Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Tell me again why I’m here,” Stevie says, shuddering as the crowd presses in on the two of them. Streams of patrons jostle alongside them, some periodically and abruptly cutting across their path to inspect a stall on the opposite side of the street, the concepts of personal space and manners long forgotten in the hunt for a bargain.

“Because you believe in my business and want to offer your support?” David suggests. He has to raise his voice a little to make it carry to her over the chatter. On his left, a woman barges past him without so much as an ‘excuse me,’ the heavy shopping bag dangling from her arm colliding with his elbow. Ow.

“Doesn’t sound like me,” Stevie replies while David glares daggers at the rude woman’s back. “Why didn’t you tell me there’d be so many people here?”

“I didn’t know.”

Honestly, who could have thought the Elmdale Farmer’s market would be such a big attraction? Although, David supposes, when there is pretty much nothing going on in the area the rest of the week, maybe he should have expected it.

“Look, are you just going to complain all day or are you going to help me?” he asks.

“Oh it’s a choice? In that case, I choose complain all day.”

David rolls his eyes. “Come on. Half an hour. You owe me.”

“How do you figure that?”

At that, his head swivels around to her so violently he thinks he’s at risk of breaking his neck.

“Um, where do I start? How about all those times I’ve gone along with you to trawl for randoms? Or the time I covered for you with dad when he found underwear down the side of the couch in the motel reception? It’s bad enough that I had to walk in on you and Jake fucking and have that image in my brain but now I’ve had to listen to my dad lecturing me about not stripping off my underwear in public places even if it’s warm. You’re lucky he bought that I was just feeling hot.”

Stevie’s nose wrinkles. “Yeah that was weird. You couldn’t think of a better lie than that?”

Their walk down the pathway through the stalls is temporarily brought to a stop by an entire family blocking the route ahead while admiring some truly hideous furry backpacks. David takes the opportunity to glare at his friend.

“He put me on the spot! And it’s your fault I had to cover for you at all!”

“Fine!” Stevie grunts. “Half an hour and this is the last time you can bring the underwear thing up.”

“I didn’t agree to that.”

“And yet here we are. That’s the deal.”

The obstruction clears and they’re on their way again, shuffling along with the rest of the crowd. When David had thought about today, he'd had something distinctly different in mind. Strolling leisurely along the path, chatting with the owners of the stalls that caught his eye, all in the hopes of finding some more vendors for Rose Apothecary. Something easy, fun. Not being packed in a sweaty, cramped street unable to really see any of the stalls through the people surrounding them.

“Come over here a minute,” he tells Stevie and tugs her sleeve, beckoning her to the edge of the crowd where it’s a little less… oppressive. He pulls her over to a gap between two stalls, steering around shoppers and getting more than a couple of grumbles sent his way for daring to go against the stream of pedestrians. Once out of the crush he takes stock while, beside him, Stevie crosses her arms and turns to face him.

“Alright. Now what?” she drawls and David bites his lip, thinking. He really doesn’t want to leave without at least one lead.

“Taking a breather?” a new voice asks. “Sensible if you ask me. Quite a crowd today!”

David looks over to find an older grey-haired gentleman with a broad smile beneath blue eyes watching them from the stall to their left.

“Excuse me?”

The man gestures to the crowd. “My wife and I are here every month and we’ve never seen a crowd like this here! I think it’s to do with the town’s new marketing strategy. The council have put adverts in the papers and on the radio, spreading the news on social media hoping to pull tourists in. I guess it worked!”

“Lucky us,” Stevie chimes in, deadpan. “David here loves crowds. Can’t get enough of them. People pressing in, strangers breathing on him, touching his clothes…”

David scowls at her but the man just laughs lightly.

“I suppose it is a bit overwhelming. How are you supposed to know which way is up?”

“Good for business though?” Stevie asks. Her eyes dart meaningfully to David before looking up at the sign hanging on the awning above the man’s head. Nudging David with her shoulder she adds, “This looks interesting, doesn’t it David?”

He looks up, taking in for the first time the vines curling around the letters of the logo, the two apples flanking the business name. The Brewery. And then underneath in smaller letters: Apple orchard and cidery.

David’s eyes drop to the table in front of the man where a wide range of taster cups sit alongside a collection of bottles with business cards to the side. The whole presentation looks clean and ordered, yet warm and welcoming.

A few steps away from the man behind the stall, a woman with a bob haircut and a kind expression is talking to a man sipping from a taster cup.

A family business, a range of locally brewed ciders which – David takes a quick glance at the labels – don’t appear to contain any of the more experimental flavours Herb Ertlinger gave him to drink when David visited him in search of vendors. (It hadn’t taken long to realise what a wasted trip that was.)

But this... David have to taste a few samples but there is potential here.

Excitement begins to rise as he looks back at the owner, stepping closer with a smile that he hopes looks professional but not overeager.

“Yeah,” David agrees with Stevie. “It does.”

“Thank you! We’re very proud of it.” The man gestures towards the woman who is smiling as she puts bottles into a bag for the customer she’s helping. “My wife Marcy and I built it up together and now we run it with the help of our son.”

“Could I maybe try some samples?” David asks as he moves in front of the stall, running his eyes over the selection.

“Of course, it’s what we’re here for,” the man says. “Please take a look, let me know if any take your fancy.”

David peers at the small cups, each of which stands behind a handwritten label of the flavour it contains. There’s a traditional range of apple cider brewed using different types of apple but also several other fruit infused offerings. Raspberry, pear, grapefruit, cherry, strawberry – David’s head is already whirring with the beauty of the display he could make with the bottles and how well he could sell these. Providing the taste is good.

Feeling that having his face and tongue swell to three times their normal size would not be the ideal way to show this couple how capable and together he is, David steers clear of the varieties containing pitted fruits but samples several of the others. They’re delicious – strong flavours, refreshing and crisp. With each one he tries his resolution and excitement grow. He can practically see them on the shelves at Rose Apothecary.

He swallows his last mouthful of pear cider and looks up at the man behind the counter.

“So what's the verdict?” the owner says.

“These are incredible,” David says. “Really.”

“You can tell he means it because he’s never usually quiet that long,” Stevie says. “If he hated them he wouldn’t have shut up long enough to swallow them.”

David glances at her to see her eyebrow quirked up a little in question. Well?

He nods subtly and she smirks.

