Page 26 of Torch Songs

“Sure. Thanks.”

In response Tad kissed his cheek, and Guthrie closed his eyes, just for a moment. Then Tad let him go, and it was time to start their day.

AFTER Asatisfying breakfast, including spicy fried potatoes with some ham tossed in and a side of sliced apples that Guthrie was still impressed with, Tad tucked his backpack in the corner—a sort of reminder, Guthrie was sure, that he intended to return—and pulled Guthrie forward, hand on the back of his head, and kissed him, openmouthed, until Guthrie clung to his denim jacket and all but begged for mercy.

“Text me,” Tad murmured, rubbing noses. “If you’re not playing tonight, let me know and I’ll come right here. Otherwise, I’ll be at the Washoe, watching.”

Guthrie felt that shy smile blooming, the one that only seemed to come out with this man. “You like watching me sing?”

“Yeah,” Tad murmured. “Someday, maybe you’ll sing something special for me.”

“Maybe.”

Tad chuckled, gave him one more hard kiss on the mouth, and left.

Guthrie sighed, shut the door after him, and wandered through the living room and kitchen, not surprised to find Tad had picked up their breakfast and put the dishes in the dishwasher and the leftovers in a nice little lunch package in the refrigerator.

Guthrie had a thought about that night, and he pulled his laptop up to the coffee table and sat down for a moment to order some groceries delivered.

He ordered ground beef and fresh produce, some milk, some more fruit, some ice cream, and some burritos—because everybody needed frozen burritos—just in case. A few other essentials he was low on, but mostly enough for a hamburgerbar, including some tater tots because he liked those better than fries. He thought that if he chopped the produce and browned the grilled onions and mushrooms before he left for the gig, dinner could be pretty quick and, well, something. Not pulled out of thin air but planned. Like a real date and everything.

He set the delivery for early afternoon and yawned, suddenly exhausted. Then he texted Roberta about picking him up, if she could, telling her Tad would get him from the bar.

You feeling better?she texted.

Taking some painkillers and going back to bed for an hour, but yeah,he replied.Think we can do a zoom jam before we all have to leave for the gig? I’ve got a song I want to work up.

What do you want to replace on the list?

The Linda Ronstadt one.At least temporarily. So it wouldn’t hurt Tad when he was there.

What do you want instead?

He told her, and waited, antsy, for her reply.

Ooh. Good choice. He’ll love it.

I have no idea what you’re talking about,he replied, trying to pretend it was true.

You do too. It’s sweet. It’s a good way for him to know how you feel.

He scowled.How could he possibly know how I feel? I’ve known him about a minute, and most of it’s been on text.

Go to bed, Guthrie. You’re being cantankerous. When you wake up maybe you’ll remember what love songs are for.

He wanted to tell her to fuck off, but that would be rude. He sighed and closed his eyes—and almost fell asleep on his couch.Fine. Text me at one if I don’t poke you by then.

Zoom jam at 2?

Yeah—but I’ve got to shower and dress. Thanks, Berta.

Love you, guitar man. Sleep tight.

All I Want

“SO,” TADsaid, hauling two giant plastic bags filled with yarn to his SUV, “you need all of this to make a baby blanket?”

“No,” April said serenely. “There’s the baby blanket, and then a blanket for the mom. Remember our mom? How tired she was? I just think it would be nice if this poor girl—”

---