A Second Harvest by Eli Easton

Author:Eli Easton [Easton, Eli]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gay Romance
ISBN: 9781634774048
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2016-07-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

DAVID’S RESOLVE disintegrated the moment he stepped into Christie’s house on Sunday evening and saw what Christie had done. He took in the scene with jarring, shocked flashes of comprehension. The little dining area in the kitchen of Ruth Landon’s house had been transformed into a tropical paradise.

Christie had set up tall foam core panels showing blown-up photos of a beach scene all around the small kitchen table. The table itself was set in a large wooden tray that was filled with white sand. Exotic music played low, something with drums and the sounds of the ocean. There were paper lanterns that flickered with light, a tropical print tablecloth, and dishes heaped with rice, grilled pineapple, and fish. Christie had even changed the air itself. The thermostat had been cranked high, there was an artificial breeze blowing, probably from a fan somewhere, and the house smelled of the sea, tropical flowers, and delicious food.

David squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed. Holy cow. No one, no one, had ever done anything like this for him. Heck, no one had ever done more than bemusedly tolerate his interest in faraway places, much less taken him seriously, listened, and tried so very hard to give him something special.

Bora Bora.

“David?”

David swallowed and opened his eyes. Christie looked nervous. “Too much?” he asked with a self-deprecating laugh. “I told you I’m obsessive. When I get a creative vision, watch out.”

“It’s amazing,” David managed, his voice rough.

“Cool. Well… um, we might as well eat before the food gets cold. You’ll want to take your shoes and socks off before you step into the sand.”

It was a practical consideration that somehow got David moving again. He noticed Christie’s feet were bare. He had long, thin feet. David forced himself to look away. He took off his work boots, one at a time, and tucked his socks inside them without saying anything. He rolled up the cuffs of his jeans while he was at it. Somehow he managed to make it to his chair at the table. The fine sand felt cool against his bare toes. After he sat down, he dug them in, memorizing the sensation, his foolishness hidden by the cover of the table.

Christie sat down too, the color still high on his cheeks. He had never looked more beautiful. But there was something different about him, a studied reserve in his face. He didn’t look David in the eyes. “So I made poisson cru, which is tuna marinated in lime and coconut, grilled vegetables, a Tahitian fruit pudding, sticky rice, and vanilla panna cotta for dessert.”

“You… you shouldn’t have… it’s incredible.” David’s voice sounded gruff.

“Well.” Christie looked up at him with an oddly fierce look. “In lieu of plane tickets to Polynesia, it will have to do.”

David looked at the table. He should start putting food on his plate, but he couldn’t move. There were things bubbling up inside him—painful things, sharp things. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“David? Are you all right?”

David opened his eyes and looked at Christie.

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