Page 50 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
“Is it just the money aspect?” Marty asked as I smiled at the server as she moved on. “If that’s all that’s holding you back, let me give you my son Lyle’s number. He’s dating a phenomenal trans woman and is looking to invest in any queer entrepreneur in the Boston area.”
“Oh, that would be amazing. Thank you!” Lennon took the card Marty offered him. “I’ll call him as soon as the party is over. Thank you so much.” They shook hands. An unhappy child began to wail. I excused myself to see what the issue was and if Valeria was involved, but she wasn’t. The crying child was just mad that he had been found hiding behind one of the poles securing the canopy to the ground. Guess he thought he was thinner than he actually was. Valeria trotted up to me in her party dress, smiling broadly.
“He got found,” she explained. “He’s only three and does not understands the game as good as I do now that I am four.”
“He’ll learn.” I dropped down into a crouch. “Would you like to go inside and open presents now, or would you like to have cake and ice cream?”
“Cake!!” she shouted so loud Pedro began barking inside his house.
“Cake it is then.” I picked her up, and we led the march inside to cool off in the air conditioning. Lennon inched up beside me to help sing the birthday song. Valeria was incredibly windy and blew out all four of her pink candles. Then the caterers sliced the sheet cake, pink with bunnies and pigs, and dipped out scoops of ice cream. I watched, with some horror, as adults and kids meandered through my historically registered home with melting ice cream and thickly frosted cake. If something wasn’t ruined, I would eat Lennon’s goofy straw hat. My carpets would be the first thing to get soiled.
“Hey, it’s all okay. Anything that gets soiled can be cleaned.” He bumped my hip with his, then held up a bite of cake for meto take off his fork. I looked around and took the offering. That made him smile. “Valeria is having a great time. I know she probably doesn’t appreciate how much it took for you to open up your fortress of solitude to so many people and kids, but I do, and I love…I love that you did that for her.”
There was a moment of indecision where I almost said I wanted him to say what he was going to say to me. That if he said it, then I might be able to say it too, but this was not the time or place to make inept professions of emotion. For surely, when I did admit to the feelings inside me, it would be atrocious. So, instead of getting sappy in front of thirty people, I went the safe route.
“She’s worth the carpet cleaning bill.”
There. If that wasn’t a rousing testimonial to how much I cared about my niece, then nothing was. Good grief. Maybe I’d just not ever confess to my adoration of this man. Or perhaps I could do something romantic instead of trying to cough up a declaration of devotion. “Would you like to go to the Pops tomorrow night? They’re putting on a concert with Beethoven’s symphonies, numbers four and five. An all-Beethoven night.”
“Oh wow, that would be cool. I’ve never been. Who will watch Valeria, though? Are kids allowed?”
“No, not for certain performances, but maybe your mother would like to watch her?” We’d added Mrs. Cole to the list of people allowed to babysit. She was cleared and chomping at the bit to come sit some night.
“She would love that.”
I smiled softly. Yes, she would. There. Settled. I was going to take this special man to the Pops to listen to a composer renowned all over the world, and one of my favorite conductors would be leading the concert. And all my exes said I was incapable of being romantic.
Cold fish indeed.
***
“That was incredible,” Lennon said, for the fifth time since we had exited the symphony hall. It was a balmy summer night. His hand was in mine, and the beautiful strains of Beethoven still echoed in my head. It was pleasant to only be in smart casual clothes as opposed to black tie as one would if attending the opera. While I preferred to dress well, I also understood that for many, costly dresses and suits made attending a classical concert feel exclusionary. Which, sadly, many feel is a reason classical music was dying a slow death. So casual dinner date clothing was more than fine in my eyes. I had put on a tie with my suit, but Lennon had forgone a tie with his blazer and dark jeans.
“I knew you would like it. All musicians certainly have a fondness for the classics, I’m relatively sure. Granted, some of the orchestra were second and third chairs, but you’d never know,” I said as we strolled to my car with the other patrons leaving the hall. The streets were packed. It was a busy Saturday and traffic was heavy as we crossed Huntingdon Avenue. “Oh, the shawarma restaurant is open. Should we get some to take home?”
Lennon nodded. I hurried to check in with Mrs. Cole at home. I’d only tapped her three times this evening, which I felt was more than reasonable. It wasn’t as if she had no experience with children, having raised seven. I messaged her on Facebook, and she replied instantly. All was well. Valeria was nodding off beside her, trying but failing to stay awake to greet us when we returned home. No food was needed by either of the gals, so Lennon and I did a fast zip into the eatery to order some to go. We both settled on a chicken shawarma meal.
We sat at the front of the eatery, chatting about the concert, holding hands like teenagers, until our order was ready. Toting our bags of takeout, we made our way to my car.
“This has been really nice,” he said as we pulled out into traffic to make our way home. The Lexus rode smoothly. “Thank you for taking me.”
I thought to mention something about the conductor’s flair but made myself think more romantically. “There is no one I would rather spend the evening with.”
He reached over to give my thigh a squeeze. “Same here.”
The ride home was lovely. The man at my right was cheery and a little frisky, that hand on my thigh creeping higher and higher but stopping just shy of my rapidly lengthening cock. I felt quite good about myself and how I was inching along in my growth as a boyfriend. Dr. Bajaj liked to say it is the little things that make the biggest impression. As one who had never set out to romance a man before, I was finding it tricky to open up. It took a concerted effort not to gloss over intimate moments in favor of something more controlled. But I was trying, for I did care for Lennon.
“When we get home, maybe we can reheat this and then go to bed?” Lennon suggested as we cruised past the Common and pulled onto Beacon Street. “Providing Valeria is asleep.”
“Go to bed to eat?” I asked. The thought of chicken shawarma dripping onto the bed linens made me twitch. “I’m not sure we should do that. The duvet is a Lindsay Baymont triple sateen 700 count Egyptian cotton coverlet.”
His fingers brushed my stiff dick, making me twitch as I pulled into my parking space. “Does it wash?”
“Well, I mean, it does dry clean, yes, but…Lennon,” I gasped as he fondled my cock through my slacks. He watched me intently, the lights of the dash illuminating his face to show just how into this little tease he was.
“Then if we dribble something on that fancy duvet, it can be cleaned.”
“Obviously, but I would rather not dribble on it.” His blue eyes looked smoky and hot. The cool air in the car was thick with lust.
