Short Order

“Hey, Fen! Welcome back, buddy. What can I get you?” Stonewall Saloon owner and chief bartender, Guy Stone, stood like a rock fortress behind the elaborate bar. I was stunned that even though it’d been over five years since I’d last been in, he remembered my name. Stonewall, an historic roadhouse that gave visitors a glimpse of the Old West, stood like an anchor in Old Town Stone Acres, California. Since I’d come in there more than once the last time I’d been in town, I’d gotten to know its primary bartender and proprietor, Stone, pretty well. While he looked like the ultimate biker daddy—tall, bald, and extremely muscled—he’d acted like my five-foot-three-inch height, the ivy tattoo running up my neck, my pierced eyebrow, and my green-tipped hairstyle were commonplace. And he remembered my name. “I’ll have a Fat Tire Ale. How’ve you been, Stone?” I slipped off my jacket, stuffed my cap in my pocket, and letting the coat be my cushion, sat. He turned and bent over to rummage through some bottles in the low fridge along the back wall. I admired the scenery and waited for his response. “Pretty good, actually. What’ve you been up to? You graduate?” He stood and swiveled, a bottle in one hand. He twisted off the top, then slung a glass over the long neck and slid the drink gently my way. “On the house.” He grabbed the towel hanging over his belt and wiped away the little moisture that marred the pristine mahogany bar top. “So you’re back.” “Uh, thanks. Yeah, I just graduated. Dr. Fenton Miller, PhD.” I give him a courtly little bow and a salute. “Doctor of horticulture. Gonna cure the problems of the world through plants.” Stone shook his head. “Good for you. Don’t think I know many doctors that aren’t, you know, doctors.” His mouth quirked into a sassy grin. “But I think we need more of ‘em if they’re nice guys like you, Fen.” Then his gaze flitted over my head, and his grin became the happiest smile I’d seen since I’d been home and talked to my mother a week ago. “Hey, babe,” Stone crooned, and I turned to see who he was talking to. He leaned over the bar as a medium height, thin, brown-haired guy stretched forward toward him. Their kiss was short, but hot. They took a second to stare at each other before the guy on my side of the bar eased up and started taking off his ski jacket and his suit coat. Stone pointed quickly at me before he poured what looked like a white wine, then handed it to the guy next to me. “Babe, this is Fen Miller, Beth and Kate’s cousin. He was around four or five years ago when they were setting up the nursery. He just graduated college. Fen, this is my fiancé, Jimmy Patterson.” Fuck me. Stone was engaged? Neither Beth nor Kate had said anything. For Stone Acres, this was big news. Then it hit me that maybe nobody else knew. Great. On his second day in town, Fen scoops the town busybodies. Ha! Jimmy had turned to me with his hand out, so I grabbed it and shook. “Congratulations, you two! Nobody told me. It’s good to meet you, Jimmy.” “Yeah, well.” Stone looked embarrassed. “This big lug doesn’t want to make an announcement until after the holidays.” Jimmy sounded amused, like he felt free to tease Stone and get away with it. What I remembered as Stone’s habitual frown and eagle eyes cutting through customers had been supplanted by a huge grin that made him look much younger. So I guess things could change in a place where it looked like time stood still. Jimmy sat next to me, and we chatted while customers came and went. Tonight seemed pretty calm. When guys stared, either Stone or Jimmy introduced me. A couple of them I remembered from the last time I was here, and they recognized me. One guy smiled and said, “Don’t change much, do you?” I grinned and shook my head. I held myself back from saying he hadn’t changed much either except to look at least fifteen years older. Why make the guy feel bad, right? “If you just graduated,” Jimmy asked after we sat for a while, sipping our drinks and letting the ambience roll over us, “why’re you working at the nursery?” “I can’t decide which of two jobs to accept, so because Beth was having trouble finding competent help during the busy holiday season, my mom convinced me I should pitch in since I’d helped set up a lot of the procedures.” I sighed. “It’s not too bad being back. I’ve got about a month and a half to accept one of the job offers. This gives me thinking time without a chance to obsess over the decision. Beth and Kate can postpone hiring and training someone until January when the place isn’t overrun. As a bonus I can go snowboarding at Tahoe if I get a free minute. Win-win, sorta.” “Makes sense.” He nodded at Stone. “Hey, Guy, can we get some peanuts and pretzels over here? Just because it’s Tuesday doesn’t mean we don’t need some nourishment.” Stone nodded and brought the bowls over personally. I thought maybe they’d smooch again, but Jimmy just grabbed a handful of pretzels and waved Stone away. “You work around here?” I asked Jimmy. I didn’t remember him from five years ago. “Yeah. I own the coffee shop, Penny’s Too, down the street, and another Penny’s in the mall by the highway.” He took a huge handful of peanuts and downed them. Stone was watching him and looking concerned. “Oh, nice place and great coffee.” Then our conversation dried up, and a group around a small table called Jimmy over. I said good night to Stone and asked if I could put up a Seeking Room to Rent notice on the bar’s bulletin board. After his nod, I donned my ski jacket and knit hat and gutted up to walk out into the cold. “Say ‘hi’ to Beth and Kate for me, and tell ‘em I’ll give ‘em a free drink the next time they come in,” Stone yelled after me. I nodded, waved, and then pinned my notice to the corkboard. As I did, my eye caught another notice, this one lettered in a precise, architectural-looking capitalized handwriting: ROOM FOR RENT BLUE COTTAGE, MAIN STREET MONTHLY WITH YEARLY OPTION J. BARTON Under the name was a phone number. f*****g wow. It was exactly what I wanted. I ripped down my note and the Blue Cottage one too. I was stoked. Just to make sure I was remembering the right place, I decided to drive by on my way to Beth and Kate’s and take a look, but I was sure it was the house I’d lusted after the last time I was here. Damn, yes, I was interested in a monthly rental there. I put on my gloves. When I opened the door, the cold slapped me in the face. It didn’t sting like it had when I walked up to the bar. I wasn’t sure I could get used to real twenty-four-seven winter days, but I would be more willing to try if I was living somewhere hot like Blue Cottage. The house, misnamed a cottage, was one of those stately old Victorians, two stories with all the curlicues and fancy wood detail. Porthole windows dotted the façade here and there among the regulation tall four-paned windows. A front porch wrapped around to the left. A gable and, best of all, a round, two-story tower on the right made it my dream house. It was painted a medium sky blue with white trim on the shutters and front door. A white picket fence enclosed it, and a painted sign hung in the arc of the trellis above the wooden gate: Blue Cottage, 1896. Its next-door neighbor was the city park. With trees and bushes sheltering it, the cottage was my idea of perfect. Ordinarily, if I was staying for such a short time, I wouldn’t rent somewhere but would live the whole time with Beth and Kate. It’d only taken me one night to remind myself what a mistake living with my cousin and her wife was. s*x and cuddling I like. In fact, I love them. Listening to my cousin and her wife go at it? Not so much. As a gay man, hearing two lesbians last night—even though they were obviously trying to be quiet as mice—had made me shiver and flinch. If that weren’t enough, having to push aside drying bras in order to take a shower this morning made my hands itch. I had to get out of there. So going back for what I hoped was the last or next-to-last night, I tried to cheer myself by driving slowly past Blue Cottage, taking in the details. With the snow mounded around it and flakes swirling in the air, the place looked like the setting for a snow globe. A plastic family should be standing on the sidewalk, waving to me. No question. I’d fallen in love with Blue Cottage again, just as I had the last time. I was definitely giving J. Barton a call. Now if I could only afford the rent.