Page 15

Chapter 15

Henry

“Oh my god.” Jack covered his pink cheeks with his hands and groaned while the guys laughed. “How do I fix it?”

We were gathered at the end of the bar toward the end of the lunch rush at the Roadhouse. The five of us eating together had become a semi-regular thing as of late.

Couldn’t say it bothered me.

Not one bit.

“Fix it?” Dad groused. “Are you kidding? It’s perfect.”

Hudson laughed, and Lance shrugged with a huge grin.

Jack looked my way, and all I could do was put an arm around him and press a kiss to his head. “Might be good for business.”

“What if people think?—”

“Fuck ’em.”

Jack paused when Dad cut him off and then tried again. “I just don’t want anyone being offended. ”

“I don’t think anyone is offended,” Lance said. “I heard folks laughing about it at the shop today.”

Jack’s eyes grew wide.

“In a good way,” Lance assured.

“It’s all people could talk about at the store.” Hudson slapped Jack on the back.

“It’s fuckin’ damn good marketing, and I wish we’d been smart enough to think of it on purpose,” Dad said, a hint of pride and a heap of support in his words for Jack. The two had hit it off almost immediately once Jack realized Dad’s bark was worse than his bite.

Jack coming to town had been almost as good for Dad as it had been for me. In addition to sneaking in those graphic design classes, he’d also taken a few online courses about the basics of marketing. Two of the most important men in my life were now spending hours a day together, and it was the sweetest thing in the world to watch.

For Jack, their relationship gave him the father figure he’d never had. That was a position I had very little interest in fulfilling for him since, well…yeah.

For Dad, it gave him a bit of a redo. He hadn’t been a bad dad to Hudson and me, just drowning in his own emotional shit for so many years. But now, he got to revisit teaching someone how to change a flat tire, check and change the oil, drive a stick shift, and build a good fire. Those were all things I could have taught Jack—not gonna lie, I was maybe a tiny bit jealous of Dad’s time with him—but I knew they were both getting something good from each other, so I let Dad take the reins.

The two of them had been working their asses off for the last few weeks. Amid their father son bonding, they were also up to their ears in ideas and planning for Cake and Cocktails.

Photo shoots.

Who knew Casey Joe Riggs was such a great shot with a smart phone? I couldn’t help but think it was partly because Jack was a great subject, and his cakes were gorgeous too.

Social media posts.

Setting up online ads.

Building up newsletter subscribers.

We’d all agreed to help each other build up our social media presence—a rising tide lifts all boats, that type of thing—and Dad and Jack had set a goal of one thousand Instagram followers before they sent out the first Cake and Cocktails newsletter.

Two days earlier, the ’gram had taken a leap in followers and even rolled over to 1,001 thanks to a bus of senior citizens who’d stopped in, went wild for our cakes and cocktails, and spent several minutes figuring out how to scan QR codes, follow, and even share the account with their friends and families. The pictures they all took with the cake and cocktail flights were amazing, and the whole group got a kick out of tagging our Instagram account.

Thanks to our cake-loving octogenarians embracing technology, the first Cake and Cocktails newsletter had gone out to just under five hundred subscribers. While we’d found it fairly easy to get followers, it took a bit more effort to get people to sign up for a newsletter.

Unless you accidentally reeled them in.

Our subscriber numbers and social media followers had jumped exponentially thanks to a very convenient cut off point in the subject line.

Even before publication, the newsletter had quickly and easily become known as Cake and Cocktails, and each edition would include photos, recipes, deals, and links to interesting articles about cake baking, decorating, history, and even some fun facts about cakes and cocktails.

The reason the first edition had everyone talking, as we’d quickly found out, was because the subject line of “Cake and Cocktails: Where You Can Have Your Cake and Cocktails Too” had been truncated by the newsletter service to show only “Cake and Cock…”

I was on the same page as Dad. It was a great way to get people talking, sharing, and looking forward to the newsletter. Plus, the more interest the newsletter stirred up, the better our chances of getting people to visit not only our social media, but also the actual Cake and Cocktails portion of the Roadhouse.

