Cherry Pie (9 page)

Miss Priss surprised him by saying, “Well, as long as you go to one of God’s houses.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Conn agreed with a smile. He bent down to place a plant in the hole he’d dug for it.

“You bake a cherry pie like your mama?” Miss Priss asked.

Conn smiled again, behind the fence where she couldn’t see him. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ll be checking in on you after church.”

It looked like Conn was going to be baking a pie. He hummed as he pressed the dirt in the hole around the plant. He’d have to tell John to expect visitors on Sunday.

“We’re going
where
?” John asked that night as he lowered his fork to his plate. He looked at Conn as if he’d lost his mind.

“To church.”

John blinked at him a few times in confusion. “Why? Do you feel the need to confess?”

Conn smiled and took a bite of the roast chicken. It was pretty damn good if he did say so himself. He’d noticed John was on his second helping. After they’d had sex a week ago, Conn had taken over the cooking. He figured being that intimate with someone meant you could use his kitchen. And John was a terrible cook. Between Conn’s mama and the Fulton County jail “work program,” Conn could cook. Of course, they hadn’t had sex since, so either Conn was a bad cook or a bad lover. He was afraid to ask which one. “Catholics confess, not Unitarians.”

“Ah,” John answered, nodding his head. “So we’re going to see Evan.”

“Yep.”

“And Miss Priss will be here after?”

Conn nodded. “Probably a few others.” Suddenly he realized how rude he was being. He hadn’t asked. This was John’s house now. He couldn’t just invite people without asking. “You don’t mind, do you? I can always tell them no. You know, if you don’t want them here.”

John’s expression was unreadable. “I don’t mind.” He looked away and adjusted the napkin in his lap. “You can invite people over anytime.” He sighed and picked up his fork. “I still don’t get the pie, though,” he added as almost an afterthought.

“You don’t like cherry pie?”

“I don’t remember the last time I had cherry pie.” John took a bite of mashed potatoes.

“I do.” Conn got up and walked over to fill his glass at the sink. It was an excuse. He’d had a vivid memory of his mother taking that pie out of the oven and later cutting it and serving it on the porch, right before he’d left for school. His hand shook a little as he turned the tap on.

“I’m sorry.” John’s words were soft. The words were perfunctory, but the sentiment behind them wasn’t. Conn could hear the sympathy in his voice.

“Just another memory sneaking up on me.” Conn brushed it away and turned with a smile. “So I’ll make a pie.”

“All right,” John answered. “I’d like a pie.”

Conn sat back down and watched John eat the dinner he’d made.

* * *

“You are not wearing that to church,” Conn said Sunday morning as John walked into the kitchen. He almost had to avert his eyes, John’s shirt was so pink. He had on a gray pinstriped suit that looked like it had been custom-made and a wildly striped tie that somehow managed to match his pink shirt.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” John asked, looking down at himself. He had on a Rolex too. And a pinkie ring. Did he always wear a pinkie ring?

“I’m not sure you could look more gay.”

John slowly raised his head, and then his eyebrow went up as he stared at Conn. “Oh, do not doubt me, my man. I could look a lot more gay. I could go put on the pink-and-white striped seersucker jacket in my closet upstairs. It looks great with this shirt and tie.”

“Jesus,” Conn sighed. “Have you always been this gay?”

“Yep.” John whistled as he grabbed the car keys. “And don’t even pretend you aren’t pretty damn happy about that, Skippy.”

“Skippy?” Conn asked with a grin as he held the back door open.

“It sounds like the kind of guy who would hang out with an ultra-gay like myself,” John answered with an expression of mock seriousness.

“Yep, that’s me all over,” Conn agreed, patting John’s ass as he walked by. John just kept on whistling right on out to the car.

“I thought three pies would be too much,” John said a few hours later as he walked back into the kitchen with two more empty plates. “I was wrong.”

Conn looked over his shoulder from the sink where he was washing dishes. John had his jacket and tie off, and his sleeves were rolled up his forearms. He was more muscular than he’d been just a couple of weeks ago. You could see it in the muscles of his lower arms. With his gleaming silver Rolex on his wrist and his pink sleeve pushed up, his arm looked very tan and strong. Conn found it sexy as hell. Even that damn pinkie ring. He turned back to the sink before John figured out what he was thinking. “Yep.”

