Page 5 of Small City Heart
“I am not answering that question.”
Rico and Suzy chuckled, and Charlie glared at them.
“I’m only wondering,” Dan said. “I mean, he’s a handsome kid, but he’s not … you know.” Dan waved his hand.
“No, we don’t know. Please enlighten us,” Suzy chimed in, her voice hard, and Charlie shot her a grateful smile. They were the only out queer people in the fire department, and it helped to stick together.
“He’s a city slicker, like Suzy said. Look around, man.” Dan gestured at the photography lining the diner’s walls. It was all Patrick’s. He was renowned for his portraits of people in the city—men on the basketball court, street musicians, young mothers at city parks, business people running to work. Patrick also had an entire collection of Flint Hills photography at the Chase Gallery down the street. It sold for a pretty copper penny around here, and Charlie had spent more than one Christmas bonus on one of Patrick’s exclusive prints, but those landscapes weren’t Patrick’s bread and butter; his portraits were.
Rico nodded. “I get itchy around people who run off to the big city, then come back here and treat us like they’ve got bigger and better things to get to.”
Charlie watched the kitchen door, praying Patrick wouldn’t waltz out and catch them gossiping like a bunch of hens.
“That’s not fair,” Suzy said, lowering her voice. “High school was hard for Pattie. Anyone that had to deal with the bullshit he experienced would have left too. You can’t blame him for that. And Veronica is one of the most down-to-earth people I know. You can’t seriously think she raised her son to believe he’s better than people from Small City.”
But what if Patrickdidthink that? Ten years could change a person—Charlie was case in point. What if Patrick couldn’t see past, well, the past? What if all Patrick saw when he looked at Charlie was the scared, closeted kid he’d been in high school? Or worse, the dismissive jock?
“I liked him, okay?” Charlie finally said. “He was never afraid to be himself, even when it was hard, and I loved that. He was different, and it’s not easy being different in Small City. And now, I love his pictures. I love listening to Veronica gush about her son off in Chicago. I don’t care if he thinks he’s too good for me. Hell, he probably is too good for me, but I’m not going to let you talk shit about him.”
Dan and Rico both sat back in their chairs, obviously surprised by his little speech. He was usually amiable. That was how he survived as the token gay guy in a rural firehouse.
He stood up, ready to escape the scrutiny. “Getting a piece of cobbler. Anyone want one?” He took everyone’s orders, then made his way to the counter at the back of the diner. The display case offered peach, strawberry rhubarb, and blueberry cobbler. He waited patiently at the register until the kitchen door swung open, and Patrick walked backwards through it carrying a large tray.
Patrick turned around and stopped in his tracks when their eyes met.
“Can I help you?” Patrick said. He had his camera around his neck and a blackberry cobbler in his hands.
“Did they put you to work?”
A small chuckle escaped Patrick, and he placed the cobbler on the counter. “My mom said if I insisted on hiding in the kitchen, I had to stop eating and do some heavy lifting.”
“What were you eating?”
“Anything Marjorie would give me.” Patrick’s voice had softened, and he seemed much more amenable to a conversation. Maybe food buttered him up. Charlie was going to remember that. He couldn’t stop glancing at Patrick’s lips. They tipped into a small smile. “God, seeing you like this is weird. Stop staring at me.”
“Sorry.” Charlie shook his head.
Patrick showed off an eye roll to beat all eye rolls before saying, “Can I help you, Charles North?”
“It’s Charlie.”
“Whatever. Do I need to get my mother, who is evidently your new best friend? Would that make this interaction easier for you?”
“Cobbler. I want cobbler. Two blueberry and one peach.”
Patrick wrinkled his nose. “The blackberry is fresh out of the oven. It’s warm, and it’s the best kind.”
“No one wanted blackberry.”
“Who ordered the peach?”
“I did.”
“Why? The peach is her worst one!” Patrick glanced behind himself like he was worried Veronica had heard him. He turned back around and whispered, “The blackberries were picked locally, and it’s the best right out of the oven. I had some a minute ago. It’ssogood. I dream of my mom’s blackberry cobbler when I’m gone, and here you are ordering the fucking peach. You could at least be interesting and get the strawberry rhubarb.”
Charlie laughed. “You’re kind of bad at customer service, you know that?”
Patrick waved that away and bent over to retrieve the requested slices of cobbler from the display case. He placed them in a row on the counter, then said, “Hold on,” and snapped a quick picture of the desserts all lined up together. “Why do you get the peach?”
