Love in Tandem Page 8

  “Hey?” Eamon said, visibly taking in Scott’s burned wrist, the kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder, and his general dishevelment from the strain of talking to Lennox. “Is this too early?”

  “No, no, you’re perfect,” Scott said, ushering Eamon inside. “I just managed to burn myself on a pot, that’s all.”

  “Are you okay?” Eamon reached for Scott’s hand. “Do you need first aid?”

  Scott waved him off. “It’s not that bad, honestly. “Give it a minute or two to cool off and I’m sure I’ll barely notice it anymore.” He put his hands on his hips, conveniently obscuring his wrist. “So, dinner first, or technology?”

  “I think I’ve got a fix, but it’ll take a moment to compile when I put it on your computer,” Eamon said apologetically. “So maybe start with that, see how long it takes?”

  “Fine by me.” Scott gestured at the living room. “You know where the couch is. My laptop’s over there. I just need to go turn the stove off.”

  By the time he was back in the living room, after a brief detour to put ice on his scalded wrist, Eamon looked fully settled in. The two laptops were connected to one another and Eamon’s attention was shuttling back and forth between them, his gaze intent. It wasn’t quite as good as his smile, but there was something very compelling about his intensity as well. Maybe because Scott knew how much competence underlaid it.

  Admittedly, Eamon had yet to fully finish fixing Scott’s website, but he was halfway there, and Scott was pretty sure that was crazy fast if actual coding was happening and not just uninstall-reinstall-type troubleshooting. Besides, his company was evidence enough. Scott had given in to curiosity on Sunday night and done some quick searches. Eamon had been right: his activities were a bit obscure to the layperson, but that didn’t mean that Scott couldn’t tell when something was clearly a major operation – as if Eamon’s casual talk of things like boards of directors hadn’t tipped him off.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

  “Still transferring,” Eamon said with a shrug. “But I’m confident I’ve figured out the bugs this time.”

  “You were confident last time too,” Scott teased.

  Eamon made a face at him. “I’ve learned from those mistakes,” he said loftily.

  “I look forward to seeing it.” Scott joined him on the couch, peering down at the laptops on the coffee table as if he had any idea what was going on there. He nudged Eamon’s side. “Just kidding, man. You know I’m forever in your debt for this.”

  “It’s no trouble.” Eamon looked vaguely uncomfortable. “And I haven’t fixed anything yet.”

  “I trust you,” Scott said with a shrug. “You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

  Eamon looked away, back down to the laptops. His face was turned away from Scott, but the tip of his visible ear was pink. Forget his smile, that was probably the cutest thing about him that Scott had seen.

  Not that Scott was supposed to be counting cute things.

  “I hope you like pasta,” he said quickly. “Lots of meat sauce, heavy on the cheese, a little basil if you’ve got it. Mine’s from the grocery store because it’s too early for the garden, but believe me, you’re missing out there.”

  Eamon laughed. “Are you supposed to be selling me on this meal, with your sub-par basil?”

  “Not my fault you came to town too early,” Scott protested.

  “I guess I’ll just have to come back,” Eamon joked. “When’s basil season anyway?”

  Scott clicked his tongue. “I know for a fact you have seasons in the city,” he said, teasingly scolding.

  “I’m too busy to keep anything but myself alive,” Eamon replied with a shrug. “The penthouse doesn’t have a balcony anyway.”

  Penthouse? Everything Eamon said about his life back in the city made Scott less and less certain what Eamon was doing in this town, much less in Scott’s living room.

  “No balcony?” Scott said, fake-dismissively. “Can you even call it a penthouse then?”

  Eamon didn’t look offended. “It’s a bit windy on the thirty-fifth floor,” he said, apologetic.

  Goddamn, he could even one-up Scott’s teasing just with details about his life.

  “Sounds nice,” Scott replied, defeated.

  “It’s okay.” Eamon shrugged. “I’m barely there anyway.”

  “Too busy jet-setting around?” Scott suggested.

