She’d said it first. She wasreallymissing him, then. “Love you too. I’ll be back soon.” Tristan hung up the phone and set it aside, then flopped back on the other side of the bed. His hand moved gently to Henry’s thigh, all of its own accord. He didn’t creep closer or pull back. He just rested there and let the moment exist.
“So... I heard something about flagellation?” Henry rolled over and looked Tristan in the eye. “I mean, I would have thought this was a little early in the relationship for bringing out the whips and flogs, but I guess I’m game for it if you are.”
Tristan chuckled and shifted closer, wrapped his arms around Henry and relished the firm muscles and the heat and the weight of him there in that bed that had seemed so perfectly, wonderfully devoid of people when he first showed up at the hotel.
Tristan knew, in the logical parts of his mind, that this was the time to have all these hard conversations with Henry. They were probably comfortable enough to handle any extra stress those would present.
But Tristan shied away from that cold spot in his thoughts. He wasn’t ready. So he slid his hand up underneath Henry’s shirt and rested it against Henry’s abdomen. It was easier, better to skirt wide of the actual issue. Every word sat heavy on his tongue. Too heavy for liftoff.
“Thank you for staying.”
“Of course. Thanks for letting me.” Henry sighed, his stomach moving up and down with his breath. “I’m glad you’re starting to relax. I like it better that way.”
That niggled at the back of Tristan’s mind, joining all the other niggles. It was better forHenrywhen Tristan relaxed.
But Tristan wasn’t ready to let conflict into the space. So he swallowed back his frustrations, leaned in, and kissed Henry on the nape of the neck, then lay back down, sliding closer, letting the comfort wrap him tighter and try to choke out the rest of his concerns. But one still slipped out, loosed from captivity. Maybe to make room for his own thoughts. Maybe because only so much stress could live in one human body. “I just... need this money so much.”
Henry moved closer. “Really?”
Tristan shrugged, not able to make eye contact against that question. It was a safer release valve to open than the one to do with their own relationship, but that didn’t make it easy to talk about, to fess up to. Instead, he focused on the corded muscles in Henry’s neck. “I’ve got Lucia living with me, and she doesn’t work. I don’t know how long she’s going to stay at my place. Maybe she’ll need a divorce lawyer. She might need therapy to help her deal with all this.” His stomach clenched as he tried to ignore the sums swimming through his gray matter. “And finding that extra money is my responsibility. Robert never let her get a job, so it’s going to take a while before she can get employed, and I’m not going to push her. But at the same time, my credit cards are a mess, and I need all this money from somewhere. It’s life, you know?” Finally, he gazed up into the chocolate depths of Henry’s eyes, and he both hated and adored the concern blossoming in that gaze. “Pastry bitch doesn’t pay that well. TV baking competition star does.”
Henry nodded and visibly tried to erase his frown. It was a good gesture, but he still had that slight anxiousness in the tone of his muscles, the set of his jaw. But he lay down and slipped his arm underneath Tristan’s shoulders, and he placed a gentle kiss on Tristan’s cheek.
And they lay there together, neither of them acknowledging what had been said. Tristan continued to pretend that he was okay and everything was okay and he wasn’t feeling a little unseen and unheard by Henry.
Pretending was nice. But exhausting.
The first day of practice for the next shooting flowed past Henry with no obstruction, no catch. More than any of the cooking in the previous weeks, whipping out turnovers and cinnamon rolls and pain au chocolat felt like his everyday life with some extra strangers tossed into the mix. These were tried-and-true recipes, the kind he could bust through without even trying. Hell, if he was back home in the shop, he probably wouldn’t have measured.Guess that’s the other difference here. In my kitchen, a batch of puff pastry only has time and resources on the line. Not a quarter-million dollars. Also I don’t make my own puff when I can help it, and nobody notices the difference.
They finished up the first practice day, and he and Tristan left the studio separately, didn’t even ride together, at Tristan’s behest. Henry thought it looked a hell of a lot more suspicious for them to be changing things around all of a sudden, but he wasn’t going to push it. Tristan was the one with the major nerves.
Henry took the elevator of the Hotel Majestic up. Tristan’s door stood open the tiniest crack, and he let himself in. Here, Tristan was utterly different. He’d already lain belly down on the bed, pants tossed off so he was in his boxers, shirt riding up to show off his tramp stamp and the barest corrugation of his spine. No tensions touched his shoulders, no nervous twitches or twiddles. In here, Tristan truly relaxed.And I’m the only one who gets to see it.
Henry couldn’t resist. When he stepped in, he slapped Tristan right on the ass, then slid his hand up. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” Tristan rolled over onto his side and set down his phone. “You know, you spank a little hard.”
Henry coiled back. “Shit. I didn’t mean to trigger anything. I didn’t even think.”
“Hey, hey. I’m fine.” Tristan sat up and grabbed Henry around the shoulders, his touch firm. “This isn’t about my past. I’m just making a normal complaint. I have to sit on a big hard stool when I’m on set, so I need to preserve my poor tender ass.”
Henry nodded, taking a moment to collect himself. He didn’t want to push the wrong buttons. Tristan had seemed off ever since Finn saw them kissing, and Henry was maybe a little on edge himself, ever since Bertha had gotten kicked off. He wanted to play it safe.
That was why he had decided not to bring anything up. He was going to hold to normalcy. Or what passed for normalcy while they were here. So he took a calming breath, then leaned against Tristan’s bare shoulder. “So, did you try my turnovers?”
“The fig? Yeah.” Tristan took off his glasses, polishing them on the bedsheet. “I love figs.”
“Cool. Can you tell me what’s wrong with them?”
Tristan slipped his glasses back on. “Is that going to be too much?”
“We’ve conferred on flavors before. I helped you with your pretzels. I helped Katherine with her focaccia.” Henry wanted to get off the subject, steer into light territory. “I throw myself at the mercy of your baking prowess, oh mighty one.”
Slowly, a grin split Tristan’s face. “Since you’re prostrating yourself before me, your icing was too sweet. Try using grapefruit instead of orange. The bitterness will help balance everything out.”
Grapefruit. It was a solid pull. “I guess I owe you if I win.”
“Nope. Don’t joke about that.” Tristan sighed. “As far as the judges and everyone else is concerned, that was your own idea.”
