Danny Taylor knew today was the day. He'd been tracking his box practically hour by hour and the phrase "out for delivery" was by far sweeter than any words he'd ever written himself.
He looked around his living room, satisfied that he'd done the best he could. All the clutter had been cleared away, the boxes from the grocer, the thick paper that the cleaners put around his clothes, the stacks of copy paper near his computer. Three unlit candles in tarnished silver candlesticks sat on his coffee table and a thick black throw was folded neatly over arm of the deep-seated corduroy couch.
As always, the view always gave Danny a sense of comfort and security. He loved his little house in the woods and he hadn't left it for three years.
The package he was expecting contained two dozen copies of "Missing Links", his newly published novel based on a fictional FBI department that focused on finding missing people. It'd taken him most of those three years to write it, although the first six months had been spent recovering from his final stint in rehab. Despite the alcoholism he'd battled for years, he'd managed to save enough from his days as a hard-working New York D.A. to support himself while he wrote, but it hadn't saved him from the case of creeping agoraphobia he'd developed soon after he'd moved in.
But in the age of the Internet, it didn't matter. Everything he needed or wanted could be delivered, including research for his book. That was how he'd met Martin Fitzgerald, and it was Martin who'd made everything possible.
Danny twitched aside the curtains and peered down the driveway that led to the street. The street itself was obscured by trees and there was half an acre of snow-dusted field between his house and main road that led to town, so he wouldn't see the familiar brown delivery truck until it made its turn. He tried not to be nervous but glanced at his watch anyway; it was almost five and already dark. Yet he knew Martin wouldn't fail him, not today of all days.
He'd just finished refolding the blanket when he heard the scrunch of tires on the gravel outside his door. He stole a quick look in the mirror, suddenly dissatisfied with his chocolate brown sweater and black jeans but there was no time to change. He trotted to the door and flung it wide, a huge smile of welcome on his face.
But it wasn't Martin's blue eyes and elusive dimple that greeted him. Instead, there on his porch beside a box that was almost as big as she was, stood a petite African American woman dressed in familiar brown fatigues.
"Uh, hi," Danny said as his heart plummeted.
The woman gave him a noncommittal nod. "Danny Taylor?"
"Yeah."
"Here you go." She held out the electronic form for him to sign and he did with a careless scrawl that reflected his growing disappointment. The woman took back the form and tossed off a "have a nice day" as she turned to head back toward her truck.
Danny stepped onto his porch, stopping well shy of the steps that led to the driveway. "Wait! Wait a minute, okay?"
The woman turned around, a polite smile on her face though she was obviously anxious to get going.
Danny cleared his throat. "Uh, you're not usually on this route. Where's Martin?"
The woman shrugged. "He called in sick."
"Oh, okay. Thanks."
She drove away as Danny wrestled the box into the living room. He knew he should be exultant over his accomplishment but much of his joy had been taken away because Martin wasn't there to share it with him.
It'd been barely than a year since Martin had taken over the UPS route that included Danny's house. With the constant stream of deliveries he'd had to make, the two of them had formed a friendship conducted almost entirely at the threshold of Danny's front door.
They'd learned a lot in those initial and brief conversations. Danny knew that Martin was single and was working for UPS to put himself through night school to finish his MBA. He also had a neurotic ex-wife named Samantha and was a recovering narcotics abuser, a habit he'd picked up after getting shot while being mugged. They'd talked about their respective programs and how Danny attended his via web cam, an idea that had fascinated Martin and had led to the first time he'd entered Danny's house when Danny offered to show him how it worked.
Danny found himself opening up about his agoraphobia, how it had developed during his brother Rafi's trial for drug dealing. It was a situation that had dredged up terrible memories of abuse at the hands of their father. Though Rafi had received the brunt of that abuse, Danny had experienced his share, often hiding in closets to escape his father's drunken wrath. Martin had listened with sympathy but no discernible pity, his only comment that he knew Danny would find help for his phobia when he found a good enough reason to leave home. His easy acceptance of Danny's fear had done a lot toward helping Danny see that being afraid to venture no further than the edge of his lawn wasn't something he wanted for the rest of his life.
