Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“No, I got it. Just hang on a second. I’ve got the coffee going now. Sometimes I think you need a license just to operate this damn thing.” Will turned toward him and flashed a grin. Jack noticed, not for the first time, Will’s movie-star-perfect smile. He had a dimple in his left cheek and his eyes sort of creased up into half moons when he grinned broadly, which he’d been doing a lot this evening, or so it seemed to Jack.
What am I doing here?
The question flashed into his brain and as it did, a part of Jack wondered why it had taken so long to get there. What exactly was he doing with a young, handsome gay man? Had they been on a date, for God’s sake? Were they now going to finish the date with dessert and a good-night kiss? By coming back to Will’s house, was he tacitly offering himself up for a homosexual encounter?
Jesus, cut it out. The word homosexual sounded so formal, so dated. So Will was gay, big deal. Was it a crime to have a gay friend? He had female friends, or he used to, he supposed, when Emma was around. If he was alone in the kitchen with one of them, did that necessarily mean sex was in the offing? No, it did not.
He and Will had become friends over the two weeks he’d worked on his kitchen. Will was easy to talk to. He understood about Emma, empathetic about Jack’s self-imposed loneliness without making him feel self-conscious. Jack had to admit he liked how Will seemed to hang on his every word, awed by his renovation skills and his “artist’s eye” as Will had called it. When he was with Will he didn’t feel like just a handyman. He felt as if the work he was doing really mattered.
He surveyed the room, admiring his own handiwork. The marble countertops gleamed, the floor looked as if it had always been there, the appliances fit perfectly. He glanced up the ceiling, studying the oak leaf pattern pressed into the white tin. This kitchen, he thought proudly, could be featured in one of those home-improvement magazines.
Will moved to the table, carrying a tray with mugs, a pitcher of cream and a sugar bowl. “I’m going to have to have a big dinner party to show off my new kitchen.”
Jack suddenly imagined this dining room table, which seated eight, filled with Will’s rich young friends—the up-and-coming movers and shakers of the financial community. Or maybe he’d have all gay men, GQ-model types, each one better looking than the last, lifting their champagne flutes, their little fingers extended as they lisped their toasts to one another before falling into a debauched orgy…
Come on, Crawford, get a grip.
Will left him a moment and this time returned with a bottle of Cognac and two brandy snifters. “I thought we could toast the new kitchen,” he said as he set them on the table. He brought over the coffeepot and stood beside Jack as he filled each mug with aromatic, steaming coffee. As he leaned down, his arm brushed Jack’s shoulder and the touch sent an inexplicable shiver down Jack’s spine.
Will sat across from Jack and gestured toward the cannoli. “Please, help yourself. I didn’t mean for you to wait.”
Jack selected a cannoli and bit into the light, crunchy shell. The creamy cheese filling exploded like heaven on his taste buds, and he closed his eyes, savoring its sweet ecstasy. When he opened his eyes to reach for his coffee, he found Will staring at him, those large green eyes focused like a cat on a mouse. He felt himself blushing, which was ridiculous.
Will uncorked the brandy and poured a healthy amount in each snifter. He held one out for Jack. Jack hesitated, but then took the glass, not wanting to be rude. He looked down at the rich, amber liquid and moved the glass, watching it swirl.
“Is something wrong?”
Jack glanced up at Will and said honestly, “It’s been a while since I had hard liquor. I sort of fell into a rut the first few months after my wife died. I think I was coming to rely a little too much on alcohol to get me through the day, if you know what I mean.”
“I didn’t realize.” Will held out his hand. “I can take these away if you like.”
“No, no. I’d like to share a brandy with you. Enough time has passed now. I think I can drink responsibly.”
“Fair enough.” Will raised his glass toward Jack, who raised his in turn. “To my beautiful new kitchen. Thank you, Jack Crawford, for your meticulous, high-quality work and your vision. You truly are an artist.”
Jack couldn’t help but grin, both pleased and amused by the young man’s abundant praise. “My pleasure,” he mumbled. He tipped back the glass and swallowed the strong, slightly sweet spirit. It felt good burning down his chest.