“Great to hear it,” the man says. “Another satisfied customer, Marce!”

Marcy has just finished serving another customer and at her husband’s words steps closer to his side.

“Oh I’m so pleased! Clint and I are always happy to know people like our drinks.” Her tone grows softer, affectionate as she continues, “Our son would point out that customer satisfaction is key to sales and business growth but even aside from that, it’s a thrill to know you’ve made something with your own two hands that is appreciated.”

David nods in agreement, striving for professional and knowledgeable when he looks between the two with a friendly smile.

“Your son is right, of course. As a business owner myself I know how important it is to look after the customers. And I love that the two of you are so passionate, I’m in the process of building my store up and I also enjoy knowing that people appreciate my work.”

“You have your own store?” the man – Clint – says with interest. “I bet you get some interesting characters in!”

“Oh. Yes, I do.” The townsfolk of Schitt’s Creek could have many adjectives attributed to them – interesting is definitely one. “Every day.”

“And what’s your store called?” Marcy enquires politely.

“It’s Rose Apothecary. In Schitt’s Creek. Rose, that’s my surname. David Rose. And this is my friend Stevie.” Stevie lifts a hand up in greeting while David holds out his hand to each of the couple in turn, shaking as they introduce themselves as Clint and Marcy Brewer.

“Rose Apothecary,” Clint says after the introductions. “That rings a bell.”

Marcy’s eyes light up. “Yes, Rose Apothecary! Remember Clint, I think that was the name of the store Pamela said she visited when she was passing through Schitt’s Creek. Pamela’s our neighbour,” she explains to David. “She says your store is beautiful.”

Bolstered by this, David feels some of the tension leak from his shoulders.

“It’s quite a new store but we’re doing well. My business works with local vendors and artists to sell their products on consignment. The suppliers can reach a wider customer base and I get the opportunity to display a range of great products from local businesses.”

“That sounds impressive,” Marcy says.

“I’m glad you think so.” He looks at Stevie quickly, who waves her hand in a ‘go on’ gesture. “I actually came here today searching for potential new vendors to collaborate with. Would you be interested? I love your range and I think it would do very well in my store.”

Marcy and Clint instantly look at one another, something silent passing between them in the way David’s seen sometimes happen with his own parents. A whole conversation in a brush of eye contact, two people who know each other well saying all they need to without words.

“David,” Marcy says slowly and David’s hopes start to drop. “It’s not- We aren’t saying ‘no’ but we’ve had deals like this fall through before and we’ve learnt it pays not to rush into things before you’re ready.”

Clint hums in agreement. “Our son has told us many times not to agree to anything on the spur of the moment. For your sake as well as ours we would need to make sure this is the right move for us and for you.”

“We’d hate to have put the work into making more product only for you to find it doesn’t sell in your store.”

Their voices are kind, urging understanding and David, after his initial disappointment, can see their point. “Okay, yeah I get that. But... Can we consider it?”

“Absolutely,” Marcy says and lifts a business card from the table. “Look, take this. It’s got the address of our brewery. We’ve got a tasting event tomorrow night, maybe you could come along? We’ll waive the entrance fee, in the interest of us maybe doing business together.”

David takes the card, turning it over in his hand to look at the address. It’s about half an hour from Schitt’s Creek. He’ll have to ask Stevie for a lift again or use his dad’s ridiculous car sign-out sheet but it’s too good an opportunity to miss.

“I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic!” Clint enthuses. “We’d love to see you there. You can get a bit more of a sense of the business and what we do. Stevie, you can come along too if you like.”

Stevie steps forward to look at the business card over David’s shoulder. “A night spent tasting alcohol or a night sitting alone on my couch. Think you might just have the edge.”

--

“Okay, yeah, this place is alright,” Stevie says the following night and David rolls his eyes. Anyone would think she’d been forced along, rather than jumping right on board the moment she caught the scent of alcohol on the breeze.

“Just remember not to drink too much.”

“Oh David.” She unfolds her arms to give him a condescending pat on the cheek. “You are funny. Why do you think I insisted we get a cab?”

“Stop that. Get off me.” He swats at her arm then halts and looks around warily. He doesn’t want to be caught squabbling like a child by the Brewers. “Just try not to be a gremlin tonight, okay?”

“Me? I’m a sheer delight.”

“Sure you are.”

Stevie snorts. “Relax. Breathe. The whole tense, shoulders hunched look you’ve got going on isn’t working for you. It’s going to be fine. Your business is good. They should be biting your hand off.”

And that? That’s why, deep down, he’s glad she’s here. He needs her to keep him from spiralling. (Or at least from spiralling too much.)

“Thanks.”

“Welcome. Now there’s a man serving alcohol at that table over there and I think we need to take some off his hands. Coming?”

“Best idea you’ve had in days.”

As they snake through the milling crowds to the tables laden with cider bottles doled out by a blond man in dress pants and a polo shirt, David takes the opportunity to scan over the room, searching for Marcy or Clint. Considering he’s here to try and create a business relationship with them, he should probably seek them out and say something nice about the place.

There’s no sign of them that he can see but as he peers around, there are no shortages of compliments he can think to pay them. The room they find themselves in is large, with a stripped back wooden floor, plenty of tables dotted around for people to gather and mingle and some tasteful black and white wall art. Warm light pours out of wall sconces and from hanging lights above, bright enough to comfortably see but dim enough not to be jarring. It’s homey and welcoming, just as the Brewers themselves had been.

There’s even live music playing in the corner. David’s eyes land on the makeshift stage – just a simple raised dais against the far wall – where a lone man stands with a guitar, singing into a microphone. It’s a good move of the Brewers, David thinks, and adds much more to the ambience than piped music over a stereo system would.

The musician’s voice is rich and strong but not intrusive, adding to the atmosphere rather than distracting from it. His fingers move deftly over the strings, his sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, his muscles bunching as he strums and shifts his grip on neck of the guitar.

The man leans into the microphone as he sings, and light brown eyes gaze out from a face slightly flushed from the heat in the room. He’s cute, his face shining with good-humour and playfulness and if David had come across him in a bar somewhere on the hunt for a random, he'd definitely be sliding into the seat beside him and trying his luck. But he’s not here for that.

“What do you want?”

At the sound of Stevie’s voice he rips his eyes away from the handsome singer.

“What? Nothing.”

“You don’t want a drink?”

