Love Is Always Write Volume 4

washed them down.
    When he turned back around, the chef was gone. He looked down at the prep table where the man had been working. A few small spatulas, a knife, a pastry bag, and some decorating tips were laid out. He waited for the chef to return, so he could thank him for the water. Instead, the kitchen began filling with servers and other people responsible for the food service. Owen quietly slipped out of the kitchen and stood against the side of the building. He finished the bottle of water and tossed the empty into a recycling bin.
    The wedding party was gathering to go inside the building together. The photographer was putting his equipment away. The sun was beginning to set, and there was a pink tinged glow in the sky behind the river. Someone had repositioned chairs into small groups surrounding a few tables. The weather was perfect for guests to mingle inside or outside. Twinkle lights came on, bathing the Bandstand and lighting up the trees close by.
    As much as he enjoyed New York, Owen realized he was glad to be home. He had missed the comfort and familiarity of Wildwood. He looked up to find Jay and Grace standing at the top steps of the Bandstand. Owen jogged over and grabbed the photographer.
    "Hey, can you take another shot?" Owen asked.
    "Sure." The photographer pulled his camera back out of the bag and followed Owen.
    "This is where we shared all our secrets," Owen climbed the steps to join his two best friends.
    "And had our first kisses," Grace said as she took Owen's hand.
    "And now, our first wedding," Jay added as he put his arms around both of them.
    They stood together quietly for a few minutes, heads touching. The only sound was the camera as the photographer took pictures. Owen looked at his two friends and remembered their first kisses here at the Bandstand when they were in middle school. They were trying to help Grace learn how to kiss, for a party she was going to.
    "We must have been good teachers. You just married the guy you were so nervous about kissing in middle school." Owen said and they all broke out laughing.
    "And I can't thank you enough." Charles stepped up behind them and wrapped an arm around Grace. He was smiling like he was the happiest man on the planet.
    The four of them stood together for a few more pictures. Grace thanked the photographer, and they headed toward the building for the reception. Grace and Charles walked a few feet ahead of them.
    Jay bumped Owen's shoulder. "We did good. She's going to be well taken care of."
    "I was never worried about her. Charles has been hooked since that first kiss." Owen laughed. "We did really good."
    "Are you ready to face Penny and dancing?"
    "Hardly," Owen sighed.
    "Only a few more hours, my friend."
    "You want to cut out of here early and go downtown? We could do some real dancing at Richard's." Owen loved the gay dance club in Iowa City.
    "I can't. I've got family stuff early tomorrow, hanging with my brother." Jay hugged Owen and stepped through the main hall doors. "Your lady waits."
    Owen groaned, "I'll be right there. Pit stop, first." He took off down the long hallway toward the bathrooms.
    He tugged off his jacket and had instant relief from the too tight cut of the suit. His collarbone was itching from the tattoo he'd gotten the day before he left New York. He stepped in front of the bathroom mirror and loosened his bow tie. He unbuttoned his shirt and moved it off his shoulder. The cool air was soothing. He grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them.
    "You sure you want to do that?"
    Owen looked up and saw the chef reflected in the mirror behind him. Owen smiled and pressed the cool, wet paper towels to his collar bone. He leaned his head out of the way and stared at the other man's reflection. Then his mind played out what might happen next.
    He imagined the chef stepping up behind him, reaching around his waist, and turning the water on. Owen looked at the two empty sinks on either side of him. He looked down and imagined what the chef's hands would look like as water ran over them. He fantasized that the chef would press up against him.
    In reality, he watched the chef step up to the sink next to his and very efficiently wash his hands. Owen watched him grab some paper towels, pat his hands dry, and toss them in the trash. He left the bathroom without saying another word. It took Owen a few minutes to compose himself. He thought for sure that the chef would make a move.
    Once he had his shirt buttoned, and