Chapter Text
This whole mess could have been avoided if Patrick hadn’t insisted on coming with David on his trip to a local vendor’s house.
The store was expanding nicely, and though David had to fight the urge he had every day to release the feelings he’d so carefully tried to push to the back of his heart, he loved that his little store was getting so much attention. It almost made the very real crush David had on his very straight business partner feel a little more bearable.
But with sales continuing on the uptick and customers requesting more products, it was time, the pair felt, that they expand their vendor list. Purveying a prospective vendor’s wares was nothing new for David: he’d been the one making all the buying decisions since the beginning.
“I know, David, and the vendors you choose are great, but I’d like to get more involved in the buying process,” Patrick reasoned when David pointed that out. They were an hour from closing time on a Friday at the store, and it was David’s reminder that he would be driving out to the new vendor’s place the next day that spurred the discussion.
“You are involved. Very. It’s just that I like that this is the part of the business I can, you know, own. Not that we don’t own all of it together but...you know what I mean?” David said, hands dancing over the counter as he tried to enunciate his point. Patrick stared at him from behind the cash register, amused.
“David,” Patrick began, stepping out from behind the counter and leaning his hip against the front of it to face him. “We’re partners, right?”
David ignored the warm tingle that ran down his spine at the word “partners,” pursing his lips to hide the grin that threatened to break across his face. “Yes, Patrick, we’re partners.”
“So let’s do this one thing together. I know you’re probably sick of seeing me every day,” Patrick joked, “but it could be fun. And educational. I could learn more about that side of the business.”
David snorted. “Since when have you wanted to learn about the buying process?”
Patrick raised his eyebrows, all skepticism and disbelief save for the playful glint in his eye. “Mmm, since I invested thousands of dollars into this business?”
David sighed and slumped over, letting his hesitance crawl out of his shoulders. “Alright, fine. Just for this trip, to see what goes on,” he acquiesced.
“Great! What time are you picking me up tomorrow?”
“The least you could do is drive after bullying me into letting you come!”
“Bullying you?” Patrick said with a laugh. “I’m just coming along on your trip, David.”
The other man rolled his eyes, secretly pleased that Patrick didn’t let this little hiccup affect his teasing. “Be ready by 11 in the morning. And I would not be upset if you had coffee with you.”
—-
So here was the thing: David really did like claiming this part of the business for himself, especially since it fell to Patrick to do the more mathematical stuff that was vital to keeping their store afloat. But the real reason David avoided bringing Patrick on buying trips was that he had to spend hours upon hours holed up in the shop with him, trading glances and invading each other’s space to get around in the backroom or through the narrow aisles between tables and shelves.
He recognised that this crush was becoming an unwieldy force in his life and that he had to do something about it, probably, so he made the buying trips his reprieve. A day out in the countryside, away from his hyper-charged workplace, did wonders for cooling his head… and other places.
Still, David couldn’t help the little thrill of pleasure he got seeing Patrick approach his car the next morning, in his usual blue button-up and jeans, two coffee cups in tow.
“Good morning, David!” Patrick said brightly. “One caramel macchiato, skim, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder for you.”
David took the cup and thanked him, barely hiding his delight at the fact that Patrick knew his coffee order by heart.
“So where are we going exactly? And what are we buying?” Patrick asked when he had settled into the passenger seat and David turned out of Ray’s driveway.
“Well, so there’s this lady out near Elm Park whose ceramics have been featured in Interview Magazine’s Most Wanted column, which is high praise, if you ask me, for a small business. Anyway, that’s why I blocked out my Saturday to come see her and hopefully convince her to sell her ceramics at our store,” David said.
Patrick nodded, processing. “So you’ve done some research on this, cool. What makes her pottery so special?”
“I think it’s called raku? It’s made in this special way where after it’s fired in a kiln to set the glaze, it’s put in a container full of like, sawdust or newspapers or something, stuff that catches fire. It gives the piece this gorgeous, kind of ancient look that you don’t really see, you know, on the racks at Williams Sonoma.”