She gestures at the server who waits behind the table, looking between them. Stevie already has a bottle in her hand.

“Oh! No, yes, I do. Um, that one please.” David points at the closest bottle – a traditional apple flavour – and the server nods as he picks up the bottle and flips off the cap before handing it to David.

“If you guys want a glass to drink out of, help yourself,” the man says, nodding towards a tray laden with them to the side.

“Thanks.” David takes the bottle and picks up one of the empty glasses as well (which Stevie declines), and he and Stevie move away from the table to allow someone else to take their place.

David determinedly keeps his eyes away from the musician on stage as they shuffle over towards where a table is standing free. When they get there, David holds his bottle up towards his face, inspecting the label – neat, professional, very appealing – and beside him Stevie takes a long pull of her drink.

“So what do you think?” he asks her as she swallows. “It’s nice, right?”

“Yeah, it is.” She lifts her bottle in a ‘cheers’ gesture and takes another sip. “Bet you’re grateful someone pointed that stall out in the market, huh? Maybe grateful enough to give that person free booze for life.”

“Um, that person is already enjoying my friendship so I think that’s more than enough.” He pours his drink out into the glass before setting the empty bottle down on the table.

“Well, if it’s another either/or situation I’d have to think about my choice.”

David gives a long-suffering sigh rather than respond in words and takes a sip of his own drink. It’s cool and fresh and he immediately goes back for another taste. Yes, he wants this in his store.

For a minute or two they stand in companionable silence, sipping their drinks while David imagines a range of marketing and display possibilities.

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” Stevie says abruptly, jolting David out of the logistics of creating a bottle pyramid.

“What?” David swivels his head round to face her, forehead creasing. She isn’t looking at him, instead staring across the room with a look on her face that he remembers from their misguided friends-with-benefits arrangement. He follows her eyes to a tall, broad-chested man leaning against a wall and smirking straight back at her. “Oh tell me you’re kidding.”

“Not kidding,” she says, still with her eyes fixed on the stranger. “You have to go find Marcy and Clint anyway, right? Don’t need me hanging around for that.”

And maybe she’s right – perhaps it would be better to speak to the Brewers on his own – but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy she’s abandoning him in a room full of strangers before necessary.

“So much for being here to support me,” he gripes.

“I’m multi-talented. I can support you and enjoy myself with a hot stranger,” she shoots back. She straightens, preparing to leave but not before finally looking back at David. “Don’t you want the Brewers to see you don’t need me at your side all the time? You’ll be fine. Just try not to fuck up.”

And with those oh-so-encouraging words, she turns and starts to walk away through the crowd towards the stranger watching her approach with mounting interest.

“Traitor!” David hisses at her back. Frustration and anxiety twist in his chest. Doesn’t she know he’s already worried about this?

Grunting in annoyance, he snatches up his glass from the table and turns to stalk away, unable to watch Stevie approach her target. He takes a large step and immediately collides with somebody walking past him.

“Fuck!”

David jumps back as the hand holding his drink is jostled and liquid slops up, over the side of the glass before cascading down to the floor. He hastily steps backwards, just in time to avoid it pouring all over his shoes. Several droplets still land on the material and he snarls, spitting out, “Watch where you’re going!”

He looks up and his anger freezes in his chest when he sees the man from the stage. Belatedly he realises the music has stopped.

“Sorry, man. Didn’t expect you to move back. You okay?”

“What are you doing down here anyway? Shouldn’t you be on the stage?” David blurts out, harsher than intended and instantly regrets it. It’s nerves and residual anger but this man doesn’t know that and the friendly gleam in the guy’s eyes cools in an instant as his eyebrows rise towards his hairline.

“They do occasionally give me a break,” he replies, his voice chilly. “An odd policy I agree but hey, that’s the way it is. So I’m going to get some water and maybe I’ll even take the time to go to the bathroom. I mean, if that’s alright with you.”

With that the musician turns and strides away, shaking his head. David curses under his breath, staring at his retreating back, contrition crawling through him. Not only because he’s made a bad impression on someone who, in another situation, David might be attempting to make a move on, but also because the man works for the Brewers. The last thing David needs is his unprofessional rudeness reaching the couple’s ears. Tonight, of all nights, he needs to everything to go well.

He should apologise.

Taking a deep breath, David begins to follow in the direction the other man has taken but too late. Before he’s taken a handful of steps he sees the musician pushing open a door marked ‘Staff Only.’ The door swings shut behind him and he’s gone.

Fuck.

David pauses in the centre of the room, thinking, his eyes on the door. The musician will have to come back come out sometime, right? And if David can catch him before he gets back to the stage then maybe David can smooth things over and that whole encounter will be forgotten.

Decision made, he helps himself to a bruschetta bite from a nearby snack table as he winds through the chatting crowd, moving closer to the door the man disappeared through, mentally preparing the words he can use to right things.

He’s still not sure of what he’s going to say when the door opens again without warning and out walks the man, laughing at someone back in the staff area and screwing the cap onto a bottle of water he has in his hand. He turns, starting his way towards the stage once more and David quickens his pace, hurrying towards him.

The smile on the singer’s handsome face abruptly dies when David sidesteps in front of him and he’s forced to stop and back up a pace to put some more space between them.

“Oh. It’s you. Okay, you definitely got in my way that time. And really, last time wasn’t my fault either.”

“I know,” David says quickly. “Listen, about before – I was just surprised when I ran into you. Plus I’ve been kind of nervous about tonight and my friend had just abandoned me for some random guy and… and everything came out way harsher than I meant. I’m sorry.”

The man simply stares at him for a long moment, his eyes flicking between David’s. David takes some comfort in the fact that during his speech, the man’s expression has shifted from unfriendly to wary as he considers David’s words.

“You were nervous about a tasting event?”

David attempts a rueful smile, hoping to further ease the tension.

“Yes. There are… other things going on as well.” He waves his hand in the air as if brushing it aside. “Not your problem. I’m sorry I took it out on you.”

The man nods slowly. “Well, I appreciate that. And I’m sorry that your friend abandoned you.”

David huffs. “Me too. I was relying on her for support and now I don’t know anyone.”

“Easily fixed. I’m Patrick.” The man – Patrick – holds his hand out and David takes it. His handshake is firm and confident and his fingers squeeze David’s just a little before letting go.

“David.”