  “Nah.” Eamon seemed resigned. “I’m mostly at the office.”

  “What’s the office like?” Scott asked as the transfer on the laptops finished and Eamon began to tap at the keyboard again.

  “You know, office-like?”

  “The closest I’ve come to an office was going to the dentist,” Scott told him

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say,” Eamon said. “My office is pretty boring. We’ve got three floors in a highrise. My floor has execs, department heads, meeting rooms. There’s a couple departments of coders below us, plus UI, customer assistance, that kind of thing.”

  He looked vaguely uncomfortable, which was kind of cute when Scott was giving him a chance to brag all over the place.

  “No fancy perks? Swimming pool? Ping-pong table? Bring your dog to work day?”

  “Not in my office.” Eamon sounded scandalized.

  “But the peons can do what they like in their own space?” Scott teased.

  Eamon nodded seriously. “Pretty much. Though I need to reassess when I get back to work because there have definitely been some blown deadlines that I have to look into.” His brow furrowed.

  “Is that going to be soon then?”

  “Not for a while, I think.” It took an obvious effort for Eamon to jerk himself away from the laptop screen and give Scott a slightly forced smile. “So, plenty of time to work on this project, if today doesn’t pan out.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” Scott said, and meant it. He let Eamon have the change of subject, wondering why this seemed to be such a sore spot for him now. He’d been so proud of his company when they talked before. “So, what’s it doing now?”

  “Installing, you could call it,” Eamon said, looking back down at the screen.

  “Will it take a while?” Scott asked. “Because we could eat while we wait, unless you need to do stuff to it in the middle.”

  “It’ll just go on its own for a while.” Eamon smiled. “I’m looking forward to tasting that sub-par basil.”

  Scott grinned. “The sauce makes up for it, I swear. It’s been cooking since I got up at noon.”

  They adjourned to the kitchen where Eamon mooched around looking out the window into the back yard while Scott put the pasta in the water and grated mountains of parmesan.

  “How hungry are you?” Scott called from the sink, draining pasta and ladling it into bowls.

  “I could eat,” Eamon told him. He turned away from the window. “Your garden looks nice.”

  “I’ve been cleaning it up bit by bit,” Scott said. “In a couple of weeks, I’ll be ready to plant my tomatoes and herbs.” He kissed the fingers of one hand. “Fresh tomato salad with home-grown basil? You’ve never had it so good.”

  Eamon laughed. “Maybe I’ll just never leave.”

  That sounded fine with Scott, even though he wasn’t sure if Eamon meant his kitchen or the town in general. He grinned back, pushing a bowl of pasta at Eamon. “Cheese is over there. Feel free to go crazy with it. I like it cheesy, myself.”

  “I can tell from your jokes,” Eamon said, and sprinkled cheese smugly over his well-sauced pasta while Scott roared with laughter.

  It was easy to eat with Eamon at the dining table, watching him go for seconds with the pride of a man who knows he’s done a good job. Eamon had a bunch of stories about coding disasters, and it was hilarious how, after telling each one, he got all apologetic about how he was sure nothing so terrible would happen to Scott’s appointment scheduler.

  Given that some of them involved computers spontaneously
catching fire, Scott definitely hoped so, though he assumed that things not being run by drunk teenagers would remove a lot of that potential. He had brought out beers to go with dinner – admitting as he did so that they were more his wheelhouse than wine – but the two of them were hardly buzzed, let alone drunk.

  Scott was just explaining how his parents were even better gardeners than he was, when Eamon said something about Florida and his parents and Scott stopped, confused.

  “I thought you were staying with your parents here?” he asked.

  “I’m staying in their house,” Eamon explained. “But they’re living down in Florida right now.”

  “Coming back for the summer, then?”

  Eamon shrugged. “They haven’t for years, I think. They like it down there too much.”

  “But the house?”

