“On second thought, we’ll bow out gracefully,” Martin says before sighing and sinking back into his chair.
Greg doesn’t enjoy delivering bad news, especially not to two people who took a chance on him when he was at his lowest. “Seriously, thank you for giving me this opportunity and for looking out for me. I really needed it.”
They nod somberly. Like someone’s died. Greg hates it.
“And if you ever need special cocktails for events or holidays, I can always slip some recipes to you via...” He stops himself before he says Julien. He won’t sayJulien! “Text.Or email. Whatever works.”
Augustine says, “Thanks, Greg. You’re a good guy.” Greg’s throat grows thick as he recalls how Julien said those exact words to him in the shower on Christmas Eve. Back when a future together still felt possible. “We’re going to miss you,” Augustine adds.
Is Martin...tearing up? “We really are.”
“Oh, shut off the waterworks, you big softie. He’s moving two hours away. Not to another continent.” She laughs while getting her husband up from his seat so they can start getting ready for dinner. “He can come back for Christmas Eve again. You gotta come back for the holidays. I promise I will get marginally less drunk and sing marginally more on key.”
Greg laughs, attempting to mask the heat spreading across his cheeks from the rooted memory of that fated night, of the sweetest gift he’s ever received and the hottest sex he’s ever had. “I’ll try my best,” he says, making no concrete promises.
Maybe this year will be different. Maybe by Christmas, he’ll be formally back together and living with Stryker, enjoying take-out breakfasts every morning and bartending at Bar Deco every night. This time, he’ll get it right. This time, he’ll plant roots that won’t (and he repeats,won’t) get ripped up and thrown in his face.
Martin’s Place and the prickly sommelier who works there will be nothing more than a blip in his memory bank, slowly disintegrating into sand, poured through a sieve, and blown away on a spring wind.
“Thanks for letting us know.” Augustine and Martin leave Greg behind in the office.
After a deep breath, he pulls out his phone and shoots off a text to Stryker, Anika, and Josh:It’s official. I’m coming home.
JULIEN
“You’re home,” Aunt Augustine greets Julien as he enters for his first shift back. There’s something off about her. The way she pats his back. The way she’s not sipping a seltzer. “How was the...the classes? Howwerethe classes?”
“Great. Really informative, and I met some really nice people.” He’s been meaning to send a text to Carlos after their affirming conversation.
“You? Meeting people? Color me surprised.” Her joke takes an off-kilter tone.
Julien decides not to harp on the oddities. “I’m turning over a new leaf. Have you seen Greg?” He’s got just enough time before the dinner rush to get Greg alone, confess his feelings, and maybe, possibly have Greg scoop him up into his arms and kiss him a little bit. A lotta bit, if he’s lucky.
She worries her lip. “Let’s take a walk to the host stand for a minute.”
He doesn’t have a minute. They can catch up later. “It’s kind of important, what I have to tell Greg.” Never in his twenty-six years of existence has he felt this confident in his feelings for someone. It’s emboldening, and it can’t wait any longer.
“What I have to tell you is kind of important as well.”
He has stopped listening because Greg appears behind the bar. Characteristically handsome. Uncharacteristically rumpled. He carries a tray of clean glasses to stack beneath the counter, causing his biceps to bulge in the fancy gold polo he’s wearing.
Julien’s heart picks up speed. “I’ll meet you there in a bit, okay?” Without waiting for a response, he’s off toward Greg who is donning a somewhat revamped wardrobe, pieces Julien hasn’t seen before. Most notably, a striking gold watch that could blind someone with its huge, ornate face. If Julien were to assign Greg a color, it would be gold. A shiny and hopeful shade.
Though the look on Greg’s face when he turns and nearly runs into him doesn’t inspire hope. It appears wounded.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“I’m back.”
“I see that.”
Julien almost loses his nerve. “Can we talk?” The shakiness is evident, but he tries to hide it with a smile.
Greg nods and follows him out back because Braydon is holding court by the lockers, talking about his impending spring break plans to go to Mexico. Outside, the air is crisp with a slight chill, a marked difference from Dallas. Julien wishes he’d worn a light jacket.
“Did Augustine...?” Greg’s hanging question lingers in the air as they stand in the alleyway, a poor setting for a romantic conversation.
