Coda Books 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (MM)

you,” he replied, not looking at me. “Of all the homes I own, this is the only one I purchased myself.”
    “The rest were bought by your father?”
    “Or his mother. Or my mother. Or one of the wives who preceded her.”
    “What made you pick Phoenix?”
    “I rather like the heat.”
    “Are you crazy?” I asked in surprise.
    He shrugged. “Something about roasting in the desert makes me feel both rebellious and mundane, all at the same time.” I wasn’t sure how those things were actually connected to sweating one’s ass off in hundred-degree weather, but as the pampered but forgotten son of millionaires, I could see why feeling rebellious yet mundane might appeal to him. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked, turning back to the stove. “Help yourself.”
    I opened the fridge, which was huge and completely full. “I’ll have some wine,” I told him as I scanned the shelves.
    “Sugar, we’re drinking red tonight. It won’t be in the refrigerator.”
    But I had already spotted what I assumed was the wine and pulled it out, although upon closer inspection I saw that it had a screw top instead of a cork. “What’s this then?” I asked. I turned it so I could read the label and laughed out loud when I saw what it was. “Arbor Mist Island Fruits Pinot Grigio?”
    I looked over to find him staring at me with a look of sheer horror on his face and his cheeks bright red. “I forgot that was in there.”
    “Do you drink this stuff?” I asked him in surprise.
    “No.”
    “Then what’s it doing in your fridge?”
    “Rosa must have put it there.”
    “Your housekeeper? Why? Is she under the age of twenty-one?”
    “No. Why?”
    “Because only teenagers drink this stuff.”
    “Not only teenagers,” he said defensively.
    “So you do drink it?” I asked, and I could barely keep from laughing at his obvious embarrassment.
    His blush deepened, which I wouldn’t have thought possible if I hadn’t seen it myself. “Well, I….”
    “Yes?” I asked, and I really couldn’t keep the smile off of my face now.
    “I….”
    “I’m waiting,” I prodded sarcastically.
    “Fine!” He grabbed a potholder off of the countertop and threw it at me. “I drink it. Are you happy now?” He turned away from me, back to the stove, but I could see that he was smiling. “Now you know my dirty little secret. I have a penchant for cheap, fruity wine.”
    “You scold me for drinking Chianti with fish—”
    “Of course I do, darling. It’s a terrible choice.”
    “—but you have a secret stash of Arbor Mist. Tell me, Cole, what exactly goes with Mixed Berry Pinot Grigio?”
    He was silent for a moment, but then he said with obvious mirth,
    “Not much, I admit. But sugar, the Blackberry Merlot is to die for. I’m fairly certain it goes with everything.”
    I laughed and gave up on keeping my distance from him. I crossed over to him and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, kissing the back of his head. He tensed noticeably but didn’t pull away. “I love that you drink five-dollar-a-bottle wine,” I said.
    “Well for goodness’ sake, don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”
    “Oh really?” I asked, laughing.
    “No, not really.” He pushed me playfully away. “But at least allow me the luxury of my own self-delusions, won’t you?”
    “I’ll try,” I told him. I opened the bottle and smelled the contents.
    It smelled like Kool-Aid. “Is this what we’re drinking with dinner?”
    “Absolutely not. I actually bought you a nice bottle of Chianti.”
    He pointed his spatula at me. “Don’t even mention fava beans, or I guarantee you’ll be sleeping on the porch.”
    “I don’t mind,” I told him, “as long you’re sleeping there with me.”
    He turned his back to me, but not before I saw that he was pleased.

Date: Sept 16
    From: Cole
    To: Jared
    I have to say, Sweets, the constant nagging for information is getting awfully tiresome. I haven’t been telling you anything because there really is nothing to tell. Yes, you’re correct in saying that we seem to be spending a great deal of time together. But your assumption that our relationship is becoming serious could not be further from the truth.
    This is a casual arrangement—nothing more—much like the one you and I enjoyed for so many years. I’m getting used to Jonathan being so ridiculously uptight, and I dare say he’s getting used to me being… the way I am. In another month