Page 19 of Smoky Mountain Dreams
“Probably not. Hell, we probably didn’t.” Jesse lookedthoughtful. “My sister cried when Books and Fudge went out of business.”
Christopher’s lashes dropped down, making a long shadow onhis cheeks. “Yeah. That was my fault. Sorry about that.”
Jesse couldn’t imagine that it could have been Christopher’sfault. The place had shut down long ago, when Jesse was eighteen, and thoughChristopher looked a little bit younger than him, he didn’t think thatChristopher could have been more than fourteen, if that. “How could you havebeen responsible for a shop going out of business?”
“It’s a long story.” Christopher shrugged. “Come on, let’sget some cookies. Libby puts those on the verge of going stale out in thekitchen. They’re up for grabs. If Libby likes you enough to let you have a keythat is.”
Jesse followed Christopher over the freshly swept, woodfloor, and into the dimly lit kitchen that had been built onto the mill proper.It was impeccably clean. Sure enough, there was a tray of gingerbread men,women, and eagles—the Smoky Mountain Dreams mascot—covered with plastic wrap ona table.
Christopher wrote on a pad sitting next to the tray under ashort list of other names:Christopher Ryder—4
Then he peeled back the plastic wrap, handed two gingerbreadmen to Jesse, and took two for himself before turning to the stack of papercups next to the sink and pouring them both a drink of water.
The cookies weren’t stale yet, and as Jesse chewed his firstbite, he moaned at the perfect blend of sweet icing, nutmeg, molasses, andginger. It was truly divine. Christopher’s reaction to the sound of Jesse’spleasure was immediate. It both amused Jesse and sent a surge of heat throughhim to see Christopher’s cheeks pink up and to watch his pupils dilate wide. Itwas like he wanted to take Jesse inside in every way.
“So…” Christopher’s voice sounded rough, and he cleared histhroat. “Your family’s from here?”
“Mm-hmm.” Jesse felt the familiar inner turmoil associatedwith talking about his family to anyone who didn’t already know. It didn’thappen often now that he was back in Gatlinburg, but when he’d traveled in hisearly twenties, escaping the reality of his family name hadn’t been as easy ashe’d hoped. “They are.”
“I take it you’re not close.”
“I don’t know. We’re as close as we can be at this point inour lives. My folks live in Florida now. I’d say they were retired, but my momnever worked, and my dad wouldn’tstopworking ifsomeone held a gun to his head.”
Christopher jerked his chin, indicating that Jesse shouldfollow him. He moved around the corner, and then sat on the floor along thewall opposite the millworks. “It’s the warmest spot,” he explained. “The ovensare on the opposite side of the wall, and they’re not cold yet.”
Jesse was surprised to find that Christopher was right, andthey leaned against the warm wall, sitting side by side in the shadows withknees bent as they ate their cookies. He could hear the noise of the park faraway, the laughs that echoed over the pond, the rumble of strollers and voices,and over it all and much closer was the slapping noise of the wheel throwingthe water. It was a wet, rhythmic sound that reminded him of the noise of hissweaty balls slapping a man’s ass while he fucked him. A lusty, satisfyingsound.
Jesse cleared his throat as his cock responded to the idea.It’d been a long time. A really long time since he’d gone that far with a man.Twelve years, eleven months, and twenty-odd days if his quick math was right.It’d been since Edoardo and Italy and the week that changed everything.
“I didn’t mean to open a can of worms by bringing up yourfamily.”
Jesse looked at Christopher, noting his green eyes wereflecked with a sharp, golden brown, reminding him of the gaspeite he’d receiveda shipment of the other day.
“It’s not a big deal. My father and I are past the worst ofour troubles. Let’s just say he didn’t enjoy the way I chose to come out, buthe’s made his peace with it.”
At his words, Christopher relaxed next to him, and Jesserealized that despite their flirtation, he hadn’t made it absolutely clear toChristopher that he was into men until this moment. He remembered all too wellfrom his own less-experienced days the number of ways a man can talk himselfout of knowing the object of his lust was also queer.
Christopher’s lips were lush and red. Jesse watched as helicked them, gazing at Jesse’s own. Jesse scooted a little so his thigh pressedagainst Christopher’s. He didn’t know for sure exactly what signals he wasgiving off, but he wanted to be absolutely clear. He planned to kissChristopher just as soon as the anticipation had ratcheted up so high that hecouldn’t take it anymore, and he was ready and willing to run with whateverresponse he got. However far Christopher wanted to take it. It had been toolong since he’d allowed himself to fully let go.
“So were they religious or just kind of bigoted?”Christopher asked, and Jesse had a hard time pulling his mind back to theconversation and away from where he wanted the night to end.
“It was less about me being queer and more about what peoplethought about me being queer. For a long time, he thought I was just rebellingso I could humiliate him. A ‘poor little rich kid’ scheme to get attention orsomething.”
Jesse braced for the question, tempted to deflect it quicklyby asking Christopher abouthisfamily’s response tohis coming out—if he was out. But he decided not to, because it was easier toknow now just how big of a problem it was going to be.
“Poor little rich kid? Your father had money, I take it? Andhe thought you were…what? Sexually attracted to men to embarrass him? I don’treally get it.”
“Me either, but as the founder of Birch’s Biscuits &Bakeries, my dad felt like having a queer in the family didn’t meet the wholesome,down-home image he wanted to cultivate as part of his marketing scheme. Hemight have been onto something, because I wasn’t exactly quiet about my love ofdick during my teenage years.”
Jesse popped the last piece of gingerbread man into hismouth, remembering the way he’d challenged his dad in so many ways. Streaks ofwhite in his hair that he’d then dyed vibrant pink, declaring to all who wouldlisten how much he wanted to screw cute guys, and—unlike many men who werenaturally fey—he’d purposely put a sashay into his walk and a flap to hiswrist, both of which he’d retired as he’d grown more secure in his sexualidentity. “Hell, I’ll admit it. I purposely pushed some buttons. Given where welive, I’m lucky I didn’t get physically hurt for my bullshit.”
“Wait, I mean, I want to come back to this, but your fatherowns…really? The great usurper to crowns that once belonged to White Lily andBisquick? Your father is the baking mix king of the world?”
Jesse sang the commercial. “‘We’ve got cakes and cookies,muffins and bread, just tear open a package and see the smiles spread! Birch’sBiscuits & Bakeries—we’re not just biscuits anymore!’”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” Jesse tried to gauge Christopher’s reaction. “Iwouldn’t call him a king, though. More like a baron. Or a duke. Or a mogul.Yes, let’s go with a mogul. A biscuit mogul. It’d be hilarious if it wasn’ttrue.”