“If they’re offended, they can unsubscribe.” I gave Jack a squeeze. “We should celebrate.”

“We’re heading to the city this weekend,” Lance said. “Come with us.”

“Double date.” Hudson elbowed me with a grin.

Lance glanced at Dad, but his best friend only grunted. “Don’t even think about asking me to go with you. No way you’re getting me to be the fifth wheel, and y’all know I don’t belong anywhere near the city.” Dad nodded toward Jack’s addition to the Roadhouse. “Come on, let’s get those pictures taken. People went gaga over the one of you decorating that big ol’ tiered bastard the other day, I want a few more of those to schedule.” Dad glanced at me. “ We’re changing the oil in your truck this afternoon, don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Jack gave me his soft smile, rubbing the collar of his shirt over his bottom lip. The pretty blush on his cheeks when I sent a wink his way had me wishing we could escape upstairs for the rest of the day.

But no such luck. The lunch rush had slammed us, and I had plenty to clean up plus paperwork. As we’d done for the last several weeks since officially opening Cake and Cocktails, Jack baked and decorated in the morning. Then he manned the cake counter during brunch and lunch hours. He did a soft closing for the late afternoon hours which meant he’d pop in to sell cake if he was around, or I’d help if someone was desperate for a slice right then and there. Jack was back behind the counter for dinner and late-night cake cravings. He usually worked in ingredient prep, extra baking or decorating, and administrative type stuff between the dinner rush and the late-night customers.

Occasionally, if we hadn’t purposely scheduled a day off together, we’d grab those afternoon hours and retreat to the apartment for a nap. And by nap I meant we eventually took a quick snooze after whatever other activities we found ourselves wrapped up in.

But more often than not, Dad usually had plans for Jack’s afternoon hours, and I couldn’t even be mad about it.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I told Dad with an eye roll. “Even if I wanted to go somewhere, I’ve got way too much to do here. Deliveries coming in, a leaky dishwasher to look at, and payroll to take care of. ”

“Oh!” Jack brightened. “Can you make sure the delivery has the extra order of cake flour.”

I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. “Yep. And I already confirmed your decorating bits are in there too.”

Jack stared up at me, those sparkling blue eyes making me feel like the luckiest man in the universe. “Thank you,” he whispered before pressing a kiss to my lips. “Love you,” he murmured.

Dad made a gagging noise.

Lance laughed.

And Hudson cooed. “Awww, so fucking adorable.”

“So adorable I might puke,” Dad grumbled. “Come on, let’s get out of here before all the lovey-dovey stuff rubs off on me.”

Hudson and I exchanged a knowing look, and Lance’s tiny grin confirmed what the three of us were thinking. Dad had a crappy past when it came to love, but he’d been healing a lot lately. He didn’t like that Hudson and Lance had gotten together and kept it secret, but even he couldn’t deny they were good for each other. And Jack coming to town had been a really good thing for Dad. Seeing what Jack and I had found together maybe had Dad making goofy jokes about love rubbing off on him, but I had a feeling his heart was ready to try again.

The fact Dad had always been so accepting of his queer sons—plus the comments he’d made lately regarding finding someone to love instead of automatically pigeonholing himself into finding a woman to love—made me think Dad had slowly been discovering things about himself. Maybe things he hadn’t been ready to uncover way back when. Or maybe he was taking the not a fixed point on the spectrum approach to figuring himself out.

Whichever it was—and even though he didn’t seem completely comfortable with sharing with us yet—Dad had definitely been doing some deep-dive soul searching as of late.

And damn if that didn’t make me proud as hell of him.

Sure, he was a bit later to the game when it came to figuring shit out about himself, but everyone was on their own timeline, doing things at their own pace.

