Music: Carry Me Away, John Meyer
March 26th, 2020

*****

The orange brick walls of Howie's home reflected the inner warmth Stella still felt from her afternoon. Bone weary as she felt, her legs still complained from her afternoon run, a rare and genuine warmth tingled from her fingers to toes.

Feeling sunshine come from her face, she thought about the evening ahead. What did he have planned for them? Remembering their first date – how they talked over coffee while walking through the city – warmed her cheeks further. Could tonight be similar?

But there was only one reason a date invited the other person over, right?

She shook her head free of that thought – no negative vibes tonight. Tonight, they would not have any power over her.

The stairs creaked with someone walking down them. Howie appeared, dressed in a pair of khakis and a casual button-down shirt.

Right, she just had to get past him first.

That wouldn't be too difficult.

Hopefully.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, sitting down on his overstuffed armchair. "Adam said you took off earlier."

"Yeah. I had a really good run." She started to stretch out her legs; a move that she hoped would keep them from aching the next day.

"So, what happened?"

The question, simple on the surface, made her skin want to split apart. She wanted to tear it off, leave it behind. It wasn't any good.

No, not tonight.

Tonight was going to be sunshine and rainbows.

Maybe moonlight and shooting stars would be a better way to think of it? That sounded much more romantic. Moonlight and shooting stars it was.

"Nothing I'm talking about."

"Stell." The warning tone, clear as a starry sky in his voice, sent chills down her spine.

"Look," she narrowed her eyes at him, "I'm having a good moment. Let's not ruin it with how fucked lunch was."

"So it was lunch!"

Ah, fuck. That was a bit too much. "How about I go get a shower and tell you why I'm skipping on dinner tonight?" She offered, finally taking her running shoes off. Her nose wrinkled at the stench of her sweaty feet; reason number one for a shower.

"Wait! You're doing what?" The curious glint in his eyes disappeared, shock and perhaps terror settled in. "Why?"

Stella headed for the stairs. "To quote the Dixie Chicks, "I'm not ready to make nice"."

"You can't use my music against me!" He stood up to follow her.

"I just did." She stuck her tongue out at him, then took the stairs two at a time. Leaving the bathroom door open behind her, she started the shower and took off her clothes.

"That is so not fair!" he complained as he sat down on the toilet. "What the fuck, Stell? I was expecting you there tonight."

She shut the bathroom door. "Yeah, but you don't want me there." She got in the shower, the hot water washing the sweat away.

"I – how – of course, I do! You're my best friend."

"No, you don't want to seem like a failure by me not coming." The scent of sandalwood filled the bathroom as she squeezed out some shampoo.

"Are you using my shampoo?"

Ah, Howie, he learned his deflection from somewhere. Or had she learned it from him? "Yeah. I don't see mine anywhere. It's almost like we're back in high school, isn't it?" her tone was light, a joke at her impoverished status. Some people liked to forget that she still needed certain necessities – like shampoo – then.

"I'd still like you at dinner tonight," he responded, a bit of childishness sneaking into his voice.

"You and I both know that you want to have your parents celebrate you." Rinsing the shampoo out, she added a very liberal amount of conditioner. "And let them. Introduce Adam. Tell them I said fuck off."

"But,"

"None of that," she cut him off. "We both know I'm far crazier than your parents bargained for when they took me in." Despite the joking tone, she felt the knife sink a bit deeper, her heart constricted around it.

Howie fell silent. Maybe he was deciding which argument he wanted to pursue tonight. "So, if you're not going to dinner with us, what are you doing?"

She turned off the shower and fetched her towel off the rack – right outside of the tub. "That's it? You're not going to fight me on this?"

"I can't make you forgive them. And I know your temper by now."

"What? You don't want me to curse your parents out, run away, and then throw up? And probably in that order?" The knife in her heart eased, the pressure releasing enough to let her breathe freely.

He snorted. "It'd serve them right. So, what are you doing?"

She wrung her hair out, giving the waterfall a chance to escape her hair before she tried to dry it off. "I might have a dinner date."

"With who?"

She stepped out of the shower, giving him what was hopefully a mysterious smile. "Let me get this thing," she pointed at her hair, "dry. And I'll give you all the details."

