“It should be,” Ilan said gruffly. “You don’t spend enough time demanding things that are catered to you, Fredric. More than just a walk on the beach or drinks at some restaurant. It took me less than five minutes to find this place online when I googled date ideas for the blind.”
And Fredric knew what Ilan was saying, but it took someone like Ilan to make that effort, and he didn’t quite know how to make him understand that. So, he swallowed back all those words of protest and smiled instead. “Thank you. You’re going to make someone very happy one day.”
He let himself out of the car, and Ilan took his time, but soon enough, Fredric had his arm and they were moving from the rough asphalt to the sidewalk.
“There’s doors,” Ilan said. “And then a little welcome desk. And I think there’s a pile of maps on a table next to it. We can do the guided tour if you want, but…”
“Not quite first date material?” Fredric offered, and Ilan chuckled.
“Might be kind of a cock-block. Especially if their voice sucks.” Fredric felt the door swoosh open, and he felt for the lip with his cane before stepping in. The room clearly had vaulted ceilings by the way his feet sounded on the stone floors, and he could hear the trickle of water from a fountain nearby. The air was cool, and there was the gentle whirr of a fan above them, and his hand reached out to touch the marbled counter of the desk.
“Thank you for your donation,” a feminine voice said. “We have maps here. The print ones you can take with you, but we do ask if you take a braille map, you return it at the end of your tour.”
“The print one is fine,” Fredric said, and when Ilan made a noise to argue, he squeezed his arm. “I’d rather concentrate on the walk.”
Ilan didn’t put up a fight, and Fredric heard him take the paper, fold it, and then put it into his pocket. He grabbed Ilan’s arm again, and they took a sharp right, and then went through another set of swinging doors.
The path was shaded, though the air was warm and humid, and the ground beneath them was a shaped path just wide enough for a single arc of his cane. “How is it?” he couldn’t help but ask as they started forward.
“It’s gorgeous.” Ilan was quiet a moment, and Fredric assumed he was looking around. “The path winds around tall trees, and it looks like it veers off into different areas. There’s a massive grassy field to the left, and a couple of people are having a picnic.”
“Now that sounds like third date material,” Fredric said. “At least, according to movies.”
Ilan groaned as he led them down the path, and Fredric felt the staccato changes from shade to sun as they walked under sporadic low hanging branches. “Please don’t get your romance advice from the fucking movies.”
Fredric laughed and shook his head as they took a sharp turn. His cane met a sloping path, and suddenly, on the edge of the breeze, he caught a rich, floral scent. “Must be the fragrance part of the garden?”
“I think so,” Ilan said, and Fredric heard him taking a deep breath. “Ooh, that’s…interesting.”
And it was. It wasn’t particularly nice, but it was new, and it was different. Fredric was well aware places like this existed in more than just his little corner of the world, but he’d never allowed himself to venture out to look for them. His life had always been busy—from sun-up to sundown, and there just wasn’t time. Now he felt like he was trying to play catch-up, and he wondered if that would always stay a moving target.
“Are there a lot of people?” he asked. His voice dropped low, almost a whisper, though he wasn’t quite sure why. But as they ventured further, the moment felt…intimate.
“We’re alone,” Ilan said. There was hesitation, even tension in the silence, then he felt Ilan take a jerky step forward. “Come on there’s…some stuff.”
Fredric’s brows dipped into a frown as they walked the path, then Ilan came to a stop. “There’s these flowers—a sign right here that says to touch them. It’s in braille too.”
Fredric reached for Ilan’s arm instead and followed a line down to the soft petals, and as he ran his fingers over them, a rush of scent surrounded him. “Oh that’s…” he said, trying to find the word, but his vocabulary failed him. “What are they?”
“Geranium,” Ilan said, his voice soft. “It says they release their scent when you touch them.”
Fredric laughed at the wonder of it, letting his hands graze light and delicate over the tops, and he was falling head-first into the fragrance. “What do they look like?”
“Red,” Ilan grunted out. “Ish. Kind of pink. I don’t…I’m not good at this. Sorry.”
Fredric straightened, tucking his cane in close, and he frowned. “If this is making you uncomfortable…”
“It’s not,” Ilan tried to protest, but Fredric’d had enough of Ilan’s sudden cold and hot mood. He stepped forward, and he knew—he trusted—that Ilan would not step away. He reached out with a ginger touch and dragged his fingers up Ilan’s arm. He felt a tremble there, so he went higher until his fingers met skin, and he felt heat, and sweat, and a rapid pulse. “Something’s wrong.”
Ilan made a soft noise, then curled his hand around Fredric’s wrist and held him fast. “Nothing’s wrong. I promise.”
“Then what’s going on? You’re not yourself today.”
“I’m.” A single syllable housed an endless internal war he could hear in the waver of Ilan’s voice, and Fredric had the sudden urge to draw the younger man into his arms and just hold him. But he couldn’t—he knew that. It wasn’t his place, so he simply stood, unmoving until Ilan was ready to speak again. “I’m feeling lost, and it’s frustrating. I thought I knew what I wanted out of life, and now I don’t. I got asked out—I made a date with someone, but now I can’t stop wondering if he’s doing it because he feels sorry for me.”
Fredric understood, and he hated that he did. He hated that Ilan had never really given himself a chance to have more than his weekend lovers and shallow connections. He’d seen the insecurity in the boy when he was younger, fighting against all the students and teachers who made him feel inferior all because his parents’ bank account and jobs dictated that he didn’t belong in that world. And he’d hoped for years that Ilan would outgrow it as he discovered not only his passion, but also that he was good at what he did. But it was clear now how deep those scars ran and how much they still stung.
“Wow, I’m sorry,” Ilan said after a beat. “This is supposed to be about your date. Not my bullshit.”
“No. Don’t do that,” Fredric said, but Ilan’s touch cut him off.
“I don’t need to be taking it out on you right now. This isn’t about me,” Ilan said, and Fredric had a feeling there was something he was holding back, but he didn’t want to press. “For as long as I can remember, I used to fantasize about you leaving Jacqueline. I’d lay in my bed at night, and it would play out like a movie. You’d yell at her and make her feel like shit for all the things she said about Julian—about me. You’d pack a bag, and you’d walk out, and then Julian and I would have weekend visits at your beach house.”