* * * *
Two days later, Michael paused as he walked past the moving van in front of Mrs. Kendrick’s building. He looked into the open back and saw a couple of men lifting a painting from the rack that had been holding it in place to keep it from jostling on the rough city streets.
His stomach sank as he realized what it meant. Jude had to be upstairs, supervising the hanging of his paintings. Could his timing be any worse?
He’d called Mrs. Kendrick that morning to set up a time to go over the final schedule for the party the next day, and she’d told him to come this afternoon. She hadn’t said anything about Jude being there. Why would she? She didn’t know about him and Jude. Would Jude tell her? Maybe he wouldn’t want to admit to his own poor judgment.
Michael hesitated at the glass door to the building as he realized that even more than Mrs. Kendrick’s reaction, he dreaded seeing that hurt look on Jude’s face. Even though he still believed he’d done the best thing for both of them, Jude wouldn’t see that yet. Eventually he would, but not yet. Especially since he’d tried to call and Michael hadn’t returned the call, believing a clean break was best.
And odd as it seemed, Michael realized that no matter what the consequences might be, he didn’t regret one moment of his time with Jude. He regretted hurting him, but the memory of their night together still made Michael smile inside.
When he stepped off the elevator and into the apartment, it was just as he’d feared. Jude was there, pulling the landscapes off the wall. He didn’t seem surprised to see Michael. His grandmother must have told him Michael was coming.
Jude looked at him expressionlessly except for a cold glint in his eye and then turned back to his work without speaking. Michael bit his lip. He hadn’t wanted Jude this mad at him. He’d only wanted him to move on.
Jude reached for a long beach scene. His T-shirt rode up, exposing the strip of skin above a pair of very tight jeans. Michael knew it wasn’t deliberate this time. The hardness in Jude’s eyes said he was done flirting with him.
The landscape appeared too difficult for one person to manage. Michael worried that he might drop it on his foot. He approached Jude and reached out a hand. “Can I help you with that?” he asked awkwardly.
“No, thanks,” Jude replied coolly. “The moving guys will help me as soon as they finish bringing my paintings up the stairs. Don’t trouble yourself.”
Michael let his arm fall. “Okay.” Then softly—“Sorry.”
Jude stopped. He settled the painting back onto its hook and then turned to face Michael. “I have no doubt that you can have company whenever you want it. But that doesn’t give you the right to treat a guy like crap and then just move on to the next one.”
Michael stared at him in shock. “That’s…that’s not…” he stuttered. He felt heat creep up his neck. He knew he’d turned beet red. “You can’t think that’s why I…”
Jude seemed to be scrutinizing him. Apparently whatever he saw answered some question he had. He stepped back. “No. I suppose not.” He resumed his work, leaving Michael reeling at the accusation. “I guess you’re just not good at anything beyond a one-night stand, like you said. So maybe you’re right. Maybe we are better off not seeing each other.”
Then he glanced at Michael. “My grandmother is in the study. She’s expecting you.”
Michael stood rooted to the floor, wondering how someone younger than him had learned to be so much more mature.
Finally, he made his legs move. But as he started for the study, Jude called after him, “Wait.”
Michael turned. For some reason his heart raced wildly. Hoping for …what? That Jude would ask him to try again? Did Michael want that?
“I was going to ask my grandmother to give this to you, but since you’re here, you can take it.” Jude pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to Michael. “I made an appointment with the marriage counselor I told you about.”
Michael examined the card. The handwritten date was for the next morning. “You got an appointment on Christmas Eve?”
“The counselor did it as a favor to me. She said the sooner the better.”
“Thank you. I’ll call them tonight, but I’m afraid they won’t go.” He sounded as hopeless as he felt.
“Then that’s their decision. You can only help so much. They have to be willing to try.” He stared at Michael long enough to be sure that even an idiot like him could catch his meaning. Michael did and found his face warming yet again.
Jude turned back to his paintings, and Michael headed for the office, plastering on his professional smile for Mrs. Kendrick.
