Page 2 of Blown

“No point,” his dad said happily. “I just wanted to hear the dulcet tones of your voice. And to let you know Early has the new class schedule for the fall session, and they wanted your opinion on whether you wanted to split your Intro to Glassblowing class into two sections, since so many people signed up.”

Rafe let out a breath and forced himself to relax. He supposed it was encouraging to know that people were eager to learn from him. It wasn’t exactly the kind of renown he wanted, but it was something.

“I’ll talk to them when I get back,” he said.

“Good,” his dad said. “Give me a ring when you’re back, if I don’t see you first. We’ll greet your American friend in true Hawthorne style.”

“Oh, God,” Rafe muttered.

“It’s ‘Goddess’ now,” his dad said, bright humor in his voice. “Bax converted us all to Paganism, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Rafe said, then went right into, “I’m hanging up now.”

“Bye, son. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

His dad’s affection eased Rafe’s tension a little as he ended the call. He really was blessed to come from such a wild and eccentric family. They were as bohemian as families got, but that meant he and his siblings had all been raised with more freedom to explore themselves and their desires than most people had in a lifetime. That was probably why every last one of them was as queer as a clockwork orange.

Rafe’s fond and frustrated feelings about his family continued to bounce around his insides as he made his way into the parking garage, grumbling at the extortionate amount he had to pay just to pick someone up. At least his family’s eccentricities took his mind off the burning, twisted emotions he had surrounding Jake.

The rest of the Hawthorne family thought Jake was popping over to the UK for the rest of the summer to spend some time blowing glass in Hawthorne House’s hot shop, which Rafe had spent the entire spring remodeling to a higher standard than it had ever seen before. They thought Jake was coming to do an informal residency because his home hot shop was temporarily out of commission.

In fact, there was much more to it than that. As Rafe locked his car and made his way to the International Arrivals area, he pulled out his phone and scanned through Jake’s messages. Ostensibly, he was checking Jake’s flight information, which was the most recent text sent. Once he confirmed that, he scrolled up through their conversations for the last few weeks to the start of the thread.

“I’m serious. Will you marry me?”

Just looking at those words sent Rafe’s stomach roiling. The obvious answer was “No.” He despised Jake after what he’d done in Corning. Why should he help his enemy with something as monumental as immigration? That’s what he wanted, as the phone conversation that had followed the text spelled out.Jake was through with America and its increasingly dangerous climate. He’d always been an Anglophile, and he wanted to move permanently to the UK. But first, he needed a British national to marry him.

That was all it was, no matter what his dad thought. Jake wanted to use him, and Rafe was foolish enough to agree to Jake coming to Hawthorne House so they could discuss a deal in more detail.

Love had nothing to do with it.

“Rafe!”

Rafe snapped his head up moments after walking through the Arrivals Hall door. He quickly shoved his phone back in his pocket, like he’d been looking at something he shouldn’t, and glanced around for Jake.

Jake was hard to miss. The man was just so glaringly American, what with his blond hair, deep blue eyes, and perfect physique. He wore jeans and a T-shirt with a stylized flame, glassblowing pipe, and glass balls on it with the words “Blowing is my Job” emblazoned on the front. Most American of all, he stood tall and waved one arm exuberantly, an open smile on his face, to get Rafe’s attention.

“God,” Rafe hissed to himself as he shifted directions and headed toward him. “Or maybe Goddess.”

“Rafe! It’s so good to see you!” Jake greeted him, stepping away from his large suitcase. He wore a backpack that bulged with belongings, and when he threw his arms around Rafe in greeting, Rafe could only barely touch him in return because of its bulk.

“Jake,” Rafe said, stepping back as quickly as he could, although it was already too late. He breathed in the spicy scent of Jake’s cologne, and his face and body heated. “Did you have a good flight?” he asked as politely as possible. “Do you need me to carry anything?”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” Jake said, still beaming like a torch. “The flight was okay. I upgraded to Premium Economy at the last minute, but I still didn’t sleep much. The food was better than Economy, though, and the flight attendant assigned to my section was hot as sin. We spent the whole time flirting. He gave me his number, but I doubt I’ll have time to call him.”

Rafe nearly slammed into a foreign businessman striding in the other direction while on his phone. His whole body tensed. “More’s the pity,” he mumbled, though really, the idea of Jake hooking up with a flight attendant had him breaking out in hives.

Which was ridiculous. Jake could do whatever the hell he wanted. Rafe didn’t care.

“There was a little bit of turbulence over Ireland,” Jake went on as they headed through the glass doors and across to where Rafe had parked, though Rafe hadn’t asked for more. “But there’s always turbulence over Ireland. There’s always turbulence when you go from water to land or vice versa. But I suppose you already knew that, since you travel so much.”

“I take the train when I travel,” Rafe lied just to contradict Jake.

Jake wasn’t deterred in the least. “See? That’s what I love so much about the UK and Europe. You can just get on a train and go anywhere. You have no idea how lucky you all are to be able to travel like that. That’s one of the reasons I’m so desperate to get out of the US. I mean, draconian laws against women and hatred of the LGBTQ community aside, things over here are so much more cosmopolitan. It’s better for the arts, too.”

Rafe glanced quickly at him and nodded, then pointed in the direction of his car.

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