Patrick chuckled. “How do you know so much about pottery all of a sudden?”
David shot him a look. “First of all: you asked! Second, do you think I just go out and sign for whatever tickles my fancy without doing my research first?”
“David, you’ve taken jars of our moisturiser for yourself several times.”
“Okay, well, that’s different. It’s not a whole vendor relationship. Also, I do that because this face,” he said, gesturing to himself, “is the face of Rose Apothecary. And no one’s gonna buy our stuff if they think the owner’s skin is dry and cracked. So.”
“But what about this face?” Patrick countered innocently, mirroring David’s actions. “Isn’t this face also the face of Rose Apothecary?”
David pinched his lips into a line, determined not to grin at his business partner’s quips. “Okay, yes? But your skin is already perfect, so. Whatever you use at home is fine.”
Patrick ducked his head and smiled, content to leave the conversation where it was. He was the type to take a win where he could get one.
A half-hour passed comfortably between them, conversations coming to life and dying quietly, easy banter over control of the radio whiling the minutes away.
Before they knew it, they’d reached the driveway marked by a mailbox that was splattered with paint with “Mori” written in a playful cursive on the side.
“Is this the place?” Patrick asked. David nodded.
“Her name is Ayami Mori. This must be her farm-slash-studio.”
The pair drove up the winding driveway and parked right outside the renovated ranch house, walking up and ringing the doorbell after abandoning the old car to cool.
A minute passed before a woman in her fifties answered the door wearing a smock speckled generously with drying clay. “Hi! You must be David. From Rose Apothecary?”
“Yes, David Rose. It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mori,” he said, shaking her hand.
“Please, Ayami is fine. And you are?”
“Patrick Brewer, David’s business partner. You have a gorgeous home,” said Patrick with a handshake.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. And thank you very much! My wife is an architect. She designed this place just for us. Please, step inside, but would you mind leaving your shoes here?” she asked, gesturing to a corner behind the door. David and Patrick submitted, leaving their sneakers on the mat Ayami gestured to and sliding their feet into slippers she provided them with.
“Thank you for these slippers. That’s very smart, actually. At least you know that germs aren’t getting into your house from outside,” David said, revelling in his comfortable footwear.
Ayami laughed. “Listen, you’d think that as someone who works exclusively with a messy medium like clay, I’d be used to cleaning up messes, but I’d rather keep my mess in my studio and keep the rest of my house clean. It’s easier that way.”
“For sure,” Patrick agreed.
Ayami led them further into the house, whose dark hardwood floors contrasted beautifully with the colorful furniture. The living room was furnished with two teal leather armchairs and an orange sofa, positioned across from a fireplace and a wall-mounted TV. The walls, a lovely cream color, were decorated with framed pictures and marvelous works of abstract art. Near the molding on the ceiling was a shelf that, they would find, ran through the whole ground floor of the house. Beautiful ceramic plates, each of them made with speckled white clay and marked with charcoal-colored veins that made each of them unique, ran across the length of the shelf.
“Are those plates you’ve made?” Patrick asked, noticing the decor at the same time David did.
“Yes! There was a point where I was making a handful of plates a day because I found the process so soothing. I didn’t have anywhere to put them, so Vivian, my wife, put up these shelves around the house so we could display them,” Ayami said fondly. The three of them settled on the couch before Ayami disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a tea set, which appeared to be made of the same speckled clay as the plates but did not have the same black markings. The teapot was large and full to the brim, its spout gently releasing soft, fragrant steam.
“Please,” she said as she set the tea service down on the cherry coffee table, “help yourselves. This is pomegranate green tea—it’s practically all we drink around here.”
David poured himself and Patrick a cup each, savoring the smell. “This smells wonderful. Do you make it yourself?”
“No, no,” Ayami said with a laugh. “My neighbour down the road makes these beautiful tea blends and this is by far our favorite. We visit him every week to restock our supply.”
David and Patrick shared a look. “Is your neighbor Mr. Hockley, by any chance?” Patrick asked.
Ayami raised her eyebrows. “How’d you know?”