“Nice to meet you, David. Again. Here’s hoping you’ll yell at me less this time.” His tone is light, the words holding a teasing edge and his face finishes relaxing back into the friendliness that David had first seen there.

He gives a smile that makes David feel a little dizzy and oh. Okay. They might have gotten off on the wrong foot but maybe there is some time for a little light flirting with the cute guitar player.

“So you’re a musician? Do you play here a lot?”

Patrick waggles his head side to side in a sort-of gesture.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. I have a day job but the music’s a hobby of mine. I sing and play here a couple of nights a week and then once a month I organise an open mic night.”

David can’t stop the visceral horror that shoots through him from showing on his face.

“Open mic night?” he repeats, strangled. “Like with… amateur music?”

“And some stand-up, dance acts, whatever people want to share.” Patrick laughs at the look on David’s face. “Come on, it’s fun.”

“Fun. That’s... a word.”

“Why do I think you don’t believe me? There’s actually one next Saturday night. You should come along. Let me prove you wrong.”

“I don’t know,” David hedges. His thoughts race. On the one hand, an open mic night sounds like a living nightmare. On the other, seeing the hot musician is a definite upside. But if things with the Brewers don’t go as he hopes then it might not be a good idea to return.

“It might be inappropriate for me to come back after tonight,” David finishes.

Patrick’s head jolts back, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“What, are you planning to rob the place tonight? Streak? Start a fistfight? What are you planning on doing that might be inappropriate?”

David huffs softly in amusement. “None of the above. I, er...” He had hesitated before to tell Patrick his reasons for being here but things are improving between them and Patrick did ask. “I’m here on business.”

Patrick looks him over, those caramel-brown eyes travelling down over David’s outfit, his body, taking him in. His look of confusion fades, a smile taking its place once more.

“Yeah, that looks like a business outfit. Pants with rips in the thighs are all the rage on Wall Street I hear. It suits you.”

Oh. Is Patrick flirting too? It feels like flirting. David’s chest grows warm, his stomach fluttering, and a reciprocal smile curls into his cheek. Maybe even if things go wrong with the Brewers, coming here tonight won’t be a total loss.

“You’ve never heard of casual Fridays?” he parries.

“It’s Sunday.”

“I’m expanding the concept. Hoping it will catch on.”

“Mmm. Comfortable clothes on the weekend. Who would have thought it? You’re a trailblazer.”

“I prefer trend forecaster.”

Patrick’s grin widens. “Noted. So okay, you’ve got me curious, David. What business did you say you had here?”

“I didn’t yet. It’s nothing official but I ran into the owners – Marcy and Clint Brewer? – at the farmer’s market yesterday. I have a store, I loved their samples and was hoping they’d agree to come on board as suppliers.”

A look of realisation spreads across Patrick’s face, understanding lighting his eyes. “David Rose? You run the store in Schitt’s Creek? Yeah, they mentioned they’d met you.”

“They did?” David preens, pride budding in his chest. It strikes him as a promising sign if they’re telling the people who work for them about their encounter with David.

“Yeah. They’re actually-”

“Well, that was a bust.”

David startles as Stevie appears at his elbow, her voice cutting over Patrick’s and interrupting the pleasant little cocoon they’d found themselves in. Patrick trails off, his eyes snapping to Stevie and David instantly laments the loss of that warm gaze.

He suppresses a sigh as he, too, turns his attention towards his returned friend. For as much as David hadn’t wanted her to leave, he finds himself wishing she’d been gone a while longer.

“Did you find the owners yet?” Stevie continues, unaware of what she’s interrupted. Finally, she spots Patrick. “Who are you?”

David narrows his eyes at her. He’s just managed to make up for his own rudeness, is he going to have to apologise for hers too?

Luckily Patrick doesn’t seem to take offence. “Hi. I’m Patrick. I take it you’re David’s friend?”

“Sometimes. Depends on how much he’s annoying me.”

“Urgh,” David grunts his irritation. “Please don’t listen to her. But yes, this is Stevie. The one I was telling you about who deserted me in a crowd of strangers.”

“You’re an adult, David. You should be able to be left unsupervised for short periods of time by now.” She looks between David and Patrick, and David spots the gleam of mischief that brightens her eyes. “Although apparently you weren’t totally unsupervised. I thought you were on a mission, David. Getting a little distracted here are we? Not that I can’t see why.”

He’s going to fucking kill her.

“Patrick’s the musician playing at this event,” David jumps in, desperate to stop her being even more embarrassing. He nods towards the stage where Patrick’s guitar sits on his abandoned stool behind the microphone. “He knows the business; he plays here a lot.”

Stevie opens her mouth to respond but Patrick speaks first. “Yes. And actually, I should…” he thumbs over his shoulder towards the empty stage. “I’ll leave you to it. I did promise to provide music tonight and my break’s already gone on too long as it is.”

David clears his throat, trying his hardest not to show his disappointment. He can feel Stevie’s eagle-eyed scrutiny on him and strives for polite professionalism.

“Of course. And I should be finding Marcy and Clint.”

Patrick cranes his head, peering around the room and then he nods towards the far corner where the Brewers are standing and laughing with a small group of people. “They’re over there.”

“Thanks.”

“It was nice to meet you both. And think about open mic night, David. You’d be very welcome.” With that, Patrick takes a step back, his eyes staying on David until he turns and walks back towards the stage. David watches him until Stevie clears her throat pointedly.

“Guess it wasn’t too bad that I left you alone, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I see.” Stevie nods, affecting sage wisdom. “That was a business discussion. Completely professional, nothing to see at all. Certainly not you drooling over the cute musician.”

“I… Shut up.”

Stevie nudges him with her shoulder. “If it helps, it looked like he couldn’t take his eyes off you either.”

“Really?” David can’t keep the note of hope out of his voice.

“Yes. Why would I lie about that?”

“Because you’re a chaos demon?”

Stevie sighs. “Normally, yes, but I’ve been told by someone that I have to be on my best behaviour tonight. Be a supportive friend or whatever.”

“And where was that resolve when you wandered off and left me?”

“I’m back, aren’t I? Doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Now how about you go do what you came here to do and talk to the Brewers. You still want them for the store, right?”

David nods, dragging his focus (with difficulty) back to his task. “I think their cider would be a big hit.”

“So tell them that. And if you need any more incentives, just think: you said Patrick played here a lot, right? They’ll be plenty of chances for you to see him and for things to happen between you two if they sign on.”

