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After a moment, he whispers in my ear, “I so want to kiss him.”
Orion manages about three plaits before it falls to pieces. He shakes his chin and lets it all go free, and all three men give him a hearty round of applause.
“As I said, dessert is served,” I announce, again. “Maybe we can get back to this tentacle torture later, after we’ve built up a good sugar rush?”
“One more first!” Pops says. “You have to see this. Do the mustache, Orion.”
Orion gives a shy little smile and lifts his chin. Then the little tentacula under his nose curl up. Then the next one down his mustache, and the next. Finally, he creates a big handlebar curl at the ends.
“Isn’t it astounding?” Pops says. “It’s just like mine, but without all the wax and hairspray!”
“Beautiful,” I say, and it is, but I want to give Orion some space. “But dessert is waiting.”
We all descend on the treats, and it’s a good thing I gifted myself a free day from my diet, because the spread is mouth-watering. Bertie’s spice cookies, of course, are my first choice, and I’ve been indulging all day. It wouldn’t be Christmas without them. Pops is a master of fussy French confections, and he made a delicate mille-feuille this year with layers of crisp puff pastry and an almond cream—barely two bites, but each bite is heaven. Orion grabbed his bag and manifested a container of melt-in-your-mouth coconut shortbread, and by personal request, Bob made his chewy panforte, my favorite.
I catch Pops sneaking one of his desserts to Jake, and chide, “You’re going to spoil him.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he says, playfully affronted.
Orion is watching the whole thing, free from the worries we just discussed. He’s interacting naturally with the guys, and remarkably, he’s allowing his tentacula to explore the desserts as he eats. It’s mesmerizing. They dance along the surface and dip into the almond cream, curling up to his mouth with little portions. I force myself not to stare, but I so want to. It’s fascinating, and strangely erotic. They’re so nimble. My mind turns to other places they could be exploring, and I feel my face flush. Such inappropriate thoughts…but maybe not.
Between bites, Orion asks, “Where did you guys meet?”
Bob chimes in, gesturing with his half-eaten shortbread, “Carl was competing at the regionals and the second I saw him, I was in love.”
“In lust, rather,” Carl corrects, giving him a beardy smooch. “If I remember correctly, we didn’t see much of the competition that year.”
“Competition?” Orion asks.
“What was it, hon? I always forget. It wasn’t the big one. Whisker Roundup?”
“Mile High Beard Bout.”
“Of course. You took me hiking in the Rockies.”
I say, cluing Orion in, “In case you’re wondering, these are beard competitions. That’s how we all met. Everyone but me, that is.”
“Yep. I snapped up Carl in Denver, and we fell for our dapper gentleman and his prize-winning beard a few years later at the big national event.”
“Austin, Texas,” Pops says grandly, “Full Beard Freestyle category, first place. It took me a week to wash out the last traces of hairspray.”
“And how did you guys meet?” Orion asks, looking at Bertie and me.
“I’ll give you one guess,” I say.
It only takes him a second. “The bakery. Of course. Your husband is rather flirty.”
“Only with the right guys,” Bertie says with a wink.
“Orion, you should join us!” Carl says, sounding like it’s a big inspiration.
“Where?” Orion asks.
“Come to Beard Bash with us. Our local beard group always does a contest on New Year’s Eve. You’ll love it, and everybody will love you.”
Bob adds, “It’s at a straight bar, but we’ve never had any problems. That beard of yours will knock them dead.”
“Oh. I don’t know,” Orion says, closing down again. I can see the fear gathering in his eyes.
