alieicanlivewith (4 page)

Holding out his hand again, they shook, and then Garret walked away, leaving Otis bereft.
We were doing
so nicely; what did I do wrong?
Otis wanted to wail.

Instead, he held his peace, watching the man of his dreams disappear out the door.

Surely Garret would have asked for a phone number if he wanted to get together again. Wouldn't he? Otis sighed, knowing it'd been too good to be true. At least for an afternoon, Garret had allowed him to dream.

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For Me?

Monday morning Otis sat alone at his desk,

skimming catalogs and preparing a purchase order when a young man in a brown uniform stepped into the office, carrying a single crimson rose in a vase. Ah, Steve must have made quite the impression on his young lady over the weekend. "Put it over there," Otis said, pointing with a pen toward the table that served for breaks whenever one of the guys brought in lunch.

"Could you sign here, please?" the man asked, handing over a clipboard. Otis paid no attention to what the form said, signing his name where instructed. Steve received flowers from girlfriends on a regular basis --

among other things.

He didn't even think about the rose again until Steve and Danny arrived at noon, handing over the morning's work orders and lugging pizza boxes. Tomatoes, pepperoni, and spices perfumed the air. Otis' stomach rumbled loudly.

"Aha! What's this?" Steve exclaimed, holding up the vase.

"Oh, that came for you a little while ago," Otis responded, squeezing past Danny to grab three sodas out of the office mini-fridge.

"It says 'Otis Tucker' on the card."

"What?" Otis whipped around to find matching gleeful grins.

"Whoa-ho! Bossman's holding out on us. You got a secret admirer, Boss?" Steve raised the vase out of Otis'

reach.

Thinking they were joking, Otis dropped the drinks on the table and lunged, snatching the vase from Steve's hand. Ignoring his employees' good-natured taunts, he fumbled with the card pinned to the ribbon wrapping the
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vase. Sure enough, a tiny envelope read "Otis Tucker."

Placing the vase on his desk, he ripped open the envelope to find the card within. "I had a wonderful time and would love to see you again -- Garret."

Garret had had a good time? And wanted another date? Although the day outside the office windows appeared cloudy and gray, heralding more snow, for Otis a bright ray of sunshine penetrated the gloom. He happily munched pizza, recalling chocolate strawberries and bright blue eyes.

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Getting to Know You

That evening Otis raced home and logged onto

GetaDate.com
, dying for some word from Garret, who'd been on his mind all afternoon. He hadn't trusted himself to be able to finish the workday if he'd checked from the office.

Sure enough, he found a message that read:

I've been kicking myself since yesterday for not
getting your phone number. I don't know your weekly
schedule, but how about dinner tomorrow night? Do you
know where the Japanese restaurant is on Hudson?

Garret wanted to take him to dinner? So

nervous his hands shook, Otis tapped out a reply:
I got your rose. Thanks! Does seven o'clock
work for you?

After microwaving a dish of frozen manicotti, he returned to his laptop to find:

You're welcome, and it's a date.

***

Otis had often passed by the popular restaurant of the unpronounceable name, never once feeling the temptation to enter. With its gold painted walls and sloped roof, it appeared designed to resemble a Japanese shrine. What a shame he hadn't come here before. Inside was warm and cozy, silk lanterns hanging above each table, the atmosphere further enhanced by the delicious scent wafting from the grills set up at each table.

Garret's hand low on his back didn't hurt, either.

"Two?" a smiling hostess asked.

Garret nodded. "In the back, please."

At first Otis thought that maybe Garret didn't want to be seen with him, until arriving at a table located in the
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restaurant's back dining room. He hadn't realized you could see the lake from the restaurant, but the moon and houselights shimmered on an inky pool of water. "I love looking out over the lake," Garret explained.

The fact that they were several tables away from the nearest couple meant they could talk openly. Though ten chairs surrounded each long table, he and Garret where the only two people seated at that particular one. They sat side by side. A shimmering haze rose from the grill before them.

"Do you like sushi?" Garret asked.

