Page 42 of Pride High 3: Yellow
“You have?” Cameron asked in surprise. Partially because it was rare that Charles spoke of his husband at all. Cameron had never met him, and didn’t even know his real name. Out of necessity, Charles claimed. His husband had some sort of high profile job that made it important for him to remain anonymous.
“Oh yes,” Charles said. “Such things are quite normal during the dewy dawn of a new relationship, I assure you. I wouldn’t let it trouble you too much.” He held up a knife. “We have tart cherry pie this week. I hope that’s okay.”
“Have I ever complained?” Cameron’s mouth was already watering!
“No, you’re always such a grateful guest. Just one of the many reasons I enjoy your visits.”
They went through the ritual of pouring tea, Cameron eager to continue their conversation, because something else had been troubling him as of late. Once they were seated across from each other, and after he had taken a bite and praised the chef, he asked, “How long did it take for you and Lover Boy to get to know each other?”
“In the Biblical sense?” Charles asked, looking uncomfortable.
“No!” Cameron said with a mad chuckle. “Just in the normal way.”
Charles raised his eyebrows, as if it was difficult to calculate. “Years and years. In fact, he still manages to surprise me. I’ll learn a little detail about his life I never knew, or he’ll share an unexpected opinion. That’s part of what keeps it interesting.”
“What about secrets?” Cameron swallowed before continuing. “Anthony still doesn’t know how much my mom drinks.”
“Ah. That all comes down to trust, which has to be built at a speed comfortable to you both. There is no right time. Only what works for you personally. That having been said, I can’t imagine Anthony mocking your mother, or being anything other than supportive.”
“For sure,” Cameron said, “but first, I want him to love her as much as I do. I don’t want him to see an alcoholic every time he looks at her.”
“Then wait until he’s seen your mother at her best a few more times.” Charles took a sip of tea. “You know, I used to have a drinking problem.”
“You did?”
Charles nodded. “Ages ago. In another life. I was still struggling to accept myself while numbing the pain with a bottle of gin. I only went to a support group when someone terribly handsome invited me, but that’s where I found the help I’d needed all along.”
“I’ve told my mom to go to Alcoholics Anonymous,” Cameron said. “She laughed it off.”
“But have youaskedher to go? After telling her why it’s so important to you? Imagine if she’d given up the first time you were supposed to clean your room.”
Cameron laughed. “Speaking of which,” he said, nodding at the bright blue table. “I don’t know what that’s doing there, but I’m happy to move it somewhere else. Preferably out of sight.”
“Isn’t it an eyesore?” Charles said while crinkling his nose. “I found it at a thrift store earlier this week and couldn’t believe my luck. A treasure lurks beneath the surface.”
“Really?” Cameron asked in open curiosity. “You told me you had news.”
“Yes! Come see.”
Soon they were squatting next to the table, which was three feet long and two feet wide with a single drawer. The cut favored curves and wavy edges except for the tapered legs.
“French Provencial,” Charles said. “In style if not pedigree. I was hoping you could help me identify the wood.”
Cameron raised an eyebrow at this. Charles had a keener eye than his own, so he was most likely being tested. Or enticed. He turned the table over, taking note of the heft, and found an area where the natural grain could still be seen. “American Elm?” he wagered. “This is an old one.”
“My thoughts exactly. How much would you charge for a restoration?”
“For you? Nothing.”
“Not for me,” Charles said. “For a business.”
“It’ll be a lot of work,” Cameron said before shrugging. “Maybe a hundred?”
“As much as I love a bargain,” Charles said as he stood, “I could never take advantage of a friend. I spent twenty dollars on the table and intend to sell it for muchmuchmore than that. How does two hundred and fifty sound?”
Cameron stared. “Incredible! But you said this is for a business.”
“It is,” Charles said with a twinkle in his eye. “My own.”