As the months passed, Danny found more and more things to order online for delivery, but only from those companies that delivered through UPS. To that end he had almost every infomercial gadget imaginable, most of them still in their boxes in his spare bedroom. He knew he had a crush on Martin and he nurtured it, feeling safe that the affection could never be returned, at least not the way Danny longed for. After all, Martin was straight and Danny most definitely was not.
It was during one of their conversations about the book that Danny's world was turned sideways. By now, Martin knew about all of the characters as well as the plot. It was late summer and Martin, clad in brown shirt and shorts, had asked Danny when the book would be published. Danny had explained that although the book had been finished for months, it took a long time to get through rewrites, editing and legal compliance before publication. One of the things his editor had balked at initially was the storyline of one of the main characters, an FBI agent named Nathan who'd been struggling with his sexuality after finding himself attracted to another agent named Michael. It seemed his editor thought the character was too straight an arrow for such complications and that readers wouldn't buy any sexual confusion on the part of a character in his mid thirties.
Martin had paled, staring at Danny before dropping his gaze to the floor. "Your editor's dead wrong," he'd said. "Age doesn't have anything to do with it."
Danny nodded. "I tried telling Jack that, but he's still not sure."
"Jack?"
"Yeah. My editor. He's a hard-nosed son of a bitch but he knows what he's doing. Most of the time, anyway."
"You tell him—" Martin paused and swallowed. "You tell him you know someone exactly like that."
"I do?" Danny had echoed.
A tiny grin appeared on Martin's mouth and was quickly gone. "Yeah, man, you do. Hey, I gotta run. I'll catch you later."
Danny replayed the conversation over and over until the next delivery. Martin had said exactly what Danny had wanted to hear, but by the time Martin appeared on his door two days later with yet another box, he'd decided he'd pinned too much significance on the brief exchange. Yet Martin's easy smile and obvious reluctance to resume his route made Danny's heart lift with hope. After signing for his package, he'd invited Martin in for a quick cup of coffee.
Martin had accepted.
After that, their conversations had lengthened and deepened, although they never went any longer than fifteen minutes. Martin had tried to arrange his route whenever he could so that Danny's stop was the last of the day; since his schedule demanded that every delivery be accomplished as quickly as possible, he couldn't take too long or people would notice. It was the highlight of the day for both of them and though they hadn't even touched, Danny knew he'd fallen in love and was almost positive that the feeling was mutual.
Danny sat down and stared at the large brown box, his eyes unfocused as he considered his feelings for Martin. It had been gradual, a natural progression of emotion fostered in part by their ability to tease each other. For Danny, he'd found great pleasure in harassing Martin about his eating habits. Martin always seemed to be chewing or drinking as he drove the big van up Danny's drive, once telling Danny in a sheepish confession that it was against company policy but he always seemed to be hungry. Martin in turn showed no mercy in teasing Danny about the brightly colored shirts he liked to wear; of course, that made Danny order more and more outrageous patterns that had the welcome byproduct of being delivered by Martin himself.
But they'd yet to take the step that would separate them from two men connecting strictly for business purposes. It was as though they were afraid that once the enforced time limit set on their meetings was removed, the enchantment of the stolen moments would fade. Now that his book was published, Danny was determined to go after the only thing that would make his life complete. Once the books had been delivered, Danny had planned on offering to cook dinner for Martin after his shift, pinning all his hopes on Martin saying yes.
Not even the thrill of seeing his work in print could soften the despair he felt at Martin's absence. Martin had been drawn to Danny's characters and they'd spent many of their brief but happy minutes together discussing them. Danny knew also that Martin was proud of Danny's achievement; they'd talked about this very significant day for weeks. And Martin, aware that Danny wouldn't leave his house to celebrate, had promised to make sure that the occasion would still be a memorable one.