Maybe Dad would end up with a lovely woman. Or maybe he’d end up with a guy. Or maybe gender wasn’t something Dad was concerned about these days. But my gut told me Casey Joe Riggs was ready to love again, and the person he found would be the perfect mix of accepting, challenging, and completely devoted.

And Dad deserved every single bit of love the universe wanted to send his way.

“Those two really hit it off, huh?” Sam nodded through the dining room to where Dad and Jack laughed over posing the perfect pictures and what they could write to bring in followers and hopefully turn them into customers.

I shook my head with a grin. “Sure did. They’re good for each other.”

Sam smirked. “They are, and he’s good for you.”

There was no reason to deny it. Haven Grove was a tiny town. The moment Jack and I had been seen holding hands in the Juicy Peach, our secret had been out. It wasn’t like we’d been trying to keep anything a secret. Not really. We just hadn’t been in any rush to bring the town into our personal lives. But the fact we worked together, lived together, and were now running one of the most popular new businesses in town meant there wasn’t a lot of room for privacy.

Most of the townsfolk had taken our relationship in stride. The Riggs family was well-liked and highly-respected in Haven Grove, and many of the people in town had known Hudson and I since we were babies. Even if some people weren’t a hundred percent on board with our same-sex relationships, very few folks in town were rude enough to say anything about it.

Just as the thought flitted through my head, fate brought one of those people right to my door. Sam’s eyes narrowed as Haven Grove’s very own fire and brimstone preacher walked through the door.

“Got a mess to clean up in the back,” Sam said. Under his breath, he continued, “I’ll let you deal with this mess out here.”

Steeling myself for what was sure to be an unsettling conversation, I finished wiping down a table before turning to greet the man. “Brother Larry,” I said, holding out my hand. I maybe didn’t care for the man, but I had no reason to be rude.

Not yet.

“What brings you in today?” I refused to say it was good to see the man. If he’d lowered himself to coming into the Roadhouse, he definitely wasn’t there on a friendly visit .

“Does the shepherd need a reason to check in on his flock?” Larry Holmes ran a hand over his thick wave of red hair as if to check it was still shellacked into submission.

It was.

“Well, you’ve made it pretty clear in the past that you wanted nothing to do with my place of business.” I kept my voice calm, grateful Dad and Jack had left through the side door. Probably already elbow deep in their oil changing fun.

Woulda rather sipped a piping cup of motor oil if it meant not talking to Brother Larry. The preacher had never been my favorite person, and I sensed the oncoming conversation wasn’t going to change my mind.

His nervous chuckle jiggled his thick jowls. “There’s that Henry Riggs grumpiness.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down.

Larry ducked his head in mock sheepishness. “I will admit I find it off-putting that so many good people deem it necessary to eat amongst such sin.”

I huffed and rolled my eyes. “It’s a restaurant, man, not a den of iniquity.”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t find my God calling me to take part in what goes on here.” Larry glanced around the nearly empty dining room as if he’d smelled something foul. “As a man of God, I do have a responsibility to rescue those of my flock who wander and find themselves in danger.”

“Yeah, the fresh-baked pretzels almost did poor ol’ Delores in last week,” I deadpanned.

“The grumpy routine is only cute for so long.” Larry’s admonishment sent fire to my gut. He was going to see anger rather than grumpiness pretty soon.

“Then get to your point so you don’t have to deal with it.” A throbbing beat at my temple, likely from the heavy grinding my molars were taking.

Larry’s nostrils flared. “Many of my flock have been tempted by the devil himself—surrounding themselves with drink and,” he waved a hand around the bar in a vague gesture I took to mean his insinuation of depravity, “it’s my calling to keep them safe.”

“I thought it was your calling to love others the way Jesus instructed,” I drawled, finding a lot more enjoyment in trying to rattle Brother Larry than I would have expected. “Isn’t that Rule Number One? Love one another? Did I miss the rule about judging, shaming, and manipulating your flock ?”

Don’t get me wrong. I never wanted anybody in town to find themselves in an addiction or anything similar because of the drinks I served at the Roadhouse. But, as usual, Brother Larry had taken the high and mighty road.

