Trevor was beginning to think hedidknow.
He’d been about to order a cocktail, something simple and straightforward, not any of these weird smoked salt or bizarre savory combinations that the bar offered on its gold-embossed menu.
Vault could be a little high end, but not in a way that had ever made him uncomfortable.
Maybe they made as much money as everyone in here, or more, actually, but Trevor didn’t think that Lane had ever acted like it, not since he’d first come to Toronto this past summer.
But now he was consulting with the sommelier, thinking about dropping four figures on a bottle of wine that, at its base, was just fuckinggrape juice.
“You didn’t have to order that,” Trevor told him when the sommelier left with his order. “I’d have been fine with whatever.”
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to be ‘fine with whatever,’” Lane said earnestly, leaning in. “And the view’s awesome, isn’t it?”
“It’s gorgeous,” Trevor said, even though he wasn’t sure what the view had to do with the way-too-expensive bottle of wine Lane had just ordered, but he did nod, because the viewwasincredible. Toronto spread out beneath them, like a carpet of bright lights.
The sommelier, having apparently done some quick googling in the back and recognizing both of them, returned with the wine and made a big deal out of presenting it to Lane.
“This is good,” Lane said, after taking an experimental sip.
Trevor was not going to point out that the guy had the palate of a twenty-one-year-old still. That he rarely drank anything but beer and tequila.
“It is,” Trevor agreed, then paused, uncomfortably. “Wait. You’re not gonna like . . . propose, are you?”
They’d already witnessed two very elegant, very subtle proposals, rings sparkling in the subdued candlelight.
“No,” Lane squawked, but he looked nervous, like maybe he was actually going to.
“Good, ’cause we’ve only been dating for what, a few weeks? A month?”
“Not even,” Lane protested. But there was no question he looked suddenly very pale. Freaked out, for sure.
Like it had never occurred to him that they’d only really been doing this for a month. And that was just the sex, never mind any of the deeper, stronger commitments they’d made to each other.
Trevor was okay with it, because in so many ways, it felt like they’d been building towards this for alotlonger than that.
Every time they’d circled closer to each other, testing their distance and then closing it a little more, they were taking a step towards this.
Maybe Trevor hadn’t known whatthiswas, but he did now.
“Seriously, you gotta tell me what’s up with all this,” Trevor said, leaning in over the tiny table and dropping his voice.
“Why can’t I do something nice and romantic?” Lane wondered.
Naturally, Lane would be the kind of guy who would assume that only getting dressed up and paying too much for a view and a bottle of wine would be considered romantic.
“What we doisn’tromantic?”
Lane looked more than freaked out, now. He looked like he was straight-up panicking. “It is?”
“Well, yeah. I like what we do. You making fun of me for my puzzles, but still helping me with them anyway. You ordering takeout or me cooking dinner. Cuddling on the couch?” Trevor fluttered his eyelashes. “Ormore, even. Ignoring Ramsey’s hockey game on TV—”
“Wait, you’d haveratherdone that instead of this?”
Trevor actually considered this. The thought behind this date nightwasnice. He liked that part of it—Lane planning and executing the plan. But the actual plan? It kind of sucked. Wasn’t something either of them would ever like.
They didn’t evendrinkwine, even though the sommelier had been right and Trevor didn’t hate this one. And the rest of the cocktail menu? Actually kind of terrifying.
“Well, maybe not exactly that list instead of this? But not this, man, it’s notus.” Trevor winced, wondering if he should have softened the blow a little, but then, Lanehadasked and he’d also looked basically freaked at all the forced romantic atmosphere.