She waited on the couch. He took a seat beside her, opening the portfolio he carried. They went over the schedule for the party—the timing of the food, the music, and the speeches.
Michael finished his notes and then nodded, putting the papers away. “I think that’s it, Mrs. Kendrick. I’ll be here early tomorrow to make sure everything gets set up and the caterers are here.”
“Thank you, dear. And thank you for helping Jude select his paintings. I’m so glad he decided to come himself to make sure they are hung properly.”
Michael didn’t want to sound too interested in Jude, but he decided to ask the question that had been nagging at him for a while. “Why wouldn’t he want to show his work if there are going to be art collectors and gallery owners here?”
Mrs. Kendrick waved a gnarled but still elegant hand. “Oh, normally he would. It’s just the time of year.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know he lost his parents?”
“He told me they died in a car accident. I’m so sorry.”
“They were coming back from a ski trip in Maine early in the morning, so they could spend Christmas Day with me. My son always made sure they came to visit for Christmas. The weather was horrible. One of those big semitrucks veered into their lane and hit them head-on. The driver had been awake too many hours, and he lost control in the sleet.”
She paused. The little lines around her mouth deepened, and she stared vacantly down at her hands.
Michael’s chest tightened. “It happened on Christmas Day? He didn’t tell me that.”
“I’m surprised he mentioned it at all. I thank God every day that he was in the back with his seat belt on. The front of the van was crushed.”
She paused for a moment and then continued in a brisk tone. “Usually he goes into hibernation this time of year. Mopes around wearing that awful patchouli, just like his father did. I think it makes him feel better, as if it brings him closer to his parents. So you see why I’m glad he’s here today, even if he doesn’t seem very happy about it. Still, it’s progress.”
Michael thought of the rude Jude on the phone and how hostile he’d been when Michael first came to his loft. The almost reluctant smile that came later, and then the fun and laughter they’d had in bed. Why the change in mood? Because of him?
“I didn’t realize,” he murmured.
Her old eyes sharpened, and a frown came over her face. “You’re not interested in my grandson, are you?”
Michael prevaricated a bit. “He’s a good-looking young man, of course. But we don’t have much in common, do we?”
“Hmm.” She still seemed suspicious. “I suppose not.” Then she stood and thumped her cane against the wooden floor. “Come along. I want to show you the patio. I got one of those big outdoor fire pits yesterday.”
She headed out the door. He started to follow and then lingered for a moment in front of the painting of the black rock in the middle of the crashing waves.
It no longer looked angry. It just looked lonely.
* * * *
Nothing ever ran like clockwork, but preparations for Mrs. Kendrick’s party had gone as well as expected on the day before Christmas.
Last minute substitutions in the menu, servers calling in with the flu, and all other crises had been averted. Guests had begun to arrive. The string quartet played
Joy to the World
with a great deal of enthusiasm. Servers circulated with glasses of champagne and truffle canapés.
And, Michael noted with relief, several guests had paused to admire Jude’s work. The simple silver and red decorations Michael had added to the living room decor not only offset the dark paintings, but actually seemed to enhance them.
But where was Jude? Shouldn’t he be near his work, waiting to talk to any of the prominent art lovers who might be interested?
Michael reached into the pocket of his black wool suit jacket and nervously fingered the small gift he’d picked up that morning on his way to the penthouse. He wanted to find Jude, but the thought of his reception made his palms sweat. Jude didn’t seem the type to make a scene in a crowd of people, but Michael found that cold glint in his eye—so like his grandmother’s—intimidating enough. But if it was true that Michael had really made the artist happy, at least for a little while, then he would risk the rejection.
There was certainly no doubt that Jude had made
him
happy. Made him laugh. Made him burn with desire every time he thought of their night together, which was far too often, and at the most inopportune times. He could only hope he hadn’t blown his chance.
Michael made his rounds through the penthouse, making sure everything was running smoothly while he kept an eye open for Jude.
No sign of him until Michael paused by the patio doors. Few guests braved the damp, chilly air outside for more than a minute—just time to take in the spectacular New York skyline or catch a quick smoke. But Jude stood by the fire pit, leaning one hip against a wrought iron patio table as he stared into the flames.
