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David Rose was a superb speller. His mother would probably say his spelling was meritorious or transcendent, because she never used a two syllable word when one with three or four was available. But he didn’t complain, because without her, he probably wouldn’t have won every spelling bee he entered from the time he was eleven, and he certainly wouldn’t be the Greater Elms Adult Spelling Bee champion for three years running.
He was polishing his newest trophy, which he kept on a high shelf behind the cash register at his beloved store, Rose Apothecary (Apothecary was the word that won him the bee in grade 7, so it held a very special place in his heart) when the bell over the door jingled. He looked up to see a man about his age walk into the shop, his eyes wide as they took everything in. David watched him, amused, as he gave the 2017 trophy a final once over with the polishing cloth and set it on the counter, admiring its gleaming and smudge-free surface.
The man was walking around, picking things up, smiling, and putting them back down. David knew that if he didn’t intercede, he’d have to spend the afternoon straightening every bottle, jar, and bag in the store, and he still had his 2016 and 2015 trophies to polish. But he couldn’t help but admire the way the man wore a pair of jeans. They may be mid-range, but he wore the hell out of them.
He walked over to stand across the central island from the man, who was reading the back of a bag of tea. David waited for him to look up, which only took a moment. “Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked.
The man looked up and smiled at David. He was astonished to find his knees giving out a bit. He held onto the edge of the island. Maybe he had been standing up too much today. It couldn’t be that smile that knocked him off-kilter. Or the warm brown eyes. Or the almost-messy curls. Or the...okay, David gave up. He had to be honest with himself. The man was downright pulchritudinous (1999, the word that knocked out the second-place finisher.)
“Just looking for a birthday gift for my mom.” There was that smile again. It was...upside down? Yet definitely a smile.
Pull yourself together, Rose, David admonished himself. One cute guy should not be knocking him for six like that. He just needed to get out more.
“Does she like baths?” David pointed to the row of jars on the shelves behind where the other man stood. “We have some great bath salts and bath bombs.”
The man shook his head. “She always said she doesn’t like stewing in her own filth.” He chuckled and waved the bag of tea that he was still holding. “I think she’d like this. Do you have something that would go well with it?”
Ten minutes later, David was ringing up the man, Patrick Brewer. That was the name on his credit card, so David had to remember not to actually use it, or else he’d sound like a creep. He was wrapping up the handmade mug in bubble wrap to go in the bag with the tea and the carved wooden spoon when the guy - Patrick - noticed the trophy on the counter.
He picked it up and David tried not to cringe at the fingerprints that were marring the sparkling surface.
“Wow,” he said, eyes wide as he looked from the trophy up to David’s smirking face. “I didn’t realize I was speaking with the Greater Elms Adult Spelling Bee champion!” He didn’t sound sarcastic, but he didn’t not sound sarcastic, either.
David tilted his chin up and replied, “For the last three years, actually.”
The other man put the trophy back down on the counter and thrust his hand toward David. “Patrick Brewer.” David had no choice but to take a hold of his warm, dry hand and give it an awkward shake.
“David Rose,” he replied. Patrick didn’t let go of his hand. David glanced at it and raised one eyebrow.
“Very nice to meet you, David,” Patrick said confidently.
Well. David had a thing for confidence, and this was really doing it for him. “Oh really?” he flirted.
Patrick withdrew his hand and pointed his thumb towards himself. “You’re looking at the West Canthor Adult Spelling Bee champion for the last five years.”
David raised his eyebrow and nodded. “Ah.” He really didn’t have interest in bonding over spelling, though he had to admit he was somewhat intrigued. And also glad that this guy was from the other side of the country, so not really a threat to his title. “So you’re just visiting?” He could work with a visitor. A one- or two-night stand was just what David could use right now.
“No no,” Patrick chuckled. “I just moved to the area.”
David blanched.
Patrick picked up the trophy again and noted the date on it. November 2017. “So you’ll be defending your title in…”
David interrupted him. “Two months, yep.”
