Rahil chuckled into his glass. “Something thatisn’twork, please.”
“Hey now, my work is delightful.” But he paused, thinking. His mind went to the conventions he’d never attended, the ren faires, the community art gatherings, the cute little pottery workshop he drove past on the way to the grocery store every Tuesday morning, a group of seniors working on mugs inside. But he didn’t have time for that, or a need—he had a daughter.
“Lydia and I used to go do things. Kids’ museums, canoeing, the park, the theater. But she hasn’t been very interested in spending time with me lately.” He pushed forward, trying not to let his heart get caught on that unending pain. “I suppose I enjoy watching reality dating shows—don’t laugh.”
Rahil was already cackling, though, one hand covering his brilliant smile. Despite Mercer’s fears, it felt like being laughed with, not at. Like he had told the joke, not been the brunt of it. “Which ones?” Rahil asked. “My housemate watches this show where they undergo challenges to plan the most outrageous weddings, and she keeps trying to get me to join her.”
“That’s one of my favorites! The season with the archaeology theme produced the best weddings, in my opinion, but I swear the music professors in season seven were the most dramatic couple in the history of dating shows.” Then Mercer added, genuinely curious, “So, why don’t you join your housemate for it?”
“I…” Rahil’s mouth hung open, then his brow slowly tightened. “I don’t know anymore.”
It was such an odd answer, but Mercer could feel the sincerity of it, and the vulnerability too. There was something wonderful happening inside Rahil’s mind, and while Mercer wasn’t privy to it, he was proud all the same. He let the moment linger, sipping his own drink before asking, “What doyoudo for fun, Rahil?”
Rahil snorted. “I trap myself in the sheds of overworked reality-show lovers, obviously.”
Now that was theoppositeof his sincerity, the sarcasm no less a mask than the serious expression Mercer often donned unintentionally. He dug a little deeper. “What do youwishyou could do, then?”
Rahil was quiet for a moment. He tipped the liquid in his glass back and forth, watching the maraschino cherry glide over the ice. “I wish Icouldwork,” he said. “Getting to help you with Leah’s unfinished project has been… incredible. Truly, incredible.”
Mercer’s heart ached at the bittersweet joy in Rahil’s voice. He wanted, suddenly, to reach across the table, close the separation between them and take Rahil’s hand in his own, for whatever comfort that might bring them both, but he stopped short. Then he tried to unstop himself. They were here forthis. For each other.
But the moment had passed, and Rahil cupped both his palms around his own neck, a little awkwardly out of Mercer’s reach.
Mercer scrambled to find something to carry the conversation, and his stupid, reeling mind settled on the worst possible thing. “So, you don’t have a job?”
Rahil visibly cringed. “I have… occasional gigs. Not a lot of people want to hire a vampire to come into their house at night, and if they’re going to bring the piece to you, they usually want a shop to drop it off at.”
That kind of financial instability sounded troubling, but at least Rahil had housemates. Perhaps they picked up the bills when he couldn’t. “I’d hire you,” Mercer said.
“Youdidoffer payment, as I recall.” Rahil’s gaze darted suspiciously to Mercer’s neck.
The flood of desires that cascaded through Mercer was insufferable, and he wondered how people survived dating vampires long-term—how they lived with the knowledge of their vampire’s mouth on their skin and that glorious venom flooding their system and the thought of it all happening while they came into—fuck. Mercer should not have been thinking about that, not here, not ever, not unless—
He took a massive gulp of his drink, realizing too late that alcohol was probably not the best choice if he wanted to keep these feelings under control.
“Yeah,” Mercer replied, lamely. “But, um, in this case I mean a proper business deal. I’d take orders for my shop that include electrical components that you can assemble, and we could split the profit.” Was he just offering Rahil a permanent spot in his shed—in his life? God, what was he doing?
He didn’t want to take it back, though, not with the way Rahil’s expression transformed, moving through shock, then hope, then joy. “You’d really do that for me?”
“Withyou. I’d do thatwithyou,” Mercer corrected, and Rahil’s face lit up even more.
It left the warmest ache in Mercer’s chest, like a tiny sun had formed just for that.
And he knew wherever this night was going, it was going to be good.
One drink turned into two, then three, and Mercer’s inhibitions began to fail so hard that by the time they’d been at the Fishnettery an hour and a half, Mercer had to all but lurch himself out of his chair to stop from leaning closer to Rahil.
“Where are we going?” Rahil laughed.
Mercer could not frankly say,if I don’t give my legs something to do, I might end up with you sitting between them, so he said nothing, just grabbed the edge of Rahil’s shirt sleeve and tugged. That was appropriate. It was not skin on skin—not pushing things any farther than they’d already been—just a guiding force, manipulating Rahil with no more pressure than he had back at the shed. It was good, it was fine.
He let go the instant Rahil followed, and despite all of his mental reassurances, he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.
They left the Fishnettery through the side entrance, but instead of leading Rahil back to the car, Mercer turned right, heading onto the boardwalk. With the summer heat tamed by the night, the long lakeside walkway held a vibrancy specific to tourist seasons, teams of mobile merchants hawking handmade trinkets and lit chariots pulled by bicyclists, a few artists hosting outdoor gallery viewings and even a man with a giant snake offering to let people hold it for donations. Without the security of the gay bar, Mercer spotted the looks a few individuals gave Rahil’s fangs, but there were enough people moving around them that most didn’t even notice, and no one lingered close for long.
Rahil himself seemed oblivious, his grin bright and his gaze dancing from one spectacle to the next. When they passed live music, he swayed to the beat, and when a teenager in a dance circle landed a backflip, he cheered for them. He was so alive, so spontaneous and open to the joy around them, that it made Mercer want to release a little of the tension in his chest and just breathe. That was what he’d come here for, wasn’t it? To be a part of this world, with someone like Rahil.
Mercer momentarily directed them off the boardwalk to an ice cream parlor for two scoops of Butterscotch Delight for himself and one of Cherry Garcia for Rahil—Mercer was starting to see a theme with the cherries.