Danny opened the box and took out the top book, its glossy dust cover cool beneath his stroking fingertips. He hadn't allowed an author's picture to be included on the jacket, but had submitted a brief bio. He skimmed it quickly before opening the book wide and letting the pages flow gently from cover to cover. This was his, all his, and he ached to share it with someone he cared about.
With Martin.
If Martin were truly sick, maybe he would've called. They'd exchanged phone numbers that fall, both of them reassuring the other that it was "just in case", both of them too afraid to define what that meant yet hoping they could find a reason to call. Danny thought about trying to phone Martin on the pretext of finding out if he was feeling better, but dismissed the idea almost immediately, pride and the fear of rejection preventing him from reaching for the cell.
In the meantime, he still had his books. Part of his contract demanded that he autograph a certain number of issues, so with a sigh he grabbed a Sharpie and dragged the box closer to the couch. He'd just uncapped the pen with he heard a sharp knock on the door.
His heart leapt into his throat. He'd been so engrossed in his mix of misery and joy that he hadn't heard the approach of a vehicle on his driveway. No one ever came to his house unless invited; his nearest neighbor was at least five acres away and closest town was several miles to the south. Setting aside the pen, he jumped to his feet and opened the door.
What he saw there stole his breath from his lungs. Martin, dressed in street clothes, was standing on his porch and grinning from ear to ear, both hands clasping handfuls of plastic grocery bag handles.
"Excuse me? Is this the home of New York Times bestselling author Danny Taylor? I have a special delivery here for him."
His tone was flirty and playful and Danny felt every muscle in his body flush with delicious warmth. He decided to play along, propping his left forearm high against the door jamb as he stuck his right hand into his front jeans pocket in a deliberately provocative pose.
"I don't know. Who's asking?"
Martin blinked and glanced downward. "Your biggest fan," Martin said softly, lifting his eyes to Danny's, all trace of silliness gone. They stared at each other until Martin straightened, continuing in a more prosaic tone. "C'mon, man, let me in. This stuff is heavy."
After Martin toed off his running shoes, Danny stepped aside to let him pass, feeling such a strong upsurge of joy that he started to shake. Taking a deep breath, he aimed for an offhand tone.
"What are you doing here? Your replacement told me you were sick."
Martin spoke over his shoulder. "I called in sick so I could come here tonight instead of getting stuck in traffic or sent out on a late delivery route. I waited across the street until I saw Viv's rig coming down the road, then hightailed it to the store. Besides," he added firmly, "I promised I'd be here."
Danny followed Martin into the kitchen and watched as the groceries were unloaded, catching on quickly that Martin was not a chef; all of the items were of the ready to eat, non-cooking variety, including vegetables and potatoes from the deli and a roasted chicken steaming in its plastic container. There was also milk, cheese and eggs, cold cuts, a round of bread and a square of frosted brownies.
"Looks like you're planning on staying awhile," Danny said with carefully concealed satisfaction, looking over the vast quantities of food. He was still afraid to let himself fully believe that Martin was here for no other reason than to be with Danny.
Martin didn't pause as he continued to uncover more food. "Man's gotta eat," he said lightly. "And besides, tonight's a night to celebrate, not wash pots and pans. Now, are you going to tell me where all this goes or do I get to guess?"
"I don't know, that might be fun to watch. The big silver thing with black handles? That's called a refrigerator—" Danny caught the bag of salad greens that Martin threw at him and tossed it right back, laughing at Martin's muttered "smart ass" remark. His laughter faded when Martin opened the refrigerator and paused, giving Danny an uncertain look over his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, I guess I didn't think—you're having company, right?"
"Company?"
"Yeah. You've got a lot of food stocked in already. Looks like I might be interrupting some plans."
"Oh, no," Danny reassured him. "That, uh—that was for us."
"Us?"
Danny shrugged. "I was thinking you'd like to come for dinner some time, maybe tonight, if you didn't have any plans yourself."
