Where The Heart Is: A Bay City Paranormal Investigations story

glanced at Sommer, who was gripping the seat so hard his knuckles were white. “Sorry. It’s just…I didn’t expect to see you. Here, I mean.” Or anywhere, ever, and God did that hurt.
    “I know.” Turning sideways as much as possible in his seat belt, Sommer stared at Dean with worried eyes. “I hope I haven’t just made a horrible mistake.”
Dean reached over and laid his hand over Sommer’s. “Whatever the reason is for your being here, it’s not a mistake.”
He wasn’t sure he’d feel the same if Sommer spent a night or two in his bed then left, but for now he meant what he’d said. Sommer was here, right here beside him, and he intended to seize the moment. To let Sommer erase the ache inside him, even if it was only for a few hours.
Sommer didn’t answer, but his lips curved into the lopsided smile which always set Dean’s heart thumping. Staring at that sweet, oh-so-kissable mouth, Dean nearly ran off the road.
“Let’s go to The Back Porch,” he suggested, once the shock of almost wrecking for the second time in less than five minutes had worn off. “It’s close by, the red beans and rice is out of this world and the tables are really private.”
“Sounds good to me.” Sommer twisted his hand beneath Dean’s and wound their fingers together. “I have a lot to tell you, and I’d rather do it someplace where surprising you won’t get us both killed.”
Dean laughed, feeling a thousand pounds lighter than he had in the last two weeks. He didn’t know what sort of “surprises” Sommer had in store, but nothing could stop him from hoping for things he hadn’t dared consider before Sommer walked back into his life.
The drive to The Back Porch took only a few minutes. Dean found an empty space in the back of the oyster-shell parking lot, and he and Sommer hurried inside to escape the damp February chill. Dean stuck his hands under his armpits, berating himself for leaving his jacket at the office in his hurry to get out.
“This is cute,” Sommer said after they’d put their names on the list and settled themselves in the small parlor which served as a waiting area. “Is this whole place the restaurant?”
Dean nodded. “This house has been here more than a hundred years. The original owners lived here in the house and ran a small restaurant on the back porch.”
“Thus the name, right?”
“Right. It was expanded in the fifties to include the whole house, and here it’s been ever since. They have a brief history of the place on the back of the menu.” Scooting closer, Dean laid a hand on Sommer’s knee. “Sommer, why are you here? Is this just a visit, or…”
He couldn’t finish. Sommer took his hand, raised it to his mouth and kissed it. That smile, shy but not shy, spread over Sommer’s face, and a wild hope leapt in Dean’s chest.
“It’s not a visit.” Sommer’s voice was soft but sure. “I spoke with a realtor, and I’ve rented an apartment a couple of miles from here. I moved in this morning. I’m starting a new job as a manager in a local wine shop in a couple of weeks.”
Dean swallowed a couple of times before he could speak. “You… What? You did what ?”
“I left Chapel Hill, and moved here.” Sommer’s smile faded, apprehension rising in his eyes. “I…I thought—”
“You thought right,” Dean interrupted, hating to see Sommer’s uncertainty. “God, I missed you. I’m so happy you’re here.”
Sommer’s relief was palpable. He leaned closer. “Dean, I—”
“Delapore, table for two?”
The hostess’s high, clear voice made Dean jump. He gave Sommer a look to say their conversation wasn’t over, then stood and pulled Sommer up with him.
They followed the hostess to a small round table tucked into a cozy corner of the upstairs back room. The dim lamplight revealed pale pine floors and walls painted a deep forest green. Little glass-covered candles sat on each of the room’s four tables. Strategically placed standing screens gave every table a feeling of privacy. Beside Dean and Sommer’s table, a large bay window overlooked a narrow side street shaded by live oaks and lined with neat Victorian cottages.
A waitress was at their side before they’d even sat down, offering drinks and menus. Sommer ordered something which sounded French. Dean couldn’t have pronounced it if he’d tried, but he figured it must be wine since Sommer seemed so confident about what he was ordering.
Dean waited until the bottle had been fetched and