Page 2 of Daddy Marc's Gem (Club Sensation #2)

Foster gazed around his cluttered yard, hands on his hips. He blew a stray hank of hair out of his eyes, sweat gathering at the back of his neck from packing up the remaining collectibles no one had wanted. It looked as though he’d barely sold a thing, yet he’d managed to pocket over three thousand dollars. However, that was primarily because of the mid-century bedroom set a couple had snapped up the first day.

Foster clenched his jaw over how little he’d accepted for it. Desperate times…

With a sigh, he bent down and tugged another box filled with crumpled wrapping material from under a folding table. He didn’t want to be putting stuff away for the rest of the night. So many items remained, and this was the last day he was allowed to sell out of his garage. He’d already hit the three-day Dedham limit for doing yard sales in a calendar year.

He had no idea what to do next about his situation. His stomach twisted the way it always did whenever he was faced with a decision. As in, any decision. The course of his future, what color shirt he should wear, whether to get a blueberry or chocolate muffin… Every choice was up for grabs when it came to his obsessive anxiety. His usual response was to freeze in terror then either do something stupid or nothing at all.

His eyes burned with impending, potentially humiliating tears. No wonder Edward couldn’t stand his whiny ass anymore. He probably would’ve left himself too.

“Excuse me.” A middle-aged woman with the brightest, orangiest hair he’d ever seen held up a pair of tall, antique pewter candlesticks in mint condition. “Will you take ten bucks for these?”

Foster almost choked on his tongue. If he had his shop up and running—as it should’ve been by now—he’d easily get a hundred dollars for them, maybe more. As it was, it had destroyed a small part of his soul to put a forty-dollar tag on such fine specimens. He would’ve even considered going as low as thirty. But ten ?

At last, he was able to breathe. “I’m afraid not. The lowest I can go is thirty.”

She stuck out her bottom lip, turning one of them over in her hand then checking underneath where the signature of the prestigious manufacturer could plainly be seen. At last, she looked up. “Twelve bucks, and you’ve got a deal.”

Foster gritted his teeth to keep from blurting out something rude. No point in alienating the locals since he was still fairly new to the area. He held out his hands to take them from her while vigorously shaking his head. She harrumphed then handed them over.

As she stomped away, he overheard her grousing to the man who’d arrived with her about how her ten-dollar offer was generous enough to begin with, considering the candlesticks weren’t worth more than five.

Foster gazed at the exquisite pieces, admiring the craftsmanship and care from the well-respected designer. He knew that certain items in the antiquities market were soft, but how could anyone view objects of such quality, then say that ten dollars was a generous amount to pay?

Foster’s shoulders dropped, and he made his way up the sloped driveway to the detached, two-car garage. He had a workshop in the back where he kept small furniture pieces to be restored, and he decided the candlesticks should be safely tucked away in there for now. Someday. someone who truly appreciated them would come along.

Right as he unlatched the wood gate that blocked the backyard from the front, his mostly Australian Shepherd, Dolly, wriggled her way through the opening and took off like a shot. Foster gasped, gripping the candlesticks for all he was worth to keep from dropping them on the cement.

He whipped his head back and forth between Dolly and the candlesticks, frozen like he typically was when quick thinking was required. He bit his lip, noting that Dolly was busy sniffing everything and no one was in the yard. Surely, if he took sixty seconds to set down the sticks in the workshop, it would be fine.

“Oh, man!” Foster almost slipped in the pool of water overflowing from the plant bed next to the walkways. “Ugh, Dolly. Seriously?”

She must’ve either been chasing a squirrel or playing because the hose was wrapped around the spigot that was on full blast. Water and mud were everywhere. He’d definitely have to give her a bath outside before letting her in later. At least it was a warm day.

Foster moved faster, careful not to slip, but he had to get back out to the front right away before she got mud all over one of his expensive items. He grabbed her lead in case she got too riled up from strangers coming to the sale. Not that she would ever bite anyone. She was about as dangerous as a giddy toddler, but strangers didn’t know that.

As he made his way through the side gate again, he discovered he was too late. “Oh no!” Foster raced toward the poor man whose clothes were being decorated by Dolly’s muddy paws. “Dolly! Down, girl! Down .”

Dolly’s rear sashayed back and forth at a frantic pace, the fur hanging off her tail swishing like a pom pom. Clearly, she was much more interested in greeting the stranger than obeying Foster’s commands.

Foster threw his arms in the air, exasperated at her misbehavior. Although she got excited when she saw people, she usually listened to him. The man wasn’t encouraging her to behave, either. He kept laughing and scratching behind her ears, telling her what a big sweetie she was.