With steam threatening to pour from his ears, the preacher straightened the sleeves of his button-up and gritted his teeth as he spoke. “The way I care for my parishioners is of no business of yours.”

When he started to say more, I cut him off. “Anyway, I’m actually glad you stopped by.” I hadn’t decided until that exact moment if I was going to confront the preacher about his grandson making a mess of my trash, but his attitude had pissed me off.

Brother Larry cocked a brow. “Is that so?”

“Haven’t had too much trouble lately,” I started, “but a while back, my trash was getting torn into on the regular. Thought it was an animal for a while, but it was too neatly picked through before being tossed about.”

He stared at me blankly.

“A witness pointed out Randy and Pete as the trash bandits. Wanted to make sure you were aware. Not only because they were making a mess on my property, but also because it’s not safe to be digging through trash, especially with possibly spoiled food.”

Larry’s cheeks caught fire. “Randy wouldn’t dare dig through trash. That Sanders boy is on a dangerous track from what I can see?—”

“Both boys were identified as being the culprits digging through my trash. Vandalizing my property. On multiple occasions.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but I crossed my arms over my chest and took a tiny step closer. Larry snapped his mouth closed, easing back a smidge. “Seems to me that a little mess is the least of your problems. Boys like to have a bit of fun; I don’t really think a bit of trash is a sin.”

I cocked my head, thinking of all the ways I could have responded to that. “If the vandalization of my property—which is something I could easily press charges against—is the least of my problems, maybe you’d care to fill me in on what the worst of my problems are?”

Larry took a deep breath and closed his eyes, looking toward the ceiling as if hoping to make contact with a higher power before continuing. “I’ve heard about the new business you’ve got going on. ”

“Cake and Cocktails? Surely you don’t have anything against cake.”

“Enticing my flock with sugary sweets, encouraging gluttony, trapping them in the grip of alcohol.” Larry paused to wipe spittle from his lips with his ever-present hanky. “And now you and that boy you’ve got shacked up with you have gone and sent out pornography to the innocent and unsuspecting members of my congregation.” His voice had risen as he spoke, and he dabbed at sweat on his brow.

For a moment, I thought he was joking. When he didn’t find my huff of laugher amusing, I rolled my eyes. “Are you serious right now?”

“The eternal damnation of my flock is something I take very seriously, son.”

“Don’t call me son,” I warned. “I’ve seen you at Glazed Buns having coffee and a cinnamon roll. You can’t tell me you don’t eat sugary treats.”

“Of course not,” Larry said. “Our fine coffee shop doesn’t serve alcohol, and it most definitely isn’t an establishment that would send out godless profanity to their customers—good people who were only subscribing out of the goodness of their hearts.”

I ran a hand through my beard. “Give me a moment, preacher. I want to recap what I’m hearing to make sure I’ve got it right.” I displayed one finger. “One, it’s okay for your grandson to vandalize my property. If it were just Pete Sanders, you might hold a different opinion, but Randy Holmes is above reproach because Grandpa has an in with the big guy. Gotcha.” Ignoring Larry’s sputtered excuses, I added another finger. “Two, you are against both of my establishments because we offer the people in town food, spirits, and…let me check my notes…ah, yes, sugar .”

Larry puffed out a breath, the fleshy part of his neck jiggling.

Before he could say a word, I went on, adding a third finger. “Three, you find a simple newsletter worthy of being labeled sinful.” I waved my fingers in the air. “Is that the gist of it?”

“Now see here,” Larry started. “You and I both know alcohol is the very basis of so many sins. And, and,” he sputtered, “and gluttony is one of the worst.”

I nodded. “I agree that alcohol can be a huge issue for a lot of people.” My mind traveled to all the trouble Uncle Billy got in because his drinking became a real problem. “The good thing about the Roadhouse is we serve water, tea, and soft drinks as well. No one is forced to drink alcohol of any type. And we cut folks off if it seems like it’s going to become a problem.” Plus, everyone in our small town was well-aware of those who either couldn’t handle their liquor or who struggled with dependency. “I’m not in the business of supporting drunk driving or alcoholism.”

