Smoky Mountain Dreams (13 page)

“…you smell like fresh cut lawn.”

No.
He sighed. Something would
come to him. It didn’t matter what, or even if it never worked out. It felt
good just to write again. He didn’t want to care too much about it. He wanted
to experience the
flow
of music.

“Hey.”

Christopher glanced up at Jesse, who looked amazing. His
stubble was groomed, and he wore a deep purple button-down shirt that somehow
made his lips look even more kissable, and his eyes appear a deeper brown.
Christopher was glad he’d worn his nice green sweater that brought out his own
eyes. He’d had it on the night Gareth had been unable to keep his hands off
him, so he was pretty sure he looked hot in it.

“Hi. I’m glad you made it.”

“I’m not late am I?” Jesse checked his watch. “We said
seven, right?”

“I’m early. I wanted to get this table. It’s my favorite.”

Jesse looked around, taking in the distinct combination of a
good view of the color-splashed mountains and the distance from other patrons, and
seemed to approve.

The waitress appeared as Jesse took his seat, and she
grinned when she saw him. “Hard Apple Cider, Mr. Birch? Woodpecker?”

Jesse touched her elbow as he said, “You got it, Sarah.”

“I’ll be right back with that.” And then after only two
steps away, she wheeled back around to say, “Oh, and Ricky’s here tonight, so…”
She gave Jesse a look, and he rolled his eyes.

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Sure thing.” Sarah scooted over to another table, leaving a
bill to be paid.

“Ricky?” Christopher asked, biting back a quip about how
Jesse clearly came here a lot.

“A mistake I made a year ago,” Jesse said. “Let me give you
some advice: twenty-year-olds are always a mistake.”

Christopher raised his eyebrows.

Jesse groaned and rubbed the heels of his hands into his
eyes. “I’m not…I was… Hell, no. No excuses. It was a mistake, pure and simple,
but it was all my fault. You reap what you sow, right? And Ricky’s a little
unpredictable. Sometimes he likes to pretend I’m not here. Sometimes he likes
to come over and sit in my lap. Sometimes he probably pays off the kitchen
staff to spit in my food. I don’t know. It’ll probably be the latter tonight
since I’m here with you.”

“Spit—it does a body good.”

“Like mother’s milk.”

Christopher leaned back and smirked. “I can’t believe I was
ever worried that you weren’t really out.”

“Me? Oh hell, I’ve been out longer than I’d ever been in.
Why, though?”

“It sounds dumb, but…”

Sarah sat the Woodpecker Cider by Jesse’s hand and he
toasted her with it before turning his attention back to Christopher.

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice the photo in your office.
Of two little kids and a woman. The kids look a lot like you.”

Jesse’s expression grew guarded, and he took a sip of his
cider. “You don’t know.” He sounded a little bewildered.

“Know what?” Christopher’s gut clenched as his heart
skipped.

“Well, first of all, those
are
my
children. And their mother.”

Christopher’s throat was dry, and he gulped at his
margarita. “Okay. So, what? You’re divorced?”
Please be
divorced.

“No. It’s not quite like that.”

“Then what’s it like?” Christopher felt his hackles go up.
He’d kissed this man, sucked him off, laughed with him—hell, he’d started to
hope
things about him. He’d even gotten a
cell phone
for Christ’s sake, and the man was, what? In an
open marriage? Cheating on his wife?

Jesse seemed to sense the change in Christopher. “No, it’s
not like that either. Let me explain. Give me a second.” He took another long
gulp of his cider. “It’s been a long time since I had to put it in words. My
wife—Marcy—she’s… She was in an accident.”

“Oh. Oh God,” Christopher felt his face go soft with
empathy. He wanted to reach out and touch Jesse’s hand, but he didn’t know if
that’d be welcome, so he took another sip of his margarita.

Jesse nodded. “Yeah. It was five years ago this past April.
A motorcyclist wasn’t looking where he was going and came over the center line.
She ran off the road to avoid him. The tire blew. She lost control of the car.
Went over the mountain.”

“God, I’m so sorry.”

“There was a lot of brain trauma. The kids…”

“The kids?” Christopher said, his stomach in his throat.
Surely Jesse hadn’t lost his wife and his kids—it would be too much for anyone
to bear. And Christopher felt like such an ass for having managed to bring it
up on what should have been a fun date.