Foster jogged toward the chaotic scene, out of breath once he finally reached them. At least the guy wasn’t being mean to her—even though she was in the process of annihilating his designer jeans and white shirt with more mud than Foster thought possible for one dog.He grabbed her collar, careful not to yank on her neck too hard, and dropped to one knee, putting an arm around her to hopefully help her calm down while attaching her leash. In her excitement, she started furiously licking his face, something she rarely did anymore now that she was out of her puppy stage.

“Dolly!”

Foster screwed his eyes shut, frantically whipping his head around in a futile effort to escape her sloppy kisses. A half-muffled, garbled sound came out of him, and he could only imagine what the man must be thinking.

At last, she seemed to be running out of steam, and Foster could open his eyes. He inhaled sharply. The stranger had mirrored him, dropping to one knee but on the other side of Dolly. The man whispered soothing words to Dolly while petting her. He glanced up, smiling at Foster as they locked gazes.

Foster swallowed hard, his cock twitching in his pants. “I’m...I’m so sorry. She doesn’t usually get so out of control like that.”

Holy fuck . This was one handsome man . Even if he wasn’t in the market for anyone, and who was to say the man was gay, he could certainly appreciate the outstanding eye candy.

The man chuckled, a deep throaty sound that wasn’t helping Foster’s inappropriate insta-woody.

“I might’ve encouraged her a bit, so it’s partly my fault. But she’s such a pretty girl.” He ruffled the fur on her head. “Who’s a pretty girl?” The man glanced back at Foster. “Dolly, right?”

Words failed him, so Foster merely nodded. The man’s smile grew wide. “Let’s get both you and Dolly out of the sun. Your face is a bit flushed.”

Foster choked on his own spit, his skin responding to the stranger’s observation by heating further. Nothing did it for him more than a commanding, self-assured man. The fact that the guy was over six feet tall, broad-shouldered with a masculine cut to his jawline, light beard, and chestnut brown hair with a touch of silver at the temples…

Foster resisted drooling when he accepted the man’s strong, square hand as he helped him to his feet. Dolly danced around them, still wagging her tail, tongue lolling out one side of her open mouth.

“T-thanks.”

Foster wondered how goofy of a smile he radiated. Truth be told, he was almost as thrilled about this stranger in the yard as Dolly was. It was fortunate that he didn’t have a tail. When he tore his gaze from the man’s deep hazel eyes, he noted the smears of drying mud staining the shirt and jeans of Dolly’s new buddy.

Foster slapped a palm to his forehead.“Oh no, your clothes! This is awful. Let me at least get you another shirt to wear…” Foster’s gaze traveled the length of the stranger’s frame. Any of his tees would be a belly shirt on this guy. “Umm… or a towel…or something.”

Foster winced, his face heating up again. He didn’t know what to do, how to fix the situation. So far, the man had been very understanding, hadn’t stopped smiling, and was even still petting Dolly and letting her lick his hand.

I wouldn’t mind licking something of his . Foster coughed into his fist.

The man smiled wider. “It’s fine, please don’t worry about it.”

“But your shirt…” Foster bit his bottom lip. “It’s probably ruined.”

He chuckled. “I doubt it. But even so, I have plenty of other shirts. Anyway, I won’t shake with you…” He held up his muddy palm. “But I’m Marc. I know it’s late afternoon, but is the sale still going on?”

Foster blinked several times. He struggled to wrap his brain around how he could possibly manage to remain coherent in front of the silver fox of his dreams, so he simply nodded.

Marc’s smile widened again. “Great. And your name?”

Foster cleared his throat. “Right, sorry. I’m Foster.” He held out his hand then remembered Marc’s muddy palm. He yanked back his offer then rubbed both of his own palms on his jeans. “Thank you for being so nice about Dolly. She escaped the backyard before I could stop her. Are you sure you’re okay?”

He chuckled. “I’m fine, and she’s a very sweet girl. But perhaps you’d let me wash my hands? I’d still like to take a peek at what you have for sale. However, I don’t want to touch any of these beautiful items when I’m this filthy.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Foster laughed shakily. “H-here, let me show you.”

Foster kept hold of Dolly’s leash as he made his way across the yard with Marc trailing behind him. He gripped the wrought iron railing as he climbed up the few steps to the landing of his vintage Cape home, mindful of how excited Dolly still was over her new friend. All he needed was to add to his embarrassment by tumbling off the porch.

Once they were inside, Foster indicated to the guest bathroom beyond the foyer. “Help yourself to any of the towels. I’m afraid anything I have would be too small for you, but…”

He frowned, remembering the box of old clothes Edward left behind. He should’ve donated them by now, but his motivation for the past few months had been zero. Only sheer desperation had lit a fire under him to do the sale.

