“Obviously!” I blurt, the pretend aloofness gone in a split second. “It’s a given,” I grin stupidly. Mom used to make fun of us. That we weren’t in Louisiana and that we couldn’t turn every dish into a Cajun version. Our combined answer was always, ‘Why not?’
“Great,” Mitch continues to smile. “Come by at six.”
“What’s Cajun?” Leo asks a little too loudly, probably flying high on a cloud of Skittles.
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” I ruffle his hair, my eyes not leaving Mitch’s. “Okay,” I say. “Six it is.”
Chapter Eight
Mitch
“Look at those two,” Cal whispers against my right ear, his chin leaning on my shoulder, strong arms wrapped around my midsection. And I do. I just look at the two of them, Tyler and Bree, as they lie on the sunbed in our overgrown backyard, completely engulfed in their own little world. Bree is, of course, splayed on top of Tyler again, happily licking his face like he’s a long-lost pup from the same litter. Tyler is squealing as he tries to push her off half-heartedly, wiping at his chin.
“Where’s your ball, Bree Baby?” he wheezes between fits of giggles that go straight to my core, doing something funny there that’s been growing ever since Tyler reentered my life. “Go getyour ball, baby girl,” he pants and laughs, and I laugh right along with him, my back pressed against Cal’s vibrating front because he’s chuckling too.
“She probably ate it,” I throw in Tyler’s direction, a laugh escaping with my words.
“Stop it,” Cal hums against my ear. “It’s time to flip those burgers, babe,” he pats my butt fondly. Shit! The burgers. I completely forgot. They’re gonna be well done by now. I reluctantly disentangle myself from Cal’s arms and the glorious spectacle in front of me to rush to the grill. We decided to cook outside since the evening breeze was just too sweet to pass up. We have an outdoor kitchen because, in the valley, it gets hot as fuck most days, but some evenings, a cooling breeze sweeps through and it’s just divine. Cooking and eating inside would be blasphemous. Tonight’s one of those evenings.
“Something smells fantastic,” a breathy voice wafts across my chin as Tyler peeks over my shoulder at the generous-sized burgers and golden, crispy corn.
“You sound surprised,” I say, my eyes fixed on the burgers. “Are you questioning my BBQ skills, young man?” TheTywas right there on the tip of my tongue, but I know better.
“Of course not, oh Great Wizard of Cajun Cooking,” Tyler laughs, leaning in and dipping his finger into the barbeque sauce.
“Hey!” I mock-scold, my heart suddenly full. Because he remembered. He and Catarina used to tease me that I was some Cajun Wizard who would only show his face when it was time to grill something, sleeping in a small magic tent the rest of the time. Tyler throws me a cheeky grin and a knowing wink before his index finger disappears into his mouth behind his pink lips.
“Hmmm,” he hums while rolling his eyes exaggeratedly in ecstasy. “Fuck, that’s the stuff dirty dreams are made of, Mitch,” he drawls, eyes closed, dark lashes brushing against his oliveskin, as he licks his lips. My gaze zeroes in on a solitary bead of sweat clinging to his upper lip as the tip of his tongue peeks out. Then, a loud clang followed by a string of curses resound behind me, and I jump out of my… whatever that was.
“Shit!” When I turn around, I find Cal crouching on the deck, mumbling to himself, lettuce everywhere, and the salad bowl split in half.
“Let me help!” Tyler rushes to his side and crouches down next to him as he starts picking up leaves of green lettuce, inspecting them. “They’re still good, Cal-Bear,” he says, smiling at Cal, who has his gaze fixed on the deck.Cal-Bear?Oh, this is rich. My man has been holding out on me.
“Yeah,” Tyler speaks eagerly, looking up, squinting at the evening sun. “That’s his new nickname. Didn’t he tell ya?” He grins knowingly, poking his elbow against Cal’s. Shit, I didn’t even realize that I was talking out loud. “What, Cal-Bear? You’re keeping secrets from your man?”
“Shut up, brat,” Cal groans. “And we can’t eat these. Unless you like dog piss as your salad dressing.”
“Nah, I’ll pass.” Tyler picks up the rest of the lettuce and stands, cradling them in his arms. “Although, I once used another body flui—”
“Don’t!” Cal growls, getting up too, the broken bowl clasped in his hands. “Whatever it is, I don’t wanna know,” he throws Tyler a warning look that weirdly goes straight to my balls. Shit, I forgot how goddamn hot a grumpy, growly Cal is. He rarely comes out to play, but when he does…dayum.In those early days when we first got together… shit, he would get all possessive and growly if another guy even looked my way. If anyone even breathed in my vicinity in a bar, he would wrap his beefy baker’s arms possessively around me and throw them a death glare. So. Damn. Hot.‘You’re mine, Mitch,’he wouldrasp later, his words deep stutters as he pounded into me.‘This fucking hole belongs to me. Only me. All. Fucking. Mine.’
“Mitch?” Tyler looks at me, tilting his chin toward the grill. “Something’s burning.” Shit. Of course, something’s burning. My damn shorts are on fire, too. This is a goddamn disaster, is what it is. Wizard, my hairy ass.
“This was so goood,” Tyler slurs, rubbing his belly, a sedated look in his eyes.Meat coma.That’s what we used to call it. Luckily, we managed to salvage most of the food and now, several burgers and beers later, Tyler’s wiped out. I feel it, too. The day. Everything that has happened today. I never thought in a million years that I’d be serving Cajun to Tyler again. Or that he would be sitting in one of my old garden chairs, head tipped against the night sky, a blissful smile on his face.
“You think I could see them now, Mitch?” he sighs. “The drawings.” The way he says my name has changed. It no longer sounds like a death threat or something dripping with hurt and resentment. It sounds almost like it used to, with an edge of hopeful innocence and a hint of affection.
“Sure,” I say, groaning as I get up from the lounge chair. “They’re in the attic. C’mon.” Shit, the dreaded attic. When Cal and I shacked up and I moved in with him, we pretty much put my old life in the attic. Not because Cal asked me to, but becauseit was still too raw and too painful to keep out in the open. I’ve moved stuff down over the years, but everything that reminds me of my life with Tyler has stayed tucked away up there.
I pull down the ladder to the attic, Tyler standing so close behind me I can feel his breath playing with the small hairs at my nape. The air crackles with anticipation and I almost blurt something stupid like, ‘I think I got it wrong. I don’t have them anymore.’
“Mitch?” he says quietly, and I change my mind instantly. Who am I kidding? There’s nothing I won’t give or do for this kid who was once, in another life, mine and who has long ceased to be a kid. I place my foot on the first step, and suddenly, it feels like more. Like, it’s not just a wooden stair on an old ladder, but the first step of the rest of my life. Tyler’s back. I have him back and I know that when his six months of community service end, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him here. In my life. In Cal’s and my life.
In the attic, I turn on the light, and just when I’m about to apologize for the mess, Tyler blurts, “Holy shit, Mitch! This is so cool.” He looks around at all the clutter and dust and spiderwebs, awe in his eyes.
“Cool?” Cal hums and I didn’t even realize he’d joined us.
“Yeah,” Tyler grins. “Shit, Mitch, I didn’t realize you were one of those hoarders. Amazeballs,” he whistles, picking up a fishing rod.