While it’s not the main motivation, David can’t deny that would be a great bonus outcome. He glances once, quickly, at the stage where Patrick is once more strumming a soft tune on his guitar before turning and heading towards the Brewers.

When he reaches them, Marcy and Clint are just finishing up their conversation and greet him with wide smiles. Accepting his compliments about their business, they shake his hand and tell him they’ve been thinking a lot about his proposal.

“Glad to hear it,” David says. “I think your products would do really well in my store.”

“I have to say,” Marcy says. “We’re intrigued. We spoke to our son – he advises us a lot in our business – and he says it’s worth considering.”

“What we would like to do,” Clint puts in. “Is come and see the store. If that’s alright with you?”

“If you want to, of course,” David agrees.

“Yes. This is a two-way street. We’d like to get more of an idea of your business as well.”

“We’ve heard wonderful things,” Marcy says. “We’d just like to see it for ourselves.”

They’re smiling at him, their voices friendly and David nods. He can sense they’ve nearly made their minds up and if it takes seeing his store to help them make their decision, that’s fine with him. His store is beautiful, elegant, tasteful. He has no doubts that it will impress them.

“When can you come? One day this week?”

“We were thinking Tuesday?” Clint says, his voice rising in question. “We would say tomorrow but we have a couple of meetings here.”

“Tuesday’s perfect,” David says. “We’re open from ten, come anytime.”

“Thank you, David. We’re very excited to see it!” Marcy enthuses as David digs out a business card (thanking fuck he thought to bring one) from his pocket and hands it over to the couple.

“Here’s the address.”

Clint takes it and they tell David that they should be there around lunchtime on Tuesday. By the time David finishes chatting to them and heads back to meet Stevie he’s feeling positive and hopeful about the future.

David’s eyes repeatedly drift back to the stage, where Patrick remains for the rest of the night. He doesn’t get another chance to speak to him before Stevie is complaining that she wants to leave but he replays his conversation with him as they travel home, remembering Patrick’s smile, his playful teasing, the look in his eyes when he spoke to David. Briefly he worries that the connection he'd felt had all been in his head but then remembers that Stevie had said that Patrick had been staring at him too, and Patrick himself had asked David to return the following week.

For open mic night. It might not be David’s first choice of event but he’s made up his mind before the cab even pulls up at the motel.

He wants to see Patrick again.

--

When the Brewers arrive on Tuesday morning, it could not be better timing. They walk in just as David is cashing out a customer, and a few others are browsing among the shelves. Business has been steady all morning but not so busy that David has fallen behind with keeping everything stocked up. Soft music plays in the background and the surfaces are clean, the products neat and ordered.

David had bribed Stevie (four bottles of wine is a price he’s happy to pay on this occasion) into helping for the morning so he is able to step away from serving customers long enough to show the Brewers around.

“This is beautiful,” Marcy says as he guides them through the store and points out their more popular sellers. “You should be very proud of this place.”

“I am. It took some work but we’re doing well.”

“We can see that,” Clint says, smiling and stepping out of the way for a customer attempting to slide past towards the citronella candles. “We told our son a little more about the business model you described. He was impressed. He says it’s a very smart idea.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s a real whizz-kid when it comes to this stuff,” Clint goes on, pride shining in his eyes. “He helped us with the figures for our recent expansion and is a driving force behind the marketing.”

“He’s a huge help to us,” Marcy says.

“He sounds like it,” David says politely.

“He was at the event last weekend; it’s a pity we didn’t get to introduce you. I think the pair of you would get on like a house on fire,” Clint says.

“Maybe if you decide to work with the store I’ll meet him someday.”

“Oh David dear, I think-” Marcy pauses and casts a glance at her husband who nods. “I think our decision has mostly been made. After discussing it as a family and then seeing you in action and getting a look at this place, we’d love to come on board.”

A shiver of delight passes through David at the words. He did it!

“Really? That’s great!”

“Is it possible we could ask you to email us over a copy of your standard contract? We just want to read it all over and discuss it with our son before we sign anything.”

“Absolutely,” David says, still riding high. It’s not an unusual request and many of his vendors have adjustments they want to make. “You can look it over and we can talk about changing whatever we need to before anything is agreed.”

“Perfect! Are you free on Saturday? We’re holding an open mic night. We’d love to see you there and we can sort the contract out afterwards. Our son will be there too, it’d be nice if you could meet him.”

“I’d love to come. Thank you.”

David bites the inside of his cheek against the grin threatening to spread across his face. He isn’t going to tell them he’d already intended on attending, drawn in by their musician and the hope of flirting a phone number out of him.

It will be interesting to meet this son the Brewers are so proud of too – particularly as it seems he’s very helpful in the business – but he can’t deny that it’s the prospect of seeing Patrick again that fills his stomach with electric excitement.

--

Stevie is working Saturday night so it’s David alone who walks through the doors of The Brewery into the cheerful, chattering atmosphere of the open mic night.

At first glance it’s... not as horrifying as he thought. Although that’s perhaps because no one is butchering any classic power ballads yet. The stage Patrick had occupied last time is still there, but the tables have been shuffled around to make room for a couple of rows of chairs in case anyone feels like sitting three feet away from the acts as they perform. David decidedly does not and so he heads towards one of the empty tables at the back.

There is already a medium-sized crowd of people mingling with drinks and David edges through them, stopping briefly at one of the drinks tables on the way to buy a cider before continuing his journey. He’s halfway across the room when he spots Patrick and immediately rethinks his policy on not wanting to be up close and personal with any of the acts tonight as his steps falter, his attention diverted into staring.

Patrick is wearing a dark blue shirt, sleeves rolled up, coupled with dark denim jeans that display his thighs in a way that has David’s imagination sprinting off into some very thirsty places. Patrick hasn’t spotted David yet but he’s chatting with Clint, his face alight with happiness and eyes sparkling with laughter.

He’s as attractive as David remembered and oh fuck, David hopes he’s going to get some time with him tonight. With no Stevie to interrupt, maybe David can get a more solid sense on the other man and his reaction to David’s flirting.

“David!” a bright voice rings out behind him. “It’s so great to see you!”

He wrenches his eyes off Patrick to face Marcy, who has appeared at his side.

“Great to see you too. Looks like a good crowd tonight.”