“Well, I?—”

“As for the cake,” I barreled on. “I don’t really know what to tell you. If I saw you making such a fuss at the bakery or the Dairy Palace, I’d think you’re truly puttin’ up such a fight because you’re worried about your flock’s eternal damnation if they stuff themselves silly on sweets.” I crossed my arms over my chest again. “But it seems like you only have a problem with Jack’s new business, which leads me to believe you truly only have a problem with Jack—either because he’s gay or because he’s involved with me.”

Larry’s cheeks pinked, and a thin sheen of sweat broke out on his brow. “Now, you know, God teaches us to hate the sin, love the sinner?—”

“That’s a bunch of bullshit and you know it,” I bit out, stabbing a finger in his direction. I’d pretty much ignored Larry Holmes the majority of my adult life—he just wasn’t worth the trouble of getting worked up. But the moment the man insinuated Jack was a problem—what we’d started building together was a sin—all bets were off, and I was bound and determined to defend Jack.

“That doesn’t erase the fact that you’ve moved in a man half your age to live in depravity right above a public restaurant, and he’s sending out pornography to the good folks of Haven Grove.” Larry’s face was so red, his face so sweaty, and his lips so spitty, I truly worried for a moment he’d keel over right in front of me.

“Jack is twenty-five which is clearly not even close to half my age. While it’s none of your business, a ten-year age gap isn’t much?—”

Larry snorted. “I guess your brother definitely wins in that contest.”

It’s wrong to punch a man of God.

It’s wrong to punch a man of God.

I took a deep breath and unclenched my fist.

Larry’s eyes grew wide, and he glanced nervously where I shook out the tension in my right hand.

“Jack living with me is none of your business either. Maybe be a bit more concerned about your grandson digging through trash and a little less worried about what your flock is doing in the privacy of their own homes.” I cocked my head. “Unless you get off on thinking about the sex lives of your sheep?”

A deep blue vein threatened to throb its way out from under Larry’s pale, sweaty skin. “Don’t be vulgar.”

I shrugged. “Just seems like you’re very interested in what Jack and I are doing in the privacy of our own home.”

“My main concern is the newsletter. Cease and desist, and I’ll let this go.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Cease and desist?” Wiping at the tears in my eyes, I worked to calm myself. “First off, no.” I took a step closer to Larry. “Second, no way in hell.” One more small step, loving the way he inched away from me. “And third, fuck no.” When Larry hit the wall, his eyes bulging, and a drop of sweat trickling down his ruddy cheek, I couldn’t help but grin wickedly. “Oh, and thanks to this little show, you better believe we’ll be sending out Cake and Cock… newsletters every time we get a chance.”

“I’ll go to the city council,” Larry threatened.

“Feel free. Let me know which meeting, so I can let the elder Sanders know his boy is out rummaging through trash with Randy.” I rubbed my beard as if mulling it over. “I’m sure the rest of the council members would love to hear the story of how two of your very own flock found themselves digging in trash.”

“You can’t send out such profanity—” Spittle flew with the few words he got out before I interrupted again.

“And if I remember correctly, Randy and Pete are both interested in making Varsity this year, isn’t that right?” Tapping a finger against my chin, I waited for the moment when my words sank in. “Quite a few of the boys’ teachers and coaches visit the Roadhouse a couple times a week.” I leaned in and whispered, “And they love our cake. Would hate for them to get wind of two of their potential players vandalizing private property. I’m sure they’d wonder what the world was coming to when the good shepherd of Haven Grove can’t even control his own sheep.”