Patrick nodded and smiled at the trophy, and used the cuff of his sleeve to buff out the fingerprints he’d put on it earlier. He set it down, rolled his sleeve back up, and looked David directly in the eye. The right-side-up smile that came next looked almost sinister to David. “I hope I’ll see you around before then.” At that, he sauntered out of the store.
David was frozen in place.
Shit.
Two months later, David’s worst fear came true and Patrick Brewer usurped his title as the reigning champion of the Greater Elms Adult Spelling Bee (fuck you very much, bonspiel.) As David accepted the second-place plaque from the judges with a fake smile pasted on, he was determined to get the trophy back in 2019. He hid the fake wood monstrosity at the back of one of his desk drawers. He did not need a reminder of his failure.
~~~~~
From the age of eight, every time his mother said a word that David didn’t understand, he’d write it down in a special journal he kept just for this purpose. By the time he was 12, he had a whole journal full of nine- and ten-letter words that he’d have thought were made up except he actually did find them in the dictionary.
Now that he was in his early-to-mid-thirties, he had half a shelf of them. He no longer needed to keep one on his person, but in the early days of their residency in Schitt’s Creek it had barely left his side. Moira Rose found much to say about living there, and it sparked David’s love for spelling bees again. He’d won them throughout his youth, but in high school he discovered the joy of recreational drugs and sex, and spelling bees fell by the wayside.
When he discovered the regional adult spelling bee a few months after they arrived in town, it gave him a new sense of purpose. At first, winning was a boost to his self-esteem. But as he kept winning, it became part of his identity again. And then Patrick Brewer came and ripped it all away.
He couldn’t really blame the guy, though. It wasn’t his fault that David’s sense of worth had taken a hit when they lost their money, and again when he found out about his parents bankrolling his galleries.
He was pondering this as he strolled down the main street in Elm Glen on a sunny summer morning, on his way to meet with a chocolatier who he was interested in having as a vendor. But first, coffee.
David opened the door and was hit with the intoxicating aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. He closed his eyes for just a moment to savor the scent and then walked up to the counter to order a mocha. It was mid-morning and he was feeling a bit peckish, so he asked the barista for a raspberry scone as well. It was practically health food with the berries in it, and it would go nicely with the chocolate in his coffee.
Turning back towards the cafe to find a table at which to enjoy his comestibles, he was dismayed to find that they were all taken. He scanned the room, looking to see if maybe anyone looked like they were getting up, or maybe if he knew someone he could share a table with (ugh, he hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to that.)
In the far corner, a pair of eyes the color of caramel peered at him from behind a laptop screen. They crinkled appealingly when David found them, and before he could stop himself, he found himself standing next to Patrick Brewer’s table. He set his coffee and scone on the table and perched on the edge of the chair.
“By all means, have a seat,” Patrick laughed, leaning over the table, his chin resting on his fists.
David rolled his eyes. He was trying not to feel flustered with the coffee and his bag and his laptop and his scone and his sweater with the slightly baggy sleeves and the strong hands that were propping up the unfairly handsome face of the person who had broken his winning streak in the regional spelling bee championships. He told himself to slow down, and he carefully slid his coffee to the side before putting his laptop down. He took a deep breath as he pivoted in his chair to face Patrick, letting it out slowly as he opened the computer up without spilling or dropping anything.
Feeling more calm and collected, David glanced over the computer screens at Patrick. He was doing that upside-down smile again, to David’s dismay. “Yes?” David snapped.
Patrick shook his head. “That was just fun to watch.”
David raised one eyebrow. “Fun?” he asked, witheringly.
Patrick chuckled and took a sip of his coffee, not breaking eye contact with David. “F-u-n.”
Flustered, David tore his eyes away from Patrick to focus on his computer, hoping Patrick would get the message. And David couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment when it seemed as if he did. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready for the flirting to be over. That was flirting, wasn’t it?
