Page 35 of In Frame
Leo, who had a knack for picking up emotional shifts, said lightly, “My toes’re a bit cold, and I’m terribly fond of my toes, so could we go inside now? I’ve got bacon—it’ll be American-style bacon, all crunchy, Jason introduced me—and I know people like bacon, so perhaps that’d be fun!” His enthusiasm took the ice down Sam’s spine and layered fluffy blankets atop it, exuberance as reassurance.
Sam lowered his phone. Shook his head, desperately and horribly in love, and knowing he was. “I like your toes too. And yeah, bacon’s a selling point. Stars cheating on diets, all that…”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking that,” Leo said. “Just that people seem to enjoy the concept of bacon as a food. Come on, I’ll cook it and you can eat it with me!” He even grabbed Sam’s hand. Bringing them both back inside, downstairs, into his kitchen.
Sam kept up with him, and kept Leo’s hand in his, for as long as he could. For every second that he could. Memorizing not just the visual, the way a photograph would, but the shape, the weight, the feel of fingers and palm, long quick bones and knuckles and tantalizing skin.
* * * *
Sam had to leave. Leo understood as much, rationally.
He did not want to be rational. He wanted to be reckless, over-the-top, impetuous. He wanted to let all his emotions spill over in a giant crashing inarticulate flood.
He smiled at Sam, and got dressed when Sam was mostly done with pictures—a last-minute snapshot or two collected visions of Leo shirtless, jeans on but bare-chested, glimpsed through a half-open door—and then pulled on a favorite shirt in an unabashed shade of pumpkin, and walked Sam to the townhouse’s back exit, by the tiny garden. “Thank you for spending the night with me. And sharing midnight breakfast with me. And making me look splendid in photographs. The car’ll meet you at the end of the lane; that’s a private lane, I did tell you, so no one’ll see you.”
He’d won that one, after some negotiation. Sam would in no universe be able to run to a Tube station, make it back to his hotel, pack, and make his flight; even the wait to hail an ordinary cab might’ve been a problem, not to mention the expense. Sam had clearly not liked the proposal, but had also made the argument that a driver picking up a man obviously wearing last night’s suit, at Leo Whyte’s address, would have a lot of information to share with any gossip column. Leo had pointed out that having a reputation for random outrageous requests meant, in fact, that no one would bat an eye: the lane was a shared drive, the driver was a friend, and for all anyoneknew Leo wasn’t even home and had simply sent a car to help a neighbor’s guest on his way.
Sam had given in because time and practicality were on Leo’s side—which was not a feeling Leo found especially familiar or comfortable—but had looked unhappy about it. Leo understood. He wouldn’t want to take anything, either.
No, that wasn’t true. He knew himself well enough to admit that he would have. Leo had always liked pampering. Ease. Indulgences, as long as they didn’t harm anyone. He likelywould’vesaid yes to someone with money offering to make his life easier.
But he wasn’t Sam. And Sam was a good person. A self-sacrificing sort of person. More so than Leo Whyte ever had been.
He said, “I’ve told Royal—yes, his name honestly is Royal, it’s dreadful—he’s all yours for as long as you need him. Wherever you tell him to go. He’s excellent at squeezing through traffic, if somewhat terrifyingly optimistic about the relative sizes of cars. On second thought, perhaps you’d rather borrow my unicycle?”
“Leo.” Sam reached out, took Leo’s hand, swung it. “You’re trying to make this easy.”
“It’sbeeneasy,” Leo said. “It’s been simple. It’s been us.” Of course it hadn’t been, and it wasn’t. Not with their lives. But them together, them coming together, thathadbeen, he thought.
In the next second he realized that his phrasing might be taken otherwise: as dismissive, as casual. He had not meant that at all. And a slice of sunbeam, barely risen, cut across his eyes.
“It has,” Sam said. “Because you make the world that way. You havefun, Leo. Youlikefish-shaped pillows and shirts in the worst kind of orange and having adventures, and I—oh, hell. How can I leave? How can I just walk away from you, whenyou’re standing there smiling at me?”
“Because,” Leo said, smile affixed in place, hoping the understanding was visible too, “you love your family. And you need to get back to them, and to support them.” With photographs of me, he did not say, to sell at the best price you can.
No point in saying it. They both knew. A night, an interlude, and a bargain. He regretted none of it. Not a single drop. He never would.
“And you’d tell me to go, and you’d never tell me to stay, and I can’t—” Sam’s jaw clenched. One hand swept up, touched Leo’s cheek, skimmed under eyelashes. “You’re sad.”
“I’m not. I never am. Or if I am I’ll go and roll around in rose petals on my bedroom floor. I know someone who knows a florist, you know.”
“Fuckthis,” Sam said. “I can’t go. You’re hurting and I can’t leave you.” He sounded so fierce, so angry: ready to fight a whole universe if it’d made Leo sad. “Tell me how to help.”
“Please don’t,” Leo said. “Don’t—don’t make me responsible for that. For making you choose. I can’t do that.”
“But I—” Sam shut both eyes, exhaled, opened them. “Okay. Okay, how about this. I’ll go. But I don’t want you to be alone. I want to be here. I want to be here for you and all your rose petals and bacon. I know that’s impossible, I know someone like you wouldn’t want—but I can’t not ask. If I give you my number—”
“Yes,” Leo said, breathless and immediate. “Yes, that. Please do that.” A feeling like reprieve hit his bones, standing in his doorway in morning mist; he did not lose balance because he still had Sam’s hands on him, keeping him steady.
“You said yes…?”
That was a question. But it didn’t need to be. And when their eyes met, energy twirled all the way down to Leo’s toes.
He did a tiny hop in place on the balls of his feet, unable to contain it. “Yes. Here, take my phone, put your number in—”
Sam took the phone. Stopped to share a small headshake with it, smiling.
“What?”
