Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(36)

“There isn’t much more to see that you haven’t already,” Brandon said with a playful smirk.

Frank laughed. “Okay, fair point. But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Brandon’s expression turned more serious. He sat up, resting one elbow on the table and idly tracing the edge of his jaw with the tip of his thumb. “But, should we?”

“You tell me.”

Brandon fidgeted, lowering his gaze to the weathered tabletop between them. “Well, I probably shouldn’t be a prostitute, and I probably shouldn’t have bought a one-way ticket to London last year. But I am, and I did.” He looked at Frank through his lashes. “So I’m not big into doing what I should.”

“You do what you want.”

“What I want. What I feel like I need to do. Whatever calls to me.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “Sometimes it’s the right thing, sometimes it isn’t.”

“And us continuing what we started,” Frank said. “Where does that land on the spectrum?”

Brandon held his gaze. “I don’t know. I know I want to. Beyond that? I’ll let you know when we get there.”

When. God. This kid was so decisive and blatant.

“Then I guess my question is, what do you want out of this?”

Brandon was quiet for a long moment. He didn’t look at Frank. Didn’t really look at much of anything. “Are you a hiker?”

Frank furrowed his brow. Of all the responses, that wasn’t one he expected. “I’ve been known to hike, yes.”

“You ever just go out on a trail or head off in some direction and have no idea what you’ll find?”

Now that he thought about it, every actual hike he’d ever taken had involved maps, compasses, and destinations. Too many tales of people getting lost even in Snowdonia, which was nothing like the Rockies or wherever American hikers got lost and eaten by bears. “I haven’t, but I can see the attraction, I suppose.”

“That’s the kind of hiker I am,” Brandon said. “I just go. And most of the time, I find something really cool. Went hiking with my last partner once, out in the middle of nowhere in West Virginia. Six hours of some of the most god-awful weather on a shitty trail, and we found this gorgeous waterfall. Didn’t even know it was out there. We were both freezing cold by the time we got back, but it was worth it.” He finally met Frank’s eyes. “And I guess that’s how I approach things like this, too. Don’t think about it, don’t plan for it. Just do it and see what happens.”

“And what happens when you’ve been hiking through shitty weather for six hours and haven’t found any waterfalls?”

Brandon shrugged. “Then you turn around and go back, and you still got a nice walk through the woods with someone whose company you enjoy.”

Frank let that sink in, and he supposed it made sense, if you were the kind of optimist who expected to find a waterfall, or at least weren’t terribly depressed if you didn’t.

Enjoy every day, a therapist had told him when he’d asked her how people dealt with the fear of death.

“Now I’ll do my damned best to be that f*cking waterfall.”

Brandon laughed softly. “I guess some treks get you onto a meadow and the only thing on it is a charging bull.” He winked. “Defending his territory.”

Frank lifted an eyebrow and was glad that the two plates of food arrived then, both with piles of salad and meat cut from the grill. “For the record, I don’t mind you working. If you want to do what you’re doing, I’d rather you do it at the Garden than on your own and trying to hide it from me.” Because then I still get at least the illusion that I can protect you and make sure you’re safe. “If you want to stop, let me know, too. We can always do something about that. Bartending, security. There’s other jobs.”

“Not as well paid, though.”

“No, likely not. But it does add up.” Frank tucked into his food, realising he was absolutely ravenous, which he actually couldn’t remember being recently. Probably because he never let it build up that long. Maybe the last few days in the gym had something to do with it. He’d been doing supersets and kept increasing his weights. Either way, he was starving.

After they’d eaten in silence for a few minutes, Frank’s stomach wasn’t growling anymore. He wiped his fingers on a paper napkin. “Before we go much further, there is still one other thing we should keep in mind.”

“Oh yeah? And that is . . .?”

“I’m making an assumption here, but I’m pretty sure I’m a bit older than you.”

Brandon laughed. “I’m forty-nine. What about you?”

A laugh burst out of Frank. “Forty-nine. I’m sure. And I’m twenty-one.”

“With a few years’ practice, right?”

“Smart-arse.”

“I’m twenty-five.” Brandon made a dismissive gesture. “So I’m plenty legal.”

“Plenty legal, yes, and obviously mature. But I’ve still got fifteen-mumble years on you.”

Brandon didn’t even flinch. “So did my last boyfriend.”

“You do like older men, don’t you?”

“I’m not opposed to men my own age.” Brandon leaned forwards on his elbows. “I mean, if you can call them that.”