Page 17 of Love in Unexpected Places

That twinkle is back in his eyes and he smirks at me. “Did she give you the ‘he’s the male version of me’ line?”

I blow out a deep breath. “That’s exactly what she said.” I reach for my water, wishing it was wine, but our server hasn’t come yet.

“Well, it’s not a lie. People often think we’re related because we’re so much alike. I wish she would tell people something else. I have better qualities. Like I’m an animal in bed.”

I’m in the middle of a sip when he says that and I end up choking. I hastily put the water back on the table and cough into my napkin, tears brimming. Cal comes over to me, patting my back and chuckling. “I’m sorry about that. Small joke. Should have waited until you were done drinking.”

Shaking my head, I wave him off and he sits back at his side of the table. When I’m able to talk without hacking up a lung, I rub at my chest. “Well, I guess that’s something else I know about you now.” I give him a smirk and his smile blinds me. How is this man single?

“So, you’re an animator, a Virgo, and wild in bed?” I ask, giving him a wink. “Tell me more.”

The more Callum tells me, the more I like him. He wanted to be an animator since he was a child so he could make characters that are queer like him. He beams when he tells me the character he just finished drawing is a gay superhero. I can see how much it means to him to have worked on the project that he longed to do. Ourserver finally comes and we order a few appetizers to split.

He tells me that he and Rachel are childhood best friends—neighbors in fact. “Our parents would go on and on about how we’d end up married with a house full of kids.” His laughter is light and happy, face glowing. “Imagine their surprise when I came out when we were fifteen.”

“Were they upset?” I ask, hanging on to his every word.

“No. Both our families are really supportive. We’re all still very close. I don’t think they minded since I was being who I was. I came out to Rachel way earlier and didn’t even know it.”

“How’s that?”

Again, his smile. I’ll get lost in it, I know it. It makes his whole face glow. I can’t look away, even if I tried. “She told me she thought Jared Greyson, a kid in the fifth grade with us, was cute. I told her I thought Bud Thomas was cuter. Rachel thought it over and agreed.” I laugh, entertained by his story. “Tell me your big coming out story. Did your parents support you? Best friends?”

I shrug. “My parents were supportive as well. My dad died when I was seventeen, but I came out to them a year prior. He said to be careful because the world wasn’t kind to queer men, but he wanted me happy. My mom has been holding out hope that I would find someone before she got too old to play with grandkids.” I roll my eyes and Cal smiles with sad eyes.

“I’m sorry to hear about your father. Tell me about him?”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he says, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “I’d like to hear more about you,” he tells me, putting his head down. “If you want to tell me.”

I want to tell him everything.

chapter four

CALLUM

Okay, Rachel may have picked a good one. Hudson is … perfect, to put it bluntly. Tall, really tall. Big bear of a man, with his full beard, short, shaggy brown hair, and big hands. He has a wonderful smile, brilliant and kind and full of life. And the flowers. I’ve never gotten flowers from a date before. I hope this isn’t some facade he’s putting on to get me to like him and then flip the script on me later. But I don’t see that happening. It seems like what you see is what you get with Hudson. His open face and wide eyes draw me in, and I think this could be someone I see myself with for a while.

Here I go, thinking too far into the future. Putting the cart so far ahead of the horse that it’s a wonder I can still see it. For now, I’ll just enjoy the time we spend together. Besides, he might not think the same thing. He might want to be friends and stick to that. Can’t fault him for it. He barely knows me.

I’ll take it as it comes. Something about Hudson tells me I want him in my life for the long run. Maybe it’s the way he talks, a perpetual grin on his face. Or how his eyeslight up at the smallest things, like when I told him about my work on the superhero. Maybe it’s because our conversation has been flowing effortlessly. Whatever it is, I want it for as long as he’ll give it to me.

As we eat, Hudson tells me about his father, his eyes shining with unshed tears, but with happiness and love in his voice. “He was a good man. Quiet and tough, but he was good. He wanted the best for me and my sister and we knew that. Dad wasn’t overly affectionate, but when I came out,” he pauses and huffs a small laugh, “he gave me this awkward one-armed hug that had me and my mother cracking up. He tried, but that just wasn’t who he was. But I know he loved us. We never had any doubt about that.”

In a low voice, I ask, “How did he … pass?”

“Brain aneurysm. He was here one moment, gone the next.” Hudson shakes his head and says, “Can we talk about something else? Bringing up memories of my dad always brings me down.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”

“No,” he says, cutting me off. “Thank you for asking. When I tell people he passed, they always clam up and want to change the subject. It means a lot that you asked.”

He grins and I return the gesture, glad that I didn’t upset him. God, what is it about Hudson? Yeah, the surface stuff is good because he’s hot as fuck. The loose waves of his brown hair makes me want to run my fingers through it, mussing it more. I can only imagine the beard burn I’ll get from kissing him. That thought alone makes my eyes drop to his mouth, wondering what it would feel like on mine.

But besides that, Hudson is a breath of fresh air. Funny, obviously very smart, a little subdued but not in a bad way. He gives me the feeling that he’ll open up more when hetrusts someone. I hope he can trust me enough to open up. I want to know everything there is to know about Hudson.

The rest of the night is spent talking about lighter topics. Hudson and I barely have anything in common, but that doesn’t seem to matter. When I tell him I like R&B and nineties rap music, he asks for my favorite songs and adds them to his playlist, saying he needs new music. Turnabout is fair play, so I ask for his and he gives me a few eighties soft rock songs that I know of—but wouldn’t listen to on my own—and add them to a new playlist as well. Maybe in the future, we can swap enough to have a playlist full of each other’s favorites.

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