“Church went pretty well, don’t you think?” John asked as he put the plates down next to the sink. “I wasn’t expecting all your old friends to be there.” He sighed. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

He was serious. Conn shook his head in disbelief. “Not you. Them.
I’m
the one who’s sorry.”

John looked completely confused. “What the hell are you sorry about?”

Conn slammed the handle of the faucet down with more force than necessary, turning the water off. He grabbed a towel and dried his hands, trying to control his anger. “It was the Conn and John show. Everybody trying to find out where I’ve been for eight years, wondering why I’m living here with you, dying to know if we’re fucking.”

John was clearly taken aback. “It’s to be expected that they’d be curious, Connor. But I didn’t think any of their questions were malicious.”

“They put you on the spot.” Conn was still so angry about that. He wished he was only angry with his old buddies. But the truth was, he was angry with John. Because he wanted everyone to know he and John were involved, except they weren’t. And it was clear John didn’t want them to know and didn’t want to be involved. Conn threw the dish towel across the room at the table and missed by a mile. “Why aren’t we fucking, John?”

John took a step back. “What?”

Conn shook his head. Now he was angry with himself, and he knew from years of experience that that never solved anything. “Nothing. Never mind.” He brushed past John, who let him go.

The crowd thinned out after an hour or so, leaving just Toby and Cheryl and their kids and Evan. Conn had cooled off by then. It was what it was. He may want more, but he couldn’t make John’s choices for him. He’d only just learned to make the right ones for himself.

“Go away, kid. You bother me.” He glanced over to see Harley standing next to John, staring at him without blinking. “That’s W.C. Fields,” John explained to Harley, “an old actor.”

“Who’s W.C. Fields?” Harley asked, looking around.

“Who said that.”

Conn could hear the impatience in John’s voice. He could tell John hadn’t been around a lot of kids.

“Who said what?” Harley looked completely confused.

Conn smothered a laugh. This was beginning to sound like an old comedy skit.

“‘Go away, kid. You bother me,’” John tried again.

“You already said that,” Harley said in the same exasperated voice as John.

The porch erupted in laughter, and John glared at all of them. He narrowed his eyes at Harley. “This time I mean it.”

“Yikes,” Harley said and gulped. Then he turned and ran down the steps and around the house screaming, followed by his laughing older brother.

Cheryl was laughing so hard she was crying. John looked concerned. “I didn’t mean to scare him like that.” Cheryl just laughed harder.

“He’s not,” Toby told him with a chuckle. “He’ll be back to bug you again soon.” John didn’t look too happy about that.

“That’s what kids do, John,” Conn told him. “They always pick the weakest in the herd, you know.” John made a face at him.

“So are you two sleeping together?” Cheryl asked out of the blue. Toby choked on his drink and started coughing.

John looked like he’d swallowed a bug, so Conn couldn’t resist saying, “Not lately.”

John’s jaw dropped in shock, and Toby’s coughing got worse. Evan just laughed, and so did Cheryl. “You know, Conn, I never liked you much before. I like you a lot more now.” She pounded Toby on the back. “The looks on their faces”—she gestured at Toby and John—“were priceless. They like to have died when you said that.” She was still laughing, and Conn grinned back at her.

“More pie,” Toby gasped. “I need some pie.” The demand made his wife howl with laughter.

“I got more,” Conn said, getting up from the step where he’d been sitting. “I saved one.”

When they were all eating their second piece of cherry pie, Toby asked, “You ever hear that song about heaven being cherry pie?” He licked the back of his fork.

John shook his head. “No.”

Toby scoffed and waved a hand dismissively at him. “It’s a country song. I wouldn’t expect a city boy like you to know it.” He looked at Conn. “You were gone already. But that song always reminded me of your mama’s cherry pie.”

Conn set his plate down on the step, not looking at Toby. “Yeah, I heard that song.” He’d cried over that damned song a time or two over the years and not just because of the line about cherry pie. The rest of the song was about his life. If Conn wrote songs, he’d have written that one. He’d learned it on the guitar, when he still had his.

“What do you think, Evan? Is heaven cherry pie?” John asked with a smile in his voice.

“I think heaven is eating cherry pie if you want it to be.” There was a pause. “What about you, Conn?”

