Good Bones (21 page)

He waited a few more minutes for everyone to get a good look at the elevation. Then he clicked through a few more exterior drawings, pointing out the rooftop garden with steel walls, the concrete courtyard with the mature fir trees in the middle, the dog run that he’d designed to look like a sort of minimally walled barn, with a green metal roof and a floor of gravel and grass.

“Now let’s see the interior,” he said. “We have four bedrooms, but these walls can be rolled back to open up the spaces so you can have two or three bigger rooms instead. Same goes with this wall between the kitchen and family room, only it folds instead of rolls. Open it up if you want a big space. Shut it if you don’t want guests to see that the kitchen’s a mess. The door’s made of reclaimed barn wood and stainless steel.”

There were many other features to point out: the atrium, the stone fireplaces with recycled glass-tiled mantels, the radiant heating system, the laundry room with terra cotta floor and wire shelving, the closet where a tree trunk—branches and all—was used as a sort of clothes hanger, the bathrooms with cast iron tubs and concrete countertops. Finally, he pulled up the final page, which contained charts of estimated heating and utility costs. “We’re going to use a lot of recycled materials, and the whole thing’s going to be extremely energy efficient.”

There was a long silence. He couldn’t tell if his audience was stunned, overwhelmed, or appalled. That was, until Pomegranate suddenly leapt from her chair and ran around the table to throw her arms around him. She barely cleared five feet, which meant she hardly even needed to bend over, and she probably weighed about 90 pounds, but her hug was very strong. She smelled of mint and apples. “It’s the most amazing house I’ve ever seen!” she exclaimed loudly in his ear. “Better than I dreamed of.”

She peeled herself away so that Dylan could glance across the table. Cassidy was beaming, Stender looked like a proud parent, and Matty was just staring at him with wide eyes. Dylan took a deep breath and let it out. “Matt and I will have to get together and give you some firmer cost estimates, but—”

“I don’t care,” interrupted Pomegranate. “We want it, whatever it costs.”

Cassidy nodded enthusiastically. “Seriously. If you can pull this off, we can afford it. Pom, I bet we can get Davy and Nix to design some furniture for us.” She looked at Dylan. “They usually make the frames for our futons, but I think they’ve been really itching to try something totally different. Something sort of….”

“Wild?” Dylan finished for her.

“Exactly!”

There were more hugs after that and a double-fisted handshake from Stender, who told Dylan to wait for him in his office while he discussed a few details with the clients. As Dylan stepped out into the hallway, Matty caught his arm. “Who knew you were a frigging genius?” she said.

“Me,” he answered with a grin.

She tugged him down the corridor. “So what’s the deal? How’d you turn so quickly from pedestrian to inspired?”

He shrugged. “I found my creative wellspring.”

“You growing some very special crops out in the boonies, Dyl?”

He pretended to be offended. “You think I need to resort to pharmaceuticals to be creative?”

“No.” She stopped and crossed her arms over her chest. “But this wasn’t just creative. This was—this was really brilliant, Dyl. I always thought you were too careful to be brilliant. What gives?”

He couldn’t give her an honest answer, so he simply shrugged again. And then her eyes went round before her lips curled into a knowing smile. “You found your muse, didn’t you?” She punched him lightly in the arm. “Who is he, and how the hell did you find him way out in the middle of nowhere?”

“It’s Sasquatch, Matt. I’m having a torrid love affair with Bigfoot.”

She actually stuck out her tongue at him, which made him laugh. She socked him again—a little harder this time—and then gave him an awkward one-armed hug. “It’s gonna be really fun working out the particulars on this one,” she said. “And eventually I’m going to get all the details about Mr. Right.”