  “They didn’t want to get rid of it when they moved,” Eamon said easily. “And it was already in my name, so I figured, what’s the harm in keeping it around? We had to pack up a lot of their stuff, of course, but it’s all still there, just in case they need it.” He went back to eating as though he hadn’t dropped any kind of bombshell at all.

  “That’s...really sweet of you,” Scott told him. He’d figured Eamon was close enough with his parents if he came back to visit them on his sabbatical, but this was a whole other level of adorable. And he said it so casually too, as though taking over his parents’ mortgage and hanging onto the house for them wasn’t kind of a big deal as well as being incredibly thoughtful.

  “I happened to have the money, that’s all.” Eamon flashed a crooked grin, shoulders hunched. “It’s the least I could do, right?”

  “Seems like a lot to me,” Scott said, resting his chin on one hand. “I’m sure your parents really appreciate it.”

  Maybe he was laying it on a little thick, but it was so hard not to when Eamon seemed so embarrassed by the praise, so full of denials that he was doing anything remarkable at all. Eamon was really blushing now, pushing his food around the plate with a fork, head ducked down.

  “So, what’s it like living in your parents’ old place?” Scott asked after a good five minutes of teasing praise.

  “Not too bad.” Eamon shrugged, face still burning up.

  “Are you thinking of getting somewhere of your own around here then or just staying put?” The question leapt from Scott’s mouth without him intending to say it. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t stand for some kind of temporary fling, but watching Eamon over dinner, it was hard not to think about how close Columbus really was. Did that really count as long distance? He wanted to know what was going on with Eamon, that was all. So that he could decide how much of his heart he wanted to commit to this sweet boy who seemed to do everyone favors and hardly acknowledge the work he was definitely putting in.

  “I don’t know.” Eamon spoke slowly, thinking out each word as it came out of his mouth. “It’s convenient to have my parents’ place here, of course, but it can be a little weird sometimes.” He smiled ruefully. “Every closet is full of memories, you know?”

  “Yeah, for sure,” Scott said eagerly. “That’s exactly what my folks’ place is like. And they’re always there when I am: I can’t imagine hanging around there on my own.”

  “I hadn’t really thought of an apartment, but...maybe?” Eamon sounded conflicted, but Scott’s imagination was already diving head-first into hypotheticals and possibilities. This wasn’t confirmation of anything, but somehow, it felt like it might be.

  “Well, if you need a hand, let me know,” Scott said. “I know a guy.”

  “A...guy?”

  “A realtor,” Scott clarified. “Not like, a guy with a basement to let or something.”

  “I didn’t think–!” Eamon protested, clearly lying through his teeth.

  They were still wrangling over this when the laptop on the couch beeped, startling them both.

  “Should we check on it?” Scott asked.

  “Up to you,” Eamon said. “It’s probably just done installing, so it can wait until we’re done.”

  “Well, would you like thirds then?” Scott joked.

  “I might die,” Eamon said, clutching his stomach theatrically. “It was great though. Better than I can cook.”

  “Oh, anyone can make pasta sauce.” Scott waved him off. “It’s just a matter of having time to do it.”

  “You’ll have to show me sometime,” Eamon said winningly, and Scott felt his heart skip a beat looking into Eamon’s clear gray eyes.

  It wasn’t his imagination, he was sure, that they lingered at the table over the last few sips of their beers before making their way to the couch to check on the laptop. What it meant: that’s what he wasn’t clear about. It was easy to talk to Eamon, to tease him about the things he’d forgotten about small town life and the contrast to the opulence of his lifestyle in the city. Eamon seemed to find it easier to talk about his company as it used to be rather than as it was now, coming back every time to the days before he’d made all this money. It wasn’t clear if he was trying to relate to Scott on purpose, but Scott definitely was finding it pretty relatable, even if he still didn’t know one thing about coding.

  “Looks like it’s all set up,” Eamon called into the kitchen as Scott went in search of another couple of beers. “Shall I start testing?”