Otis confessed, "I've never been brave enough to try it."

Garret's lips pulled back in a smile. Otis really loved Garret's smile. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but I can order an appetizer, if you'd like."

"Getting to know you means knowing what you like.

Order for me, I'm game." Otis put on his best brave face.

Otis had no idea what Garret told the waiter, but a few moments later a rectangular platter sat on the table between then, adorned with artfully arranged, colorful bits.

"That's sashimi," Garret said, pointing to the unrecognizable lumps nearest Otis. Determined to a least give it a try, Otis popped one into his mouth.

Hmmmm.
Chewy, but not too bad. "You might find the California roll more to your liking."

Garret demonstrated proper technique by placing a sliver of what looked like thick, flesh-colored paper on a colorful circle, adding a touch of green paste. "Ginger and wasabi," he explained. With skill Otis couldn't duplicate with chopsticks, Garret placed the bit into his mouth, humming appreciatively.

Otis mimicked him, using fingers instead of

chopsticks. His nostrils ignited at the first bite. He let
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out a choking cough, his eyes watering.
Oh dear Lord!

What is this stuff?
He bravely kept on chewing, chasing the morsel down with a glass of water and fanning his face with his hand.

"Oh, man! I'm so sorry!" Garret appeared absolutely horrified. "You've never had wasabi before, have you?"

So much for pretending to be suave and

sophisticated. Once his tongue and sinuses stopped burning, Otis confessed, "I've not eaten a lot of Japanese food before." The genuine concern in Garret's eyes tugged at Otis' heart, and he managed a wry smile. "I'm okay. It caught me off guard is all." He tried another piece, adding less green paste.
Not bad, not bad at all.

Garret watched him closely for a while, but no further food mishaps occurred. Eventually he relaxed enough to resume conversation. "What's your favorite movie?" Garret smeared enough wasabi on a piece of seaweed-wrapped roll to make Otis' eyes water again just from watching.

"Too many to count," Otis replied, adding about half the amount of wasabi on his own slice and still feeling his nostrils burn while chewing. It wasn't a bad feeling, though. Just different.

"Me, too! I love movies!" Garret passed over the small bowl holding the flesh-colored slivers. "When eating sushi, always follow it with ginger," he cautioned.

Seeing Garret's stern expression, Otis didn't feel it necessary to ask why. He'd Google it later.

"Classics or remakes?" Garret asked.

"Depends on the movie. The new Batmans rock, though I don't think anyone could ever top the original
Rocky Horror Picture Show
."

"You like that too? Oh man!" Together they sang off key, "Let's do the Time Warp again!" dissolving into laughter at a waiter's amusing guffaw.

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Once the mirth died, Garret asked, "As a kid, what'd you wanna be when you grew up?"

"Besides Dr. Frank-N-Furter, you mean?" Otis grinned so hard his cheeks ached. Reining in the humor, he replied seriously, "A fireman."

"Really? Me, too…"

Their conversation faded when more people joined them at the table, eyes riveted on the shrimp and egg juggling cook who made a show of preparing their entrée.

After one of the best meals he'd ever had -- but that he couldn't pronounce -- Otis felt certain that Garret would ask him home. Instead, Garret dropped Otis off at his house. "Good night," he said with a bashful smile.

"Do it again sometime? You pick the restaurant?"

What? No goodnight kiss?
Otis wanted to ask. He nodded and bit his tongue. Even without ending the date naked, he couldn't recall a more pleasant evening. Still, it looked like he'd get another chance.

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The Way to a Man's Heart

Thursday found them dining Italian at Otis'

suggestion. Between bites of spaghetti, the questions continued, this time led by Otis. "How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

"Three sisters, one brother."

Otis beamed. "Wow! What a coincidence? Me too! If you could vacation anywhere in the world, where would you go?"

Garret swirled his wine around the glass, taking a sip before answering. "Italy. Some friends went last year and loved it."

"Oh, man! That's where I'd go too! I've got great uncles over there, and I've always wanted to visit."