He hoped his answering smile was enigmatic. He gave her a little wave as they parted and he entered Stender’s office. Dylan sat on one of the plastic chairs and stared through the glass top of the desk to the bamboo flooring beneath. He tried to put a name on the emotion he was feeling. Not relieved, because he honestly hadn’t been worried about the outcome of today’s meeting. He had been fully prepared for rejection, and, although he was pleased to have kept his job, he would have been okay if he hadn’t. He supposed he felt a little proud, but the design had come to him so easily that it was almost as if he wasn’t the one responsible for it. He understood now why the Greeks had believed in muses, because it was almost as if some benevolent celestial being had handed him the project idea on a platter. Creating the plans had been hard work, but that was mostly just connecting the dots. The shape itself had come into being all at once. He wasn’t smug over his success or especially triumphant.

Maybe, he realized, this was simply what happiness felt like when it came without a price or a caveat, without time limits or the threat of dangers ahead.

Stender entered the office about ten minutes later. He sat behind his desk and steepled his hands in front of him and simply smiled, like a monk who was approaching nirvana. “We’re going to win awards for this one, Dylan. You’re going to make a name for yourself, and other firms will try to hire you away.”

That possibility had never occurred to Dylan. “I’ll turn them down. I’m satisfied here, as long as I can continue to work from my farm.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, and we can safely assume the telecommuting is a success. But if this project goes as well as I hope, there will be a large bonus in it for you.” He chuckled. “You can buy more acreage, if you like.”

“I’m just glad the clients are happy.”

“The clients are ready to adopt you, I think. Expect interest soon from their friends. Do you think you have more of this in you?”

Dylan smiled. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Chapter 18

T
RAFFIC
was heavy on the way home, but Dylan barely noticed. In fact, it was probably a minor miracle that he avoided the same death as his parents, in crumpled metal on the highway. But Dylan’s head was buzzing with success, with the giddy knowledge that he’d taken a risk and it had come out well. He’d been honest with Stender: he didn’t want a different job with a more prestigious firm, and while a bigger salary would be nice, that was only icing on the cake. The main point was that everyone was proud of him, he was proud of himself, and he’d get to keep his new life. His farmhouse was slowly taking shape, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. The wolf was satisfied… and then there was Chris.

Dylan refused to acknowledge the remaining dark cloud in his life, however ominous it might be: the secret he still kept from his lover. He could keep that secret a long time, he thought. It was only one day in twenty-eight, anyhow. Besides, Chris would probably get tired of Dylan’s personal quirks—including his snoring and his sometimes prissy housekeeping habits—long before he figured out Dylan was a supernatural beast.

He could smell Chris’s welcome even before he opened the door—roasting meat that made his stomach rumble demandingly, and potatoes maybe, and several other delicious smells. He crept inside so quietly that Chris didn’t hear him—the other man was too busy stirring a pot and singing “Honky Tonk Women” loudly and off-key. Dylan paused in the doorway to watch, thinking that it wasn’t the granite or the tile or the expensive appliances that made a kitchen real, but this: good food being prepared by someone you loved.

Chris must have felt Dylan’s gaze because he stopped singing and whirled around, spoon still clutched in his hand. “You kinda creep up on folks, dontcha?”

“Only you.”

“How’d it go?”

Dylan came fully inside and shut the door behind him. He set his laptop case on the counter and tried to keep his face neutral. “Is that dinner intended for celebration or consolation?”

“It’ll do for either, but I’d rather it was the first.”

“What’re we having?”

“Roast beef. Haven’t made it in years ’cause it’s so damned expensive, and I had to drive all the way to Gaston, to this guy I know who butchers his own beef. Real good stuff, none of them hormones or antibiotics or any of that shit. I threw in some potatoes, too, but we also got noodles with this vegetable sauce you’re gonna like. I even made a spice cake for dessert. And if you don’t fuckin’ tell me right now how it went, you ain’t gonna get none of it.”

Dylan finally allowed himself to smile, which felt really good. “Clients liked it.”

