Wild and Precious Read online

  Wild and Precious

  CJane Elliott

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  What’s Next in the Wild and Precious Series?

  Also by CJane Elliott

  About the Author

  Copyright Information

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First edition published by Dreamspinner Press

  Second edition

  Copyright © 2020 CJane Elliott

  Cover Art by AngstyG, [email protected]

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact CJane Elliott at [email protected]

  For Dad, the first stunningly handsome, charming, and articulate man in my life

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to the CJane Elliott publishing team—Michael, Nadine, and Lily. Thank you to AngstyG for the wonderful covers for the whole series. Thank you to my fellow authors and to my readers for your support.

  Chapter One

  Brent Granger walked out of the Dupont Circle Metro station, strolled down the block, and entered his favorite coffee shop, taking a seat at the counter.

  “The usual, Kentucky?” asked Sally, his regular waitress, already pouring him a cup of joe.

  “Yep.” Brent opened his Washington Post and took a contemplative sip of coffee. Ahhh, caffeine, nectar of the gods. After scanning the front page, he got out the Weekend section and checked the music happenings. Sally set down a plate with his “usual”—two eggs over easy, wheat toast, and hash browns. “Thanks, Sally.”

  “Any time, Kentucky.” She leaned against the counter, snapping a towel between her hands. “So, how’d your date go?”

  Brent made a face. “Don’t ask.”

  “That bad, eh?”

  “Let’s just say neither of us will be looking for a second one.”

  “Aw, Brent, that’s a shame. A cute boy like you? And so nice. Those gals don’t know what they’re missing. You got any others lined up?— oops, got a customer.”

  She bustled away and Brent heaved a grateful sigh. He liked Sally, but his love life was a depressing topic. He buried himself in the newspaper and his breakfast for the next fifteen minutes. Once he’d sopped up his last bit of egg with his last bite of toast and congratulated himself on having his food come out even, Brent dropped a generous tip on the counter, waved good-bye to Sally, and left the coffee shop for his walk to work. The June sun shone brightly and Brent walked briskly, enjoying the summer day.

  As he neared the office, his steps slowed. Just ahead, a tall, dark- haired man was stepping out of the passenger side of a Mercedes. Graham Stoneford, Brent’s boss. Graham leaned through the open window to kiss the man inside, who had scooted over from the driver’s seat, then straightened up with a laugh and turned Brent’s way. When he caught sight of Brent, he showed no embarrassment about his public kiss, but then, Brent wouldn’t have expected him to. He hoped he wouldn’t be stuck in the elevator with him, but Graham stood on the sidewalk and waited for him to catch up.

  “Morning, Brent,” he said, bright and chipper. “How are you?”

  “Uh, okay.” Brent trudged along beside Graham, hating how tongue- tied and awkward he became in his presence.

  Graham Stoneford, editor-in-chief of Washington/Arts magazine, was considered something of a wunderkind at age thirty to be running a successful magazine and website devoted to the arts in the nation’s capital. He dressed to kill, was photographed at parties of the young Washington elite, and was openly, unabashedly gay. He also happened to be stunningly handsome, charming, and articulate, and Brent felt about as exciting as a lump of blah next to him.

  “Well, another day at our favorite magazine.” Graham clapped a hand on Brent’s shoulder, then seemed to think better of it, and let go. They headed for the elevators in silence, Brent trying and failing to come up with something to say.

  Graham smiled at Brent, all dazzling white teeth, and rescued the situation, as usual. “I liked your piece on the Birchmere.” The doors opened, and Graham put out his arm to hold them, waiting for Brent to get on first. “How did you get the idea to research the history of the whole neighborhood?” He fixed Brent with those light gray eyes, unnerving in their intensity.

  Brent shrugged, thinking about the Birchmere, a local music venue, and the great little neighborhood it was in. Del Ray, it was called, part of Alexandria, Virginia. He thought it might be cool to live there someday. “I don’t know. It just came to me. I guess I like putting stuff in context.”

  Graham continued to stare straight at him, looking thoughtful. “And context for art, in this case, music, can and does include place. Brilliant.”

  Feeling his cheeks warm, Brent cursed his unfortunate tendency to blush as the doors opened for their floor. “Uh, thanks,” he mumbled, and escaped to his cubicle.

  Brent was turning on his computer when Ari Cohen, his closest friend at work, popped his head over the divider. “Well? How was the hot date?” Ari grinned at him, waggling his eyebrows.

  “Don’t ask. The less said, the better.”

  “That bad, huh? Well, bummer. When are we going to get you laid, Granger?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t you have some work to do?” Brent asked pointedly.

  He liked Ari, but wanted to leave at a decent hour today so he could get back to the short story he was writing. He didn’t begrudge his job—having landed a position at Washington/Arts right after graduating from the University of Kentucky with a BA in English was awesome—but it left little time for his own writing.