Marcy looks around, pride shining in her eyes. “These things are always good for boosting publicity and bringing people together. Patrick does very well putting it all together for us.” She lifts her chin over to the left where Patrick has left Clint and is walking towards the stage. David tries not to let his gaze linger on Patrick’s ass as he walks away. “Looks like he’s getting ready to kick things off in a few minutes. He usually performs first to get things going.”

“Mmm. I heard him sing last time. He has a great voice.”

“He does!” Marcy enthuses. “He loves his music so much, it’s always a pleasure to see him play. He’s very talented, Clint and I are incredibly lucky to have him.”

When David looks back at her she’s watching Patrick on the stage, an affectionate smile on her face. David sees it as another strong mark in Patrick’s favour – the Brewers are good people and if they rate Patrick highly, chances are he’s a decent person himself.

“Thank you for sending the initial contract over,” Marcy continues, switching her attention back to David as the sound of Patrick strumming a few practice notes on his guitar drift over from the stage. “We discussed it as a family and we’re all very interested in the idea of selling in your store. We just have a couple of things we want to talk with you about.”

David nods. “That was just a starting point. We can negotiate percentages and fees and we should also put together a list of quantities and flavours the store will receive.”

Marcy smiles. “Perfect. I think this is going to be the start of a wonderful relationship between you and our family.”

“Me too.”

Microphone feedback echoes out throughout the room, cutting off the low-level chatter abruptly and David turns his head over towards the stage where Patrick stands, offering an apologetic smile to the crowd.

“Sorry about that, everyone,” he says into the microphone. “Welcome to The Brewery and our open mic night! Thanks to everyone who’s signed up so far, there’s a couple of spots left so if anyone else wants to take part just let me know or use the sign-up sheet over by the bar. For now, get yourselves comfortable, grab a drink and we’ll get started in just a couple of minutes.”

He beams out at the crowd, his hair shining under the lights overhead and David wants to sink his hands into the strands and kiss that smile until Patrick is melting into him. Fuck. This is insane – he’s never felt this drawn to someone after just a brief conversation but there’s something there, something tugging him towards Patrick.

Marcy touches his elbow lightly and he startles, feeling his cheeks heat as he drags his eyes off Patrick.

“Are you still available for the four of us meet afterwards?” she asks, her voice lower now to match the quiet sweeping through the room. “To iron it all out?”

The four of us? David’s about to ask but realises in the moment he opens his mouth to do so that she must mean her son – they did say he’d be here. David casts a quick look around the room, wondering if he’s here yet. What does he look like? David’s picturing someone on the shorter side, like Marcy. Maybe with blue eyes, like Clint. Perhaps he’s not arrived yet.

“Yes, sure we can do that,” David agrees and Marcy smiles. She looks towards the stage. “Looks like Patrick’s just about ready to start. Enjoy the acts and we’ll see you later.”

She leaves and David is left to claim his place standing at a table a strategic distance from the stage. Not far enough away to appear disinterested, not close enough to be subjected to too much horror.

He puts his glass down on the table and watches as Patrick slings his guitar strap over his shoulder and approaches the microphone once more. His smile brightens up his whole face and David’s stomach flutters at the sight.

“Good evening, everyone!” Patrick calls out and the faint chatter dies away in an instant, everyone’s attention fully on the man on the stage. David understands completely. “It’s so great to see you all here for our open mic night. I see some regulars here, and a few newcomers-” Patrick’s eyes flicker over to David and David straightens as he meets Patrick’s eyes, a jolt of confidence darting through him. It’s gratifying to know that Patrick’s spotted him in the crowd, that maybe Patrick was looking for him and hoping to see him tonight too. “You are all very welcome and I hope it lives up to your expectations.”

A twinkle of humour sparkles in Patrick’s eyes as he holds David’s and David suppresses a snort of amusement. Patrick knows (or at least suspects) how low his expectations are; it would be hard not to surpass them.

Patrick clears his throat and looks down at his guitar, his fingers positioning themselves on the strings. “Alright. Everyone relax, have fun and I’ll get us started.”

Patrick launches into a song David’s heard countless times on the radio yet somehow there’s something still captivating in the way Patrick sings it. He’s made it his own, slowing it down to create something new and to allow for the rich strength of his voice to flourish. He’s confident, his fingers deft and quick on the strings, his voice unfaltering as it rises and falls through the notes. His face is serene, at ease, and it’s evident to anyone who cares to look how much he loves this.

It's almost enough to overcome David’s objections about open mic nights – if it were Patrick alone performing, David would be more than content to sit and watch him all evening. Lingering at the back of his mind, however, is the knowledge that soon, Patrick will step down and someone else will take his place. And after a performance like this, David has a suspicion that things can only get worse.

Sure enough, the final notes of the song come before David is quite ready and Patrick finishes as he began – expertly, with a confidence and skill that make David’s knees feel like giving out.

Patrick graciously cedes the stage to a young man who looks more than a little nervous to be following that performance and, David thinks, with good reason. His voice is nowhere near as strong as Patrick’s, struggling to lift beyond his own backing music. David doesn’t dwell on it for long, though, letting the singer’s voice fade into the background as his eyes drift to the left of the stage where Patrick is standing. He's watching the performance politely and David feels safe looking his fill for a minute, letting himself take in the way Patrick’s shirt clings to his biceps before lifting his gaze to trace along the line of Patrick’s jaw.

Suddenly, as if sensing David’s perusal, Patrick’s head turns, his eyes instantly locking onto David’s in the crowd and David, caught out, feels heat rising to his face as he rips his eyes away and refocuses on the stage. Cursing himself, he tightens his grip on his glass, willing his heart to stop its nervous hammering. He takes a sip of his drink, trying to affect nonchalance, allowing several tense seconds to pass before slowly sliding his eyes sideways again.

Patrick’s staring straight back at him. And apparently David’s stealth glance was not subtle enough because Patrick’s lips quirk up in a smile the moment David’s eyes rest on him again, his head dipping in acknowledgement, his brown eyes intent on David’s face. David, unexpectedly flustered, tears his gaze away again and immediately hates himself. He meant to flirt with Patrick tonight. He certainly doesn’t want to give the other man the impression that he isn’t interested if Patrick might be feeling the same way.

But when he gathers his courage to look back, Patrick’s attention is back on the stage and the disappointment is crushing.