David grinned. “We sell his teas at the store! We haven’t tried this blend, though. Although now that we have, we should probably buy out all his stock. It’s fantastic,” he said. Ayami preened.
“Well, I’m glad I could introduce you to it. And what are the odds, right? Small world, I suppose,” she said with a laugh.
“Small world,” David agreed. “Maybe you should come by the shop and give us more recommendations for local products.”
“I’d be happy to! But for now, how about I show you my studio? I’d love to tell you about my process. You sounded so excited on the phone, David,” Ayami said, rising from her spot on the sofa.
“Perfect!” he replied, following suit. The three of them moved, teacups abandoned, to the back of the house, where they exited through the kitchen door, trading in their house slippers for rubber sandals that Ayami gave them once outside. David stayed mum about the shoes, which he knew must have been a surprise for Patrick.
In the backyard, hidden from the driveway by a thicket of trees, sat a smaller, simpler little cottage, all stone and white wood. They walked down the worn path to its front door and were greeted, once inside, by a clean white room and shelves upon shelves of more beautiful ceramic art. There were plates, large and small, as well as complete tea sets and more abstract, artistic pieces.
“Welcome to my studio,” Ayami said.
“It’s gorgeous,” David breathed. Patrick tore his eyes away from the art to study his business partner’s face, which was aglow with admiration.
“Thank you very much,” she replied humbly. “So, how much do you know about the kind of pottery I do?”
“It’s called raku, right? After you fire a piece, you put it in a container full of sawdust?” Patrick offered.
“Right,” Ayami said. “Raku firing is a traditional Japanese form of art. My grandmother was a potter back in Japan, and my grandfather was a diplomat for the Japanese government. While he was abroad, she learned from a local teacher and perfected the craft. She always said it gave her a sense of fulfilment and purpose while her husband was away. So, when I got old enough, she started teaching me.”
“That’s beautiful. Does she still make ceramic art?” David asked. Ayami’s smile turned bittersweet.
“No, she passed away about five years ago. Now, I do this because it centers me and because it’s a way for me to pay tribute to her every day.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. But that’s such a beautiful sentiment,” Patrick said sincerely. She offered him a smile.
“Thank you. Now, let me show you how I work,” she said, pulling them over to her wheel.
It was small and simple, a little yellow table with what looked like a cake pan on it that had a ridged aluminum plate inside. The little table was attached to a foot pedal on the floor, which controlled the rotation of the plate inside the pan. Next to it was an unassuming black stool and another table with water and a slab of speckled white clay inside an open plastic tub. On the back wall, behind the stool, were shelves of different kinds of clay and tubs of glaze, arranged by color and composition. Next to the wall was a big metal box that looked like a refrigerator, empty and open, revealing nothing on the inside besides walls lined with heat lamps. Just to the left of that was another way out, a door with a window that let more light into the sunny studio.
“This is my workspace. This is the wheel that I throw on,” she said, referring to the yellow table, “and that metal box is the kiln.”
“For some reason, I was expecting, like, a huge pizza oven with coals and wood in it, but that kiln looks much more manageable,” David said with a flourish of his hands.
Ayami laughed. “Yeah, I think the pottery has a lot of preconceptions tied to it. It’s a lot more modern than people might think. This kiln definitely makes pottery more accessible for me.”
“So what exactly goes into making the pieces that you make?” Patrick asked.
“The ceramic plates that decorate my house have all been raku-fired, so after the bisque firing, which is what all pottery goes through after being thrown or molded and then dried, I cover the plates in both a white glaze and a special metal-based one.” Ayami picked up a plate from a nearby shelf and showed it to the two men up close. The speckled clay looked even more beautiful from close up, and the black markings took on a fascinating texture, somewhere between matte black and oil slick, when she rotated the plate in the light.
“And then after the glazes are on do you put it in the kiln?” David asked. Ayami grinned.
“Yes, that’s right. Once it reaches about 1,900 degrees Fahrenheit in the kiln, I take the piece out and bring it outside.”
“Outside?” Patrick asked, looking at the side exit near the kiln.