Friday, dining at Garret's choice of a trendy Indian eatery, they explored their future plans over steaming bowls of curry.

"So, Otis…"

Otis swallowed hard, sensing a serious question coming.

"Where do you see yourself in ten years?"

Now that was a loaded question, and the answer might send the man running into the night -- a risk worth taking, in Otis' opinion. While his dreams may never pan out, he needed to answer honestly, especially if he and Garret stood a remote chance of establishing something long term. He laid down his fork, eyes glued to his bowl. "I want to wake up every morning to a partner I love and who loves me, then make breakfast together and get the kids off to school."

He held his breath, waiting. He risked a brief glance up, only to be greeted by a lazy smile that slowly stretched across Garret's face. "Sounds good to me. How many kids?"

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Heart thudding, Otis replied, "At least two."

With a bashful duck of his head, Garret murmured,

"Yeah, me too. I coach a little league team every spring, and would love nothing more then to teach my own sons, or daughters, to play some day."

Otis continued eating, sneaking sly glances as his date and visualizing little Garrets nestled on the couch between their two fathers, learning about sports.

The conversation flowed freely; they got along great, but at the end of the evening, as always, Garret said good night before Otis could invite him over. And though the handshakes had escalated into a hand on the shoulder or back, Garret made no move to be more physical, nor did he kiss Otis goodnight, which frustrated Otis no end. Surely Garret wasn't faking interest. Was it simply that he found comfortably padded bodies a turnoff?

Before the man could get away, Otis used his night to pick restaurants to invite Garret to
"La Casa di
Tucker
."

Garret cocked a brow and studied him before answering.

"Sure, what time?"

"Seven?"

Garret nodded and Otis watched the man he couldn't quite figure out back out of the parking lot in a shiny silver BMW.

Saturday morning Otis tore through the house in a whirlwind of panic, cleaning more thoroughly than he'd ever done before. He even put out the fancy towels he'd gotten as a housewarming gift from his mom four years ago. Satisfied with the state of his domicile, he visited the grocery story, not a bit put out this time about shopping alone. While he couldn't fully understand Garret's stand-offishness, the guy hadn't run yet. Otis would have to see to it that he didn't. And Nonna always
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said that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach.

He made it through the checkout line and home in record time, whistling all the while. An assortment of leafy greens were torn and tossed, then set in the refrigerator for chilling. The air ripened with fragrant tomatoes, garlic, and oregano as Otis stuffed manicotti shells for
manicotti al forno
. Once he'd placed his cheese-laden masterpiece in the oven, he dunked lady fingers into a bowl of espresso, counting "One, one thousand, two, one thousand," before layering them in a glass bowl for tiramisu, another recipe he'd learned from Nonna. He fought the urge for a taste here and a taste there, forcing himself to wait until Garret arrived.

With the pasta warming and desert chilling, he showered, shaved, and donned a black T-shirt and jeans, hoping the old adage that black made you look thinner held true. Several times he caught himself humming,

"Time of My Life," smirking at himself in the mirror.

"What a sentimental goofball you are," he told his reflection.

Wound up like a tightly coiled spring, he took a quick walk around the block to burn off some tension. His breath clouded the air before his face, and he found it impossible not to smile.

Once back home, he fidgeted, straightening

knickknacks on bookcases, selecting appropriate mood music from an easy-listening radio station, and finally lighting the candles he'd purchased the previous week.

After the longest hour on record, a knock sounded at the door. Otis smoothed his hands over his hair and down his shirt before answering. His mouth dropped open. There stood Garret, even more handsome than remembered, holding a bottle of wine. A beatific smile sent a two-twenty current through Otis' body. Some
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might call it lust or infatuation, but Otis knew in that moment that he was a goner. Not only did the man embody "handsome," but beneath those well-defined pecs beat a heart of pure gold. If and when Garret walked away, he'd take Otis' heart with him.

"C…come in." Otis managed to engage enough brain cells to take Garret's jacket and thank him for the wine.