Marc paused his forward motion. ”You were going to say?”

“Oh, well, umm…” He cleared his throat. “Just that someone who used to live here left some shirts behind that might fit you. I can grab one for you if you’d like.”

Marc glanced down at his shirt, the now drying mud beginning to cake. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea if you don’t mind. I wouldn’t want clumps of dirt making a mess in your nice home.”

Foster gave him a tight smile. His home? Only half. And he’d clearly never be able to buy Edward out, not in his position. And unless he sold everything he owned and started over with nothing to his name, he’d never be able to afford moving out of state again.

“Sure. Let me grab a couple options for you to choose from.” He chuckled. “I have to put Dolly in the backyard first until I can give her a bath. She loves the couch and that’s the first place she’ll run to.”

Marc smiled. “I don’t blame her.”

After he retrieved the clothing and Marc picked out a basic tee, Foster let Dolly loose in the backyard. She’d need a good scrubbing later and he still needed to put everything away from the sale. His shoulders slumped. Doing everything on his own had not been the plan. He was supposed to be part of a team. Not the guy who got dumped.

Marc appeared from the bathroom right as Foster came from the kitchen with some water bottles and almost choked on his tongue. Oof . Yeah, Marc was doing that shirt a lot more favors than Edward ever had. While a broad, defined chest and muscled arms weren’t required for him to find a guy attractive, it certainly didn’t hurt.

“I thought you might be thirsty.” He offered Marc one of the bottles. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Like a blow job?

His face heated in mortification. Why was he thinking such inappropriate thoughts? He didn’t even know if the guy was gay or bi.

“Thanks.” Marc’s eyes lit up. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

Foster fiddled with the cap of his bottle but didn’t crack it open. The likelihood of awkward fumbling was real. Whether it was inappropriate or not, he couldn’t stop having wicked thoughts about Marc.

As if sensing his discomfort, Marc spoke up. “If it’s all right with you, I’d love to take a look around. I’ll confess I’m a collector, and this is the best sale I’ve come across in a while.” He smiled. “You have some interesting things.”

Foster nodded. “Of course, please do.”

Foster trailed after Marc but tried not to hover as he browsed the tables. At the same time, he wanted to know about him. Even if Marc wasn’t into men, perhaps they could bond over their shared love of antiques and collectibles. Not having any friends in the community was beginning to wear on him. Almost six months had passed since his move to Massachusetts, and outside of polite nods to neighbors or brief, friendly interactions with the baristas at his favorite coffee shop, his social life was nonexistent.

“This lidded cup is exquisite,” Marc said, carefully lifting another of the pewter pieces Foster had rescued from the orange-haired woman. “Late nineteenth-century German craftsmanship, if I'm not mistaken.”

Foster's eyebrows shot up. “You know your antiques.”

Marc set the cup down with the gentle reverence of someone who understood its value. “I dabble. Nothing professional like you seem to be.”

Foster’s jaw went slack. “How did you know I was—"

“Professional?” Marc smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The way you've organized everything, the careful pricing, the quality of the collection.” Marc gestured around the yard. “This isn’t someone clearing out grandma’s attic. You have an eye for this.”

“I owned an antique shop in California,” he admitted. “Well, my grandparents started it, and I took over after they passed.” He ran his fingers along the edge of a nearby table. “The plan was to open one here too, but...”

Marc waited, not pushing, his eyes kind and attentive in a way that made Foster's words tumble out before he could stop them.

“My ex and I were supposed to do it together. He convinced me to move here, sell my shop in Palo Alto, and then...” Foster shrugged.

Marc nodded, seeming to understand the unspoken. “Life has a way of derailing our plans sometimes.”

Tears burned at the back of Foster’s eyes. Life had been a rat bastard.

“So… Is there anything in particular you like to collect?” Foster found himself desperate to keep Marc around, even if it was only for a little while. Someone being this nice to him was like having water after being in the desert for too long. “There’s quite a selection, and not just here. I also have a twenty-by-twenty storage space.”

Marc straightened from where he’d been going through a box of old books, his eyebrows arched. “My goodness. Did you ship everything when you moved? That sounds like an overwhelming task. I applaud you for your undertaking.”

“Oh… I…” He’d never handled praise very well. Especially since he’d rarely received much. “I hired a shipping company to truck everything out here, so it wasn’t too bad.”

The corners of Marc’s lips lifted slightly. “I can’t imagine you trusting strangers to pack so many of these delicate items.”

