Free Safe Harbor by Laylah Hunter Page B

leaner than Tom now, long limbs and wiry muscle, his cheekbones high and defined. The same sun that bronzed his skin has also given him the first premature lines at the corners of his eyes from squinting out over the water, but he doesn’t look so bad. Rough around the edges, maybe, even after he’s clean shaven, but not bad.
    Cleaned up and more or less presentable, Blake stows his kit and heads back down the stairs. He can hear Tom laughing in the kitchen, loud and joyous, and his heart skips a beat. How could he have thought it was a better idea to leave? Even if he can’t have everything he wants, even if Tom will never look at him as anything but a dear friend, just being near him makes life seem so much less empty already.
    “What kind of trouble are you getting up to in there?” Blake asks as he follows the sound. He gets a face full of flour for his pains.
    For an instant he stands stock still, blinking, staring at Tom’s desperate attempt to keep a straight face. Both Tom and Alice are the worse for pastry-fighting, it appears, flour-besmirched and grinning. Blake does the only reasonable thing: he returns fire.
    He scoops up a handful of flour from the capsized bowl on the kitchen table and tackles Tom with it, grinding the mess enthusiastically into Tom’s hair. Tom laughs, rolling with him in a halfhearted struggle to escape, and Alice has to take a quick step backward so they don’t collide with her.
    “You don’t fight fair at all!” Tom protests as he scrambles free. He’s still grinning, though, and Blake can’t help smiling back. His heart is pounding, and he imagines he can still feel the heat of Tom’s body everywhere they were just touching.
    “Now, you hardly have room to complain, after that ambush,” Alice says, winking at Blake. “Looks to me like you started the trouble yourself.”
    Tom ducks his head sheepishly, dusting the flour out of his hair, and Blake wishes he could lean over and kiss him. “Can’t I claim it was your bad influence?” Tom asks.
    “Things haven’t changed a bit around here,” Blake says. He and Tom climb to their feet, and he accepts Alice’s offer of a damp towel to wipe his face. “You’re as bad as he is.”
    “Growing old’s no excuse for growing up,” Alice says, rescuing the overturned bowl before it can pitch down to the floor. “But if you have that much energy to burn off, why don’t the two of you go bring in some wood for the fireplace? Make the parlor nice and cozy by the time these cookies are done.”
    “Sounds wonderful,” Blake says. “It’s da—er, it’s awfully hard to stay warm on shipboard this time of year.”
    Tom nods briskly. “Consider it done, then! We’ll have you warm and toasty in no time.”
    The woodshed is behind the house, in the tiny square yard that’s mostly taken up with Alice’s garden in the warm season. Now it’s mostly snow-covered, with a muddy track between the shed and the house’s back door. Blake and Tom each gather up an armload of firewood to carry back to the house, and in no time they’ve stoked the parlor fireplace from sleepy to burning bright. Blake stands in front of the fire, warming his hands, and sighs in contentment.
    Tom comes to stand beside him, hand on Blake’s back. “You look happy,” he says softly. “I’m glad. I worried, you know, that when I did manage to track you down at last you’d be angry about it, or… or tell me that you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”
    “No,” Blake says. “God, no.” Tom hasn’t moved his hand. It’s such a small touch, but so maddening. “It was never anything you did. I was a wreck all on my own.”
    “It must have been terrible,” Tom says, his voice still gentle, as if Blake is a stray cat who might bolt at the first loud noise. “Losing your father like that. I know I missed him terribly, and I can’t imagine how much worse it must have been for you.”
    Blake nods, not looking up from the fire. You