The act on stage is finishing up to polite applause and then Patrick walks on beside him, thanking him for his performance and introducing the next – a woman performing a dramatic reading. Patrick steps down again and the woman takes her place at the microphone, starting off by saying a little about her chosen piece before launching into her monologue. After her, Patrick introduces a keyboard player who even David, musically ungifted as he is, can tell hits several wrong notes, followed by another singer. Throughout, David is unable to catch Patrick’s eye again and feels his spirits sink, sure he’s blown his chance.

After the singer smiles and walks off the stage, Patrick steps up to the microphone once more.

“Hope you’re all enjoying yourselves so far,” he says. “We’re going to take a ten minute break before our next act. It’s going to be Laura with a couple of original songs for us.”

A low buzz of conversation rises as Patrick heads down from the stage, people begin shuffling around, heading to the bathroom or to the bar. David sighs and reaches down to pick up his drink, rings clinking on the glass.

How long do these things go on for? Already he’s wondering if he can find the Brewers and ask for an estimated end time. Maybe he can sneak out and come back before they notice? He’d been planning on spending some time with Patrick but if he’s already ruined that to the point that the other man is now not even looking at him, this whole evening just took a sudden turn for the depressing.

“Hi.”

David’s head jerks up at that familiar voice. Patrick stands across from him at the table, his expression open and friendly and, despite what David feared, not at all like he’s decided David’s a complete idiot.

“Sorry I didn’t get to say hello before,” Patrick continues. “Gotta run this thing, you know. I did look for you before the start but-”

“I was running late,” David interrupts. No need for Patrick to know that ‘late’ is David’s default. It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s here, isn’t he?

With Patrick’s appearance opposite him the tightness that had formed around his chest eases; the knowledge that Patrick had been thinking about him has done wonders for his mood and he shoots Patrick a small smile.

Patrick looks around. “I didn’t spot your friend tonight. Stevie, wasn’t it? Has she abandoned you again?”

“No. She’s working.”

“Ah. I see. Well, her loss.” Patrick’s eyes flicker down over David’s chest, down to the hand circling the glass in front of him, as much of a full body once over as he can manage with the table blocking his view. “Our gain,” he finishes and nope, David is definitely not imagining it. Patrick is flirting.

And with such an opening, David would have to be a fool not to take it.

He lets his voice drop almost to a purr and leans forward across the table. “Well, that is a lovely thing to say.”

He doesn’t think he’s imagining the slight pink rising to Patrick’s cheeks.

“‘And I’m so glad you invited me, Patrick,’” Patrick replies, his own voice lowering. “‘Because I’m having a great time.’”

“Mmm.”

“‘Open mics are the best, I’m completely converted.’”

“Not sure I’d go that far. It has its perks though.”

“Glad to hear it. I’m finding it more fun than usual tonight as well.”

Patrick’s hand lies on the table, inches from David’s and David can feel every atom of that space between them. He wants to cover Patrick’s hand with his own. He wants to reach out and grab Patrick’s collar, pull him into a kiss over the table.

It would be too much, he knows that. It doesn’t stop him from imagining it though.

Even if he didn’t sense that Patrick might not be ready for it so early in their conversation, he doesn't think the Brewers would appreciate David trying to make out with their musician while he’s supposed to be running their open mic night.

No, he isn’t going to do anything unprofessional to jeopardise either his deal with the Brewers or Patrick’s job. Not while Patrick is working. But if Patrick agrees to a date, David has high hopes that they can be unprofessional in their own time.

“I’m going to have to go back over there,” Patrick says. His lips twist in regret and he draws back a little, glancing over his shoulder at the stage before looking at David again. “Listen, it’s fine if you want to hang out here but if you want, you’re welcome to join me closer to the stage. Save you being on your own and... We could talk a little more between the acts?”

David doesn’t even need to think about it; he picks up his glass and rounds the table to follow Patrick. It’s only when he’s standing by the stage with Patrick that it occurs to him that being closer to Patrick means being closer to the acts as well.

It’s worth it.

Not the acts – Laura’s voice isn’t terrible but her songs could do with some trimming down, and while some people might enjoy the trombonist that follows her, David finds the noise that comes from the instrument far too loud when he’s standing this close. He’s pleased when that one’s finished.

The bright side of the evening so far is definitely Patrick. He has to keep jumping up on stage to introduce each performer but in between he can stand with David, his warm shoulder brushing against David’s as they watch the acts. David finds the press of Patrick’s arm infinitely more fascinating than what’s happening on stage and a couple of the acts manage to pass without David taking anything in, so focussed is he on the man beside him, wondering what he’s thinking and if he’s experiencing anything like the attraction that David feels.

“Listen, I have to go check if anyone else signed up,” Patrick says after he gets down from introducing the next act, a stand-up comedian. He has to lean in close to David’s ear to speak loudly enough over the raucous applause coming from one area of the audience (David assumes the comedian’s family and friends), laying his hand on David’s shoulder. His hot breath fans over David’s cheek, the scent of his cinnamon cologne floating over David and David suppresses a shiver.

“Mmm-hmm.” He’s humming an agreement before the words have even processed. He’s pretty sure he’d agree to anything Patrick would have said to him at that point so long as he remained close and smelling so good.

“I’ll be back in a second. Stay here.”

Then Patrick’s hand and his voice and his beautiful brown eyes are gone and David is left lurking alone to the side of the stage while the stand-up plunges into an anecdote about a lost dry-cleaning ticket.

Without Patrick at his side to divert his attention, David has a little more brain power to focus on the act. To David’s surprise, he’s actually not bad. Not hilarious but there are a couple of one-liners to make him smile and he’s caught up in the story the comedian is spinning when Patrick sidles back to his side.

“Careful,” comes his low voice in David’s ear. “People might think you’re enjoying yourself.”

There follows a tap on David’s arm and David looks over to see Patrick holding out a glass containing a fresh drink to replace David’s finished one. “For you. I noticed you were out.”

“Thanks.”

David’s fingers brush Patrick’s as he takes it, electricity sparking from the simple contact. Patrick holds his eyes for a few seconds but then his lips twist ruefully and he tilts his head towards the stage where the comedian is still mid-routine. When he turns his head away from David, David supposes it’s reasonable (this is Patrick’s job after all) but it doesn’t stop the wave of disappointment at their moment being interrupted.

There are only a couple of minutes left in the comedian’s act but with Patrick back beside him, David finds his attention span much more fleeting than before. After the stand-up takes a bow, Patrick announces another short break and then he’s back at David’s side again.

