Steve chuckled, the sound resonating where their chests touched. “When you put it that way.”
“Besides, we did just have our first kiss. Hate to rush into anything.”
Steve laughed again, this time intentionally muffling it in Drew’s shirt. Drew felt light, suffused with warmth. “I’m not sure we can be accused of that. It’s been how many weeks since we met?”
“True, but only two since our first date.” Drew still couldn’t believe it. It felt like so much longer.
“Hmm.” They drowsed together for a few minutes, but when Drew started to nod off, Steve tapped his chest. “Come on, it’s been a long day. I’ll set you up in a guest room.”
Chapter Fourteen
STEVEwoke early, with the sun streaming in his bedroom window. Rita rolled over on the sun-warmed sheets next to him and warbled sleepily.
He grinned at the morning and rolled out of bed with a spring in his step… and then he looked at Rita and the bed, which had a higher incidence of dog hair than he was comfortable showing off.
“All right, get up,” he admonished, shooing Rita off the covers. “I guess I’m doing laundry.”
The house was otherwise quiet, and the door to the guest bedroom was still closed, so Steve put the laundry in and started the coffee. Rita meandered over to her bowl for a drink, then sat patiently at his feet for pets while the coffee brewed. He rubbed the soft fur behind her ears, staring out the kitchen window at the thrushes flitting in and out of the hedge.
“I don’t know,” he murmured as Rita leaned into his legs. “History repeats itself, right?” His parents smiled at him from an old photograph tucked into the window frame. Steve should find the negative, get his mom a copy that wasn’t faded with age and years of sunshine. “The question is, which history?”
Rita licked his fingers.
By the time the coffee finished brewing, Steve heard signs of life from the guest bedroom: footsteps, the zip of a suitcase, running water. A few minutes later Drew emerged wearing terrible basketball shorts and a T-shirt that had been stretched into shapelessness.
“Good morning.”
Drew grunted something that could have been a response and rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand.
The coffee maker beeped cheerfully, and Drew turned pleading brown eyes on Steve. The skin around his mouth was still a little red. Steve should probably shave, or Chantelle would have his head on a plate.
“Here.” He took a mug from the cupboard, filled it, added an ice cube from the dispenser in the refrigerator door, and passed it over. Drew took his coffee black, and he looked like he wanted to drown himself in the stuff; Steve wasn’t going to be responsible for burns.
Drew wrapped both hands around the cup, staring into the depths like it held the secrets of the universe. Steve fixed his own cup, doctored with a generous splash of milk and a hint of sugar, and gestured toward the table. Drew sat heavily while Steve took Rita outside.
When he came back in, Rita having found a suitable patch of grass, Drew had finished the mug and regained the ability to form words. “I forgot you’re a morning person.”
Steve shrugged, sitting down across from him so their feet could touch under the table. “Sort of. I turned thirty and stopped being able to sleep past seven. Figured I might as well embrace it and get things done.”
“Aging has never sounded so terrible.”
Steve snorted. “Wait ’til you have your first after-thirty hangover.” These days he could barely have two drinks without suffering. “I’m going to take Rita for a run. Do you want to come?”
Drew exhaled a long breath. “I probably should. Think I can keep up?”
“Well, you’re a little short”—Drew squawked—“but I’ll go easy on you. Soon it’ll be too hot for Rita to go very fast anyway.”
“I didn’t exactly bring my evading-the-paparazzi disguise. Aren’t we going to get mobbed?”
That could be a problem in Beverly Hills. Fortunately it was a problem Steve had some level of experience with. “We’re not exactly going down to Sunset Boulevard. But I have an idea.” A little searching rewarded him with a pair of Ray-Bans and a ball cap.
Drew took the hat, his expression dubious. “Toronto Maple Leafs?”
“It was a souvenir,” Steve said defensively. “So. Are you coming?”
In the end he had to find a suitable pair of running shoes too—one of his mother’s boyfriends must have left a pair in the right size. Steve filled a couple of water bottles, and they set off.
It was shaping up to be another scorching day, but the trees lining the sidewalks on Coldwater Canyon Drive provided some shade. Drew kept pace well enough as long as Steve didn’t push himself to his limits, and Rita seemed content to run between them, nudging Steve’s hand every so often for treats.
