“Not making excuses, but I do have to get home.” I don’t know why I was reluctant to tell Tony that Peter was at the house waiting for me. My brothers had always asked what happened between us, but I’d never told. I couldn’t lie to them and I sure as hell couldn’t tell them the truth, so deflecting had always been the safer option.
“Come on, if you skip out, I’m going to think you have a hot date,” Tony teased.
“What makes you think that?” I asked, suddenly far more interested in organizing the backup cooler so it was ready for morning.
“Because you can’t look me in the eye, for one thing,” Tony pointed out. “Plus, normally you’re willing to come out for at least one drink when Mama keeps Soph overnight.”
“Yeah, well I have shit to do at home,” I said. It wasn’t technically a lie because I’d been thinking all night about the things I wanted to do to and with Peter.
“Does this have anything to do with a certain buddy being back in town?” Tony was a perceptive little shit. “Why not invite him out? He could probably use a stiff drink or twelve after dealing with the old man. I swear, Silvio was glaring daggers at Peter through the entire funeral. I get that shit’s been rocky for them since he moved away, but I wouldn’t have been shocked if he’d stood up in front of everyone and publicly disowned his kid. Is it really that much of a crime that he didn’t want to come back to run the bakery?”
Even a week ago, I’d have thought it was, but now, I knew the issues between father and son ran much deeper, and there was nothing Peter could do to make his father see he was a good man, other than denying who he was at the core. And that was a shame because I happened to like the man I was beginning to know.
“That’s between them,” I said, hoping it was abundantly clear that the topic of Peter’s dysfunctional family was off limits. “And yes, it does have to do with him. If you must know, he’s coming over to the house so we can try to bury the hatchet.” Among other things…
“Cool. Well, if you guys want to join us later, you know where to find us,” Tony told me. “Calvin’s out of town, which means Frankie’s crashing at our place.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
I was momentarily disoriented when I got home from work and there was a light shining in the living room. That’s what happened when I slept for shit and then had the night from hell. When the light at the front door turned on as I walked up the steps, I couldn’t help but smile. Even when Angela still lived here, it was rare that I came home to anything other than darkness, both literal and emotionally.
Peter stilled when I paused at the threshold, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek. “I like having you here when I get home.”
“Is it wrong if I say I like being here?” he admitted as he followed me into the laundry room. I started stripping my rank chef whites like I did every other night, not thinking about the fact that I had company. “Fuck, you do that every night and you might never get rid of me.”
The playful threat held a trace of promise. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—think like that. This was a temporary arrangement until Peter got tired of following me around the house picking up after me. I paused, inhaling the scent of lemon cleaner. “You cleaned?”
“Yeah.” He stepped around me and started loading the rest of my uniforms into the washing machine. “I needed something to keep me busy. I tried watching TV, but I kept zoning out. Too much time to think.”
“Come here,” I said, tugging him away from the dirty laundry. I’d been so caught up in what we were doing, I hadn’t thought about how hard it might be for him, not getting to say goodbye to his mama. I imagined it’d be even harder once he found out how she’d found strength after he left and wasn’t the doormat he’d always worried she’d become. “Do you want to talk?”
Peter placed a hand over my heart and his head on my shoulder. “No, I’ll be fine. It’s going to take time, and it’s a hell of a lot better knowing you’re here than if I was sitting back at Papa’s house or on the road back to New York.”
“I’m here for whatever you need,” I promised him. “Even after you have to go home, I don’t want to lose touch again. You can call me anytime.”
“I’d like that.” I released him and Peter went back to filling the washer. I left him to it, realizing this was his way of coping. It felt selfish to let him handle my household chores, but by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard him quietly humming a tune I remembered from his childhood.
I heard the bathroom door open as I rinsed shampoo out of my hair. The water was scalding hot, just the way I liked it, and my aching back was finally starting to relax.
“Need any help in there?” I wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not, so I didn’t respond. Plus, I wasn’t sure I was ready for us to jump straight to shower sex. I wanted to take my time with Peter and let things build naturally. But that was ridiculous, because slow and natural was what you did when you were with someone you were trying to build a relationship with, and I wasn’t. I couldn’t. “Relax, I was joking. Kind of. Unless you were about to tell me to get my ass in there and scrub your back, in which case I meant what I said.”
I laughed, loving how flustered Peter got when he was out of his element. It was reassuring to know this wasn’t a common arrangement for him either.
“Let me finish up and then we’ll see what happens,” I told him, hoping he’d take the hint and leave me with a bit of privacy. I wasn’t out of shape, but I also didn’t have the physique I had when I was participating in sports every season. If he saw me and his attraction waned, I wasn’t sure what that’d do to my fragile ego.
“Have you eaten?” I wiped the condensation off the shower door, ready to point out what a silly question that was since I worked in a restaurant, but then my stomach rumbled. Oh yeah, I hadn’t, because right about the time I was going to make myself something, the damn cooler died. “I’ll take that as a no. You finish up in here and get into something comfy. I’ll meet you in the living room.”
“Yes, sir,” I responded playfully.
“That’s my line.” My dick perked up just thinking about him calling me sir. Not something I was into, but this was a whole new world. Was it possible what I craved with women would differ from what I craved from a man?
The door shut behind Peter, leaving me alone to my thoughts yet again. I was beginning to understand why he had such an aversion to too much time with nothing to do.
I quickly dried off and noticed a T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts neatly folded on the toilet seat. He was going to spoil me with all these little gestures.
I found Peter curled up at one end of the couch, a plate of reheated pad thai on the table in front of him. “I hope you like it. I wasn’t sure if the place was any good, but they delivered, so I took a chance. I didn’t mind it, but I don’t have the same palate you do. You’re probably used to a lot better food than this.”
I bent down, bracing his cheeks against my palms, and kissed him to shut him up. He could’ve made me a peanut butter sandwich and it would’ve been the best meal I’d had in recent memory simply because he put the effort into taking care of me. “It’s perfect.”