Twenty minutes later, the coffee and scone had been polished off (David was right, the pairing was delicious) and he had finished making the necessary amendments to the vendor contract. He carefully put away his laptop, brushed the crumbs from the table onto the empty plate, and stood up to bring the plate and mug to the counter.
Patrick was deeply focused on his work, and David was unsure if he should interrupt him to say goodbye. “Um.” Patrick looked up, his eyes glazed over and his lips moving, with no sound coming out. He blinked and noticed David standing there. “Just wanted to say thanks for sharing your table.”
Patrick nodded, then turned back towards his screen. David couldn’t help but look at what Patrick was so engrossed in.
ADVANCED SPELLING BEE WORDS FOR ADULTS
Later that evening, David pulled one of his spelling journals out to flip through it. Not because he felt he should study or anything. Not at all. The next bee wasn’t for another seven months. He was doing it more for nostalgia. Right. Just because Patrick was brushing up on words didn’t mean he needed to.
Flipping through the journals was like taking a trip through time. Since the majority of the words came from his mother, he could trace her mood through the years via her words.
Cataclysm, forfeiture, relinquishment - he remembered writing those on the interminable bus trip to Schitt’s Creek.
Repugnant, deleterious, opprobrious - those were obviously added to the journal in the early days of being at the motel.
Contumelious, malapert, procacious - David smiled to himself as he recalled his mother after she spent some time with Stevie. Now she was practically the second Rose daughter, he thought fondly.
Provoking, muscles, captivating - okay, not exactly difficult spelling words, but the words David chose to add to the journal as he sat and recalled his meeting with Patrick earlier that day.
~~~~~
David was proud of his store. It was something he’d created out of nothing, by himself, with little help from anyone else. Sure, it would have been nice to have had some help with the business side of things, but it’s not like he didn’t have any experience with that, from his gallery, even if the customers hadn’t exactly been legit. He was just happier creating a mood board or arranging stock in an aesthetically pleasing manner than plugging numbers into a spreadsheet. Though even that wasn’t bad when the numbers were going in the right direction. At least this time around he knew his parents couldn’t afford to pay people to shop there.
Nevertheless, it was time to hire someone to handle the business side of things. It was difficult to let go, considering his family’s history, but he was at the point where if he didn’t get help, those numbers were going to stop going up. And that was not an option.
A week after David had seen Patrick at the coffee shop, he had put an ad on a few local job boards, and until today he hadn’t gotten any resumes. But he was excited to see an email notification that someone had submitted an application. Clicking through the email, his excitement turned to puzzlement. Patrick Brewer?
David was impressed by Patrick’s resume. He had majored in business at West Canthor University, and after graduation worked for a firm there as a small business consultant. He’d stayed at that job until he moved to Elm Glen, and was currently freelancing.
David was curious to learn more about Patrick, something he probably should have done before the spelling bee. He was loath to admit it, but David had definitely underestimated him. David’s toughest competition in previous years had consisted of graduates of Elmdale College, not exactly a bastion of higher education. Any school that used stock imagery in their marketing materials and made liberal use of flashing text on their website was not likely to be churning out intellectuals.
David could wait to see if more resumes came in, but if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to hire Patrick. There was something about him that David found incredibly appealing, and there was the added bonus of having Patrick around in the lead up to the next spelling bee. What did they say? Keep your friends close but your enemies closer? Maybe “enemies” was a little dramatic, but Patrick was obviously David’s biggest competition, and David was determined to win this year.
~~~~~
Hiring Patrick was both David’s best and worst idea.
Best, because in the six weeks since he’d started, he had overhauled the inventory system, applied for several grants, and helped David streamline the vendor contracts.
Worst, because being around Patrick was torture for David. His jeans just seemed to get tighter by the day, showcasing his magnificent thighs. David wondered in a daze if it was even possible for them to get any more snug. He considered asking Patrick about his laundry routine. Maybe he needed to stop putting them in the dryer. Then again, maybe not.