To Danny's delight, Martin broke into a huge grin. "You can cook?"
Danny chuckled at Martin's outrageously hopeful tone. "Yeah. My abuela taught me."
Martin frowned. "Okay, just so you know, my Spanish sucks. Abuela?"
"That's Grandmother to you, gringo."
"Ah, okay. You'll have to tell me about her."
Under Danny's direction, Martin found places for the rest of the groceries as Danny hunted up a pan to use for the chicken. He set the oven on low heat, covered the chicken with foil and placed it inside as Martin uncapped a bottle of sparkling water. Danny grabbed a couple of juice glasses and they moved into the living room.
Martin poured out the water and set the bottle aside. He took his glass from Danny and held it up.
"Congratulations, man. This is really amazing."
They touched glasses lightly and took a sip, eyes locked on each other, both of them trying to convey something and not sure how to do it. Danny forced his gaze away first and put his glass down to pick up a copy of the book and hand it to Martin.
"Well, here it is. Take a look."
For Danny, the feelings invoked as he handed the novel to Martin were almost the exact opposite from where they'd been less than thirty minutes earlier. Before, he'd been excited to see the book but that excitement had been diluted with the disappointment of not having Martin beside him. Now he was bouncing on his toes as he watched Martin touch the volume with reverent hands. Like Danny, he ran his fingers over the cover, lightly grazing each word of the title before stroking the embossed letters of Danny's pseudonym, Daniel Alvarez.
"This is so cool," he murmured.
"Yeah," Danny replied, but his eyes were only for the man who was paging slowly through his book. Seeing Martin out of his brown work clothes was an unexpected pleasure, one that was making it hard to remember that he and Martin had never discussed—or even hinted at—sharing a physical relationship. Dressed in faded Levi's and a bright blue tee beneath a green flannel shirt, Martin wasn't exactly a fashion icon, but the casual attire suited him. The fact that the tee shirt was probably a size too small hadn't escape Danny's notice, either. Even beneath the oversized flannel, Danny knew there was no extra padding anywhere on that lean body. The shorts Martin wore nearly year round on the job had left no room for doubt.
Realizing his train of thought was leading him down a dangerous path, he chose to move things along a different—and safer—route.
"C'mon." Danny gestured toward the couch. "Have a seat. I'll start a fire."
Martin eyed the gas fireplace. "You mean you'll flip a switch."
"No, I'll use the remote, but I will be manly and heroic as I do it. Just pretend to be impressed, okay?"
"I can do that."
The evening they spent went far beyond Danny's best expectations. His fear that more time together would cheapen their relationship turned out to be entirely unfounded, as Martin proved to be every bit as funny and sarcastic and blunt as Danny had dreamed. They talked through dinner and dessert and after dinner coffee, the conversation fading only rarely into comfortable silences. But as the night wore on, he could see that Martin was growing nervous.
It was almost midnight when Martin set aside his coffee cup and rose to his feet, saying it was time he left for home. Danny knew he didn't want Martin to leave, but was unsure of how to cross that final line. Visions of Martin showing up at his door with a package, the two of them trying to pretend that they'd never shared this night, gave Danny the courage to step into Martin's space and touch him lightly on the arm.
"Don't go." He dropped his hand and waited, heart in his throat as he prepared himself for a polite refusal. "Stay. Sleep on the couch, but don't go, okay?"
Martin chewed his lower lip. "I don't want to leave, but I—hell, Danny, I've never done this before."
"I know," Danny made no attempt to deny he knew what they were talking about. He held out his hands, palms up. "Give me your hands."
Martin placed his hands in Danny's, standing completely still as Danny lightly rubbed his thumbs across his knuckles.
"Okay?" Danny asked. Martin nodded and Danny moved closer, their entwined hands hanging loosely at their sides. Danny ducked his head and caught Martin's gaze, searching and finding shy acceptance of whatever Danny had planned. They were close enough for Danny to feel the in and out of Martin's quick breaths, a condition that could be desire—or fear.
