Macarons at Midnight (19 page)

I
DON
’
T
want to leave….

Henry stood under the warm, sluicing showerhead and stretched his neck from side to side while the conditioner rinsed out of his hair. He’d wrenched something dragging a heavy tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven earlier.
Must be getting old
.
Sometimes it was hard not to feel a little old with Tristan. It wasn’t that he was
so
young; it was more that there was something about him, like he hadn’t quite grown out of that gawky, coltish adolescent phase. He was still all long limbs and dorky enthusiasm. Henry loved it, but he wondered if Tristan wouldn’t be happier with someone more like him.

“What’s up, babe?” Tristan murmured. He stepped into the shower behind Henry and slipped his arms around Henry’s middle. Henry tipped his head back against Tristan’s shoulder and reveled in the closeness of warm skin, water, and soft, springy muscle. Tristan squeezed him closer. It was impossible not to relax into his embrace. Tristan’s body had felt more and more like home lately, like the place he came back to at night when he’d had a long, annoying day. Like the place he wanted to wake up in every morning for as long as he could.

“Nothing. Just been a long day, and I don’t really feel like going to my parents’ house.”

After Tristan’s surprise visit on Friday evening, he hadn’t left. Instead of going home, he’d borrowed Henry’s clothes, which didn’t really fit, but neither of them cared, and helped out with the early morning duties at the bakery. With two pairs of hands instead of one and some serendipitous foresight the day before, when he’d done a ton of advance prep work, Henry managed to get enough stock made to last the day. They left early, just after the bakery had opened, and gone back to Henry’s apartment and back to bed.

Tristan turned Henry around and plied him with a long, steamy kiss. Henry moaned into it and pushed closer. He let Tristan tug on his hair. The kisses multiplied, like they usually did, and turned into touches and the two of them panting and moaning under cooling water.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go, I’m going to be late.” Henry wriggled in Tristan’s arms. He laughed breathlessly.

Of course they’d been in the shower far longer than he’d meant to be, which seemed to be a theme of his life lately, along with being in bed longer than he planned, taking longer to bring trays from the back room when he had a certain visitor…. Henry was quite okay with it. Extra time for kissing was becoming a way of life, which was perfect except when his entire family was probably already sitting in his parents’ drawing room waiting for him.

Their skin slipped together, slick with soap residue and water. Henry
really
didn’t want to leave. He tipped his face back for another kiss.

“I thought you had to go, babe,” Tristan said. He had a dirty grin on his face that made Henry want to start all over. He wiped the glass partition on his shower and looked at the wall clock. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

“Fuck, fuck,
fuck
. I don’t want to.”

Tristan nuzzled into the wet part of his neck he’d obviously found that turned Henry into a pile of mush. “What do you want to do instead?”

“Eat dinner with you in bed,” Henry grumbled. “And pretend to watch a movie while we fool around.”

Tristan looked crestfallen. “And why do you have to go to your parents’ place?”

Henry grumbled. “Because I got out of it the last two times. At least this dinner will have a purpose. I get to tell my mom I have a super-hot boyfriend who I have lots of hot sex with so she stops trying to hook me up with society guys named Rolf and Byron.”

“Byron, even?”

Henry couldn’t help but chuckle at the mock horror on Tristan’s face. “Yes. That one breeds Arabians and has an estate in Connecticut and a pedigree longer than any of his horses.”

Tristan fake shuddered. “Ooh. Connecticut, pedigrees, how
awful
.”

“Bugger off.”

“Did you just say bugger off to me? Seriously?”

He hadn’t even meant to. Henry laughed and shoved at him. “Shut up. It’s your fault.”

Tristan tickled him. “You’d better get out of the shower if you don’t want to miss your car,” he giggled.

“Then stop
touching
me.” Henry still leaned forward for another long, breathless kiss. “I’m getting out of the shower. Now. Stay in here until I’m dressed but be naked when I get home, okay?” He really had zero willpower when it came to miles of beautiful milky white skin right there, waiting to be touched.

“I think I can handle that.” Tristan grinned at him and wiped a tendril of hair from Henry’s face. “I was going to make some cupcakes, though. I need the practice. Should I be naked when I bake them as well?”

Henry couldn’t help it. He saw a naked Tristan in his kitchen with an apron and cupcakes and
frosting
. “I hate you.”

H
ENRY
WAS
literally running by the time he made it out of his apartment. He took the steps two at a time and made it down the stairs on the stoop just in time to catch Ollie. His hair still dripped down his collar, and his mother would most likely be annoyed by the lack of thought that went into his clothing choices, but at least he wasn’t as late as he could’ve been. Henry shuddered at the memory of Tristan strolling out of his bathroom, naked and damp, just as he pulled on his shoes. He’d wanted to say “screw it” to the whole night and spend the rest of it licking that damn frosting off his skin.

Ollie pulled over and stepped out to open the door. “Evening, sir.”

“Hey, Ollie. How’s it shakin’?”

Ollie gave him a fond head shake. “I’m well, sir.”

Henry slid into the interior of the car without any further comment. He looked up at the windows of his apartment and thought of Tristan up there, finishing toweling off and sliding into his bed for an after-work nap. And then frosting. Fuck. Henry tried to push the pictures out of his head. There was no way he’d manage to make it through the dinner unless he got his mind out of bed and onto his family.

His happiness from earlier slid away as the car weaved through traffic toward uptown. It wasn’t that he was particularly
unhappy
at his childhood home, he never had been; he just wasn’t happy. Wasn’t where he wanted to be.

