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It takes me a solid few moments to look at the man I just assaulted with my trolley. Big, thick fingers press at his denim clad knee as he pushes himself to stand. I follow suit and brush at my coat, doing a quick survey of the area to ensure that we haven’t damaged anything else.
“Holy shit,” the man breathes, gruff and deep, awareness flooding me as my eyes snap up.
I know that voice. We stand paralysed, entranced, the momentousness of the moment stealing our breaths for one beat. Then two.
I drink him in, vaguely taller than my six-foot-three frame, but so much wider and thicker. Even his worn flannel coat and layered sweaters can’t hide the mountains of muscles beneath. His chestnut hair curls out from under the black knitted beanie I know so well, his beautiful eyes wide in a kind of panicked shock, lips parted under his artfully scruffy short beard in a little “O”.
I can’t believe I found him.
I can’t believe I found him next to the pasta sauce and shelf-stable parmesan cheese.
“Caelan, is that you?”
Caelan
It takes an embarrassingfew moments to figure out what is going on when I am suddenly engulfed in a flurry of arms, laughter, and silvery white curls. But then reality hits and I realise it is Tor,my Tor, launching himself at me, wrapping himself around me.What in the name of the Gods is he doing in Whisper Wells?
With the literal weight of the situation in my hands, it all clicks and relief floods through me. I don’t really care about thewhy, just that it’s happening. I shift him slightly, wrapping my hands more firmly around his lean, muscular back and press the scruff of my beard into the curve of his neck, breathing deep, but trying to be subtle about it. He smells delicious, and exactly like I suspected he would. Like cinnamon and brown sugar and something that feels like home and makes my stomach drop.
Tor presses himself tighter again, like he is imprinting the very cells of his being into me, before finally dropping his feet back to the floor. I feel the loss instantly, like a cocoon of blankets ripped from me in a deep sleep, and I desperately want to snatch him back as close as possible. Neither of us are quite ready to let go just yet, so I shift my hands to his shoulders and push him back slightly, taking in the face I know so well.
His beauty is more striking in person, the camera never quite catching the way the light dances on his skin. Or the intensity of his blue eyes framed in pale lashes. Or even the full pout of his lips. I flush hot and cold, my blood not sure where to run to. Every inch of my body is zapped with energy. Gods, I am fucked.
“Where have you been?!” Ok, I probably shouldn’t be shouting at him in the pasta aisle, but I can’t wrap my brain around the fact he is here, in my arms. Hispink lips pull up in a wry half smile before he pushes an errant curl out of his face.
“Oh boy, do I have a story for you. Things have gone tits up. I need your help. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
I can honestly say that this man in front of me could convince me to walk through the underworld barefoot in my underwear. And that wasbeforeI actually had him in my hands. I am not about to actually say that, am I? I don’t want to let him go, and I don’t think I actually can, so I slip my hands down his arms and grab his warm hand in mine.
“I know somewhere we can go."
Billson’s Bar and Grill, now owned and run by my old school friend Dave, is a pretty standard bar, with booths and tables for dining, a couple of pool tables, hardwood floors and a U-shaped bar dominating the centre of the room. It’s clean, especially for a bar, but still has a vague used dinginess that I am used to, but I have a prickle of awareness that it probably isn’t up to Tor’s usual standards. Especially as he takes in the stained and scuffed table and the peeling pleather booth couches.
It’s not that I am embarrassed, but now that the initial excitement of him actuallybeing herehas passed with our hurried walk over, unease starts to creep up my spine. The place is empty and so we pick out a booth and take a seat, him on one side, me on the other, and I anxiously watch as he picks up a peeling laminated menu. I do the same, just needing to do something with my hands.
This has somehow become unimaginably awkward. We know each other so intimately, but it was all through a phone screen. How does that translate into us in person? Suddenly my hands are too big and I have no idea what to do with my body. I worry at my lip with my teeth, trying to think of something to say.
“So what’s good here?” There is an awkward tension in Tor’s voice I had never heard before. I wouldn’t have guessed it; he’s always been socool, so easy, but I think Tor is feeling the strain of this whole real life thing like I am.
I clear my throat and shift around in my seat, knocking Tor’s long legs with mine. Neither of us are short and it’s an effort to not play accidental footsies under the table.
Even though I really want to. Despite the insecurity making me want to run and hide, I want to press my leg against his, just to feel that he is real. That he is really here. I clear my throat and put down the menu. It’s useless to me, anyway. I know the thing back to front, anyway.
“I usually get the beef burger, but I know you’re not the biggest red meat fan, so I’d recommend the wings or the chicken burger. It’s pretty good; it has pineapple on it like you like.”
Tor lifts his eyes from the menu and blasts me with a genuine smile this time, and for a flicker of a moment, the haze of tension eases between us. In the glow of his smile, I realise again I am fucked. Really fucked. That stupid rolling feeling has set low in my stomach, and I think it is becoming permanent.
“You remembered.”
Heat floods my cheeks. Thank the Gods for beards so he can’t see me blush like an absolute doofus. Thankfully Polly, Dave’s daytime waitress, comes to take our orders, breaking the tension for a moment, until she leaves us to our awkwardness once again.
Finally, Tor clears his throat. “So, I wasn’t ghosting you. I promise. It has just been an absolute mess.” Tor picks up a paper straw from the holder and starts fidgeting with it. “So my brother went missing nearly three weeks ago. I told you about him.”
“Theo, right? The one with the degrees and stuff, right? Younger than you?”
Tor just nods as he completely murders the innocent straw. He had sent me photos of them together during Winter Solstice at their parents’ mansion in front of the biggest and gaudiest Solstice tree I had ever seen. They had been stiff and formal and downright miserable. But there had been a barrage of much more relaxed and happy photos later where they had been hanging out just the two of them.
“Yeah, that one. Like I said, he got invited to something to research fae heritage. I don’t know all the details. He left me a map and a letter. He said he’d be gone for a month. I know it’s been nearly three weeks and I haven’t heard from him at all and I’m worried. I have no idea who he is with, and it’s winterand he’s in the bloody Woods.” Tor’s blue eyes bore into me like I have some kind of answer. Shit.
