I am fairly certain I don't like the look in JD's eyes. I am positive I don't trust the
smirk he's failing miserably to suppress. The smirk turns into a full-blown grin of evil as he
holds out a white envelope. With a look like that on the boy's face, I really don't want to take
it, but we have got a sizeable audience by now. I'd never hear the end of if I backed down
now. Sparing a glare for the gathering crowd, I snatch the thing out of his hand and rip it open.
My mood does not improve once I read the contents.
What is that imp of mine up to now?
A trickle of sweat rolls into my eyes, and I swipe at it impatiently while I contemplate that
very question. It's damned hot out here, and how I got conned into helping with this little
project is another question I've yet to get an answer to. Apparently, the last storm that blew
through had taken a good chunk of Chris' roof with it, and a few of the boys had volunteered to
help him repair it. Which was all well and good for them, but as for me, I a) can't pick up a
hammer without bashing a thumb or two, and today is no exception, b) have yet to forgive Chris
for the Henderson incident, so why should I bloody well care if his roof is leaking or not? and c)
have had this nagging suspicion all day that I've been set up. Again.
Damn. I hate it when I'm right.
The letter is an invitation to dinner with my sneaky, conniving better half. Even through my
irritation, I'm grudgingly impressed with it. It's a rather beautiful invitation, the black calligraphy
script a simple, elegant contrast to the cream color of the parchment paper. It had even been
sealed shut with red wax and a sigil I recognized as the pattern on the ring I gave him on our six-
month anniversary. Nice touch. He'd obviously put a lot of thought into this stage of his plan.
Dinner itself, though . . . that should be interesting, considering that Vin is about as adept
with pots and pans as I am with hammers and nails. I'll be lucky to get undercooked macaroni
and burnt toast. I wince and mentally prepare my taste buds for the worst. And my eyes. The
kitchen's sure to be a disaster zone, as Josiah can attest.
After reading through the note twice more, I search the sea of faces to see who else might
have participated in this farce. With the obvious exception of JD, most everyone else just looks
curious or mildly amused. For a moment, there's a suspicious twinkle in Nathan's eyes, but
when I look closer, there's nothing but blank interest on his face. Right. I'll get you for this
later, and your little dog, too.
Well, there's no use avoiding the inevitable, especially since, according to the invite, I've
only got thirty minutes to get home. With one last glare at my audience, I chuck my work
gloves at JD's head (damn kid ducks) and head for my car. At least I won't be bruising any
more digits today.
I cool down a bit on the drive home, both literally and figuratively. The heat isn't so bad
with the windows down and the wind blowing over my body, though I could really use a
shower. The sun is setting in a spectacular display of oranges and reds, and a quarter moon is
already high in the sky. There's not a single cloud marring the darkening field of blue, and I
absently wonder if I can convince Vin to go stargazing after dinner. I'd like the chance to
reacquaint myself with the constellations glittering over Denver.
I'd love the chance to cuddle with Vin on a blanket under the stars.
With such thoughts in mind, I'm sufficiently calm by the time I reach our driveway to face
whatever awaits me. Taking a quick, deep breath, I push open the door that leads directly to
the kitchen. It's dark inside, so I flip on the lights and hesitantly look around. The room is
spotless, which is hair-raising all on its own, especially since the kitchen is never this
clean. He either cooked elsewhere or hid the evidence of yet another culinary disaster with
amazing skill. I sniff the air experimentally. Hmm, there's no burnt smell, so it must be the
former. I wonder whom Josiah forgot to warn.
I shake my head and advance further into the room. A flash of something light-colored
draws my attention to the table. It's another piece of parchment with the instructions to make
myself presentable for dinner and meet Vin on the roof.
The roof? Gah, I've had enough of roofs today!
I give up all attempts to suss out what Vin has planned and move to obey the directions.
Standing over the sink, I wash the worst of the grime and sweat off my hands and face then
dump a glassful of blessedly cold water over the back of my head and neck. I dry off with a
kitchen towel and decide I'm presentable enough. I can grab a real shower after I find out
what's going on. Sighing gustily, I head up to the attic to see what the imp is up to.