T
HE
CLOSER
he got to his family’s townhouse, the more he tensed up. Henry felt his shoulders pulling closer to his ears, caught himself grinding his jaw, and tried to freaking relax. He knew it was impossible. Everything that stressed him about his family seemed to amplify about a million percent whenever there was another person in his life who could be affected by them and their world. It hadn’t ever gone well. Henry wanted to keep Tristan away from it for as long as possible. Trixie had already asked a few very pointed questions. He didn’t think he had much of a chance of keeping the distance for a whole lot longer.

Henry took a deep, fortifying breath when Ollie pulled up to the house. It looked the same as always. Pale stone, ornate metal awning, wrought-iron fencing, and just about zero inviting warmth or charm. Hudson had opened the door for him already, and he stood there still and silent like some sort of aging gargoyle standing guard in front of his castle.

“Hey, Hudson.” Henry tried to keep his voice light. Where he typically got fond but exasperated smiles from Ollie, from Hudson it was all stoic-mannered silence.

“Good evening, sir. If you’ll follow me.”

Henry rolled his eyes and followed Hudson to the same damn room he followed him to every single time he came for dinner. The formality always made him uncomfortable and he typically tried to fight it, but Henry wasn’t in the mood. It still annoyed him that he had to be led around the house he’d grown up in like a guest, but he just let it go. Hudson wasn’t going to change, his parents weren’t going to change; he just wanted to get the damn dinner over with and get back to Tristan.

His family was seated in their usual spots, with their usual cocktails and their usual expensive clothes. Trixie, as always, bounded over and gave him a big hug and a kiss like they hadn’t spoken for weeks, when she was the only one he ever saw outside these painfully formal dinners.

“Hi, Trix. How are you tonight?”

“Good. I just spent the weekend at the spa with Felicity Harcourt. Do you remember her? She’s Darren Harcourt’s wife, from Charlie’s in the Hamptons two summers ago?”

Henry didn’t know why she kept asking. Of course he didn’t remember. He never remembered any of her vast revolving circle of acquaintances.

“I’m glad you had fun” was all he chose to say.

“How’s Tristan?” Trixie asked. Henry had to give her credit. She always remembered the names of everyone in
his
life. Since he could count most of them on two hands, that wasn’t nearly the same feat. Henry wasn’t quite ready to bring Tristan up yet. He wanted to savor him for just a few minutes more.

“He’s good,” Henry said quietly. He gave Trixie a look that said not to push it. She nodded.

“Shall we go through to dinner?” his mother asked after Henry greeted her and his father. Henry still thought the whole process was ridiculous, always had, always would, but he nodded his assent and let Hudson lead them into the dining room.

D
INNER
WAS
mildly pleasant, delicious, and still slightly uncomfortable like it always seemed to be. Trixie and their mother made light, polite conversation about people they both knew but Henry and his father didn’t really care much about. Henry mostly sat quietly, not really worried that he wasn’t participating. He mostly fantasized about what was waiting for him at home.

“Henry, darling?” He realized his mother was talking to him.

“Hmmm?”

“Trixie said you’ve met somebody?” She asked.

Was I that out of it that I didn’t notice them talking about me?
Henry felt a bit sheepish. It was time, he supposed, as much as he didn’t want to get his family involved in his relationship. “Yes. I have. His name is Tristan. He’s from England.”

“How did you meet him?” His mother had long since perfected the socially interested look. She probably cared who Henry was dating, to a point. Other than potential embarrassment if the man was totally unsuitable, it really didn’t make any impact on her life.

“He stopped by the bakery. We got to talking and ended up getting along really well.” He left out the part about how it’d been the middle of the night. He figured that wouldn’t sound very good. Plus, his mother really didn’t like reminders of that fact that Henry worked all the time. At least it had gotten a little better since Rose came along.

“That’s nice, dear. Maybe you’ll have to bring him for dinner the next time you come.”

“Mmm hmm.” Henry tried to sound as noncommittal as possible. It was inevitable, especially if he and Tristan really became something real, but he wanted to put it off.

“You really should!” Trixie was as enthusiastic as always. Henry wished the table weren’t so massive. He’d kick his damn sister if he could reach her. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Next time,” he murmured. He shot Trixie a look, which she clearly chose to ignore. Instead, she took a pointed bite of her frisée with raspberry balsamic, and grinned impudently at him. “He’s still getting settled in his job.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes. Salad was removed for soup, then the main course of cheese soufflé, autumn vegetable gratin, and roast squab. Henry did what he always did and let his family’s chatter wash over him and contribute when he had to. His father spoke of some drama with the company, how they’d been having a hell of time finding the right firm to take their advertising to a larger market. Henry didn’t care. He never cared when his dad went on about Livingston’s. He was quite sure his father wanted him to care; that’s probably why he brought it up on a regular basis when Henry was there. It wasn’t ever going to work. Instead of getting involved, he let his mind wander to where it usually did—a constant rotation of baking and Tristan. He was quite alright with that.

Henry was relieved when dinner was over and he could make a quick exit. Of course, he didn’t bet on Trixie following him out to the car and sliding in with him.

“What’s going on?” He asked her.

Trixie grinned. “I wanted frozen yogurt. I don’t care what Mom says. Fruit and cheese will never be dessert.” She leaned over the seat. “Ollie, can you take us to Pinkberry?”

“Trix, I’ve gotta get home.”

“Please. I just want a cup of yogurt with some mochi and marshmallows, and then you can go back to your hunk of burning British man love.”

“You didn’t just say that.”

“I totally did.”

Henry groaned.

She sat back in her seat with a smug smile for a few minutes. Henry watched as the lights went by, wishing the car were heading back to the village instead of on one of Trixie’s whims.

“You know,” she said after a block or so. Henry nearly cringed. He knew that voice. “You should try harder with Mom. She wants to know you better.”