.

“Yeah. Sean and I worked summers for my aunt and uncle. We did the do-it-yourself stuff that didn’t require special training—pulling up carpet, painting, swapping out light fixtures.”

“I always had a handyman fantasy.” Erik leaned close to Ben’s ear. “Have I mentioned you look good in a tool belt?”

Ben gave his hand a playful squeeze. “I’m happy to nail you anytime,” he said in a low voice.

“And we’re back to cheesy porn.” Erik laughed.

“Seriously—it was great experience doing all those odd jobs,” Ben said. “Unclogging toilets and stopped-up sinks, stripping and hanging wallpaper, painting rooms, sanding, and re-staining cabinets. A million other things like that. Saved my aunt and uncle a bundle and definitely gave Sean and me usable life skills.”

“Which explains why Sean now runs a food truck?”

Ben sighed. “Sean wanted to get out of Cape May. I know that Wildwood isn’t actually that far away, but it’s a completely different vibe.”

“Oh, I could see that when we visited,” Erik agreed. “I think the difference is that you and I had all the excitement we could handle before we came to Cape May. Sean’s still looking for his.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “I’m all for less excitement.” Both he and Erik had gunshot scars as souvenirs of their past.

Cape May, with its Victorian homes and upscale shops, still had a Gilded Age sense about it. Wildwood, by comparison, was amusement parks, beach fun, and food festivals, drawing a younger and much less sedate crowd. Atlantic City, farther up the coast, was famed for its casinos but had gotten rough around the edges of late.

“Actually, Sean called yesterday,” Ben said. “He’s coming down—sans food truck—to see friends, and we’re going to lunch tomorrow.”

“Tell him ‘hi’ for me,” Erik said. “I hope business is still good for him?”

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