Our attic has a trap door that leads to a flat patch of roof sheltered by eaves on all sides.
Unless someone flew over it, no one would ever know it was there. We certainly didn't until a
couple of weeks ago when we were rummaging around in the boxes in the attic. Vin had
spotted the door in the ceiling, and with some pushing and swearing, we got the rusted old
hinges to creak open.
Since we didn't have a ladder, we made do with some of the sturdier boxes and some
strategic pulling and boosting to get to the rooftop. Vin's face lit up like a kid at Christmastime.
I could practically hear the wheels turning behind that beautiful face of his while he
prowled the moderately-sized space, and I'd wondered then what was so fascinating about it to
make him so happy. Guess I'm about to find out.
The first thing I notice when I reach the attic is the candle-lined stepladder beneath the open
trapdoor. A small voice in my head snipes about fire hazards, but I'm most just glad that I
won't have to be hauled through the opening like a sack of potatoes to get topside. As I climb
the steps, I notice that Vin's really been a busy boy – he's replaced the old hinges with shiny
new ones. I lean closer to examine his handiwork, but I'm soon distracted by the soft sound of
music coming from above. More curious than ever now, I get to the top of the ladder and walk
out onto the roof. And just stop dead with amazement.
Gone is the dirty, leaf-littered space of a few ago. There are now candles of all shapes,
sizes, and colors everywhere. They flicker slightly in the gentle night breeze, their soft
light casting shadows that create a warm, inviting intimacy. A table set for two sits in the middle
of the makeshift dining area, complete with white linen tablecloth and china place settings. A
single white taper in the center of the table provides illumination to eat by. There's an ice
bucket with a bottle of wine in it off to one side. I can't tell what's on the plates, but it smells
heavenly. The music is coming from a small CD player tucked between yet more candles, just
loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to stay in the background. It's . . . amazing.
Entranced, I jump in surprise when a warm hand squeezes my shoulder. Whirling around, I
come face to face with the one thing missing from the scene behind me to make it perfect. My
God. Vin.
He's . . . beautiful. He's wearing a tan suit I've never seen before, but it compliments his
coloring perfectly. A cream-colored shirt, brown oxfords - oxfords, not boots! – and
a blue tie that matches his eyes complete the outfit, and the whole ensemble fits him like he was
born specifically to wear it. The candlelight has burnished his skin a pale, fiery gold and added
shadowy highlights to his hair. Standing there, his hands now in his pockets and a small smile
dancing on his lips, he's an Armani ad come to life. And he's all mine.
I raise one hand to touch, needing tactile confirmation that this is really my Vin standing in
front of me. I snatch it back the moment I see the bruised fingertips and remember what
I probably look and smell like. God, I should have taken his instructions seriously.
"Presentable" is not a word I'd use to describe myself right now. Dammit, Vin went
to a hell of a lot of trouble to make tonight special, and I let my paranoia ruin it all.
I back away towards the trapdoor. Maybe if I go clean up and change, we can salvage
dinner.
Vin's hand on my arm stops me. "Don't."
"I –"
He leans in and kisses me before another word passes my lips. One arm curves around my
waist and holds me in place, his fingers digging lightly into my hip. The hand on my arm slides
up to my jaw and brushes light against the tense muscle, gently encouraging me to open my
mouth and let him in. With a helpless, little moan, I surrender and curl my tongue around his.
My arms come up and cradle him closer.
Far too soon, Vin pulls back from the kiss. With the hand still on my jaw, he tips my head
up slightly to meet his gaze. "Beautiful, Ezra, you are."
I'd object to that statement, but the look in his eyes tells me he means it. Believes it. I just
can't argue with that much certainty. I nod slowly.
Smiling brilliantly, he leans in and gives me one last kiss and leads me to the table.
The End
Continues in How Far Do You Trust?
