Page 57 of Single-Minded
“Thanks for the compliment,” I say, blushing. “I’ll let it slide.”
“Iwantto dance with you,” he says earnestly. “Wait… you think I’m interested in Carter?”
“Aren’t you?” I ask. “He was your date to my divorce party, wasn’t he?” At least now I’ll get an answer to theIs he or isn’t he?question that has been plaguing me since the first day I came to Daniel’s floating restaurant.Please don’t be gay, please don’t be gay, please don’t be gay…
He stops dancing abruptly, while we’re in the center of the cluster of people, but keeps one hand at my back and holds my hand with his other. The guests keep dancing around us.
“I’m straight,” he says. “Very, very straight. Just because I cook and let my brother buy me jeans does not make me gay.” He laughs. “I’m gay-friendly, gay-supportive, often gay-adjacent—but I’m as straight as they come.”
And all of a sudden, my brain is practically belting out the “Hallelujah Chorus.” Not gay! Not gay! Not gay!
And he’s not gay even with abs like a sex god.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
And we shall make out forever and ever.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
“Wait, you let your brother pick out your jeans?” I laugh.
He looks a bit embarrassed. “Jeans, suits, shirts. We’re the same size, and Gabriel has really good taste. If he weren’t a chef, he’d be a stylist, or a set designer. Also, he’s been known to clean out my closet and replace anything he deems unsuitable.” He cracks, “I have to hide my flip-flops when he visits.”
“I can’t decide if that’s sweet that you let him dress you, or just really, really odd,” I say teasingly.
“Oh, it’s sweet,” he says, laughing. “I’m a sweetheart, I tell you. Gabriel’s been supervising my wardrobe since he was in seventh grade. My whole family’s, actually. At the time, it just felt like a way we could be supportive of his creativity. Now that I’m an adult, I appreciate the fact that I hardly ever have to shop for suits. They just magically show up on my doorstep—sorry, my gangplank—courtesy of UPS, and conveniently charged to my credit card.”
“So all those cool-guy band T-shirts you have, those are all strategically picked out by your tasteful brother?” I tease.
“No,cher,that’s my department. He picks the suits, and the ties, and the dress shirts. And shoes. He’s always sending me shoes. And Diesel jeans, which it never would have occurred to me to buy if not for Gabriel. But the T-shirts, and the board shorts, and the flip-flops are all me.”
I’ve seen Daniel in jeans.I should send his brother a thank-you note. Or a really big fruit basket.
“What?” I say with feigned awe. “You pick out your own flip-flops?” He grins in response.
We’re standing still in the middle of the dance floor when the song changes to a slow ballad. Daniel pulls me closer and the two of us begin to sway to the music. Dancing with him is so easy, so effortless, so elemental. My breath catches in my chest as he holds me close. Suddenly I’m no longer aware of the people around us, just the feel and the warmth and the scent of Daniel, and the way he’s holding me near to him. I don’t care that he’s a client, or that I’ve only learned in the last three minutes that he isn’t gay. I don’t care about any of it, and I let myself just sway and sway, lavished in his embrace. I want him to kiss me and I’m profoundly surprised by how rapidly the desire overtakes me. My list-making, pros-and-cons, rational brain is overruled. I don’t want to think about anything other than how I feel in that exact moment—exquisite and romantic and full of possibilities.
The ballad ends too soon, followed by another up-tempo jazz number. I reluctantly take a step back from Daniel, and his fingertips linger at the small of my back for another heartbeat. My breath holds in my chest as our eyes lock on each other’s—as though we’re both waiting for the other to be the first to glance away.
Cliff Roles snaps a photo of us, startling me. He pats Daniel on the shoulder. “Lovely party, Daniel. I’ve stayed too long and drunk too much, and I’d love to do it again soon. Thank you for your hospitality.” Daniel gently lets go of my hand and turns to give Cliff a hug. I’ll be trolling Cliff’s social media pages the second I get home in search of the image he just snapped of us dancing, hoping against hope that the picture is in focus, flattering, and discreetly downloadable.
“So glad you could be here, Cliff,” says Daniel. “How are you getting home?”
“I rode with Alyson,” he says. “She’s at the dessert table right now, trying to deconstruct your pralines.”
“I’m happy to give her the recipe,” Daniel says.
“She’s a purist,” he laughs, “I think she likes to guess.” Cliff gives Daniel a pat on the back and a warm handshake, and then turns to hug me.
“You’re looking fabulous, darling,” he says. “I was so surprised to hear about Michael.”
“You and me both,” I say. Cliff laughs at my response and then wanders off toward Alyson.
“Nice guy,” Daniel says to me. I nod. We return to our table and Carter announces that he’s exhausted and has to be leaving too, as Lolly and Santiago stand up and gather their things. I suspect that Carter’s sudden departure has something to do with the uncomfortable discussion about the man he was in love with in college who may or may not have been my (now former) husband. I don’t want to think about it anymore tonight; I’ll deal with that potential disaster later.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” says Carter as he kisses me on each cheek. I nod.
“Nice to meet you both,” I say to Santiago and Lolly. They both hug me and say goodbye. It’s weird, hugging a guy who slept with Michael. But not as weird as you’d think. Daniel excuses himself to make the rounds with his guests once again. It’s almost midnight and the partygoers are complimenting the chef and saying their goodbyes.
