Three weeks later found him in a rented tux, sitting in the back of a cab pulling up to Ryan’s house. The man himself stood waiting for him under a late-blooming cherry blossom tree, looking surprisingly at ease from this distance.
Ryan in strict black except for the V of white, his curls trimmed and tame on his head, his cheeks smooth—all against a backdrop of pink petals. It stole Hollis’s breath. It was something other than angelic, as angels didn’t cause his groin to stir and his mouth to dry. He’d just gotten the cab door open when Ryan stepped up, smiling wide.
“You look great!”
“Look who’s talking. Very nice, Mr. Wilde.” Hollis barely took his eyes off him as he shuffled over to the next seat.
Ryan blushed, ducking his head—but whether it was to hide his cheeks or because he was
