Page 16 of Dreams and Reptiles

I looked toward Francis’s place and took a deep breath. I hadn’t even had time to shower, and I was a dirty, sweaty mess. This was not how I wanted to see him again, but he’d cooked for me. I had enough gas in my tank to thank him for the food and carry on a conversation. Hopefully he’d be up for making plans, preferably when I was clean and a bit more rested.

I took off around the side of the tortoise yard and caught sight of Francis making his way across the field between our houses. I wondered if he had a riding mower or if he was going to hire a service. Someone had been mowing about once every couple of months before Francis bought the place, but it tended to grow tall pretty fast.

“Hey there,” he said. He held a bowl in one hand and two covered containers in the other. He stepped over the broken piece of fence and handed me the two containers stacked on top of each other. “I thought if you liked it, you could have some for tomorrow. I love to cook. It’s kind of in my DNA. Grandparents owned a restaurant, my aunt and mom grew up working there, and I spent a lot of time there as a kid. It’s a stress reliever and a self-care thing and—okay! I’m chatty tonight. This is happening.”

His nervous laughter made me smile so wide. I was already into his saucy side. He seemed so cool and confident, the way he’d taken me on at the Pride festival, that I hadn’t anticipated he’d have a nervous side. It made him even more attractive, and God help me, I hung on his every word.

“Thanks for this,” I said, holding up the containers. “We skipped lunch today.”

“Oh, here.” He pulled out a fork from his pocket and smiled at me. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted company. Totally fine if you just need to crash. We can always…”

I took the fork from his outstretched hand, making sure to brush fingers. I was a romantic kinda guy. I’d studied the moves in all the rom-coms and read the books. I loved to add in all those romance-novel gestures. My wife had loved it. It was probably what kept her around even when my absence drove her crazy. The men and women I’d dated after we got divorced enjoyed it, but I grew cautious about sharing that side of me. Too many people loved the attention but weren’t willing to give me grace when I needed it.

Would Francis?

The fact that he’d cooked for me gave me hope.

I set one of the containers on the fence post and opened the other, taking care not to drop the fork into the high grass.

“You love to cook. I love to eat. This is a positive portent for us, I think.” I tried not to shovel in the food like the starving man that I was. Thankfully it was dark, but I didn’t hold back my moan.

“I didn’t know if you liked⁠—”

“I like. I very much like.” I ate another couple of bites as he watched, and then he picked up his own fork. We ate in the quiet of the night, smiling at each other over the broken fence. When I thought maybe I could string semi-intelligent words together, I set down the container for a second. “I was going to talk to you about the fence. There are some local crews that do fences and are reasonable. I’d do it myself, but it might take me a while.”

“Oh, no, you have more important things to do. Like, you know, saving people, undoubtedly looking hot while you do it, and let’s not forget wrangling your… collection.” He lifted his eyebrows and bit down on his lower lip.

Saucy? Sincere? Sexy as hell.

“Well, being hot is part of the job. We’re required to be handsome. Takes people’s minds off being scared or in pain. Dopamine hit.”

“And he knows it,” he said, gesturing to an invisible audience. “All right. As for the fence, I’m happy to pay for it⁠—”

“That’s not necessary,” I said, my back straightening. I still hadn’t quite gotten over the shock of finding out he was loaded. I didn’t know exactly how wealthy he was, but I suppose I was a bit of a reverse snob in that sense. I’d met a lot of entitled guys over the years, and I couldn’t take it if Francis was one of those. “We can split it. I was going to ask you what kind of fence you’re thinking. I’d suggest something sturdy, but not too high that it blocks your view.”

I gave him a saucy grin of my own. Hey, he was the one who’d mentioned watching me from his balcony. I wasn’t above giving him a show.

“Definitely not.” He let his eyes drift up and down my very dirty and sweaty self, and he laughed. “I was actually thinking of doing some landscaping down at this edge of the property, maybe building a gazebo with benches or something. It’s a great spot for stargazing. I might need a walkway, too, if I’m going to be making regular fence-line deliveries.”

My skin broke out in goose bumps, and places warmed up.

“We could do a combo stone and iron, or wood and iron, or a four-foot-tall wood reinforced at the bottom with concrete. The iron might be pricey.”

“Those all sound cool. But Kendall, what do you want?”

Such a loaded question for more reasons than one. I was surprised and pleased that he’d been so open to collaborating. I’d been a little excited about the idea of doing something that would add a little bit of art to both of our properties, but I kinda just stared at him.

“Did I say⁠—”

“What would you think about decorative metal panels and iron? I’ve got a buddy—his name’s Kimo. He does metalwork, and I bet he would love working on something like this.”

Francis's smile lit up his whole face. “That sounds amazing! Does he have an Insta?” He sat his bowl on a fence post, pulled a stick of lip balm out of his pocket, and applied some as he gazed at me with enthusiastic curiosity.

I had to pause to determine what he was asking. Like an old guy. Shay would have called me “Boomer” and rolled her eyes. I frequently had to remind her that hell, no, I was GenX and proud of it. I thought Francis was a bit older than Shay’s twenty-five, but would my age—passing through middle age, on my way to senior discounts—be a drag for him?

“Oh, uh, Instagram. Let me see.” I set down my containers of food and pulled out my phone, opening the app. “I think it’s something like Metalhead Metalworks. Kimo and I fought fires together in Florida. His metalwork was so in demand, though, that he left the department to do his art full-time. He’s been super busy. Travels all over to design gates, sculptures, and railings for people. Ah, here he is.”

Francis took my phone from me and stepped closer. He leaned his hip into the broken fence, and his shoulder brushed against my chest as he held the phone so we could both look at the screen. He smelled like he’d been cooking, but beneath that was something so sweet that it made my mouth water, even more than his cooking had. Like a dessert. Like the iced lemon loaf at Starbucks.