"You didn't?"

Stella grabbed her hairbrush, convincing her tangled, wavy mess of hair that it wanted to look pretty for the night. "I'm not kissing and telling."

He got up and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Go for it." Howie left, leaving her alone to argue with her hair.

She smiled, the warmth from earlier returning. Her memories of lunch and anger at his family fell victim to its path, covered by the tender tingling memories of Keith filled her with.

When her hair was dried and styled into behaving like hair should, she met Howie in her room. "Where did Chyou go?" she asked, realizing she hadn't seen or heard the other woman since she got back.

"Decided to head back early. Something about her being more mad at you than our parents."

"Okay, then." She shrugged it off. Chyou was something she could handle later. "So, details?" she asked, pulling a black tank dress out of her closet.

"Details," he confirmed, sprawling on her bed. Either he or Adam made it for her at some point during the day.

While she dressed, she told him about how her meeting with Keith went. "What do you think of him?" she asked at the end, her foundation covering her blushing face.

Howie sat up, the springs creaking underneath his weight. "I think he is a good guy, that you need to be incredibly careful with."

Stella looked over her small selection of lipstick, waiting for him to elaborate. She picked up a plum-colored one before deciding that shade was better suited for autumn.

"I've seen him fall hard and fast. And he falls out just as quickly. If not quicker."

Stella settled for a deep red lipstick, one that was close in color to the strappy sandals she chose to wear. All his warning meant that her life would return to normal soon.

That was good, right?

"And I don't want to see you get hurt. Again."

"It's been almost five years, Howie. I'm not that person anymore." Her response came out heavy, weighted down by memories of pills, a hospital stay, and a deep ache that never quite went away.

"Just promise me you'll be careful, Stell."

She nodded. He'd been through too much with her to not promise that much. Besides, she was better these days. Right?

"So, where are you guys having dinner?"

"That dumpling restaurant we haven't been to in ages. You want me to bring you back a few red beans?"

The thought of their just sweet enough filling surrounded by dough was enough to start her mouth-watering and her stomach-churning. "No, not tonight." She pulled her hair into a low ponytail and dug out an old hair clip to fasten it with. Giving her appearance a once-over, the edges of her lips tugged upwards. When was the last time she felt like this?

Not anytime within the last five years. Maybe, just maybe, she could do this. She was better now, right?

"I'll see you later tonight," she told Howie as she grabbed a clutch, shoving her phone in it.

He took her hand, squeezing it goodbye. "Dish it out later?"

"Maybe."

They walked to the door together. Howie closed it behind her, possibly going to sit on the sofa until it was time for him to leave for dinner. She gave Adam a quick hello, his hands full of grocery bags, when she passed him on the street.

After a short, quiet walk to Keith's, she found herself wondering if Keith knew about her and Howie. They lived blocks apart, although he was very much out of the Gayborhood. How much time did they spend together, out of the office? She figured not much or they would have crossed paths sooner.

Stopping in her stroll, the thought came to her that maybe they already had met before this Tindr hookup turned relationship.

Fuck. What if she forgot about him?

Did he remember her?

No, Howie would have told her. They definitely hadn't crossed paths before.

Turning down the narrow street, she kept an eye out for his house number, double-checking the text he sent her earlier with his address. Half-way down the block, she spied the right house, a white-washed brick house. Something about that combined with the violet door and window boxes filled with lavender made her smile.

As per his instructions, she went down the even narrower alley next to his house and stopped at the arched wooden door. She put her hand on the knob, finding herself unable to twist it.

What if she was wrong?

She could turn now, walk away, block his number and never have to worry about this again. It would be easy.

One deep breath and she pushed to door open. Like he said she could on arrival.

His garden, the one his face lit up about with pride, lay before her. Bricks paved a T shape in his garden. A trellis ran overtop the path with orange trumpet-shaped flowers hanging from it. Against the bricks were pink, heart-shaped flowers, with lilacs farther back. Lilies, some varieties she recognized and others not, were dotted throughout. Red, pink, and white rose bushes lined the garden walls.