“Let me show you,” she said, leading them through the door. Out back was a large patch of gravel surrounded by manicured grass. There was an old wooden table sitting against the side of the cottage, atop which was a worn pair of gray fire-proof gloves and a large stack of sun-faded newspapers. Curled up beneath the table was a water hose attached to a spout that protruded from the wall of the cottage. Next to the table was a bale of hay, still tied up, and some labelled sacks of sawdust. About 20 feet from the cottage sat a giant metal garbage can, its sides blackened with soot, lid askew.
“Before I’m ready to take a piece out of the kiln inside, I come out here and prepare my ‘raku oven,’ so to speak,” Ayami said with a laugh. She walked over to the garbage can and opened it, showing the boys its ashen interior. “I get a small fire going in here with some hay. And then, when the piece comes out of the kiln, it goes straight into the fire. I cover the piece up with sawdust and newspaper to really get the fire going, and then I slide the lid over to seal it. The fire eats up the oxygen in the can and reacts with the metal glaze on the piece, and then a few hours later, when the fire has died and the piece has cooled down, I’ll take it out and scrub it down with water to remove the ash. And then it’s done!”
“And your grandmother taught you all of that? Aren’t grandmothers supposed to, like...keep their grandkids away from fire?” David asked with a laugh. Ayami chuckled.
“Well, she was always going on about the strength of our bloodline. Sometimes I thought she was convinced she was fire-proof,” she said.
“That’s amazing. And you do that whole process for all your pieces?” Patrick asked.
“Most, yes. Raku-fired pottery isn’t food-safe, though, so if I’m making pieces I want to use for eating on, I’ll just use the kiln and the white glaze. Raku pottery would give you metal poisoning if you ate off of it,” she responded.
“Okay, well, I’ll be sure to mention that when people buy plates by the dozen at the store,” David said.
Ayami smiled. “Listen, my wife will be home from running errands soon. Would you care to join us for brunch? I would love to get to know you both better.”
Patrick looked to David, who was already excited at the prospect of food. He smiled and said, “Absolutely, it would be our pleasure.”
The trio hiked back towards the main house, changed back into their house slippers, and settled back into the living room. Ayami took the teapot and retreated into the kitchen to warm up the tea again.
“I like her a lot,” Patrick said to David when they were alone.
“Careful, Patrick, she’s a married woman,” David warned jokingly. Patrick laughed and fidgeted with the teacup he’d left earlier. “I know what you mean, though. And her art is gorgeous. I think it would do really well at the store.”
Patrick nodded. “Yeah, I almost want one of those plates for myself.”
Just then, they heard the lock on the front door click open. “Ayami, I’m home!” called a voice from the front hallway. The boys turned as a woman walked into their line of sight. She was picturesque: tall, tan, and blonde. “Hi! You must be the Roses!” she said with a smile.
David and Patrick stood to greet her. “David Rose, yes. You must be Vivian! Ayami has told us so much about you,” he said, shaking her hand.
“Likewise! We’re both very interested in your store.”
“Patrick Brewer,” said the other man, introducing himself and shaking her hand, “and we’re very interested in your wife’s artwork!”
“So am I,” Vivian said with a laugh. “Are you joining us for brunch? I make some mean scrambled eggs.”
“They are, actually!” said Ayami from the doorway, padding across the living room to give her wife a chaste peck on the lips in greeting. “Nice day?”
“Yeah, I dropped off our mail and ran to the office to get some work done. I’m starving, though,” Vivian replied, pulling her wife in for a hug.
David and Patrick looked on fondly at the couple. “Is there anything we can do to help with brunch? David’s not much of a cook, but I can figure out my way around a kitchen,” said Patrick. David smacked his arm.
“Uncalled for!” he said indignantly. The other three laughed.
“Actually, we have some chicken and apple sausages in the freezer that would taste amazing grilled. Think you can handle that?” Vivian asked.
“Perfect, yeah,” Patrick replied.
“Okay, so, I’ll...set the table? Where are we eating?” David asked.