  Brent had been assigned to the music beat, so many of his evenings involved going to concerts. That was actually pretty awesome too. It had forced him to branch out beyond the classical and electronica music he’d mainlined in his geeky high school and college years. You’d think coming from Kentucky Brent would be up on bluegrass, but he’d barely listened to it before doing the story on the Birchmere, which featured bluegrass, folk, and jazz.

  “Lunch?” Ari asked, and popped down behind the divider when Brent agreed.

  Later, at a table in their usual sandwich shop, Ari opened his laptop. “Okay, let’s regroup here. You’re burning through these prospects left and right.” He pulled up Match.com, the dating website he’d talked Brent into joining a few months ago, and started clicking.

  Brent stared out the window, recalling all the boring, awkward, and downright bad dates he’d been on recently. He didn’t blame the women; most of them were okay. But Brent couldn’t seem to connect with them. He sighed. He was getting too old for this crap at age twenty-four. Finding someone to love shouldn’t be this hard.

  Ari snapped his fingers. “H
ey, pay attention. Look at these. There’s a few new ones.”

  Brent gave the screen a listless once-over. Ari was lucky; he’d met his fun and lively girlfriend, Lexie, a few weeks after moving to DC, and they’d been together ever since.

  “So, what d’you think? See anyone interesting?”

  Shaking his head, Brent returned to staring out the window, watching the cars crawl around Dupont Circle. He sharpened his gaze; Graham was walking on the other side of the street, talking animatedly with another man, who threw back his head and laughed as they disappeared into a restaurant.

  “Brent.” He swung back around to find Ari regarding him with frustration. “Something tells me you’re not really into this right now.”

  “You’re right, man. I appreciate it, but I guess I’m gonna take a break.”

  “Oh, all right.” Ari resumed wolfing down his sandwich. Chewing, he said, “I can ask Lexie if she knows anyone else. She keeps going on about how ‘cute’ you are, blah blah, you remind her of a young Martin Freeman, whatever the fuck.”

  Brent snorted then shuddered, both at the sight of Ari talking with his mouth full and at the memory of the last woman Lexie had fixed him up with. “Yeah, let’s just leave it for now.”

  Chapter Two

  That weekend, as Brent wandered down a street in Adams Morgan, gazing in the shop windows and thinking about his short story, someone said his name. He turned around. Oh, man. Could he ever catch a break? Graham Stoneford stood there in jeans and a T-shirt, a smile on his face. Brent almost didn’t recognize him without his classy work clothes.

  “What’re you doing around here?” Graham asked. “Do you live in this neighborhood?”

  “No, I like to wander around different places on my day off. What about you?”

  “Oh, the same for me. Hunter’s working, so I thought I’d take a walk, maybe do a little shopping.” They strolled along the sidewalk, and Brent resigned himself to more one-on-one time with the boss.

  “Hunter? Is he your…?” Brent stopped, not wanting to presume too much.

  “My better half, yeah. The guy you caught me kissing the other day in front of our building.”

  “Um, sorry about that.”

  Graham grinned. “Hey, that’s okay. No fault but my own for my PDA. My lack of filter is going to get me in trouble one of these days.”

  “I think it’s great.” Brent got flustered, but for some reason, he wasn’t as intimidated by Graham today, so he plowed ahead with his thoughts. “Um, what I mean is, I think it’s cool the way you do your own thing and don’t care what others think. I wish I was more like that.”

  Graham seemed to be considering him with interest. “Thank you for the compliment. Hmm, I think it just takes time to grow into that ‘not caring what others think.’ I had my share of trying to fit in when I was younger.”

  “Really? I thought you were born… um, that way… uh, that sounds bad.”

  To his relief, Graham smiled. “You mean born fabulous?” Graham joked. “Oh, no, son, it takes a lot of careful study and apprenticeship before one can be entered into the rolls of the fabulous. But if you’re interested, I can take you on and instruct you in our ways.” He laughed. “You should see the look on your face.”

  “Aw, well, I think I’ll pass on that for now, man. All I’d like is to be less self-conscious.”

  “Well, you’re young yet. And I don’t see you as all that self- conscious. In fact, you’re really independent in your thinking, which is why I love your work for the magazine. It’s original and fresh. Were you always interested in writing? Or is music your main focus?”

  “Writing.”

  And with that, Brent found himself chatting away as they strolled through the neighborhood, talking with Graham about lots of things, including his dream of getting a creative writing degree and becoming a published author.

  Graham stopped in front of an Ethiopian restaurant. “Oh, this is my favorite. Do you like Ethiopian food?”

  “Sure. I mean, I guess.”

  “You’ve never had it? Come on, you’ll love it.” Graham swept into the restaurant, Brent following in his wake.

