When Aberlour arrived, Bart sat alone at a table, leaning back in his chair, looking relaxed and perfectly comfortable. The bedazzled cane he carried everywhere was folded up on the table. He looked good. Young and full of life. Wearing something colorful with ruffles that fit him perfectly, his dark brown hair styled to flatter his face. How he managed to fix his hair so well when he couldn’t see mystified Aberlour.
“Hey, there you are,” Bart said, as Aberlour approached his table.
Another unworldly skill was his ability to quickly identify Aberlour as he walked up to him. Perfect hearing, he supposed, had its perks.
“Said I’d come,” he answered, a little too gruffly.
“And right on time, I’m guessing,” he observed with a smug grin as he pressed a button on his phone and a female voice intoned “10:00 a.m.”
“Old habits!” Aberlour snorted and laughed.
“Come on, sit, the others will get here soon.” Bart used his foot to push out the chair next to his.
A few minutes later, Bart’s fiancé Michael dropped by their table, but he was quickly pulled away to help with the final arrangements for the show. He looked stressed but excited, and the smile he pulled from Bart as he kissed his cheek was a testament to their mutual affection.
“How’d you meet?” Aberlour asked, as they waited for the others. There was a mimosa in his hand, and it wasn’t his first. He didn’t normally ask questions or dig for information. Bart usually did enough of that for both of them. The champagne bubbles were obviously doing a number on his head.
“Michael and I? College.” Bart answered, smiling fondly at the memories.
“You went to college?” he asked, then immediately regretted sounding so surprised.
Bart snorted and laughed.
“Still am. Studying economics with a minor in music,” he answered with pride.
“Really? What about the fair?”
“Summer job to make some money. My brother used to work there in high school. I knew the owner, so when I pitched him the idea, he heard me out.” He shrugged and smiled.
“Hmm.”
Aberlour looked around the restaurant. Staff was weaving around the tables, taking orders. The show was set to start in 15 minutes. Bart’s friends had yet to arrive.
“Michael is a Communications major, minoring in musical theater. We met at rehearsal. I was leading the orchestra, and he was a pain in my ass.”
Aberlour burst into laughter.
“Sounds about right,” Aberlour nodded, sipped his mimosa, and then asked, “Was he out?”
“He was studying musical theater,” Bart replied drolly, like the answer should have been obvious, and maybe it was. “But I wasn’t,” he said, surprising Aberlour.
“Really?”
“What?”
“I just—figured you’d always been out,” Aberlour said.
“You saying I look gay?” Bart baited with a smirk.
“As the day is long,” Aberlour replied.
Bart always laughed at Aberlour’s jokes like it would be his last laugh. Head thrown back, throat exposed, the sound loud and unabashed. It reminded Aberlour of Oliver each and every time.
Aberlour loved to make Bart laugh.
“Here I am,” said a petite brunette as she sat down across from Bart. She was around his age, sporting a septum piercing, and had a sleeve tattoo on her right arm.
“Anna!” Bart exclaimed happily. “So, was traffic hell today?”