“Whoo-hoo!” Chris whooped loud enough to hurt Dylan’s ears. He tossed the spoon onto the counter with a clatter and launched himself across the room, landing in Dylan’s welcoming embrace. Their lips met and tongues danced. Chris must have been sampling as he cooked because he tasted amazing. His hands clutched at Dylan’s shoulders so tightly that Dylan was certain there would be bruises. He didn’t understand the physical intensity until they moved apart—still slightly breathless—and Chris whispered, “This mean you’re gonna stay?”

Dylan crushed his lover hard against himself. “Told you. I’m not leaving.”

The sound Chris made was almost a sob, but when they separated again his blue eyes were dry and very clear, and his half smile was firmly in place. “Fuckin’ hallelujah. You gonna let me see the plans now?”

“After dinner.”

Chris poked Dylan’s belly. “Now. I wanna see what all the goddamn fuss has been about.”

So Dylan opened his computer and brought up the files, and Chris listened as Dylan clicked through images. He gave Chris more or less the same explanation he’d given at the office, and Chris nodded slowly the entire time.

When Dylan was finished, Chris looked at him wide-eyed. “Holy shit. You made that?”

“Well, not yet. Right now it’s just a lot of schematics, and Matty and I are still going to have to work out some of the details, so—”

“You fuckin’ made that. Jesus, Dyl.” The tone of his voice was almost worshipful, like when Dylan had given him an especially good blow job. And that thought made Dylan suddenly and achingly hard.

“How long until dinner’s ready?” Dylan asked.

Chris must have read the gleam in Dylan’s eyes because he grinned. “No way. I ain’t gonna ruin forty bucks worth of meat so you can get your rocks off. You go call Kay and Rick and tell ’em you aren’t fired, and this—” He squeezed Dylan’s cock through his khakis, making Dylan groan. “—can wait.”

Dylan did as he was told, although first he went upstairs so he could change. His brother and sister-in-law were happy for him, and even though Dylan still hadn’t admitted to them that he had anything going with Chris, Kay giggled and asked whether Chris had congratulated him properly yet.

He tried to protest. “Kay, we’re not—”

“Oh, save it. You admit you’re crazy about each other or I’m gonna drive out there right now and ask you about it in front of him.”

She would too. Even though Kay was sixty miles away and Chris was downstairs and well out of earshot, Dylan blushed. “I think… I kind of think I’m in love,” he whispered into the phone.

Kay wasn’t really the squealing type, but she made a loud and happy sound. “I knew it! Does he know it?”

“We’re not… we haven’t been writing poetry and sprinkling rose petals and tripping hand in hand under rainbows, Kay.”

“Just because you have Y chromosomes doesn’t mean you can’t tell each other how you feel, Dylan. Your penises won’t fall off if you do.”

“We’ve kind of….” He sighed. “He knows I don’t hate his guts.”

“You’re such a romantic. Just like your brother. Do you know what he bought me for our last anniversary? A knife sharpener.”

Dylan snorted out a laugh. “Maybe he thought you were dull?”

“Hah. So have you told him about your little monthly problem yet?”

When Dylan didn’t reply, she made an exasperated noise. “Dylan!”

“I can’t! I don’t want to… don’t want to blow it with him.”

“And you think keeping a secret like that is a good way to begin a relationship?”

He sat on his bed, still unmade from when he’d awakened to the smell of breakfast. “That’s kind of the thing. You can’t tell someone you’re a werewolf before you hook up, because then he’ll take off. But you can’t tell him after either, because then he’ll be pissed at you for covering it up for so long.”

Her voice was gentle when she answered. “I told you. If he really cares about you he’ll deal. But the longer you keep quiet the worse it’s gonna be.”

He frowned at the floor. He knew she was right, of course.

After a few moments of quiet, Kay sighed again. “Sorry, Dyl. I didn’t mean to bring you down after such a great day. Why don’t you get off the phone and go make out with your boyfriend?”

Dylan had to smile, remembering back to when he’d fetched a DVD from Kay and Rick’s bedroom. He’d glanced at the little bookcase near Kay’s bedside and noted a healthy assortment of gay romance titles. He should have known back then that he was in deep trouble.