Their hands bumped in the bowl as they crushed the stewed tomatoes. Their elbows never ceased touching as Ilan guided him through the spices and the herbs. His hands closed over Fredric’s to show him just how much greens to add and then where to crack the eggs. Their breathing was matched, and he knew if he reached his hand over and pressed it to Fredric’s chest, he would find their heartbeats had too.
But he wasn’t brave enough.
He had to let go.
He’d walked away, letting Fredric believe that everything was fine—and he meant it. Because it would be. But not yet. Right now, he needed the coward’s way out. So, he’d ignored Fredric’s texts, and he’d turned his phone off, and he’d spent the night staring at the wall, wondering how he still had it in him to be such a stupid fuck.
Dragging a hand down his face, he contemplated getting up, but he didn’t quite see the point. It was a miracle he hadn’t grabbed all of his wine to drink himself into oblivion, but there in the cold light of day, the idea had merit. His mouth even began to water at the anticipation of the slow burn, and just as he swung his legs over the bed, his doorbell rang.
“Fuck. Fucking…fuck.” There was every chance in the world it was Fredric, so he rose into the balls of his feet, grabbing his glasses, and walked as quietly as he could to his front door.
Peering carefully out the peephole, he let out a sigh of relief, then frowned in confusion. It wasn’t Fredric at all, but the dirty, wind-swept blond head of Preston.
“Uh,” Ilan said with a sheepish smile as he swung the door open. “Did we have plans?”
“No, and normally I don’t bring coffee to people who run out on me during a date, but you seemed actually upset last night.” When Ilan stepped aside, Preston walked in and handed the to-go cup over.
It was still hot, and Ilan’s stomach rumbled when he smelled the rich, bitter roast. “Thank you. Don’t you have appointments today?”
“That’s what my NP is for,” he said with a wink. “Mondays are always slow, and they’ll call me if there’s anything serious.” Moving farther into Ilan’s house, he glanced around, and Ilan realized that he hadn’t invited Preston in the night before. “I was worried. You took off like a bat out of hell.”
Ilan’s face went white-hot with shame, and he led the way into the kitchen so he could add cream to his coffee. “Ah. Sorry. It actually wasn’t…” Ilan stopped, because everything he could say sounded like a lie. He bit the inside of his cheek as he focused on stirring, still taking the coward’s way out, even with Preston.
“Is it…an ex kind of thing?”
Ilan turned his head sharply. “A what?”
“Whoever called last night. Was that your ex? I’ve been there done that with people who are still kind of half in it, and I really like you, but I don’t…”
“No,” Ilan interrupted, then softened his tone. “Sorry, no. I don’t have any exes.”
“But it is something like that,” he pressed, and Ilan let out a sigh, because at this point, there was no denying it. It didn’t matter that there was no future for him and Fredric, he couldn’t string Preston along knowing that he’d never live up to the other man. It wasn’t fair to him.
“He and I aren’t together. That’s not even an option.” Motioning toward the table, Preston followed him, and they both sat near the window. Ilan leaned back and took a long drink before went on. “I’ve known him most of my life. We met when I was like eight.”
Preston’s eyebrows rose. “You were at school together?”
Ilan couldn’t help his laugh. “Not exactly.” He thumbed the plastic lid on the cup, then decided he didn’t care if the other man was going to judge him. “He’s my best friend’s dad. His name is Fredric.”
“The…the blind guy,” Preston said, and Ilan winced because he hated more than anything when Fredric was reduced down to that. “Sorry,” he amended. “But that’s who you mean, right?”
Ilan shrugged. “Like I said, it’s not an option, but I also can’t shut it off.”
“How long have you been in love with him?”
Ilan’s mouth dropped open to deny that it was love. At least, it wasn’t being in love, but the words would be a lie, and he was tired of that. “I think it’s recent. Or…at least, I just realized it recently. He was married for a long time, and I just never…god, the thought just never entered my mind, you know? Even when he told me he was getting divorced, I just assumed he’d meet some nice divorcée at a country club somewhere, and they’d move to Santorini and forget all about us except on holidays.”
Preston chuckled. “That’s very…”
“Ridiculous, I know,” Ilan groaned. “I guess I never did think straight when it came to him. But I never let myself go there, then I found out he was living here and dating men, and…” He swallowed thickly. “He asked me to teach him how to date.”
“Oh. Shit,” Preston breathed out, and Ilan nodded miserably.
“I said yes, because I’m a fucking moron, and then last night things got weird.”
“Weird enough that you’re walking on tip toes to check who’s at your door?” Preston asked.
Ilan leaned forward so far, his head thumped the table. “I’m so fucked. I couldn’t face him today.”
He startled when he felt a hand touch his wrist, but he didn’t look up. “Does he know?”
“I don’t think so,” Ilan said, and it was his one single blessing in this shit-show. “I think he thought I was just trying to be nice or humor him or something. So, before I see him again, I have to get my shit together.”
“Or,” Preston said, then paused until Ilan finally raised his head, “you could talk to him and see how he feels.”
At that, Ilan snorted and sat back, crossing his arms. “Even if he was interested—and believe me, he’s not—my best friend would murder me. He’d somehow find a way to materialize here all the way from Paris so he could stab me in my bed.”
Preston pulled a face. “I could see how that would get complicated.”
Ilan shrugged, then glanced out the window and let himself feel all the raging chaos his emotions were causing. “I am sorry, by the way. I shouldn’t have taken the call, and I should not have run out on you.”
Preston made a soft, sympathetic noise. “Yes, you should have. I try not to make a habit out of dating guys who are in love with other people. I like you—a lot. But not that much.”
“Fair,” Ilan said, and it was, because he couldn’t even say the same thing. Preston was nice, but he didn’t feel anything, and the man deserved better. “I owe you for the coffee.”
Cocking his head to the side, Preston stared at him a long while, then shook his head. “Tell you what—if you come across someone hot and eligible, send him my way. Then we’ll call it even.”
“Long term material?” Ilan asked.
“Marriage material,” Preston corrected, and it only solidified Ilan’s choice—because that was most definitely not, and never would be, him.