“They weren’t with her. But it’s been hard for them.
Obviously. Losing their mother like that.”

“Of course. And for you too.”

“Yeah.” Jesse stared up at the mountain, swallowing thickly.

His eyes looked so sad, and Christopher’s stomach twisted
and heart ached for being the reason Jesse had that look on his face. “Hey, we
don’t have to talk about this.”

“You should know.” Jesse looked pained and a little
surprised. “I’d rather you heard it from me than someone else. There was a lot
of brain damage—too much. She went into a permanent vegetative state. There’s
nothing they can do when that happens, and she —”

 “It’s okay,” Christopher interrupted. God, he couldn’t
imagine what it would be like to have someone he loved die like that. He put
his hand up when Jesse looked like he might go on. “We can talk about this more
another time. It’s our first real date. The very beginning of our first date.
We don’t need to delve into something so painful so fast. Let’s just, I don’t
know, let’s try to get back to a happier topic. We’re here together, and it’s a
beautiful night. Let’s enjoy it and see where things go.”

Jesse measured him with his eyes and then gave a strong
affirmative nod, and relaxed in his chair. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Of course it does. I always make sense. I’m incredibly
sensible.” Jesse’s eyes sparkled. Relief was a breeze under Christopher’s skin.
He was very curious to know if Jesse was bi, or if he’d been one of those men
who married young before realizing his true nature. But he wanted to lighten
the mood—there’d be time for serious discussions later. Yes, later was good. He
bit his lower lip and looked up through his lashes. “And I think you like that.
I think you find that attractive.”

Jesse lifted his eyebrows. “I like the way you flirt.”

Christopher took a sip of his drink, pleased to be away from
conversations about dead wives. “I got a ‘B’ in Flirtation 101 when I was in
college. Apparently my style’s a little ridiculous and overly forward.”

“Where’d you take that course?”

“University of Hopelessly Unlaid and Horny. It’s got a
select enrolment and hardly anyone goes on to the graduate program of Laid and
Satisfied. It’s a loser school.”

“You’re too hot to be a loser.”

“Oh, you’d totally get a ‘C’ for that comment. Lacking in
subtlety. But I liked it.” Christopher’s stomach was fluttering like mad, and
he hoped that the night ended with him graduating to Laid and Satisfied this
time at least.

Sarah arrived to take their order, and Christopher smiled as
Jesse handed over the menu to her, saying, “You know what I want. Tell Miguel
to keep the spice level down to a five tonight, if you please.”

Christopher ordered the guacamole salad and another
margarita, betting that his meal, plus the chips and salsa, would be enough
food to ensure his sobriety. He didn’t want too much alcohol to ruin his
chances for the night. He leaned forward. If he knew anything about parents, he
knew one way to get them to smile. “Tell me about your kids.”

Sure enough, Jesse’s mouth turned up and his eyes twinkled. “Do
you really want to know or are you just being polite?”

“I’d love to hear about them. I like children.” It seemed
like the kind of thing to get out up front, a way of saying
your kids are not a deal breaker for me!
“My step-niece
and nephews are awesome, and I love all the little kids at SMD. They get so
excited. They make everything so much more fun.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Jesse said. “But kids also make the
hard things harder, and the painful things more painful, because you have to
see them hurting too. Of course, they also give you a reason, a compelling one,
to make it through.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

Jesse took a sip of his cider. “It’s something you learn on
the job, so to speak.” He shrugged, looking up at the mountains again. “You
learn really fast how to be strong for someone else. You have to be their
pillar.”

“You must have been pretty young when they came along.”

“Twenty when Brigid was born. Twenty-three, almost
twenty-four with Will, but yeah, looking back, it seems like we were awfully
young. Kids—they grow their parents up fast. That’s for sure.”

Jesse was sounding wistful again, which hadn’t been
Christopher’s intention. He’d wanted to cheer him up, get him laughing, and
hopefully get him a little intoxicated so that he’d want to come back to
Christopher’s place. But…oh, wait. Kids. They complicated things.

“Brigid and Will—where are they tonight?” Christopher asked.
“You could have brought them along.”