She followed the path to the seating area. Underneath the orange flowers, a smell similar to mocha invaded her senses. Looking around, she assumed that the scent came from the flowers as there was no mug of coffee in sight. Turning her attention to the metal table, a single red rose rested in a vase. She took it out of the vase, inhaling the aroma that made her heart soar.

Was this all for her?

Was this how he treated everyone he invited over?

Yet, did it matter? This warm, bubbly feeling, did she want to destroy it? It was better than any high that mania ever gave her. This feeling was a stranger that wanted to make a new home with her. Did she want to let it in?

Sitting down, she took her phone out. Glancing around, just to make sure Keith wasn't around, she took a picture of the rose. Even if he did this for everyone else, she wanted to remember how she felt. Stella couldn't remember the last time someone did anything like this for her.

Tearing her gaze away from the rose, she studied the garden again. If it held secrets, it did not yield them to her gaze. Lilies, lilacs, and flowers that she did not know what they were swayed with the gentle breeze. If she could talk to flowers, what would they tell her?

The sound of a door shutting shook her out of her musings. Looking towards the house, she saw Keith coming down the path. He smiled; her heart melted with it. "Hey," he greeted, putting the plates he carried down on the table.

"Hi." She smiled back at him, hoping that her foundation was enough to cover what she was sure was a rising blush on her face.

He leaned over, cupping her cheek. "You look really nice tonight." Keith leaned over and kissed her.

Was this how a tender kiss was meant to feel? Like someone launched fireworks? She could spend forever doing this if that's what it felt like. There was an odd coldness when he pulled back, a feeling that made her yearn for more.

"You look nice, too." Her voice came out in a tone she didn't recognize. If she were in a rom-com she'd call it breathy.

While they'd been apart, Keith had exchanged his tattered jeans and band shirt for nice jeans and a short-sleeved grey button-down. It just happened to match his eyes perfectly.

"Do you need help with anything?"

"No, I'm just going to get the grill started. Then I'll bring out the salad and drinks." He turned to go to the grill, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Do you prefer white or red wine?" Why couldn't she have chosen an addiction that wasn't everywhere?

"Water will do."

He looked at her, perhaps a little shocked that she turned that down.

"I'm not big on alcohol." She gripped her wrist and looked down. Any trace of blush was not from his attention.

"Okay, water then." Instead of continuing to the grill, he walked back towards her. Keith tilted her chin up, catching her gaze with his. "It's nothing to be embarrassed by."

The smile she tried to reassure him with didn't quite meet her eyes.

He looked at her, a question in his eyes.

Her stomach turned at it. She almost felt as if he had her under a microscope – it was the same look Howie gave her when putting together something that puzzled him. The look that meant he thought he had all the pieces, but they weren't fitting together the way they should.

Keith took her hand and pulled her up. He wrapped his arms around her, letting his earthy scent block out the world around them. "We all have a past, Stella. There's nothing wrong with that." His voice rumbled through his chest, a sound that soothed her shaken nerves. At her silence, he kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry for bringing it up, really." He pulled away, just enough to look in her eyes again.

Looking at him, even though she felt numb, there was a hint of remorse in the way he held her. And, he was right, everyone had a past. What was his?

Pushing that question aside, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. There was a hint of stubble underneath her lips, his sun-kissed skin warm. "Thanks."

He nodded and returned her kiss. "I'll be right back." Keith went to turn the grill on and then disappeared back into his house.

Closing her eyes, she chided herself for thinking something as socially acceptable as alcoholism would turn him away. Reminding herself of her mantra for the night, moonlight and shooting stars, she gazed back at the rose. It filled her with the same warm feelings from earlier. A light melody, maybe something she heard somewhere before, came to mind. Then, she realized, it wasn't in her head. Looking around, she spied a well-hidden speaker among his flowers. Going by the sound, there were probably more.

Her hands trembled – why was he laying this on so thick? Was this how most dates went? It had been years since she'd been on one; even longer since she'd been on one that even came close to this amazing.

Keith returned, with a pitcher of lemon water, a couple of glasses, and a spinach-strawberry salad. Idle small talk passed between them as he made dinner, grilled tofu and eggplant. He talked about his garden – and pointed to his vegetable garden on his second-floor balcony. Any vegetable, or fruit, on the table tonight came from there. When she commented on the amount of food he must have, he explained that he sold a lot of what he didn't use to coworkers and friends.

