“Just give us a few days,” she said out of the side of her mouth as she shut the door and Bradshaw winked at her as he spun on his heel and skipped down the steps. “Oh, Grant!” She moaned as she leaned against the door and pushed her nose into the roses. “He is spectacular!”
“I hate him,” he muttered as he went to let Edgar in.
“Burf!” Edgar proclaimed as he loafed past Grant and went to sniff at the front door.
“Wait until you meet him, Edgar! Your new daddy is so dreamy,” Marcy cooed as she let Edgar smell her roses. Grant’s face twisted as he pulled the cooler out of the pantry and flipped the lid open.
“It isn’t happening,” he vowed and she made a dismissive sound as she opened the cabinet under the sink and ducked to find a vase.
“I think it’s fate,” she told Edgar then kissed his nose. Grant laughed as he opened the refrigerator and grabbed a case of beer. “There’s another case in the bag on the counter,” she told him as she filled the vase with water.
“He’s been studying me for weeks. That is the opposite of fate.”
“What are the odds that the neighbors would be spies and then the man of your dreams is sent to spy on them?” She asked and Grant coughed and pressed his hand against his chest as it ached.
“I don’t know about the odds, as far as having spies for neighbors, but it wasn’t an accident that the CIA sent a hot gay spy to recruit a single gay man,” he said as he pulled the case of beer out of the bag. “And I already had the man of my dreams,” he reminded her and the breath caught in her throat.
“I didn’t mean…” She said shakily and he heard her pull in a shuddering breath.
“I know,” he said as he slid his arm around her. He kissed her temple then rested his chin on her shoulder. “I’m not as ready as I thought I was and I don’t want to get involved with this,” he whispered and they were silent and stared out the kitchen window until she hugged his arm and sighed.
“I think you have to and I think it’s my job to make sure you don’t throw away the opportunity of a lifetime,” she said then turned and pushed him away. “Come on. This is going to require a lot of beer and hours of arguing so we might as well get to it. I already told Walter to check on Lola for me.”
“I just put new pillows in the guest room. They’re the kind that stay cool so your brain won’t boil while you dream of ways to torture me,” Grant said as he filled the cooler. He had no intentions of actually listening to Marcy and was fine with letting her argue until she was blue in the face.
“Nice. Did you see how tight his shirt was?” She asked and Grant juggled a beer after it slipped through his hands.
“I didn’t notice,” he lied as he pushed it into the ice. Bradshaw was wearing a white shirt and the top buttons were open and the sleeves were rolled up. Bradshaw obviously understood that a man’s sexual potency was increased by rolling up his sleeves. “Which was so unnecessary,” he added under his breath. It was bad enough, the way the shirt clung to his biceps and narrow waist. I bet he hasn’t had a beer since college.
“What?”
“I hate him.”
Chapter 9
Grant stayed out of sight on Sunday. The post office was closed and he appeared to be sleeping through a hangover. Marcy stumbled down the driveway to her car a little after noon in one of Grant’s sweatshirts and baseball caps and shielded her sunglasses from the sun as she struggled to unlock her car. After Marcy sent him away, Royce crept along the back fence so he could eavesdrop on them. He couldn’t make out much of their conversation, but they giggled and splashed at each other and Royce found himself extremely jealous. He couldn’t think of a single one of his acquaintances or anyone in his family that he’d be able to laugh with like that. Not even his brother, when they were children.
“I’ve never needed anyone the way Grant needs Marcy,” Royce reasoned. It only seemed fair that Grant would have someone like Marcy, if he had to suffer such a terrible loss. Royce lived a charmed life, for the most part and he’d behaved atrociously, so he didn’t really deserve a decent friend.
Royce spent Sunday afternoon being treated to an unexpected delight when he strolled into Hair She Goes and asked Walter Newberry if he had time for a walk-in.
“We both know you don’t want me to touch your hair, you brat. Come along!” Walter ordered as he waved his gold scarf at Royce and waddled in his direction. He was nearly Royce’s height but he was very wide in the middle and propelled himself forward with a rapid, mincing trot. He was wearing dramatic gold eye makeup and his snowy white hair was swept up into an elegant beehive. He resembled a giant tottering bowling pin in his cream and gold jumpsuit, and Royce was immediately enamored with him.
“True,” he said as he offered his arm and Walter hummed in approval as he took it. “Marcy’s told you, I assume,” Royce added quietly as he waited for Walter to flip the sign to Closed then got the door for him.
“Of course she did but I already knew. I refuse to believe it about the Lees but I love this for Grant,” Walter said as he stroked Royce’s arm. “Well! You’re nothing but solid muscle, aren’t you?” He purred as he leaned against him. Walter waved his scarf at the brightly painted confection across the street and Royce felt a flutter of anticipation. “I need something cool to drink, don’t you?” Walter said and Royce bowed his head.
“I am your servant,” he replied and Walter’s head fell back as he cackled.
“If only that were true and I was twenty years younger!” He wiped at his eyes and Royce marveled. Walter’s violet eyes glowed with mischief and intelligence and his aura was commanding and captivating.
“I don’t mind older men and I do appreciate a touch of glamour,” Royce murmured as they strolled up Walter’s driveway then climbed his porch. If Royce wasn’t so set on seducing Grant in earnest, he would have been tempted to see if Walter’s hospitality extended beyond a cold beverage and his intoxicating company.
“You’re trouble, Agent Bradshaw,” Walter scolded but he hung onto Royce’s arm as he flailed at the door. “I never lock it,” he said airily and Royce’s brows pulled together as he opened the door and let Walter pass.
“I wish you would,” he said but Walter shushed him.
“No one would dream of breaking in and I’ve got cameras all over the place. I’m always naked, unless I’ve got company,” he explained as they passed through a miniature wonderland. Royce was spellbound as he slowly turned and took in the sparkling lights and tinkling music. A tiny village filled with beautiful little Victorian houses in ice cream colored pastels spread around them. The house itself felt like the inside of a music box with pink velvet upholstery and curtains and cream-colored marble floors.
“My God, this is fabulous!” Royce whispered as his eyes followed a gold staircase.
“This way! I keep refreshments in the garden,” Walter told Royce as he took his arm and led him down the hall. Royce pushed open the French doors and lost his breath. He was in a lush jungle filled with bright tropical blooms. An ornate iron daybed with a canopy rested on the other side of a koi pond. Walter steered them toward a table bearing trays of tea cakes and finger sandwiches then gestured at the large urn of chilled lemonade.