“There’s a dining nook in the kitchen that we passed on the way out. Come, I’ll show you where the dishes and silverware are,” said Ayami.
The four of them split up, David busying himself with the task of decorating the round blue table in the kitchen with artfully-set plates and silverware while the other three put together the meal. Patrick was outside, working the grill. Meanwhile, Ayami and Vivian danced around each other, both working on different burners on the stove. David watched as they bantered back and forth easily, their bodies comfortable navigating the cramped space. He choked back a sigh, wondering to himself if he’d ever find something like that, something so effortlessly serene. He pushed the thought out of his mind and arranged some wildflowers he’d picked from outside in a small vase for the table.
The meal was ready quickly, and the four of them sat at the table and marvelled at the food. Vivian made her signature soft scrambled eggs with pecorino (“It’s Gordon Ramsay’s recipe!” she said proudly, and David launched into a story about how his mother tried to book him to cater a charity lunch at a swanky New York hotel, but he ended up bringing the arrogant and untalented chef at the hotel restaurant to tears. Moira was on the brink of a panic-induced meltdown for a whole week afterwards, but the beef Wellington was to die for. Vivian and Ayami were in tears with laughter). To accompany the eggs, Ayami toasted sunflower spelt bread in the oven with some olive oil and roasted mushroom caps and tomatoes on the vine in a frying pan. Patrick’s grilled chicken and apple sausages, still smoking from the fire, sat plump and juicy in the center of the table. Ayami poured each of them another cup of pomegranate green tea and they dug into the food.
David could barely contain the satisfied groan he let out as soon as he took a bite of bread and eggs, and Patrick looked on with amusement, though the tips of his ears were turning a bit red. “You guys are geniuses, truly. This is an amazing brunch, thank you,” David said, slicing into a mushroom cap.
“Thank you for staying for brunch! We love having company,” said Ayami, holding her wife’s hand on the table.
“It’s our pleasure, honestly,” Patrick responded.
“So how did you two meet?” Vivian asked, eyes alight with curiosity.
David and Patrick shared a look. “Well, Rose Apothecary started with me,” David began. “I went to an office in town to file some paperwork to start up this business, and Patrick was there to help me out.”
“Right, and he really needed the help,” Patrick said with a laugh. “What was it you called it? ‘A general store, but also a very specific store?’”
David swallowed a smile and looked down at his food as the women laughed. “I’ll admit, I couldn’t have gotten the store off the ground without you. You were very helpful,” David said. Patrick beamed.
“You guys are adorable,” Vivian said. “It’s so nice to see other members of the LGBT community thriving here.”
David and Patrick glanced at each other in surprise. Ayami interrupted before they could correct her wife. “Right, it’s so refreshing to meet another gay couple. And of course, we love the idea of supporting an LGBT-owned business!”
Vivian agreed. “What’s it like having a romantic partner as your business partner?” she asked.
Patrick nearly choked on the tea he’d been sipping. David glanced at his business partner with alarm, unsure at how to defuse the situation. Patrick recovered and gave him a measured look.
“It’s nice, actually,” Patrick said, running a hand down David’s back. David gave the women a nervous smile, trying to hide the fact that his head was spinning. He tried to calm himself by counting how many times he could shout what the fuck in his head before someone next spoke.
Patrick continued, “There are difficult days, of course. Life isn’t always smooth sailing. But I feel like our partnership is stable enough to withstand anything at this point. And now that the business is growing at a steady rate, I appreciate having him around to keep things interesting.”
David looked at Patrick, mouth ajar, marvelling at the words he was saying. “That’s...so sweet,” he said, finding his voice. Patrick gave him an easy smile and squeezed his shoulder.
“Very sweet,” Ayami agreed. “How long have you been together now?”
David laughed. “Not long at all.”
The four of them continued to eat and chat at length about other small businesses in the area. The boys asked about Vivian and Ayami, both relieved that they had moved on from the topic of their relationship. But as much as David was enjoying the food and the company of the two women, he was itching to get back into the car so he could talk to Patrick and ask what the fuck all that was about. He spent the rest of the afternoon trying to slow his heart rate as he listened to Vivian and Ayami’s stories.
