“You can’t lose someone you can find in the dark. Knowing they are with you by the currents in the air. Some hearts just call to each other without needing a sound.”
Finally, Harper smiled. “You’re very good with words. You should be a writer or something.”
“As long as I’m yours. That’s all I want to be.”
Harper kissed him, hands sliding into his hair to anchor him, and they stayed there in the kitchen, with the sunlight streaming through the windows.
Colson cupped Harper’s cheek. “I’d better put the cream cheese in the fridge.”
But Harper held him tighter. “In a minute. David will be up soon, and I want a few more minutes with you alone.”
He had no desire to deny Harper, but as their kisses grew more passionate, he murmured against Harper’s lips, “Unless you plan on me ravishing you in the kitchen, we need to stop.”
Harper’s cheek curved in a smile. “I’d never be able to eat dinner at this table again.” With one last press of his lips, Harper put some space between them and brushed Colson’s hair off his forehead. “Now go fix me some breakfast while I get David up.”
Laughing, Colson rose to his feet, and Harper pinched his butt.
***
It had been a picture-perfect day. After bagels, they took a drive, then had pizza at Spumoni Gardens. He waited with Davidunder umbrellas at one of the picnic tables while Harper got their food.
When a group of older men at the table across from them started shooting them side-eye looks, Colson decided to face them head on. “This is David. He loves pizza as much as you do.”
One man, big and burly, with tattoos on his forearms and a buzz cut, murmured something to his buddies and swung his legs out from under their table to stand by theirs. Colson glanced up at him, a bit tense and wary.
“Sorry if we was staring. But…are you that writer, Colson Delacourt? The one who wroteKiller Behind the Stairs?”
His jaw dropped. “Uh…yeah. I am.”
The man’s weathered face broke out in a grin, and he turned to his friends with a thumbs-up. “It’s him,” he called over and turned to Colson. “We’re huge fans. Me and the guys—that’s Arnie with the Giants cap and Bert. I’m Sal. We met in a widowers’ support group, and we all love to read suspense, thrillers, crime fiction, ya know?” Colson smothered a smile at the man’s fast-talking Brooklyn accent. “Anyway, we got a book club, and we meet Sunday mornings over coffee, talk about the book and have lunch. We just finished reading yours this afternoon. Man, that was a wild ride.”
Warmed by the praise, Colson shifted to face the other men, while still keeping David in his view. “It was. I scared myself sometimes writing it, but I think it helped me.”
Bert called out, “I slept with the lights on all week.”
They all laughed, and he decided to share an update with them. “I’m almost finished writing a new book.”
“Oh, yeah? This one gonna give me nightmares too?” Arnie joked and took a bite of his pizza.
Harper walked out with their pizza, his face quizzical but tense. Colson imagined he anticipated something negative. Colson took the food from him and set it between them.
“This is Sal, and that’s Arnie and Bert. They’re in a book club and they read my book, and we were just talking. Guys, this is my boyfriend, Harper. He’s an NYPD detective. David is his brother.” That he was gay shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who was a fan of his books—his bio, which he realized he needed to change, said he lived in Brooklyn with his boyfriend. Hopefully they’d read it.
“Nice to meetcha.” Sal nodded at Harper, who’d put a square slice on the plate for David and was cutting it into pieces. “Is he an inspiration for your police characters?”
Harper’s lips twitched, and Colson grinned. “No, not the one you’ve read, but…” Curious at their reaction, Colson decided to clue them in about his new book. “Let me ask you something.”
“About the new book?” Sal asked, and all three men crowded near him.
“Yeah. I’m thinking of having this one be a little different—still a thriller and suspenseful with the requisite gore and blood, no worries.”
Harper chuckled in the background and gave David some pizza.
“Oh, great. Another high electric bill ’cause I can’t turn the lights out.” Arnie groaned.
“Don’t worry. Shirley will be glad to come over and hold your hand,” Bert razzed him. “Shirley works at the bakery on Eighteenth Avenue around the corner from us. She’s sweet on Arnie and always slips him an extra cookie.”
“Shaddup, will ya? I wanna hear about the new book.”