Michael stepped out and shut the doors behind him to keep out the cold breeze. Even through the closed doors, he heard the soft strains of a violin now playing
Silent Night.
Jude wore a black pullover sweater, which seemed inadequate against the cool evening. The fire gave some heat, but Jude hugged himself as if chilled.
Michael started to reach for him and then paused. “Jude? Are you cold?”
Jude straightened and looked up. “I’m fine.” He turned to face Michael, gazing at him solemnly. He appeared to be waiting for something.
For what?
Don’t be a dumbass, Michael
. Jude wasn’t going to make it easy, but at least he hadn’t just glared at him and gone back inside.
Michael cleared his throat, but the words seemed to be stuck. Maybe if he didn’t have to look into those big brown eyes while he talked? Michael slipped his arms around Jude, pressing his hands into the small of his back. Jude didn’t move away, but he didn’t relax into Michael’s embrace either. Holding him still felt wonderful. Michael pulled him close and laid his cheek against Jude’s hair. He took a deep breath and then let it out with a sigh.
Then he realized why Jude smelled so good. He’d abandoned his patchouli.
And Michael had left his leather jacket at home. Ah, compromise. The heart of any…uh…
relationship
. There. He’d said it, if only to himself.
He stroked Jude’s hair and then brushed it away from his face. After kissing the tender spot under his ear, he rained little kisses down Jude’s neck. He felt some of the tension leave Jude’s body.
Jude arched his neck to expose more of his skin to Michael’s caresses. “That’s not going to work every time, you know.”
“It’s not?” Wait. Did that mean Michael would have more chances to act like an idiot with Jude? Some weird constriction in his chest that he hadn’t even known was there eased a little. “Then what will?” He thought he should ask in order to plan for future dumbass episodes.
He released his hold and started to draw away, but Jude snapped, “I didn’t say you could stop.”
“Okay then.” Michael pulled him close again and nuzzled his neck.
“This part is good, but there has to be more.” Jude slowly stroked Michael’s back.
“Tell me. I want to do whatever you want, I swear. But I don’t know what that is.”
“I want to know why. When you left my place, you seemed happy. Why did you break our date?”
“Um…because I’m an idiot?”
No answer. Not good enough then.
Michael swallowed. His voice came out in a whisper. “Because I was scared. I had just left Lauren when I called you. She was so hurt. Doug was so hurt. I was afraid I would do that to you. To us. If not today, then someday.” He mumbled it into Jude’s hair. “I’m sorry.”
Jude sighed. “We barely know each other, and you’ve already got us married and divorced. Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?”
Well, when he put it that way… “I guess.”
“I’d like to get to know you better. If you feel the same, then that’s all we need right now.”
“I’ll never treat you like that again, baby.” Michael surprised himself by using the endearment, but it came out naturally. And it made Jude smile, so that was all right.
Then Michael remembered he had the evidence of his willingness to make an effort right in his pocket. He pulled out the little red box and handed it to Jude.
He took it, looking puzzled.
“I got you a present,” Michael explained, although he would have thought it obvious. Christmas party. Red box.
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Open it,” Michael urged.
Jude pulled off the lid and then set it on the patio table. His eyes widened as he looked into the box. “Michael? Why…?” He drew out the bottle and stared at it. “Patchouli? I don’t understand. I thought you hated it.”
Michael shrugged, trying to act casual. “No. I don’t mind. If you like to wear it, go ahead. It’s okay with me.”
Michael might have overdone the nonchalance just a bit.
“Oh,” Jude said in a low voice. “She told you, didn’t she? My grandma. About this—about how my father used to…” He gazed down at the bottle, but Michael didn’t think he saw it. His fingers tightened around the glass.
Crap
. Michael had been trying to make things better, but he’d just made Jude feel worse.
“Hey.” Worried that Jude might inadvertently crack the little bottle, Michael took it from him and placed it on the table. He took both of Jude’s hands. “It’s okay.”
Jude kept staring at the floor. The unruly hair fell forward.