While they ate, he got her to talk about her friends. She mentioned that Howie, who remained nameless, had been there for everything since high school. She got on alright with a few of her coworkers, but with the amount of time she spent studying and working, she didn't have much in the way of friends. This was a rare time for her; the amount of time the hospital let her have off was a rarity. Stella was trying to find ways to fill it. She wasn't sure when the last time she'd truly taken any time off was and not being at the hospital was starting to show her how little she did outside of medicine.

He winked at her, mentioning something about how to fill her time.

That comment earned him a laugh.

After dinner, he put their dishes back in the kitchen and returned with a coffee. "Would you dance with me?" he asked after placing both cups down, offering her his hand.

She took his hand and followed him down the path a bit. The sunset turned the gentle orange glow, from the flowers above, into a passionate red. He placed a hand at her waist and kept hold of her other. She placed her hand on his shoulder – that was how they did it in the movies, right?

As cello music started, he guided her around the path. She stumbled, tripping over nothing but herself. The steps were awkward, and a bit unfamiliar. Keith, to his credit, helped her stay up, whispering encouragement and tender words.

When the third song started, she found her footing. "How did you get to be so good at this?" she asked, confident that maybe this time around she wouldn't trip.

"I am the son of two dancers. There was more dancing than I knew what to do with." His tone was light, almost as if it were a joke.

Looking at him, glowing from the sunset and flowers, she realized that Keith hadn't spoken about his father. At all. She had good reasons for not speaking about hers, that lunch pushed back into the furthest recess of her mind, but what about him? Did he have reasons for not talking about his?

"What is your dad like?" she asked, the words coming out before she could stop them. "Ah, sorry. You don't have to answer if it's awkward." She looked away from him, the farthest flowers became the most interesting things as he danced with her.

"It's fine," he said with a smile. "I'm close to my dad. I wasn't when I was younger – he became my scapegoat when my parents divorced. And I got angrier at him after my mom died. Blamed him for that, too. Even though he wasn't involved."

"What happened?" She held his gaze, the fiery colors reflected in his eyes.

"I got the genius idea to join the marines, get out of Philly, and went to Cali. I started to grow up, and forgave him a little, then got deployed." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I don't think I'd be here without him. A lot changed after that."

She nodded her understanding. Could she forgive her father like that?

And what about Luna? Would she blame her for having to leave everything behind? She felt herself droop at the thought. She might not know Luna well, but that kid was the only family member who hadn't done something to fuck with her life.

Returning her attention to Keith, she noticed how his eyes had a bit of blue starburst in them, radiating out from his pupil's. The connection made her head spin, a lightness that underscored how heavy everything around her felt. They stopped; the music played on.

She wasn't sure which one of them initiated this kiss. Maybe it was mutual. There was a sweetness to him, that when she first met him, she wouldn't have expected. Pulling away, the warmth that remained in her heart, Stella found herself glad she'd said yes to him.

They spent the rest of the evening dancing. The sunset gave way to night, where the moon watched over them. Conversation dwindled, their company more than enough for the couple. When they stopped, it was almost eleven.

"I should get going," she whispered into their embrace.

"I'll walk you back. Just let me go get a coat."

She nodded and watched him disappear into the house. Without his presence, the night chill seeped into her skin. He came back, a denim coat on. Keith draped his hoodie over her shoulders and took the moment to kiss the top of her head.

Before they left, he took the rose out of the vase and tucked it behind her ear. Stella smiled at him and kissed him in a soft thank you.

Keith held her hand on the walk home, his warmth keeping the night at bay. Despite the lack of conversation, they took a longer way back to Howie's. She accidentally-on-purpose missed a turn or two, the quiet presence next to her welcome.

Unable to reasonably delay her return any longer, they arrived in front of Howie's. "Be safe, going home."

"I'll let you know when I get there."

A kiss goodbye, this one leaving pleasant butterflies behind, Keith left. Stella entered the house and leaned against the door. Taking the rose out from behind her ear, she smelled it and sunk to the floor. A low squeal escaped, a genuine smile lit up her face. 

So what if he fell hard and fast? 

He wasn't the only one.