Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 3

well. Can't win them all, I suppose.
    The evening began to drag as the drunks drowned out the band, so I took my last beer of the night and moved outside. There were plenty of couples strolling down the street hand-in-hand to cause a slight ache in my chest, a longing for something I wanted but wasn't sure I could ever have. I had yet to meet a man who understood my need to be the provider for my mother and grandmother; most didn't make it past the meet the folks stage. Why gay men in my city seemed terrified of women was beyond me – everyone has a mother, after all! Recognizing that the alcohol was only adding to my maudlin state, I left the last of my beer on the table and began to walk down the street, letting the fresh air clear my head as I rambled. As I followed the sound of live music, I stepped into another small eatery with a stage and stopped in shock.
    CHAPTER 2
    After the week I had, it only seemed fair that I let my hair down (metaphorically, of course) and spend some time having some sort of fun. My mother would be so angry if she saw me alternating between moping and raging mad, even if it was because I missed her so much. Unfortunately, I had not spend much time out and about in the area since I moved in to watch Mother die, so I had no idea where to go to have a good time and relax. I almost asked the masseur that always worked on my knotted muscles what he did for entertainment, but chickened out again . I loved his dark hair and eyes, and the way his over-long bangs always seemed to flop into his eyes and back out again, but I had never managed to move the conversation away from the grunts and "that's the spot?" of the massage room into the realm of the personal. Today he had given me a perfect opportunity to make some not-quite-so professional conversation and I let it escape my grasp. Kicking myself mentally, I threw caution to the wind and decided just to wander around the streets of downtown until some place called my name. When I saw the Irish-themed pub, I thought it was a sign. My mother had clung to her Irish roots in all the fun ways; I grew up listening to Celtic-inspired music and my first beer was a Guinness. We had always planned to take a trip to Ireland one day and research her family, but the cancer had derailed that plan permanently.
    The food was decent but the music was better, and the Guinness was cold and on tap. I could not think of a better way to celebrate my mother's memory but listening to her favorite style of music. Thoughts of the future threatened to bring me down, but I refused to allow it. Tonight I would remember the good times; tomorrow I would worry about what to do now, alone in a city I still did not know well. The bartender was friendly and by my third beer, I had spilled some of the junk floating around my chest into his willing ear. At least I managed to talk about growing up, just my mother and me without breaking down. That felt like a win tonight.
    I felt that uncomfortable feeling of being watched that had always made me cringe. Turning slowly on my bar stool, I scanned the crowd, wondering if I was imagining things. Next to the door, a dark-haired man stood stock still, not even trying to hide that he was looking at me. At first I couldn't place him. After a moment though, recognition came to me – it was Davis, my masseur! Finding a level of bravery I wasn't sure I had, I stumbled off my stool and walked toward him.
    Slowly, Davis' eyes met mine and he gifted me with a lovely smile. "Mr. Dury," he said. "Fancy running into you. How unexpected!" I loved the way he looked at me, almost as if I was a favorite dessert or a present to unwrap. Or maybe that was me, projecting my feelings upon him…
    "It's Ronan, please," I stated. "Would you care to join me for a drink?"
    Davis' grin grew. "Of course, and I'm Davis, as you already know, Davis Lincoln. What are we drinking to?"
    "Ah… well… I was drinking to my mother's memory, but perhaps this one could be in honor of new friends? At least, I would hope… I mean, I would like…" Listen to me, stumbling all over myself. No wonder I had been friendless and dateless for longer than I would like. Shyness struck at the worst moments.
    Davis, however, seemed to have no such problems. He steered me to a small table that had just opened up and said he would certainly drink to that. As he began telling me about his life, my nervousness was subsumed by heat. My eyes wandered from watching his, to looking at