Out of the frying pan, Rowan thought. “Hello,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any pineapple upside-down cupcakes left tonight?”
They did.
A few minutes later they were settled at a table with two cupcakes, a coffee for Jordy, and a tea for Rowan. Rowan had opted for decaf—he didn’t need to vibrate out of his chair while doing his best to woo the most beautiful man to ever agree to cupcakes with him.
Despite Rowan’s needling, Jordy refused the pineapple cupcake and opted for lemon poppyseed. Rowan wanted to be horrified, but it was hard to stay mad at a guy who looked that blissed out sipping a cup of plain coffee with a dash of milk. He hadn’t even tried the cake yet.
“I probably should have guessed you were a tea drinker,” Jordy said.
Rowan smiled and leaned forward. “Don’t tell anyone or they’ll revoke my citizenship, but I prefer coffee in the mornings. But tea is preferable at night.”
Jordy inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Something I’ve been wondering about. You know why I moved to Canada. What brought you here?”
Rowan sipped his tea and wondered how to answer. Did he want to give the pat answer or the honest one? “Well, to start with, I’m actually a citizen here too.”
Jordy tilted his head. “International man of mystery?” he teased.
Flirt, Rowan thought. “I grew up in England, but Nan was Canadian and Mum was born here. At eighteen I filled out the paperwork and got my dual citizenship. It comes in handy.”
“Yeah,” Jordy agreed. “But why move here?”
“Honestly?” He pushed some crumbs around on his plate. “Because I knew my parents never would.”
Jordy hummed softly but said nothing, clearly waiting for Rowan to continue.
Rowan couldn’t believe he was telling Jordy this. The man was a virtual stranger. Rowan had barely told Taylor anything about his family.
“My parents—when I was growing up I would’ve said they had a pretty good marriage. They rarely fought, though that could be because they were too busy working to have time for it. But one of the many things they had in common was ageneral disinterest in children.” Not typical for immigrants from Pakistan, though they were so determined in their climb up the social ladder that no one outside their families shamed them for it. If either of them had been religious, they might have put in an effort for appearances’ sake, but no—the closest they got was capitalism.
Jordy winced. “Bad parents.”
Rowan shrugged. “Not really? I mean, they weren’t exactlygoodparents, but I was provided for and well looked after. They made sure there was always someone around to have me fed and watered and tucked into bed. They were just sort of… not there all that much.”
“I’m sorry. That sounds lonely.”
It was. It was also one hell of a depressing conversation for a potential first date.
“Anyway,” Rowan continued in a more upbeat tone, trying to shift the mood, “the cracks started showing when I went to uni and didn’t want to study medicineorlaw. And then Mum took a case against a plastic surgeon Dad worked with, and Dad thought she shouldn’t, and I wouldn’t take sides.”And now neither of them talks to me or each other.But no, that was too far. Rowan couldn’t say that.“Nan took me to Toronto a few times as a kid, so after I finished my bachelor’s, I hopped on a plane and headed west to do my MLS.” He smiled and sipped his tea.
“Sounds like you’re happy to be living here.”
“Yes.” Rowan thought about the home he was building here. He’d managed to make ends meet working odd jobs and using the money left to him by those same grandparents. He had never asked his parents for money, and he hoped he never would. “My parents sent me to boarding schools, mostly, so I never had that sense of belonging somewhere. I’ve been here for just over threeyears, and I want to stay here, build a home, put down roots, have some sort of permanence, you know?”
Jordy nodded, his expression thoughtful.
And Rowan was suddenly very aware of how much he’d been doing all the talking. And it was a kind of depressing topic. “I can stop rambling about my poor-little-rich-boy childhood,” he said with a self-deprecating smile.
“Everyone has their own story.” He nudged his plate, avoiding Rowan’s eyes. “I got married before I could drink—in the US. We were twenty, together since forever. Childhood sweethearts, first love. Classic Americana, you know?” He looked up again and gave Rowan his own self-deprecating smile.
“I’m guessing this doesn’t have a happily ever after ending,” Rowan said gently.
Jordy shook his head and cleared his throat. “Things… fizzled out. Five years later and Sanna and I are just good friends, trying to figure out who we even are as people. She’s, uh, she’s a model. Sanna Miller?”
Rowan blinked. He might not know much about fashion or modeling, but even he’d heard of Sanna Miller. The harpy’s earlier comment clicked. “Wow.”
Jordy snorted. “That’s what most men say.” His tone implied he was surprised byRowanfollowing the trend.
“Look, just because I’m historically gay doesn’t mean that I don’t have eyes.”