Jesse looked at him like he was insane, and Christopher
realized that Jesse probably didn’t want to introduce his kids to every guy he
went on a date with. Jesse was good looking, well-to-do, and well-known; he
probably went on a lot of dates.

“Okay, maybe not. I can see why you wouldn’t want to do
that,” Christopher said, feeling a rush of heat in his face.

“They’re at my sister’s tonight. Amanda will get them to
school in the morning. She likes to keep them.”

“It’s good you have help that you trust.”

“Yeah.” Jesse licked his lips, smirking a little. “You know,
there’s more than one reason I didn’t want them here tonight. I enjoyed our
time together in the mill the other night, and I was hoping…” He gazed at
Christopher, his eyes very clear in his desire, and he let the sentence hang.

“Oh! Good!” Christopher couldn’t believe he’d let that
escape. His face felt even hotter. “I mean, right, okay. That sounds nice. Oh
hell—fine—I have never been cool and I can’t start trying now. I’ll just tell
you—I’d really hoped the same thing and I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Jesse laughed and swallowed more of his cider. “You’re
really cute.”

“Why, thanks. So are you.”

Jesse’s laughter continued softly, and then he asked
Christopher about when he started singing. “Have you always done it? Or was it
something that came later?”

“Oh God, where to start?”

“Wherever you think the beginning is?”

Christopher talked about his grandparents—his grandfather,
the mandolin playing, toe-tapping, singing one on his father’s side of the
family, and his Granddad who played the fiddle out on the back porch while Gran
would tuck Christopher and Jackie in bed when they came to visit, the sweet
wail of it putting him to sleep.

“Granddad died when I was eight, and I used to sing some of
the old songs he played just to feel close to him again. And then I started to
write my own songs.”

Jesse’s eyebrows went up. “You play an instrument?”

“Just guitar and a little piano, and not that well. Enough
to pick out my own tunes and a few by other folks. In the end, I just didn’t have
what it took. That’s what I heard over and over in Nashville anyway.”

There. It was out on the table. His biggest humiliation, his
vanity and hope that had been crushed so easily under the heels of Nashville’s
cowboy boots and then shredded between the teeth of fake Southern smiles. He
exhaled, feeling the weight lift. He always felt better once he confessed
something like that, even if he still wasn’t sure of the outcome. One day, he
hoped he wouldn’t be so ashamed. Today wasn’t that day, but if Jesse could tell
him about his wife’s death, then Christopher could share something that made
him vulnerable too. It only seemed fair.

“What do they know?” Jesse said, motioning to Sarah for
another hard cider.

“A lot, apparently. Or enough. But it’s okay. I’m happy with
my fate. I love Gatlinburg, and SMD has been good to me. Not everyone can be
Ryan Adams, or hell, Lash Hinkins for that matter.”

Jesse studied him a moment, a soft expression on his face. “You’re
right. You’ll never be Ryan Adams or Lash Hinkins, or anyone else at all.”

Christopher licked his lips, took another sip of his
margarita, and thought for a moment. “Is this where I’m supposed to get the
message that I’m unique and special and
Christopher Ryder,
by God
, and I should be proud of that?”

“I’ve never told Lash Hinkins that I’m a fan of his. Ryan
Adams, though…he’s pretty great. But so what?” Jesse took another long swallow.
“I’d like to hear your songs, Chris. I have a feeling I’d like them.”

Chris.
Christopher usually
insisted on his full name, but hearing the shortened version come from Jesse’s
mouth had felt like an intimacy, and not an unwelcome one.

“Thanks. You make me feel…like I might be willing to share
them.”

Dinner arrived and they continued to talk and drink, with
Jesse calling the waitress back a few more times for new ciders. Christopher
felt loose and cheerful when Jesse finished eating and leaned back in his
chair.

“At the risk of sounding like an ass, I have to tell you—you’re
hella cute—and I’ve had more cider than I probably should, as evidenced by me
saying ‘hella cute.’” Jesse laughed. “But let’s get the hell out of here, so I
can do something about how damn cute you are.”

Christopher bit his lip, a wild rush of lust gripping his
groin, and he reached for his wallet. “Message received. Suggestion accepted.”

“Good.” Jesse waved for Sarah.