Page 17 of Trevor Takes Care

Trevor had never heard of honey in coffee and regretted not getting a cup now. It might have been interesting.

He stopped by the island and tried to keep his eyes up while G.G. got himself a glass of water. The man looked good in sweatpants from all angles.

“So.” He had to clear his throat and didn’t say anything when this made G.G. get him some water too. He seemed happy to do it; Trevor not wanting coffee must have thrown him. “You work here? Do you need the license for your own projects? I didn’t know that was necessary. People in my family do stuff around their houses all the time without….” Since Trevor wasn’t sure if he was confessing to knowledge of crimes or not, he shut up. G.G. gave him a knowing look as he handed over a glass. “Not using a contractor is bad?” Trevor guessed.

His answer was a shrug. He was going to have to learn to interpret G.G.’s shrugs. “It can be bad,” G.G. allowed. “And often is. Usually once plumbing or electricity are involved. Or stairs. Or hot tubs.”

Trevor thought of his first apartment, which had actually been a tiny in-law unit but more like a shack, with lights that would flicker. The danger of that struck him for the first time. “Yeah. I could see how that could lead to problems.” Like deadly electrical fires. Or gas leaks. Or homemade structures collapsing. He thought of his brother’s deck, built over a weekend by Patrick and one of his buddies, and resolved not to mention it. “You’re renovating your own place? One room at a time? Or whatever you feel like on any given day?”

“Home renovations require planning.” G.G. stopped across the island from him and held his glass without drinking from it.

“I bet. Especially bathrooms and kitchens, right?” Trevor was pretty sure he’d gleaned that from some show his grandmother had had on. “The kitchen probably the most. I don’t cook either, so I get it being a low priority. I have like two dishes I can do with confidence, and I can help my grandmother with chopping vegetables. But I mostly used to live off burritos, frozen or otherwise. And this party dip I bring to games… back when I went to them. Although my grandma’s been trying to teach me things. Probably so she doesn’t have to keep doing it to eat decently well. But it’s a useful skill to have.”

In defense of Trevor’s babbling, the last time he’d been alone with someone he was crushing on and actively imagining fucking had been several very long years ago.

“I cook,” G.G. offered quietly. “At least, to feed myself. Nothing to take to a potluck or anything like that. Just the recipes in the cookbooks.”

Trevor spent a second trying to decipher that, then abandoned it for later. “You want a fancier kitchen? Why not fix it then, since you can?”

G.G. turned away. “To remodel the kitchen means not having a usable kitchen for a while.”

Trevor finally had some water. “Yeah, my brother and sister-in-law did that. But they live close to my parents, so they went over there whenever they weren’t having takeout.” Which G.G. couldn’t exactly do, since his family must not be close, judging by their absence now. “You could…” Nope. That was too much and anyway, it wasn’t Trevor’s kitchen to offer the use of. “Nothing. Never mind.”

G.G. put a roll of plastic wrap onto the counter by the sink and turned back around. He waited for a second, eyeing Trevor with interest. “You can’t help yourself, can you? I figured, from how you are with Margaret. If we’re still doing dog comparisons, you’re like a border collie. But nicer. You mind everything, every little detail.”

Trevor looked up from a charming hint of a smile to warm eyes. “She’s stubborn.” He would not directly address the charges. “And she’s worried the rest of my family will take over her life and start telling her what to do because she’s older. I don’t tell her what to do. I do what’s necessary to make her life better and easier. She chooses to let me.”

Probably because no one else in the family would allow her that freedom. But his grandmother didn’t need to be bossed around, she just needed help with some things and the reminder that she was loved. “We get along in a strange way,” Trevor admitted. “Strange to the rest of my family, who don’t know how to deal with her. I don’t herd her. I provide a safe space—not that anyone abuses her. They mean well but also think they know best because she’s older, or grieving, or a woman, probably. I’m… I know I can be overly concerned, but I’m there to take care of her, not control her. I listen when she says no. A surprising amount of people can’t do that when they think they know better.”

He frowned down at the counter. “Anyway. ‘Minding things,’ as you put it,” which was slightly easier to accept thanpushy, “might be a habit of mine.”

“Like when you cleaned in here for me,” G.G. commented, bringing Trevor’s head up. “You didn’t have to, but thank you.”

Yeah, Trevor had known he didn’t have to. “I hope you could salvage your towels,” he said instead of getting deeper into a discussion about his needs and kinks.

“The towels were old,” G.G. answered. Which meant no but he wasn’t sad about throwing them out.

“Well, now you get the slight hit of excitement of going to the store or maybe getting a delivery,” Trevor said. Pleasant soothing nonsense like nurses said during hospital visits to people who didn’t like doctors and had blood pressure readings that were too high. “You can choose them to match the kitchen you’ll have when you remodel.”

G.G.’s eyes widened slightly.

That had possibly been a little imperious. Trevor hurried on.

“Sit.”

That actually wasn’t better.

G.G. watched him without blinking. Trevor stared back for several heavy seconds.

“I mean,” he continued as evenly as he could, “that if you sat down, it would make the whole process easier. The ‘changing the bandages and then wrapping your hand’ process, I mean.”

“Ah,” G.G. answered, almost like he’d forgotten about his hand. Although once he sat on one side of the nook, facing out toward Trevor and the rest of the kitchen, and began to unwind the bandages, it was obvious that his hand must hurt quite a bit. A slice went through his palm and ended between two of his fingers, which was enough of an injury to makeanyuse of that hand painful. The skin around the stitches themselves was also reddened and irritated.

Trevor inhaled, then let it out. “You aren’t supposed to move your hand.” He collected the old bandage, peeling off the remaining bits of tape without looking up. Despite his suspiciously mild tone, he made sure his actions were gentle.

G.G.’s reply was tense. “I know.”

Trevor was probably causing him significant discomfort and tried to be even gentler with the tape that was stuck.

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