Page 1 of Just A Little Love

Chapter 1

Gabriel

“Justin, your friend is a flake,” I muttered in a low tone to keep my phone conversation from being overheard. “I thought you said he was a professional? Sending a text message best summarized as ‘nah’ doesn't sound like a professional.”

“Jesus, Gabe. He’s an actor, not a sex worker. Maybe he got an audition? Maybe he saw you and couldn’t fake it?”

“Thanks, Justin,” I said through clenched teeth. “You say the sweetest things.”

“You didn’t let me finish. And maybe he couldn’t handle that it would only be fake? That’s his loss, Daddy. I'd be happy to stand in for you. We didn’t work out before, but that mistake is worth rectifying now.”

“That’s a terrible idea, and you know it. I’ll figure something out.” Because Justin was Justin, he’d never let me off the phone without a hustle.

“Uhh, Daddy--”

“Justin, I am not your daddy, and I haven’t been in years.”

When we were together, I couldn’t determine whether he loved me or my bank account more. He always craved more, regardless of how much he got. Justin was on his own far too often, and I bought whatever he asked for to assuage my guilt for the neglect of our relationship. It created a vicious cycle of greed and guilt. Foolishly, I’d broken the seal and let him back into my life. I knew future me would regret asking for this favor, but I was desperate.

Well, shit. On to Plan B as soon as I thought of it.

To his credit, Justin’s friend had at least texted instead of straight-up ghosting me. The longer I sat alone, the less the server bothered to hide her pity looks in my direction. I’d assured her my companion would arrive later, but that was over an hour ago. She’d come by to fill my coffee cup, shook her head, and walked away with that damned sorry expression. Embarrassing.

With my friends cuddled up and in love with the latest offer to find me a date still hanging in the air, I’d blurted out the lie that I was seeing someone. Once I spoke it into existence, I couldn’t backtrack on it without completely humiliating myself. So now I--someone whose relationships were limited to the occasional hook-up or my hand--had to find someone to play along and save me from absolute humiliation.

Architecture had been all-consuming in my life for the last fifteen years. The constant trade-off with my professional success was the sacrifice of my personal life. I now could decline soulless concrete blocks only because of those sacrifices. My clients expected me to be available and onsite when they spent millions of dollars creating showpieces. My last and final attempt at a genuine relationship was with Justin, which ended in spectacular failure. I wasn't certain why I’d made the false claim, and wasn’t sure I wanted to examine my reasoning closely.

“Hon, are you sure you got the right time?” The sweet older lady, whose name tag read Margaret, was back with a coffee refill. The 24-hour diner was almost empty, so maybe she was glad for the business.

“Yes, ma’am. I got the time, but not the date. He texted and said he couldn’t make it.” She scowled before she topped off my coffee. “It’s okay,” I continued. “Unexpected reading time and good coffee is a decent way to spend the evening. And the scenery is pretty nice, too.” I gave her a wink, earning me a laugh in return.

“Sweetie, I’m old enough to be your mom, but I’ll always flirt with a handsome man.” She chuckled as she moved away over to the few tables in the back with some college-age kids laughing together next to a Christmas tree decorated with what looked like handmade ornaments. I missed those winter break weeks from my days in college.

The tree reminded me to call my folks in the next day or two. Skipping Christmas this year didn’t put me in my parents’ good graces, but I’d stopped worrying years ago about what it would take to keep them happy. Even if I’d gone, it would involve evenings at the club and making the rounds to various holiday parties. We rarely went past the small talk stage with each other. I’d been out to everyone since college, and my parents had a strictdon’t ask, never mention near their friends'policy.

With no company to distract me, I had the chance to study the interior of the rehabbed nineteenth-century factory, home to The Diner. My architect brain never shut off where historic buildings were concerned. The traditional light and air movement methods were genius, and I loved hidden gems with their original features and charm. Whenever I traveled, I sought local historic buildings to incorporate their traditional elements into a modern aesthetic. The mash-up had become my signature and helped to push my design jobs to the next level.

The diner’s red brick building was located in the revitalized downtown core. It was busiest during the day when the college and local businesses were open, and that’s usually when I stopped by. I’d come in for lunch and work in the back when a break was necessary. It was an interesting structure, and itwas harder to study its bones with the distractions and noise of hungry diners coming and going.

No patrons had come or gone in a while, so the door chime startled me. The waitress immediately started to prepare what looked like hot cocoa. His casual jeans and a cardigan were fine. But his shoes were too impractical and flimsy for the wet weather of our Pacific Northwest winters. The daddy in me immediately wanted to admonish the inappropriate choice that would leave him chilled in late December. The newcomer slipped onto a stool at the counter, then rifled through his bag before pulling out a clump of papers.

The leather messenger bag was anything but new. It had softened patches at the stress points and looked well-loved. I couldn’t explain why I was captivated, but I was unable to look away. His strawberry-blonde hair was damp, and his soft curls had gone wild. I’d guess his height was about five feet, seven inches, give or take, with a slender build. He’d be the perfect size to cuddle next to my larger six-foot-two frame.

The man fiddled with his documents and pulled out his phone to text someone.

My phone’s vibrations against the wood table broke my surveillance of him, and I picked it up to see the message.

Damn it.

Reed: You’re still coming to the NYE party, right? Jakob’s been working hard to organize it, and he’s been excited to meet your new guy.

Gabriel: Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be fun.

Reed: Jakob wants to know how you met.

Gabriel:You know, the usual way.

Reed: That tells me nothing. Never mind, you can tell us later. Thanks for coming to the party. I know it’s not your usual thing.

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