"Martin, you let me know if you want to stop, all right?"
Martin nodded again and Danny inclined his head, pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of Martin's mouth. His let the touch linger, chancing the tiniest press of his tongue against Martin's lower lip, before pulling back just far enough to inhale the clean smell of Martin's skin.
"Still okay?"
The hands in his grasp tightened. "Jesus, will you stop asking me that and kiss me already?"
The ragged voice solidified the ground beneath Danny's feet. There was a fierce, uncertain arousal rising in Martin that Danny ached to touch, and any lingering doubts that Martin was only experimenting with his desires was eliminated when Danny aligned their bodies together. He allowed himself a moment to savor the closeness, balancing himself on a precipice like a man about to achieve his heart's desire yet still not believing in the miracle now wrapping him up in demanding arms.
Gentle exploration was abandoned as their first kiss quickly turned shatteringly passionate, nothing like the course of tender seduction that Danny had thought would be needed. Martin participated eagerly, surrendering his mouth as Danny let slip the hold he'd had on his own desire as they traded open mouthed caresses, hands searching for vulnerable flesh beneath layers of clothing. Rocking into each other, they unconsciously set an erotic rhythm that coaxed a moan from them both as the kiss subsided into an embrace filled with shaky, breathless laughter.
"Guess I know what I'm doing after all," Martin muttered, rough and soft and unguarded, his eyes tightly closed. "Damn."
"Damn is right," Danny said around a hoarse chuckle. He leaned his forehead against Martin's and moistened his lips. "Either that or you're a quick study."
"Top of my class." Martin drew a deep breath and leaned away, keeping his arms around Danny's waist. "But listen to me for a second. I'd like this to be a—an entire education, you know?" His mouth twitched into a brief smile. "Not just a cram course."
Danny groaned obligingly, though he felt like laughing out loud as he realized that being turned down for sex had never sounded so wonderful. He nodded his head toward the couch. "That doesn't make into a bed but it's so comfortable you won't notice, I promise."
Martin brushed the back of his fingers along Danny's cheek. "Then you don't mind?"
"Do I mind not making love to you tonight?" He shrugged. "Five minutes ago you weren't sure you could even kiss a man, let alone have sex with one. If taking it slow is what you want, I'll go as slow as you need." He pinned Martin with a frown of mock severity. "But you let me know when you want to change speeds, okay?"
Martin laughed and drew Danny close enough to plant a smacking kiss on his mouth. "Enough with the dumb analogies already. Go find me a pillow."
Danny awoke before the sun was up and pulled on a set of sweat clothes before slipping silently into the living room. Martin was asleep on his side, his tousled head buried in the thick pillows Danny had provided. In deference to the cool room, Martin had the pulled the blanket up to his neck, exposing feet clad in thick, white socks. Danny went back and grabbed the extra blanket from the foot of his own bed and laid it gently across Martin's legs before moving into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
Despite not having had Martin in his bed, Danny felt deeply content. He knew Martin had the day off and they'd already decided to spend it together, Martin joking that Danny had enough food to sustain them through a blizzard. It was that thought, not the absence of Martin beside him, that had kept Danny awake far into the night. Alone, he'd been happy to create a world around him that he could control and mold to fit his needs, but now that Martin was in his life, Danny knew that he'd need to offer more than a warm home and good cooking. As Martin slept on, Danny logged on to his computer and made a few inquiries. By the time Martin stirred an hour later, Danny had a list of several counselors and had sent inquiring emails to all of them.
He'd just come back from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee when Martin yawned and sat up, rubbing his hands over his head as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He took the proffered mug with an appreciative grunt and inhaled the fragrant steam as Danny took a seat beside him on the couch.
"Sleep well?"
Martin cradled his hands around the warm ceramic. "Yeah, pretty good, once certain portions of my anatomy stopped telling me what an idiot I was for actually choosing to sleep on the couch."
