Chapter 10
Rayne stood at Emilio’s front door with a cup of coffee in each hand, feeling a little apprehensive about the prospect of spending so much time alone with Emilio. Their previous encounters had either been in public places or with other people around to act as a buffer or both. Now it would be just the two of them, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. Hopefully things would go smoothly and perhaps even ease whatever lingering anger and resentment Emilio might feel for him.
He’d dressed casually in faded old jeans and a sweatshirt since Emilio technically wasn’t a client, and he didn’t need to worry about appearances for this particular decorating project. He rang the doorbell and waited for Emilio to answer.
It was only a few moments before the door opened. Emilio smiled at him and then stepped back for Rayne to enter. “Come on in. All the holiday stuff is getting to me, so when I got home from the matinee, I started baking cookies.”
That explained the dusting of flour on Emilio’s T-shirt, which read “Dancers Do It to Music,” and on the thighs of his gray sweatpants. “Oh, wonderful, you brought coffee. Come on into the kitchen. You remember the way.”
Rayne did remember. He thought he could have walked through this house blindfolded, as much time as he’d spent here when he and Emilio were dating. He’d enjoyed sitting in the kitchen with Emilio while Isabel cooked dinner; sometimes she’d give them a taste of sauce or a sliver of meat or sometimes they’d steal samples.
“What kind of cookies?” he asked. “Will they go well with coffee?”
“First batch is shortbread,” Emilio replied. He crossed to the island where racks of cookies were cooling. “I think they’ll go well enough, but there’s a cinnamon cake Mama sent, too.” He rubbed at his nose with the back of one hand, leaving a smear of flour on the tip.
“One of the perks of adulthood is that no one can tell you not to have cookies whenever you want.” Rayne put the coffee cups on the counter and picked up a dish towel. “Hold still.” He swiped Emilio’s nose with the towel. “There,” he said quietly, aware of how close they were standing—close enough that Rayne could have slid his arm around Emilio’s lean waist or leaned in to claim a kiss. But he didn’t have that right. Not anymore.
Emilio’s eyes grew wide when Rayne approached, but he didn’t back away. “Oh. Thanks,” he said, breathless. “I’m a mess when I cook. It drives Mama crazy.” His gaze fell to Rayne’s lips, as though he was recalling the same memories Rayne had, of the times they’d shared kisses in this very kitchen. “Cookie?”
“I’d love something sweet,” Rayne said.
“All right.” Emilio stood where he was for a moment longer before stepping back. He picked up a triangular piece of shortbread and offered it to Rayne. “Here, this is cool enough now. You’ll have to tell me how you like it.”
Rayne took a bite and gave a hum of pleasure. “It’s still warm. Not too sweet. It’s perfect.”
Emilio licked his lips and then offered a crooked smile. “Good, I’m glad.” He reached toward the coffee. “Is this one mine?”
Rayne checked the side of the cup where he’d marked which one was Emilio’s, and he nodded. “Two sugars, lots of cream.”
“You remembered!” Emilio looked surprised as he accepted the cup. He took a sip. “Ah, that’s good. I started the cookies as soon as I got home, and I forgot to put make coffee.”
Rayne picked up his cup and drank his coffee and finished his cookie. “You’ll need to be well-caffeinated if you’re going to be my assistant,” he said. “Have you gotten any of the decorations out yet, or are we starting from scratch?”
Emilio shook his head. “I didn’t have much time yesterday, since we had an evening performance. There are probably enough ornaments to decorate a dozen trees, including some Mama had sent from Spain years ago. You might want to go through them all before deciding what you want to use.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Rayne said, lifting his cup in a toast. “Are you ready? I’m looking forward to seeing what kind of ornaments you’ve got. I’ll bet there are some beautiful antiques.”
“Well, they’re old at least.” Emilio lifted his cup as well. “Come on, let’s do it.”
Emilio led him to the upstairs hallway. “There’s a pull-down stairway,” he said, reaching up to grab a handle hanging from the ceiling by a length of cord. It slid down with a loud creak, and a light came on above. “You’re lucky I went up yesterday. Half the light bulbs were burned out, so I went ahead and replaced them.”
“That’ll save some time.” Rayne gestured upward. “You go ahead, and I’ll follow. You know where things are.”
Emilio nodded and climbed up the steep stairs. “It’s a bit dusty, but my folks were big on putting things in boxes and trunks,” he said as Rayne joined him. The attic had windows, but since it was as large as the house itself, the light wasn’t as bright in the center. Emilio reached up to turn on another hanging light. “The Christmas stuff is in that big pile of boxes on the right.”
“Do you want to take a look up here or take the boxes downstairs?” Rayne asked.
“If you can see well enough, let’s look at them up here,” Emilio said. “It’ll save time, since if you don’t see anything you like in a box, we’ll just move it aside. Does that work for you?”
Nodding, Rayne removed the top cardboard box on the nearest stack and placed it on the floor between them. The top was taped shut, and he glanced at Emilio before diving in.
“Do you want me to rip up the tape or do you want to cut it?” He straightened and eyed the stack. “I’d recommend ditching the cardboard boxes and investing in some bins, maybe the clear ones.”
“That makes sense. Hang on, I know there were some tools up here…” Emilio went to the other side of the attic, returning with a couple of box cutters. “Here, these will work. I’ll open, you check?”
“Sounds good.” Rayne pushed the box closer to Emilio and then unstacked the other boxes in the pile until everything was organized on the floor in an easy pattern for Emilio to reach with the cutters.
Emilio made short work of the tape before putting the box cutter aside. He opened the top of one of the boxes, revealing a nest of tissue paper. “There are even more boxes than I remembered,” he said, seeming a little dazed at the amount. He reached into the box and pulled out a glass figure of a female Spanish dancer, her crimson skirts raised on one side to reveal a hint of leg. “Oh, I remember this one!”
