“Maybe. But possession is nine-tenths of the law. And this guy—,” Demarco said, thumbing at the cowboy, “—owns you, whether you admit it or not.”
George extended his hand to Alec. “I’m George. This is my—” He paused, eying Mikey and blushing sweetly. He hadn’t used the word in a long time. “—my boyfriend, Mikey.”
“George,” Demarco said, “this is my old friend, Alec Collier—former Circle resident—and his boyfriend, Tyler. He’s a cowboy if you hadn’t noticed.”
Tyler raised his eyebrows. “I’m not a cowboy, D.”
“Whatever... in the eyes of this city, you are.”
“Nice to meet you, George and Mikey,” Tyler said, shaking both their hands. “I raise horses.”
But Mikey’s eyes were on Alec. Slowly, they pointed at each other.
“Don’t I know you?” Alec asked.
Demarco grinned. “Tuesday Tunes, baby. That’s Mikey—the mailman. You’ve never seen him out of uniform.”
Alec’s eyes grew large. “Oh, my gosh... it is. You are. I recognize you now.”
“I... But I—” Mikey began. He was flustered, concentrating. “I know your name though.”
“Do you readThe Post? Maybe you read my column,Tales of the Circle?”
“THAT’S IT!” Mikey exclaimed, so loud that everyone took notice. He took Alec’s hand, gasping. “I loved your column. I was so sad to hear that it was ending. But I bought your book...True. It’s so good.”
Alec smiled. “Thanks, Mikey. That’s very kind of you.”
But there was no stopping him now. To Mikey, the puzzle pieces just kept falling into place. “And the book takes place in Montana, and there are horses, and snow, and a cowboy, and—” he grinned lasciviously, pointing at Tyler.“—olive oil.”
Tyler’s face went completely scarlet. He looked at Alec. “I told you not to put that in there.”
* * *
They dined at three separate tables. Jack, Demarco, Wilson, Tommy and Abigail were at one... Rachel, May, Zac, and Ginger at another... and Alec and Tyler sat with George and Mikey.
To avoid having to serve, Zac and George pulled other empty tables together and created a buffet of Caesar salad, moussaka, spanakopita, and Zac’s famous rolls. They designated another nearby table as a self-serve beverage station, complete with water pitchers, soft drinks, beer, and wine.
The tables were close enough that conversation was easy. The wine flowed, and music played, but not the typical Mediterranean mix of a subscribed service. Instead, George had bought a small wireless speaker that could sync up easily with any phone. He’d set it up on the bar and, right now, they were listening to his favorite jazzy Christmas playlist—the soulful Etta James’sMerry Christmas, Babyslipping seamlessly into the suave swing of the Vince Guaraldi Trio’sO Tannenbaum.
Tommy came over to the men’s table and Mikey pulled him up into his lap. “Have you been a good boy, Tommy?”
He grinned. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s good, because tonight is the night. Santa’s coming. You know that, right?”
Tommy said nothing, just wrapped his arms around Mikey’s neck and laid his head on his shoulder.
“Well, that’s about the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Tyler.
George smiled. “They have a connection.”
Demarco came up behind George, bending to his ear. “I know this sounds strange, but do you have a place where we could change? You mentioned singing, the other night... and this one—” he nodded toward Wilson, who had joined him, “—has not shut up about it since. So, we’ve been rehearsing a little number.”
“Oh, I’m a part of this,” Alec said.
“Yes, you are,” Demarco confirmed.
“Outstanding. Entertainment.” George pointed to the left of the bar. “Through the kitchen, you’ll find my office. There’s a small bathroom back there too if you need a mirror.”