Danny grinned into his own mug as he shifted around until his knee brushed against Martin's blanket-covered leg. "Sorry about that."
"No, you're not," Martin growled back, the crease in his cheek belying his annoyed attitude.
"Let me make it up to you." Danny tucked his free hand around Martin's arm and gently tipped him sideways. Though they'd spent the night in separate rooms, Danny longed to know what a sleepy-warm Martin tasted like. He made his intention clear by focusing on the mobile curves of Martin's mouth, watching them turn upward in a welcoming smile before their lips brushed softly together. The kiss deepened briefly, Danny thrilling to the touch of Martin's coffee-heated thumb stroking the tender skin behind his ear.
"This really isn't helping," Martin whispered against Danny's mouth.
Danny laughed silently, stealing another kiss before backing away, making sure Martin noticed that his expression was entirely unrepentant. They grinned at each other and then simultaneously turned their attention back to their respective mugs, both keenly aware of the fine, sweet threads of anticipation being woven between them. They sat beside each other for a while, drinking quietly and watching the rising sun through the living room window, filling the room with cold winter light that made no dent in the growing chill.
"Guess it's time to add some wood to the fire." Danny started to rise but stopped when Martin restrained him with a hand on his thigh.
"No, let me flip the switch. I need the exercise. Where's the remote?"
"Next to the TV."
"Right where a manly man would put it. I'll grab the coffee while I'm up."
The fire was turned on and Danny allowed himself a brief, wistful and slightly lusty sigh as he took in Martin's rumpled tee shirt and a pair navy boxers that revealed long, strongly muscled legs. Martin went to get the coffee pot from kitchen and when he returned, Danny had appropriated one of the blankets and had curled up in a corner of the couch, one of his books open in his hands.
"Is it everything you dreamed it'd be?" Martin poured coffee and set the pot on a coaster before returning to his own spot opposite Danny.
Danny kept his gaze on the book. "Yeah, I guess so."
"You guess?"
"Yes, I mean, of course it is." He raised his head to look into Martin's eyes. "It's just that I've gotten attached to these characters and seeing them all in print now just seems so—final, somehow. Like they're not mine anymore." He lifted one shoulder in quick shrug. "Sounds stupid, I know."
"No, it doesn't, not at all. I've read books where I've become totally involved with the people and the story lines, so much so that I kind of hate for the story to end. Must be twice as hard when it's your own characters. But you're writing a sequel, right?"
"Sure, but if this doesn't sell—"
"It will."
"But if it doesn't, and if I want to make a living as a writer, then I'll have to move on to something else."
"Do you have other ideas?"
"Sure, but—"
"Then stop worrying it to death, you dope. Enjoy this moment for what it is."
"I am," Danny said quietly. "You have no idea how much I'm enjoying this moment but you gotta know—the book is only a very small part of that."
Ruddy color stained Martin's cheeks. "Me, too," he murmured before clearing his throat. "So tell me, have you decided what you're going to call it? The sequel?"
"What do you think about Without A Trace?"
Martin shrugs. "Works for me. What about Nathan and Michael? You left them in a pretty tough place at the end there. It looked like it could go either way for them."
Danny shook his head. "Oh, no, that would be cheating. You'll have to buy the next book just like everyone else to find out."
"Aw, man, that's cold. Wait, let me guess. Nathan realizes he isn't gay after all and ends up falling for what's her name, the blonde agent who keeps shooting people. That'd sell more books, right? The whole romance angle?"
"Maybe. Here, move over." Danny scooted until his back rested against the arm of the couch and then hauled Martin into his arms, settling them back to chest as Martin tucked the edges of the blanket around their legs. They wriggled around until twin sighs announced their mutual comfort, then Danny found Martin's hand and entwined their fingers.
"All right, because you asked so nicely, I'm going to tell you what happens to Nathan and Michael."
"You will?"
"Yeah, sure." Danny pressed a kiss to the side of Martin's head. "I will because I want you to be the first person to know what happens when Without A Trace comes to an end."
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