“So there I was, in the busiest fish market in the world, and I knew this old guy was trying to overcharge me for a cut of salmon, but it was literally my second day in Japan and I couldn’t speak a word of Japanese to haggle my way out!” Vivian said with a laugh.
Ayami jumped in. “Right, and I was in the market that day to grocery shop since I was in the country to visit family. So I turned a corner, and that’s when I saw this beautiful Canadian woman—“
“Oh no, hold on, I distinctly remember you confusing me for an American,” Vivian interrupted with an exaggerated expression of disgust on her face.
“And you’ll never let me forget it, I know.” Ayami chuckled. “Anyway, I couldn’t resist helping this poor damsel in distress get her salmon, so I came over and haggled the price down to half for her.”
“A true lifesaver,” Vivian said cheekily, taking her wife’s hand and kissing her knuckles. “So to thank her, I invited her out for dinner. And the rest is history. She came back to Canada before I did, of course, since I had to finish my semester abroad for my Master’s in architecture, but we kept in touch, and we started seeing each other officially when I came back.”
“God, you guys are like a fairytale. And now you’re this successful couple with a gorgeous country house and booming businesses. It’s so inspiring,” David said. The women smiled.
“Well, I, for one, can’t wait to see what you turn Rose Apothecary into together,” Ayami said. “It’s such a promising business and I would be honored to have you sell my pieces at your store.” David and Patrick traded smiles.
“Thank you, Ayami. That means a lot,” Patrick said.
The women sent them home with what was left of their lush brunch and promises to draw up their contract on Monday. David practically vibrated with anxiety as he settled into the driver’s seat and waited for Patrick to buckle himself into the seat next to him. When they were ready to go, David wheeled the car around and drove back down the driveway, turning back onto the street and going back the way they came hours ago.
David cleared his throat. Patrick took a deep breath, and they both started talking at the same time. David laughed uneasily. “You… you go first,” he said.
“Okay, um. So, I’m sorry about that. I felt like we’d been talked into a corner and I didn’t want to… offend them by correcting them, so I just… agreed. And I mean, I don’t know where they were before in terms of being convinced to sell the plates with us, but I think it helped, you know… letting them think we were together,” Patrick said, playing with his hands and staring down at his lap.
“No, yeah, I—it’s okay,” David said, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “But… so what happens now?”
Patrick’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean.” David swallowed. “Like… are we gonna keep pretending that we’re together in front of them? Or...?”
Patrick sucked in a breath. “I feel like it’s too late to tell them otherwise, so… I guess we’re in this now. I’m sorry, David, I guess I panicked and I just did what I thought would be easiest for us at the time.”
David’s heart twisted. He wished they didn’t have a whole half hour drive together ahead of them because all he wanted to do was hide away in his bed and let the tears that were pricking the back of his eyes fall freely. He swallowed hard again, willing the thoughts in his head to slow down so he could settle on something to say.
“Um. It’s okay, Patrick, I get it,” David said finally. “I just… don’t want to make things weird, you know, for you. So like… I mean, I’ll let you take the lead here, I guess.”
David could feel Patrick’s gaze burning through him and wished the blotchiness that he knew was staining his cheeks right now would go away. He kept trying to tilt his chin up, willing the tears forming at the corners of his eyes to evaporate.
“We don’t have to make a big thing of it,” Patrick said, clearly trying to reassure David. “We can just pretend around Viv and Ayami and then on our own, it’ll be like normal.”
David could feel Patrick’s gaze boring through him. “Yeah. Like normal,” David said as he chewed on his bottom lip.
Patrick sighed and turned on the radio. David was glad to have something filling this heavy silence that had grown between them, and he gasped when Tina Turner’s “The Best” came blasting through the speakers.
“I love this song!” he said, happy to break the tension. Patrick laughed and started singing loudly along to the music. The pair flew down the highway, performing dramatically for each other, with enough air guitar solos and scream-sung verses to knock out an audience. As the song came to a close, David and Patrick laughed themselves out, breathless.