“No, you’re right about that.” The exhaustion and stress had almost done him in. He often wondered if the fights he and Edward had before the move were the main contributing factors to his abrupt abandonment. He chuckled slightly, hoping to take some of the bitterness out of his voice. “Packing up my life without any help and moving somewhere I had zero interest in wasn’t my idea of a good time.”

He snapped his jaw shut. If only he could remember to think before he spoke. Marc didn’t know his circumstances, didn’t realize he’d arrived in Massachusetts with a cheating asshat of a boyfriend, believing he’d have his antique shop up and running within months instead of having to throw everything on the lawn like trash.

Marc’s brow creased. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

Foster gave himself a mental shake. “No. I’m the one who’s sorry. I haven’t had a normal conversation with someone in such a long time, it’s like the flood gates opened.” He chuckled shakily. “At this point, Dolly is my only social outlet.”

Marc continued to regard him with compassion. He’d been expecting him to run from the yard to get away from the weirdo spewing out his private life to a complete stranger.

“I know it’s not the same as human interaction, but I‘m glad you’ve had Dolly. Pets can be such great emotional support during challenging times when people fail us. You seem like a wonderful man. If you allow yourself the opportunity to heal, I’m sure someone more deserving of you will eventually come along.”

Foster blinked several times. Marc certainly didn’t seem judgy about his ex being a man. He also seemed like the most amazing guy ever.

“Thanks, that’s really nice of you. Reminds me of something a good therapist would say and that I needed to hear right now.”

Marc barked out a laugh. “I’m that obvious, huh? But I meant every word.”

Foster’s eyes widened. “Oh wow. You mean you’re an actual therapist?”

“I am. But I promise I wasn’t trying to push my services on you,” Marc said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Occupational hazard, I'm afraid. My friends tell me I can't help but analyze everything.”

Foster’s shoulders relaxed. There was something about Marc’s presence that felt calming, steady—like a harbor in a storm. “No, it’s... nice. To be seen, I mean.”

His cheeks heated again. This gorgeous man was not only kind to dogs and knowledgeable about antiques, but he helped people for a living. The universe was clearly taunting him with everything he couldn't have.

Marc gave him a soft smile. “Good. I don’t want to nose in where I don’t belong.” His attention returned to the table of items before him. He picked up a small bronze figurine, examining it with careful hands. “This is delightful.”

Foster stepped closer, grateful for the shift in conversation. “Early 1920s, French Art Deco. The patina is original.”

“Gorgeous. I love this era, especially the dancing women.” He drew his eyebrows together. “But a hundred and fifty dollars seems much too low for this piece. I’ve never found one for less than three hundred, even one this small.” He regarded Foster. “I’d happily pay that much and would still consider it a bargain.”

Foster shook his head. “Oh, I couldn’t. That wouldn’t be fair. It’s not that I couldn’t get more, but only if I was in a shop or at an antique fair.” He shrugged. “To be honest, I was willing to go as low as a hundred. At this point, I need all the…”

Aaaaand he was back to blabbing all his personal business.

Marc rubbed his chin. “I tell you what. I’ll give you the hundred and fifty for the statue then take you out for a nice dinner. Does that seem fair?”

Foster swallowed hard, not sure how to respond. Hell yeah, he wanted to go out to dinner with Marc. Was this maybe a date? Or merely a friendly offer? He was terrible at deciphering signals from men.

“Are you sure?” Foster winced. “Sorry. I mean, I’d love to.”

Marc smiled. “You don’t need to apologize for expressing what’s on your mind. And that’s wonderful.”

Foster gazed around at all the stuff in the yard. It was getting late, and he doubted Marc would want to wait for him to clean everything up before eating. “Could we do it another night, though? It’ll probably be a few hours before I’m ready to go out, and I don’t want to make you wait.”

Marc frowned. “I assume you don’t have anyone to help you put everything away. Is that correct?”

“Well, yeah.” He shifted from foot to foot. “That’s why it would take too long.”

Marc sighed. “Foster, I’m not leaving you here to take care of this alone.”

“But it’s not your problem —”

“That’s enough. Let me pay you, I’ll put her away then when you’re ready, we can begin to pack up. I promise I’ll be careful, but if you need to give me any instructions on how you want things done, let me know.”

Foster’s jaw fell open. The way Marc took charge, telling him how things were going to be, wasn’t insulting in the least. To his surprise, he found it to be kind of hot.

“I-I can’t ask you to do that.”

Marc arched his eyebrows, his mouth quirked in a smile. “You didn’t. I offered.” Marc paused, running a hand across the top of his head. “All right. Let’s adjust the plan. How about I help you now, and you cover the pizza for tonight? Then we can go out to a nice restaurant, my treat, another time. Does that work?”

Foster grinned. Boy, did it ever.