David wanted to get his hands on Patrick’s shoulders, his arms, his ass. He wanted to run his fingers through his short hair, to discern its texture, if curls were imminent or not. He really hoped they were.
He wanted to rip open Patrick’s ubiquitous blue button up to see how far down he blushed when he caught David staring at him. Because he did blush, and that nearly destroyed David. And if the blushes didn’t kill him, then the sidelong glances and the casual touches would. David was pretty sure he didn’t have as much lint on the back of his sweaters as Patrick claimed, but who was he to argue?
All in all, it was exquisite torture with the added bonus of useful spreadsheets and someone who actually enjoyed running the numbers at the end of each day.
But then, a month before the Greater Elms Adult Spelling Bee, Patrick reminded David that they’re not friends at all, they were actually mortal enemies. He had no choice but to turn to his best friend for advice. It was less than helpful.
David tells himself that he has to stop imagining himself shoving his tongue down Patrick’s throat, and forces himself to look Patrick in the eye instead of letting his gaze linger appreciatively on the way he fills out his jeans. He needs to be professional. But it’s so hard.
As the bee approached, neither man seemed particularly happy as they grimly went about their days, spelling words to themselves under their breaths.
I-n-f-a-t-u-a-t-i-o-n, David heard Patrick whisper as he tallied up the day’s totals.
Y-e-a-r-n-i-n-g, he said quietly as he spritzed the vegetables one afternoon.
E-x-q-u-i-s-i-t-e, Patrick muttered back as he straightened the body milks.
T-o-r-t-u-r-e, David breathed as he squeezed past Patrick on the way up to the office.
The bee was a week away and the tension in Rose Apothecary was thicker than the foot cream Roland favored when David heard a loud thump above him. Patrick had been up there working on the monthly report for the accountant, and David pictured him sprawled out on the floor after tripping over a calculator cord or something. He had no idea, but he was sure Patrick’s lifeless body and a great deal of blood was probably involved. David spelled out c-a-t-a-s-t-r-o-p-h-i-z-i-n-g in his head as he hurried to lock the front door and race upstairs, his phone ready to dial 911.
His knees almost gave way with relief when he saw Patrick standing in the middle of the room, a large dictionary splayed open at his feet. Patrick’s expression was unreadable, but he was looking directly at David. Oh, David thought. Not so unreadable after all. His pupils were dilated and his jaw was clenched. David wanted to bite that spot, the knot of muscle that emerged when Patrick was frustrated. Bite it and then kiss it better, send it away, soothe him.
Patrick strode towards David, crowding him back against the nearest wall. His hands were braced on David’s shoulders, his eyes wildly looking everywhere but at David, his breathing rapid.
“Patrick?” David croaked. Patrick finally met his eyes, if only for a moment, before moving his gaze down a few inches. He moved his hands to David’s waist and stepped closer.
“David,” Patrick whimpered, his eyes on David’s lips. “Can I…”
David gave a tiny nod. Patrick gently pressed his lips to David’s with a soft sigh, the tension leaving his body, his breathing slowing down, not quite so frantic. His arms encircled David’s waist, and David raised his hands to cup Patrick’s face. His jaw was definitely not clenched anymore.
David could feel the kiss in his scalp, in the hairs at the back of his neck, in his heart. It was sweet, almost innocent, and he wanted to live in it forever. Patrick shifted, getting even closer, parting his lips slightly. David moved his hands so he could wrap his arms around Patrick, to hold him in place.
After a moment, Patrick withdrew from the kiss, but didn’t pull back from David. He hooked his chin over David’s shoulder, nuzzling the side of his neck and whispering into the skin. David ran his hands over Patrick’s back, finally getting his hands on the muscles he’d only seen hints of before.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t stay like that forever. David needed to get back downstairs and unlock the doors. It was the middle of the day and they probably had customers wondering why they were closed.
