Rick slipped off his windbreaker and followed Timothy into the great room with the meowing horde at his feet. He bent down to give all of them a share of the pets, but the one he hadn’t seen before—Kylo?—gave his fingers a quick sniff before retreating to the couch.
Timothy called from the kitchen, “Want some of your lovely vermouth on the rocks?”
“That’d be great, thank you.” He stood and walked over to the island that divided the huge kitchen from the living space.
Timothy was dropping ice into short glasses of vermouth. Rick’s phone dinged with a text message. He glanced down at it. T. thinks you’re here to talk about the guest house. Rick clicked to a different screen quickly as Timothy put one of the glasses in front of him and leaned on the counter.
He said, “So, Rick, have you actually seen my house?”
Chapter Eighteen
Thank God for Jimothy’s text message. Rick nodded in his most professional manner. “I’ve only seen the cottage from the outside.”
“My son has this obsession with wanting to make the house bigger, but it’s actually quite large, very cozy, and is more than I need. Not meaning to take the food from your mouth, but there’s no reason he should spend his hard-earned money expanding that house.”
“Well, that may be true.” He sipped his vermouth and smiled. “Jimothy turned me on to this, and I’m a convert.”
“He did the same with me.”
“Do you love to cook like Jimothy?”
“Oh yes. In fact, he learned to cook from me. We used to cook for my husband Jim before he died.” He blinked hard. “Poor Jim. He loved football, and he desperately wanted Jimothy to share it with him.”
Jimothy’s voice came from behind Rick. “But all we could ever agree on was that the quarterback looked great in those tight pants.” Rick turned and grinned at Jimothy as he glided up to the island. “Beyond that, I thought the game was pretty barbaric, and even though I learned the rules, I could never justify such a waste of pulchritude.” He picked up Timothy’s glass. “Ooh, do you have one of these for me?”
Jimothy pulled a glass across the counter he already had poured and added ice. “Rick brought it. I was just telling him how we both love to cook, and we still have co-op cooking nights.”
Jimothy held out his glass, and both Rick and Timothy clincked it.
Rick said, “And I was about to ask if the kitchen in the cottage accommodates Timothy’s love of cooking.” He raised his eyebrows. “Usually, cottages like that are pretty modest in the kitchen and bathroom areas.”
Jimothy threw up his hands. “Exactly! I built it as a guest house, not a residence. It needs a much nicer kitchen, a guest bath, and to give some more spa quality to the master bath.”
Rick held up a finger. “And any money put into those areas is going to be an excellent investment, probably yielding three or four times the cost in increased value. Even if a buyer didn’t use it as a residence for a family member, they could open it up for poolside dining without having any traffic in the main house.”
Timothy backed up and threw an arm over his face. “Okay, okay, I give. I can’t beat both of you.”
“Dad, why don’t we take Rick on a tour of your house before we start dinner.”
“Okay, you two. Give me a couple minutes to shove my shit back in the closet. I was determined you weren’t going to talk me into it.” Laughing, he walked across the kitchen and went out the back door.
Jimothy grabbed Rick by the arm and dragged him into a corner of the living room away from the windows, then climbed him like a tree, kissing and groping all at once.
Nobody had to ask him twice. Rick propped Jimothy by the butt so they could squeeze their cocks together through far too much denim.
Jimothy gasped, “I didn’t want to tell my dad we were, uh, what we’re doing. He’s freaky about me not dating guys who are in the closet. I thought he was going to be out of town, and his trip got cancelled at the last minute. Sorry.” He grasped Rick’s face and kissed him again, but truthfully, the reminder of what Rick was doing to Jimothy took a bit of the starch from his cock.
Jimothy didn’t notice since he said, “We better get out there, but thank you for playing along. And go you, for talking him into the whole renovation thing. You went right for his gourmet jugular.” He stretched out his legs, and Rick let him down to the floor. Jimothy laughed as he stared at a considerable erection in his own skintight jeans. “We both better put on our windbreakers.”
A couple minutes later, jackets hiding the evidence, they walked out into the backyard. A lighted path marked the way to Timothy’s cottage.
Jimothy whispered, “Sadly, there’s not much chance for more hanky-panky unless we get really creative. Since he thinks you’re here to see him, he won’t make an effort to leave us alone.” He looked up with a grimace. “I’m afraid to tell him we’re more than casual friends because he’ll get really excited. He gets around town a lot and could accidentally say the wrong thing to someone in his enthusiasm.” He shrugged and kept walking.
Knowing that Jimothy was making a big exception for Rick gave Rick a sour stomach, but before he could think about it much, they were embroiled in evaluating the cottage, which, as Timothy had said, was large for a guest house and, as Jimothy had said, had a small kitchen, inadequate for an enthusiastic cook.
Rick said, “I’ll have to investigate with the city if we’re allowed to add more square footage on the cottage. Your lot’s big enough, Jimothy, and your parking’s adequate, but if they think you’re turning this into a rental or something, they’ll freak. Mother-in-law cottages are allowed.” He wandered outside the cottage through its back door and then returned to where Jimothy and his dad were sitting. “We won’t be able to build up because of the view restrictions, but we can probably add out.”
Jimothy clapped his hands like Alice always did. “Perfect, let’s go make dinner.”
For the next hour, Rick laughed a lot and suffered from family envy. Jimothy and Timothy obviously loved each other a lot and enjoyed doing things together. Rick couldn’t remember doing anything as a family since before his mom had died.
Jimothy made salad and pasta, while Timothy concocted an impromptu sauce from garlic, tomatoes, peppers, and other good things. That left Rick setting the table, and he enjoyed picking out placemats and dishes to put on one end of the big table. On the other end, a jigsaw puzzle of the history of France was laid out with about half the pieces in place. As Rick walked by with cutlery, he’d put in a piece.
Music played softly in the background, and the cats reminded Jimothy that it was time for furry dinner. He assigned Rick to fill the bowls in the mud room where the five felines had their own placemats and dishes. As Rick scooped food, the critters rubbed against his legs and meowed, and he bent over to give each one a few strokes. He’d never thought about having his own pet. He worked so much, and dogs couldn’t be left on their own all the time. But a couple cats could keep each other company and still be there for him at night. Sadly, his apartment building didn’t allow pets.
By the time he finished fur patrol, the food was on the table with the smell of fresh bread mixing with the rich scent of the sauce. His mouth actually watered. As they ate, Jimothy and Timothy regaled Rick with family stories of trips to Disney World and dragging the other dad to the snake house at the San Diego Zoo. Jimothy said, “Jim hated all reptiles, but he’d patiently wait outside while Timothy and I introduced ourselves to every snake personally.”