He blew out a breath. “I don’t believe in heaven.”

“What?” Cheryl sounded scandalized.

“Why?” That was John, and he just sounded curious.

Conn turned on the step and leaned his back against the post so he was facing them all. “Because heaven is right now. I want to eat my cherry pie right now. I want to live the way I want right now. If I wait, well, what for?” He shook his head. “No, I’m not waiting on a heaven I can’t see or feel or touch.” He gestured to the house and the street. “I’m just gonna make this heaven.”

“Your mama’s house?” Toby asked.

Conn shook his head. “It’s not Mama’s anymore.”

Evan leaned forward and put his plate down on the floor. “How do you feel about that?”

John was silent, just watching. He was good at that. He could be so quiet that people overlooked him. Conn had seen that at church today. He answered, watching John, who was staring at him. “I’m fine with it. I’m glad Johnny bought it. I wouldn’t want anyone else to have it.” He looked away, out at the street. “If it had been mine, I couldn’t have done much with it.”

“So Mercury is heaven?” Toby asked skeptically. “Not hardly.”

Conn’s smile was bittersweet. “You just don’t know what a little slice of heaven it is, Tobe.”

“I’ve lived here my whole life,” Toby answered. “And it ain’t no cherry pie.”

Chapter Thirteen

John was freaking. He was standing at the kitchen sink having a panic attack. And it was stupid, so he was pissed off about it. But that didn’t change the fact that he might possibly be hyperventilating.

What the fuck had happened today? He’d gone to church. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to church. Maybe when he was a kid? But neither of his parents were religious. They were more concerned with using him to hurt each other as he flew from coast to coast between them than they were about his spiritual growth.

And then there were all the people who’d come by “after church.” Not just the church they’d been at, but every church in town. Once word was out that Connor Meecham was seeing visitors, they’d come in packs. And he and Connor had fed them, entertained them, danced around their awkward questions, and seen them off.

It was all so…so…domestic.

He spun around and leaned back against the kitchen counter. He was hiding from Connor in here. But he didn’t need to, not really. Because when all his friends left, Connor had disappeared upstairs. Maybe he was freaking too.

Or not.

Connor had contributed to John’s uneasiness today. He’d relied on John to get through the ordeal of seeing old friends at church. John had tried to distance himself, but Connor wouldn’t let him. John didn’t think Connor was even aware of the little signals he was giving off, the little signs that they were more than friends. Connor stood just a little closer to John than most men were comfortable with; when he was asked a question, he’d turned to John while answering, as if seeking his approval or input. He’d put his hand on the small of John’s back when they went through doors. But others picked up on all those signs. Cheryl certainly had.

Connor’s response to Cheryl’s question had blown him away. He’d been shocked speechless Connor had all but admitted he was gay and they were sleeping together. John had been playing it cool because he didn’t think Connor wanted anyone to know. He’d read that wrong. But in his earlier outburst in the kitchen, Connor had asked why they weren’t fucking. Not involved, not together, nothing romantic. Just fucking.

And that was fine with John. He wasn’t looking for more. He couldn’t handle it. It was too soon. He’d pretty much had a breakdown when Steve died. He crossed his arms and looked around the kitchen in dismay.
Pretty much? Um, hello, John? You packed up all your worldly possessions and moved to bum-fuck North Carolina on a whim
. That wasn’t pretty much. That was completely.

Yep, as Connor would say. But the thing was, he wasn’t unhappy here. And this thing with Connor was probably helping him. He’d wanted to change his life. A casual friends-with-benefits fuck buddy was definitely not his usual style. Just because he still wanted Connor, just because they were fucking, didn’t mean John couldn’t stay in control. It didn’t mean he had to center his life around Connor. It was fucking, plain and simple. They liked each other; the sex had been great. They could do that for a while, until it got old, and then they could move on. People did it all the time.

While he’d been rationalizing his feelings, John had walked over to the foot of the stairs. “Connor?” he called out quietly. There was no answer. He started up the stairs, remembering the last time he’d sneaked up here. If he caught Connor masturbating again, he didn’t have to sneak away this time. He could go right up and take over. The thought made him sweat. He’d wanted to just talk to Connor. But he’d been fooling himself. He wanted to fuck Connor again. And it was pretty clear that Connor wanted it too. Which was convenient.