  As Brent sat cross-legged on a pillow, tearing pieces off the rubbery bread and dipping them into various dishes he couldn’t identify, he realized he was having more fun than he’d had in ages. Along with being thoughtful and smart, Graham was one of the most hilarious people he’d ever met, and Brent was in stitches for most of their lunch.

  “If only my dates could be like this,” Brent said, after another bout of laughter between them, then widened his eyes. “Oh, wow, man, that sounded dumb.”

  Graham didn’t seem fazed. “They’re not? But why? You’re so fun to talk to. Any woman would be nuts not to appreciate you.”

  “Uh, well, tell them that. But I guess I don’t really appreciate them either. I don’t know, it’s like, awkward and boring most of the time. Whatever. Ari keeps trying to set me up, but…. Anyway, how did this get into talking about my so-called love life?

  Graham regarded him, warmth in his eyes, and said softly, “You’ll find it, Brent. Everyone deserves to have love in their life. You’re young. You’ll find it.”

  Graham’s words touched Brent, but the intensity of the moment made him uncomfortable. Even worse, he noticed he was getting aroused. He shifted on his pillow with a weak laugh. “Hey, no more of this ‘young’ crap, okay? You’re not that much older than I am.”

  Graham had opened his mouth to reply when his cell phone buzzed. He smiled at the name on the display and picked it up. “Hey there. You done? Good. Yeah, I ran into Brent from the office, and we’re at Addis for lunch. You want to meet us here? You are? Great, see you in five.” He hung up with a happy expression. “Hunter happens to be a few blocks away. I’d like you to meet him.”

  Hunter came in a few minutes later. A staffer for a congresswoman who was deep into a reelection campaign, he sat with his hand in Graham’s, regaling them with stories about the insane hours he was keeping, while Graham gazed at him so tenderly Brent felt a sudden twinge of emptiness.

  Later, back in his apartment, Brent tried to work on his story but the words refused to come. He lay lengthwise on the couch and stared at the ceiling, jiggling his foot, then sat up and grabbed his book of Mary Oliver poetry. Brent loved poetry even more than he loved fiction; he’d written tons of angsty poems in high school, before shoving them all in a drawer because he couldn’t quite bring himself to burn them.

  In college, he’d studied modern poets, and Mary Oliver’s poems, among others, had inspired him to get serious about writing. As he paged through the book, his gaze fell on “The Summer Day,” a poem he’d always liked. He stopped to savor the last line, the line that talked about life being wild and precious, the line that asked what he intended to do with the one life he’d been given. He could almost see Mary Oliver shaking her finger at him, telling him to get on with it.

  Brent’s mind drifted: Ari, talking to him about “new prospects”; his last date with the stilted conversation and awkward silences; Graham, warmth in his gaze, saying, “You’ll find it.”

  He threw the book on the floor and closed his eyes

  Chapter Three

  Cody Bellstrom stepped back from the wall to admire his handiwork on hanging the photograph. Bette and Aurora’s storefront for their graphic arts business was getting spiffier by the day.

  Bette Johnson stood at his side, arms folded, considering. “I don’t know… I think that one should be a few inches higher.”

  He scowled at her. “You would.”

  She grinned and pushed up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks, sugarpie. Now, where’s my other half? She should’ve walked her skinny white ass in the door by now.”

  As if on cue, Aurora Lane came in, carrying a carton with three coffee cups and a white bakery bag. Bette brightened and glided over to take it off her hands, kissing her as she did so.

  Cody watched for a moment, smiling at the con
trast between tall, gangly Aurora who Bette called “pasty white,” and short, curvy brown-skinned Bette. Then he turned and started to re-measure the wall.

  Aurora walked over, her eyes narrowed. “So, what’s this I hear about you wanting to do a little ex-per-i-men-ta-tion?” she asked, drawing out the last word mockingly.

  “Hush up, sugah,” said Bette. “If Mr. Cody wants to fly his freak flag, I say more power to him.”

  Cody tried to ignore them, now marking the wall with a pencil, but Aurora made it difficult by sidling over and leaning against him. “What’s wrong, lover?” she breathed. “Women don’t do it for you anymore?”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her, then smiled down at her. “Not if they’re not you, babe. But I don’t think Bette would approve.”

  “Damn straight. Now get your hands off my woman, ho, and tell us what this is all about.” Bette laid out the pastries and handed them each a cup.

  Cody straddled a chair and took a bite from his cheese Danish. After washing it down with some coffee, he said, “It’s not that big a deal. You know I’m bisexual. I like it all. I’ve been playing more on the hetero team lately, but, I don’t know, I think I’m ready for a change.”

  Bette snorted. “Well, that’s bound to upset your three different girlfriends, seeing as how they all think they’re your one true love.”