Page 86 of A Hard Sell

Aleandro smiled as he stood. “You’re welcome.”

The door clicked open and Thomas came in. He nodded at Aleandro as he flipped through a stack of papers.

Aleandro returned the head bob. “Thomas.” Then he turned to look back at Luka, his eyes flicking over to Thomas again. “Good luck,” he said with a wink before he slipped out.

Luka watched as Thomas sat and made a few notes. “How did that go?”

Thomas picked up his coffee. “Good. I set up another meeting with them at two—”

“I was wondering if you’d like to go to Montecalvo with me on Saturday?”

Thomas put his coffee back down. “With Tawney?” he asked after a pause.

“No.” Luka tapped his fingers on his leg. “Just us.”

His eyes brightened as he took a deep breath. “I’d love to.”

“Great!” Luka’s heart hammered. “I can pick you up in the morning.”

“Hmm… Have you ever been on a motorcycle?”

* * * *

Luka was waiting in front of his condo Saturday morning when Thomas roared up on his bike. Luka’s stomach flipped at the sight of Thomas wrapped in black leather again, hair loose under his helmet, powerful engine vibrating between his legs.

But that was nothing compared to climbing onto the bike, straddling Thomas’ hips, and snaking his arms around his rock-hard torso.

“Hold on,” Thomas said over his shoulder before the motor rumbled back to life.

“Don’t worry,” Luka muttered as he tightened his grip.

* * * *

They pulled up in front of the restaurant about two hours later. The ride had been exhilarating, a heady mix of high speeds and an intense awareness of Thomas’ body. Luka slid off the bike feeling rather windblown and stiff. He tried not to stare as Thomas took his helmet off and ran his hands through his hair like he was in a goddamned shampoo commercial.

The restaurant was a converted folk-style Victorian house, wrapped in a veranda, vines climbing the clapboard and curling around the sash windows. It was perched on the bank of a small river that rushed behind it.

Next to the restaurant was the entrance to a park that ran along the river. Cherry trees lined the path, their blossoms an explosion of cotton-candy pink. In silent agreement, they stopped at the entrance to the park, mesmerized by the petals fluttering into the river, then swirling away in the current.

“Think we can order lunch to go?” Thomas asked, eyeing the benches along the path.

“You read my mind.”

Twenty minutes later, with a bundle of pork pastries tucked under Luka’s arm, Thomas carrying the coffee, they made their way into the park.

The trees were heavy with blossoms, drooping low. They found an empty bench surrounded by weeping branches and tucked themselves away from the world.

The pastries were even better than Luka remembered, the crust impossibly flaky, melting away on his tongue.

Thomas closed his eyes in bliss after his first bite. “Mmm. You weren’t kidding.”

They polished off three each, then, fingers greasy and stomachs full, settled into companionable silence as they sipped their coffee. There was nothing but the two of them in their sweet cocoon, and the river drifting by, a swirl of blushing petals and gentle blue-gray foam.

Then a gust of cool spring wind blew through, unleashing a flurry of petals that fell onto them like soft pink snow. Laughing, Luka turned to look at Thomas. He looked like a fairy prince, a crown of flowers in his long brown hair. Thomas looked back and reached over to brush at the petals on Luka’s head, smiling at the cascade of pink he loosened.

It was too much.

Words piled up on Luka’s tongue. Then they fell out, refusing to remain unspoken any longer. “Thomas.”

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