David released his grip on Patrick, who seemed almost drunk on the single, simple, devastating kiss they’d exchanged. His eyes were glassy and unfocused as he looked up at David, smiling. David could practically see his own face reflected in Patrick’s enormous pupils, his half smile creating a deep dimple in one cheek.
David gently pushed Patrick towards the love seat they kept in the office, and at the movement, Patrick seemed to wake up. “Thank you, David,” he murmured.
David perched next to Patrick and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I need to go open the store back up,” he said gently. “We can talk after we close.” Patrick nodded.
David finished the workday in a daze. He could hear Patrick moving around upstairs, the rolling chair on the wooden floor of the office making a sound like thunder. At closing time, Patrick came back downstairs to help David with the closing tasks. As if in agreement, they didn’t speak, and they only did the bare minimum necessary, both desperate to talk about what had happened earlier, and maybe to repeat it.
David shut the cupboard he kept the broom in, and turned to look at Patrick, almost shyly. Patrick gave him a wide smile and held his hand out to David, then led them both upstairs and onto the sofa.
Patrick didn’t let go of David’s hand as they sat on opposite ends, their arms draped across the back, fingers entwined. Patrick rubbed his thumb on the ring on David’s forefinger, which reminded him of the way he had smudged the spelling bee trophy back when they first met. David found that this time, he didn’t mind so much.
David cleared his throat. “Earlier, you thanked me.” Patrick nodded slowly, his cheeks heating up.
“I did.” He looked down at his lap, then back up at David. “I’d never done that before. With a guy.”
David furrowed his brow, slightly alarmed. He ran through the afternoon’s events in his head. Surely Patrick had kissed him, right? He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? He looked back up, and Patrick was smiling fondly at him. Whew.
“I started thinking about the spelling bee, and you, and how much I wanted to kiss you, and how much I just don’t give a flying fuck about spelling when you’re around.”
David gaped at him. That might be the most romantic thing he’d ever heard, and for sure it was the first time he’d ever heard Patrick say fuck, which also made it one of the hottest things he’d ever heard. Previously uptight people letting loose reallydid it for him. “Okay,” David said, his voice uneven.
“And I decided earlier, to take it out on my dictionary, which wasn’t really fair, but I needed something heavy to throw.” He gestured vaguely at his desk, where the book sat, no worse for wear, thank goodness.
David scooched closer to Patrick. “So now what?”
Patrick leaned towards David slightly. “I’m dropping out of the spelling bee.” He licked his lips, and David nearly closed the space between them until he realized what Patrick had said. He pulled back abruptly.
“You’re what?”
Patrick shrugged. “I just don’t want to do it. I don’t want to compete against you again, not for this. Not now.”
David leaned back against the arm of the sofa, reeling. The thought of competing in the spelling bee held a lot less appeal if he didn’t have Patrick to go up against. It wouldn’t be a competition, it would just be another trophy on his shelf. He looked at Patrick suspiciously. “What do you mean, ‘not now’?”
The tips of Patrick’s ears turned red. David couldn’t stand how cute that was, but he really did need to understand what Patrick meant. "Not now," as in, "maybe next year when this is all over"? Or "not now," as in, "maybe next year we'll be secure in a relationship and it'll be more fun to compete"?
"I don't really know, David. All I know is, I'd rather figure out what this is," he squeezed his hand, "than worry about how to spell some obscure words."
David let himself smile fully at Patrick. You mean like, 'c-o-n-c-u-p-i-s-c-e-n-c-e'?" He inched closer to Patrick.
"How about an easier word like, 'w-a-n-t'?" Patrick's mouth was inches away from David's.
Just before closing the gap, David whispered, "y-e-s."
A few weeks later, the two sat in the audience and cheered as a woman from Elmdale won the bee.
A few months later, they spelled out three little words to each other.
The following year, David was back up on stage with Patrick, the final two left in the bee. When the judge asked David to spell "matrimony", he looked over at Patrick, puzzled that such an easy word would come so late in the game. But Patrick was down on one knee, a long velvet box open in front of him.