Page 37 of Refraction

“I am. It’s a great space. I can see the people walking, I can work, and I can visit with you some.”

He’d take some. Some was better than none. If he kept as busy as he’d been, “some” would be about the best he could do too.

“Marge, you must need some help with dinner.” He stood up. “Tell me what I can do.”

“Come and pour the wine, hmm? I’ll bring out the cheese and olives. Tuck, will you cook the shrimp for me? It’s all ready for you.”

He wasn’t really in a hurry to sit with a lot of food he couldn’t eat, but Tucker had done about enough not-eating around him. And actually a couple of shrimp and a little wine wasn’t going to bloat him much.

“Oh, is this sangria? Did you make it yourself?” He gave the carafe a little swirl, watching the fruit float around in the bottom. Sangria he would totally do. Alcohol calories didn’t count, right?

“I did. I love the way the oranges taste the next day.”

He watched Tucker disappear into the kitchen and poured wine for each of them. “Marge… he told you he’s giving up his hotel room, right?”

She glanced over at him, one eyebrow lifting. “Is he?”

“Mm-hmm. He’s putting a bed in his studio.” He watched her, trying to figure out if he was off base worrying. It was possible she just thought Tucker was moving in with him; he hadn’t been that clear. Oops. “Just thought you might want to know.”

“He’s a grown man, but… I can see where he might want a place away from work. Not that he doesn’t live where he works in Texas.”

Okay, well. That wasn’t helpful. He was probably making something out of nothing. “He is a grown man, that’s for sure.” He winked at her, set the carafe down, and reached for his glass.

“Naughty!” She chuckled, though, and started putting out little bowls with nibbles. “He’s into you, more than I’ve seen him be. Know I will be put out if you’re mean to him. He’s a gentle soul, no matter what his paintings say.”

More than she’d seen Tucker be, because the man didn’t have any exes. He wondered if she knew the whole of that picture. Although, come to think of it, would he rate the term “ex” at this point? Probably not.

“Sister, I dressed in my best college prep school conservative to have dinner with his grandmother’s best friend. Trust me, I’d like to see more of him. He’s way more intriguing than what he paints.”

“Yesterday’s ensemble suited you better, but I appreciate the costuming on my behalf.” Marge smiled at him, utterly unflappable. “I was the first person Tuck came out to. I’ve been there for the first crush, the first broken heart. I’m pleased he brought you to meet me.”

But… wait. Tucker’s folks were still alive, right? Still in their son’s life? And he knew the grandparents had been. How was Marge the one who had been there for all those things? Especially when Tucker was so Texas and she was so… not.

Calvin knew Tucker didn’t discuss his work with his parents, but he hadn’t really shed much light on the rest of their relationship. Apparently he had some demons that had nothing to do with his art.

“His mom and dad don’t… he said they don’t support his work.” Maybe she’d know what he was asking; maybe she’d even have an answer.

“Alice has her head so far up her ass she only knows what she’s painting today. She didn’t want to be a mother. She still doesn’t, although it’s easier for her now that he’s grown. Donnie can’t figure out how he ended up with Tucker and not a carbon copy of him.” She rolled her eyes. “I love them, and they love Tuck. They just both feel like he’s not theirs.”

“That’s okay, Marge. I’m yours and Granny’s.” Tucker came in, popped a shrimp in her mouth. “That good?”

“You could do worse.” Calvin barely had parents. It was about who you decided was your family, right? “So you cook?”

“I follow directions like a champ.”

“Yes, I know.”

Tucker blinked down at him, those pretty eyes wide for a half second, before Tucker grinned, shook his head. “Are the shrimp right, Marge?”

“Perfect, Tuck. Thank you.” Marge’s glance was all too knowing, but he wasn’t going to apologize.

Never let it be said he didn’t know how to create a distraction. And if Marge could handle Tucker’s paintings, she wasn’t too delicate for a little sexy banter.

“The shrimp smell great, tiger,” he called after Tucker as the man ducked back into the kitchen. He took a sip of the sangria. It was strong and sweet, just perfect, but it hit his empty stomach a little hard, and he had to set the glass down.

“Have a couple of olives before you collapse, kiddo. Or cheese.”

He smiled at Marge, not sure if he was glad she was perceptive or not. “I’m fine. Your sangria is lovely.” No dairy. Were olives okay? Maybe he could try one. He reached over and took one off a cute little olive tray and bit it in half. “Yummy. But I’m holding out for the shrimp.”

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