Page 19 of Walking on Broken Paths
By that point, the rain had stopped and the clouds had cleared.
When Parker glanced up at what they could see of the sky amid enough high-rises to fill a city the size of Toronto seven times over and proclaimed the city claustrophobic as fuck, they took a cab to the Harbourfront.
There, they had dinner on the patio of a brewhouse that overlooked Lake Ontario.
In the distance were the Toronto Islands, a line of green trees against the horizon.
The lake wasn’t the Atlantic Ocean—there was no scent of salt on the air, no putt putt putt of fishing boats, no lobster traps.
Lake Ontario just smelled like seaweed, made worse on hot and humid days.
Not to mention that the vibe of the city was all wrong.
Rushed was putting it mildly, from the impatience of their ride share driver this morning to the hostess at the brewhouse reminding them of their two-hour seating time as she showed them to their table to the frantic pace of commuters zigzagging around slower-paced pedestrians on the sidewalk.
Jesse missed home with a fervency that clogged his throat for a moment. Not Vancouver, but Charlottetown, with its slower pace of life, gorgeous views, and red sandy beaches.
He’d thought PEI would be like a prison, memories of Mikey trapping him with their vividness. And although they were vivid, the memories of Mikey were good. Almost cathartic.
In an echo of Jesse’s question from last night, Parker said, “Do you miss Vancouver?”
Had he read Jesse’s mind?
Jesse pushed his empty dinner plate closer to the centre of the table. “I miss my house. My things. Certain amenities. Good coffee.”
Parker sat back in his chair, sunglasses perched on his nose. “If you’re missing good coffee, you clearly haven’t been to Coffee Beans and Things. Agata’s got only the best.”
“My mom told me about that place. Said she bumped into you working there once.”
Parker stretched his long legs out, and when his feet bumped against Jesse’s, he left them there. “I’m surprised it’s only been once. It’s basically my office. I should have a sign. Parker Willis. Shitty fundraising copywriter. Great lay. ”
Jesse laughed and wished—not for the first time—that he’d had Parker in his life for the past fifteen years. “Who said anything about a great lay?”
“You. Remember? It went a little something like this.” Parker’s voice lowered. “Fuck yeah, Parks. Fuck me. You feel so fucking good.”
Refusing to be amused, Jesse crossed his arms over his chest. “I did not sound like that.”
“You sounded exactly like that.”
“Sorry, folks,” their server said, pausing briefly by their table on her way by. “I’ll be back with your bill in just a moment.”
“Didn’t she say that twenty minutes ago?” Jesse muttered when she’d moved on.
“Considering we’ve been reminded twice about their two-hour seating time, they’re surprisingly unwilling to let us leave.”
They did get the bill a few minutes later, and when their server hesitated, clearly unsure who to hand it to, Parker nodded at Jesse. “Give it to him. He makes the big bucks.”
God. Jesse hadn’t laughed so much in years.
Once he’d paid, they decided to walk back to the hotel since it was only a twenty-minute walk. The sun was probably another hour away from setting, and the humidity stuck to Jesse’s skin like glue.
The seaweed stench faded the farther they got from the lake, but it was replaced with the scent of weed mixed with car exhaust as they passed under the Gardiner Expressway.
Jesse couldn’t decide which was worse.
“Think we’ll pass an ice cream place on the way?” Parker asked. He took Jesse’s hand in his and swung their arms as if they were little kids.
“Beats me. I can look one up. Won’t be Cows, though.”
The sound Parker made should’ve been illegal. “Love Cows. I missed that place when I was living in Montreal.”
“There’s no Cows in Montreal? We have one in Whistler.”
“I’d move back to the island just for Cows ice cream.”
The comment struck something in Jesse as they walked past a park with a vintage locomotive in its centre, and he looked sideways at Parker.
Dressed in medium-wash denim shorts and a blue and white striped T-shirt, his jaw was scruffy and his hairline was slightly damp from the heat of the day.
Jesse waited until they’d crossed from Lower Simcoe Street onto Bremner Blvd before saying, “I thought you did move back to the island.”
“That’s right.” Parker let out a laugh that was as fake as his knock-off Ray-Bans. “I did. I guess I just didn’t expect to stay as long as I have. But then, I also didn’t expect Dad to die so young. And how about you? Would you ever move back to PEI?”
“Doubt it,” Jesse said as they dashed across the intersection from Bremner Blvd to York Street. “In fact, I’ve been trying to convince my parents to leave.”
Parker’s eyebrows winged upwards. “Why?”
“Healthcare isn’t great on the island. And as they get older, they’re going to need it more and more.”
“Sometimes I wonder if the wait times to see a family physician is why my dad went undiagnosed for so long. Oh, hey. We’re back already.” Parker pouted. “And no ice cream. What do you want to do tonight?”
Jesse held the door to the hotel open for him. “Get to bed early?” he joked. If Parker was in his bed, sleeping would be an afterthought.
Parker laughed and swept past Jesse with a quick kiss to Jesse’s cheek that was so casually affectionate it nearly made Jesse’s heart screech to a stop. “What time did we eventually get to bed last night?”
“Four-thirty,” Jesse said. “Ish.”
“So it was five-thirty in PEI,” Parker said as they got on the elevator.
“ On PEI,” Jesse corrected, gearing up for a debate that was disagreed on even by locals.
Parker grinned at him. “In.”
“On.”
“Why is it on ?”
“Because it’s an island.”
“Pfft” was Parker’s smart response to that. “Please. No one says on Newfoundland. And North America is basically a giant island, and we don’t say on Canada.”
“North America isn’t an island,” Jesse countered, stepping off the elevator when the doors opened on their floor. “It doesn’t fit the strict definition of an island due to its size and the fact that it’s part of a larger continental system.”
“Oh, excuse me, Mr. Professor. I didn’t know you studied geography in university.”
“I did.”
“Wait, seriously?” Parker blinked at him as Jesse unlocked the door to his room, and his stupefied expression was almost as good as his orgasm face. “Your online bio says you studied political science.”
Jesse held the door open for him again. “With a minor in geography.”
“Huh.” Parker stepped into him, his hands coming around to splay against Jesse’s back. “What else don’t I know about you?”
Body suddenly on high alert, Jesse bent his head closer and, against Parker’s lips, whispered, “Want to find out?”
Eyes heating, Parker dragged him into the room.