“But, but?—”

I jabbed a finger into Larry’s shoulder. “No. This is where it ends. You don’t like the Riggs family? You don’t like me? Fine. Don’t want to give us your business? Totally your choice. Don’t want to drink alcohol? Your prerogative. Don’t want cake? Perfectly fine. Don’t like the newsletter? Unsubscribe. Block us for all I care.” I poked at him again. “But don’t you ever come in here on your high horse and insinuate that my business or my relationship is a sin unless you plan on listing your own.”

Larry side-stepped me, shouldering past me with a grunt. “I remember when you and your brother were little boys. So much potential. Such a shame Casey Joe succumbed to the ways of the devil.”

I snorted. “Excuse me?”

“Divorce is a sin. Your Jezebel mother brought shame on herself, her boys, her marriage, and this town.” Larry puffed his chest as if gearing up for a sermon. “If your father had turned to the church?—”

“Turned to the church? Turned to the people who shut him out when he and Mom got pregnant before they were married? That’s rich.”

Larry waved away my words. “Casey Joe and his sons needed God, but he was too prideful to lay down his sins. And look what happened.”

“Get out.”

“Son—”

“Don’t call me son.” The metallic taste of blood coated my tongue as I bit the inside of my jaw. “Don’t come back. Keep your kid away from my property.”

Larry narrowed his eyes, a sneer painting his fleshy face. “That boy is trouble. He’s been the catalyst to all the problems. Like you were just waiting on him to show up and lead you astray.”

My teeth would soon be tiny piles of shards and rubble if the man kept talking. “Leave Jack out of this.”

Larry reached into his back pocket and pulled out a Bible. “I’d like to pray over you both. Bring Jack in. Let us ask God in to save your souls.”

“Get out.”

“Son—”

The punch landed on the corner of Larry’s eye, my knuckles glancing off his cheekbone.

And it felt damn good.

Larry yelped, fell back against the wall, and wailed in pain. “You son-of-a-bitch,” he roared, but it was muffled by his hand cradling his face.

“Naughty words, preacher. Guess we’re all just sinners at heart, huh?” I grabbed his elbow and shoved him toward the door. “Don’t come back here.”

“You’ll regret this,” Larry growled.

“Not as much as you’ll regret if you say another damn word about Jack.” I took a step toward Larry, satisfaction washing over me when he stumbled away quickly. “Have the day you deserve, Preacher.”

I waited until the door swung closed behind him before running both hands over my face with a strangled noise, part frustration and part anger.

A slow clap echoed through the bar behind me, and I turned to see Sam grinning broadly as he applauded. “Was that as satisfying as it looked?”

Snorting, I glanced at my hand. “Hell, yeah.” I flexed my fingers. “Hurt like a bitch though.”

“That man is a walking hemorrhoid,” Sam said. “He deserved it.” He scooped some ice into a bar towel and handed it to me. “Here, keep this on it for a while.” His gaze strayed to where Larry had exited. “Think anything will come of that?”

I grunted before hissing when I placed the ice on my knuckles. “Maybe? Probably? Fuck, I don’t know. He’s pissed, but I don’t think there’s a lot he can do about a randomly placed cut-off on a word in a subject line. No one is forced to sign up for the newsletter. We’ve followed all the necessary steps to make sure the newsletter is compliant—people have to confirm they wanted to sign up, they can unsubscribe at any time, all the shit. It’s legit.”

Sam scratched his goatee. “Probably not a whole lot he can do, but I doubt that keeps him from blabbing his story all over town and doing his best to cause you and Jack some problems. I’ll keep an ear out.”

“Thanks. You’re probably right, he’s likely not going to let it go easily. ”

“You’ll probably be the subject of his next few sermons.”

I snorted. “Guess if my ears are burnin’ on Sunday, I’ll know why.”

Sam smirked. “’Course, probably quite a few who will be wantin’ your autograph once they figure out who gave the good shepherd that shiner.”

We laughed. Part of me figured Larry would badmouth me, warn the town of my sinful and violent ways, and then move on to protecting his flock from something else. But a tiny part of me wondered if I’d just whacked a hornet’s nest.