“You have chickens? So we’re eating egg salad from your own eggs?”
Mac finally looked up and nodded.
Quentin took a bite from his sandwich, moaning when the combination of the crispy bacon and the rich egg salad hit his mouth. “Damn, this is good. How did you get that egg salad so creamy? And holy fuck, what bread is this? That’s the best I ever tasted.”
“I m-m-make my own m-mayonnaise. That’s in the egg s-s-salad. And I b-b-bake my own b-bread.”
Quentin hummed in pleasure with his mouth full of perfect sandwich. Mac baked his own bread? What kind of wonder guy was he? He résuméd chewing to quickly empty his mouth. “If you keep feeding me delicious shit like this, I may never leave.”
Mac’s face broke open in a smile, and Quentin’s belly did a little flip. The guy was intimidating with his piercings and dark look, but all that disappeared when he smiled. When he did that, he was beautiful. Stunning.
To distract himself, Quentin took a careful sip of the soup, then moaned all over again as the rich, full tomato flavor invaded his mouth. “Fuck, this is so good! Where did you learn to cook like this?”
Mac’s smile disappeared, and his face tightened. “I’m n-n-n-not s-s-s-stupid.”
Wow, he’d hit a nerve there. Quentin put his spoon down. “I never said you were.” The pain in Mac’s eyes was heartbreaking. “You heard what that lady behind the reception said about you,” Quentin said.
God, Mac’s face was so full of hurt. It was hard to witness. “She’s n-n-not the f-f-first to say that. They all th-think it.”
“You were born and raised here, in this town, right?” Quentin asked.
Mac nodded.
“So why do they think you’re slow? Because of your stutter?”
Another nod.
“Well, I’d say that makes them stupid, not you. Having a speech impediment has nothing to do with intelligence. I wasn’t asking where you learned to cook because I was surprised you were good at it or because I thought you were stupid. I know you’re smart. I was asking because I was genuinely curious if someone taught you or if you taught yourself.”
“You think I’m s-s-s-smart?”
Disbelief was dripping from Mac’s voice, and it caused another crack in Quentin’s heart. “Mac, you run a successful business, from what I hear you can fix anything, your house looks like a dream, you can cook like it’s nobody’s business…and I saw your books. They’re not here for decoration as most of them look well read.”
Mac stared at him, and Quentin let him because it was obvious the man had a lot to process. He finished his sandwich, then dug back into his soup. All that time, Mac was staring, but it didn’t bother Quentin. He’d lost most of the tension in his face, though a small frown on his forehead remained.
“I t-t-taught myself,” Mac finally said. “F-f-from cookbooks and YouT-t-tube.”
“That’s amazing. Can I have some more soup, please?”
“You really eat a l-lot,” Mac said with wonder in his voice. “How c-come?”
Quentin chuckled. He loved that Mac was starting to feel comfortable enough with him to ask questions back. “I grew up poor. My dad wasn’t part of my life, so it was just my mom and me, and we lived in a trailer park. We never had enough to eat, and I basically grew up always hungry. Now I can afford food, but that hunger is still there. Plus, your sandwiches and soup are the best I’ve ever tasted.”
Mac’s smile was careful. “I c-c-can teach you.”
“To cook?” How sweet that he offered…and that he counted on Quentin being there long enough to learn. “I have two left hands. Honestly, I can’t even boil an egg.”
Mac’s face displayed pure horror. “What d-do you eat?”
“Microwave dinners. Ready-to-eat shit from the freezer. Lots of bread and pasta. I make a mean peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
“That’s n-n-not food, only empty c-calories.”
“I know, but I can’t cook, and there’s no one else to cook for me.”
Mac’s expression sobered. “N-n-no family?”
“My mom is still in California, in the same park I grew up in. That’s it, no other family.”
“Why are you h-h-here?”
“In the area, you mean? I was on my way to Northern Lake to do research on small-town dynamics. I have a master’s degree in sociology, and I’m hoping to get accepted into a PhD position at the university after I finish this project.”
Something flashed in Mac’s eyes that looked a lot like longing. “You’re r-r-really s-smart, then,” he said.
“Yeah. That, and I worked my ass off to get scholarships so I could afford college.”
Quentin had never understood why people felt the need to downplay their own intelligence or accomplishments. He was smart, and why should he hide that? He never failed to stress he’d worked incredibly hard to get where he was, so it wasn’t like he was bragging. He’d be paying off student loans till he was forty, but at least he’d kept his debt reasonable, considering his earning potential. It still made him sick, knowing how much he owed, but there had been no other way.
“Why N-n-northern Lake?” Mac asked.
Quentin slowly put down his spoon and let out a deep sigh. He hadn’t told anyone, not his friends, his professor, or even his mom. Sitting here in this homey kitchen with this fascinating guy across from him, Quentin felt compelled to share, however. “It’s where my dad was from.”
4
Quentin’s answer felt loaded to Mac, as if he was saying a hell of a lot more than just a simple statement about his father. It had to be because he’d said his dad hadn’t been in his life, so why would he be interested in finding him?
Just when he wanted to ask something, Lucy started barking, and Mac went on full alert. He got up from the table, pulling his gun from his waistband, where it had been hidden from Quentin.
The kid’s eyes went big, and he shoved his chair back with force. “What the fuck? Put the fucking gun down.”
Someone knocked at the front door, audible between Lucy’s barking. Mac snapped his fingers at Lucy to quiet down, and she obeyed instantly. “S-s-sorry,” Mac said to Quentin. “D-d-didn’t mean to s-s-scare you. S-s-stay here.”
He checked through the safety glass who it was. Lewis Paige. Mac sighed. He opened the door with his left hand, keeping the gun out of sight in his right. He didn’t even bother greeting the other man, a balding, fiftysomething guy whose hard life showed in every line on his tired face.
“How m-m-much?”
“Five hundred.”
Mac nodded. That, he could spare right now. “Wait,” he told Lewis. He closed the door again. Fuck, he was so tired of this, so tired of them all. Most of all, he was tired of carrying the burden of his name.
He rolled his shoulders as he walked over to the small vault in his bedroom and opened it to get Lewis’s money out. Two more years, and he was done, forever. Two more years and he’d be free.
Freedom had never beckoned more as it did now, after meeting Quentin. Fuck, what Mac wouldn’t give for a chance at getting to know him better, at building a friendship…and so much more. Right now, he had nothing to give but captivity, but in two years, he’d finally be a free man. Free to leave, free to live, and dammit, free to love.