Page 15 of The Best Parts of Him
He wanted to turn him around and look into his eyes before he dropped to his knees.
Ryland’s legs were on full display. His thighs too. His arms.
But there was something about that tantalizing strip of his lower back that teased Dabbs into near incoherency.
“Hello? Dabbs?”
Dabbs grunted assent.
“I asked if you wanted coffee.”
“Hate the stuff,” Dabbs confessed.
“Heh. Me too. See? We do have something in common—other than hockey, anyway, which is a big one.” He barreled on before Dabbs had a chance to respond, switching topics almost faster than Dabbs could keep up. “We have tea if you want. Hot chocolate. Juice. Apple cider. Maybe? No, we definitely have apple cider. Come on, get up. You heard Callie.” He moonwalked out of the room and sang, “It’s Frozen Fest day.”
Chest feeling too tight and too warm all at once, Dabbs smiled into his pillow as Ryland yelled, “Hey, Callie! Did you know it’s Frozen Fest day?”
Fuck, his joy for life was infectious, and Dabbs was still smiling when they arrived at the festival.
From what he understood, Maplewood prided itself on its monthly festivals. The annual Fourth of July Frozen Fest was ice cream-themed, and, in his ignorance, Dabbs had assumed a farmers market-style event where all the vendors sold different flavors of ice cream.
If a wrong-answer game-show buzzer could’ve gone off in his head, it would have as they approached Maplewood City Park. This was no small farmers market—it was a full-on festival, and it was already so busy despite the day’s heat that they’d had to park several streets away.
“We’re meeting Rob at the ice cream flavor contest,” Brie announced, referring to her husband. She marched on ahead of them, one of the kids’ hands held tightly in each of her own. “Meet up with you guys later?” She disappeared into the crowd without waiting for an answer.
“We’re going to Special Blend to grab a muffin or something,” Jason said. “Want anything?”
“I’m good,” Ryland said as Dabbs shook his head.
Jason and Bellamy left, leaving Ryland and Dabbs alone under the shade of a tree.
“Come on,” Ryland said, adjusting the brim of the Moon Meadows Maple Farm hat on his head. “Let’s look around.”
On top of the ice cream flavor contest, there was a coloring station for kids, a make-your-own sundae station, an ice cream-themed photo booth, a kids’ zone with the face painting Callie was interested in, and live music. Several A-Frame signs also advertised an ice cream eating challenge, an ice cream-inspired drag show, a parade, and later, fireworks.
There was also a market—Dabbs hadn’t been wrong about that—with vendors selling both ice cream and other food products, as well as merchandise and artwork.
Dabbs browsed through a display of cheap plastic sunglasses while Ryland wandered off to peruse a stall selling homemade spice blends, and when Ryland returned, he said, “Do you need new sunglasses?”
“No.” Dabbs pushed his own higher up the bridge of his nose. “But you do. You’ve been squinting since we got here despite the hat.” He removed Ryland’s hat, set it aside, and plunked a pair of triangle-shaped sunglasses on his face. “Definitely not those.” He slipped them off and put them back in the display.
Unmoving, Ryland stared at him, his gaze so intense it was a struggle for Dabbs not to fidget under it.
Dabbs selected a second pair, cat-eye shaped in a shade of fire-engine red, and slipped them onto Ryland’s nose under Ryland’s watchful gaze.
“How about these?” Ryland asked softly, and the intimacy of the moment crashed into Dabbs with the force of a slapshot.
Swallowing hard, conscious of the bare few inches of space between them in a way he hadn’t been a moment ago, Dabbs said, “Not quite,” and pulled the sunglasses off Ryland’s face. He rotated the display, his arm brushing Ryland’s chest and sending prickles of awareness up his spine. “These.” He removed a pair of square-shaped frames with pink and turquoise diagonal lines and gently placed them on Ryland. “Those are the ones.”
Ryland cocked his head. “Why? Because they’re loud?”
“Because they’re colorful,” Dabbs found himself saying. “Like you.”
“I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or an insult,” Ryland muttered, taking off the sunglasses.
“A compliment,” Dabbs reassured him. “You stand out from the crowd without even trying.”
Ryland’s frown formed slowly. “I still don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