  “Yeah, go for it!” Scott called back. He opened the beers and joined Eamon the couch, peering down at the screen. “What’s it doing?”

  “Nothing yet,” Eamon muttered, typing on the other laptop. “I’m just putting the order through now.”

  Scott reached to open his appointment program at the same time that Eamon did, their hands overlapping on the keyboard and springing away from one another as if burned. A smooth hand, one that clearly did a lot of typing. Scott wondered how his own felt in comparison, if his calluses seemed rough on Eamon’s soft skin.

  “Go ahead.” Eamon gestured at the laptop on the coffee table.

  Scott clicked into the appointment program and let out a whoop of triumph. There was something there, at least. He clicked on the new appointment. This was definitely one of Eamon’s tests, with its blandly fake name and plans. “Do another one!” he said excitedly. “This one seems to be working.”

  “I’m going to put in a truly crazy number of people and bikes,” Eamon warned him.

  “Go for it!” Scott was flying now. Things were turning around.

  Eamon seemed to spend forever typing away at his laptop, but finally the appointment message went through and appeared as promised on Scott’s appointment calendar.

  “You’re a genius!” Scott announced and flung his arm around Eamon’s shoulders, squeezing him into a bear hug.

  13

  Eamon

  That hug, Eamon decided afterwards, was where things had gotten awkward. He’d been so surprised to suddenly feel a pair of arms around him that he’d tensed up automatically, and Scott had flung himself away moments afterwards, apologizing and thanking Eamon for fixing his problems in the same breath.

  Eamon had hung around for a while after that, fiddling with settings, inputting more and more ludicrous test appointments, and finishing his beer, but the dynamic between them never quite reached the ease it had had before. And it had been easy before, Eamon had been sure of that. They’d traded stories about Eamon’s old work days and the troubles Scott had had being on the conservancy board. They’d joked around. It had been good.

  But then he’d done something foolish and messed it all up again. That seemed to be all he was good for after all. He wouldn’t be surprised if the appointment program broke down again almost immediately because that seemed to be the kind of luck he was having.

  On top of that, he’d come home to a voicemail from Kevin that hadn’t sounded promising and – when he returned the call the next morning – had been even worse than Eamon had assumed. The board hadn’t just discussed the dismemberment of his company, but had seen fit to comment on his behavior, agreeing
among themselves that sometimes a longer sabbatical was necessary to adequately “deal with” (Eamon could practically hear the quotation marks) a CEO who was succumbing to the stress of the position.

  Succumbing to everyone else’s incompetency, more like. Though his own was certainly up for grabs right now.

  He needed to talk to someone about this shit. But everyone was definitely at work right now. Everyone except for him. He flicked through his list of contacts and landed, not quite intentionally, on his mom.

  She picked up at once.

  “Eamon? Is everything okay?”

  “Of course it’s fine,” Eamon told her. “Don’t worry so much, mom.”

  “When you call me in the middle of the day?” his mom said, astonished. “Of course I worry. Where are you? Aren’t you at work? Is something wrong?”

  “I’m taking my lunch break,” Eamon lied. Fuck, how stupid had he been? He’d wanted to fall all over himself explaining the situation to his mom, but how could he break her heart like that? She worried enough at the idea that he might take any random weekday off. How was she supposed to cope with the possibility that his career was over and there was nothing he could do about it?

  “At two o’clock? You have to take better care of yourself, sweetie!”

  “I take great care of myself,” Eamon protested. He leaned against the wall, staring out the kitchen window and avoiding the sight of the mess he’d made five minutes earlier making himself a turkey sandwich. It had both meat and tomatoes, he thought defensively. It was like healthy food. There had even been a seed or two in the bread, which had come from the local bakery and was just as good as Scott had claimed.

  He took a moment to think about the pleasantness of the bakery: the brightly painted space, the warm yeasty smell of bread mixed with the sugary undertones of the pies that gave them their name. The possibility of going there sometime with Scott. When he came back to the conversation, his mom was already well into a diatribe about proper health.