“So what do you think?” he asks. “Open mic nights aren’t so bad, are they? Admit it – you’re having fun.”

“Don’t know what gave you that impression,” David says, putting on an imperious voice. He is having fun as it happens, much more than he’d expected but it’s got far more to do with Patrick than anything that’s happened on stage tonight.

“I saw you smiling at that last one.”

“Trick of the light.”

“By my count there were several tricks of the light then. I’ll have to suggest getting the electrics looked at.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Come on, David, I know you’re having a good time.”

“There’s a difference between ‘not completely awful’ and ‘good.’”

Patrick folds his (impressive) arms over his chest and his eyebrows lift towards his hairline. He stares at David with a knowing half-smile and David folds almost instantly under the overwhelming onslaught of beautiful man.

“Fine. Tonight is... Better than I expected.”

It’s not exactly a ringing endorsement but Patrick unfolds his arms and pumps a fist in the air like he’s just won a sportsball tournament. It shouldn’t be cute, but apparently David’s brain is just determined to find everything Patrick does adorable tonight.

When he’s done with his mini-celebration, Patrick grins at him. “That’s a good start. We’ll make an open mic lover of you yet.”

“You will not.”

“You know if you really wanted to get into the spirit of things, I can think of a way. A ventriloquist dropped out of the line-up.”

David shudders. “Thank fuck for that. Ventriloquism is not something you can just spring on someone. Pre-warning is necessary.”

“My point is, there’s a spare slot.”

“Hmm. And if you’re hinting what I think you’re hinting, it’s going to stay spare.”

“David, I am certain you are a man of many talents. You don’t want to show one of them off?” Patrick’s eyes glint teasingly and David rolls his own, playing along.

“Not even a little bit. While I do have excellent taste, I’m not sure it’s a talent which lends itself to spectators.” He waves a hand down his body, throwing in a playful little shimmy. “Although they can appreciate the results.”

“Yeah, I... Yeah you look, um. You look good.” Patrick’s blushing slightly now and David preens internally. Patrick coughs and seems to recover from his momentary tongue-tied state. “Shame you don’t want to get on stage. I’m sure everyone here would love to have the chance to sit and look at you.”

David’s heart flutters in his chest but he manages not to melt at Patrick’s feet. “Me standing still on stage doing nothing sounds like a very boring act.”

“Trust me, we’ve had worse in the past.”

“I don’t think I want to know.”

“I don’t think I want to tell you. You’d never come back.”

“Really selling these open mic nights, Patrick.”

Patrick chuckles. “Ah, those acts are the exception. Mostly we have some great talents on display. Usually I can’t keep my eyes off the stage.”

His eyes are intent and meaningful where they rest on David’s face and David almost chokes on air.

Holy fuck. This can’t be all in David’s head, can it? Patrick absolutely knows what he’s doing. There’s no way he isn’t hitting on David.

And suddenly David is sorely tempted to do some very unprofessional things in the middle of this room, his earlier determination, pending deal with the Brewers, and Patrick’s job be fucked. Top of the list is seeing how clever that quick mouth of Patrick’s is when David’s got his tongue inside it. He bets Patrick’s a great kisser.

He’s on the edge of closing the distance between them and testing the theory when Patrick’s phone saves him from imploding all his hopes regarding The Brewery. It buzzes in his pocket and Patrick blinks, breaking their eye contact, and looks down as he pulls it from his jeans. David shakes his head slightly, trying to dispel the fog that’s settled on his brain.

“Oh god. Sorry, it’s my dad,” Patrick says. David waits while Patrick reads the message and a few seconds later Patrick looks back up at David, smiling. “He’s just telling me about the plan for after the show.”

David nods politely, but Patrick doesn’t elaborate and while David is burning to know what Patrick is doing later, he doesn’t have chance to ask before Patrick is tucking his phone away and continuing, “Guess I should kick off the last part, then. Just a few more acts to go now.”

As Patrick steps back into the spotlight trained on the stage, David is bubbling with excitement and anticipation. Quite aside from the meeting he has with the Brewers later, Patrick is definitely sending some flirty signals his way. Looks like things are on the upswing in both his professional and personal life and how often has that happened at the same time for him?

He wonders if Patrick’s after a quick fling or if his mind, like David’s, is heading down a different route, one filled with visions of café dates and evenings in restaurants, sitting side by side on a sofa watching a movie with Patrick’s arm slung over his shoulders…

He’s getting ahead of himself. As much as David feels like there’s potential there, they haven’t even been on one date yet. Shaking himself from his daydream, he drags himself back to the present, watching Patrick charm the crowd with his wide grin and friendly demeanour as he welcomes the next act to the stage.

But despite David’s determination not to allow himself to imagine too far ahead, there’s one resolution clear in his mind for his immediate future. He might be here on business tonight but there’s no way he’s leaving here without asking for Patrick for his phone number as well.

There are three more acts – a violinist, someone reading poetry, and a couple singing a duet – which David stares at without taking in any of the details, his entire focus on Patrick beside him. Then Patrick himself takes the stage for the last time, thanking them all for coming and picking up his guitar to close out the event with a final song.

Once again, Patrick’s gorgeous, rich voice carries the song effortlessly, his fingers skilfully working on the strings of the guitar to provide the melody to the slow, romantic ballad. There isn’t a single sound in the room other than Patrick and David is hardly breathing as he watches, captivated.

Then Patrick adjusts his stance, turning slightly so he can make eye contact with David over the microphone and a swooping sensation hits David low in his belly. The look is brief, three or four seconds at most. It’s probably hardly noticeable to anyone except the two of them but oh how David notices it.

He’s still reeling from it when Patrick plays the final note, smiles gratefully when the room breaks into applause, and thanks everyone for coming once more.

“Well done,” he congratulates David when he’s back with him. All around them people are shuffling around, standing up, breaking off into small chattering groups or heading for the exit.

“‘Well done’?” David tilts his head in question.

Patrick’s grin is full of mischief. “You made it through an entire open mic night without throwing in the towel. Was it as traumatic as you thought?”

David can’t hold back his answering smirk. “I’ll be in therapy for years.”

“Well if they recommend exposure therapy, you’re welcome to come back as often as you like.”

“How generous.”

Patrick laughs and then lifts his guitar off over his head from where it’s still hanging around him. Sitting on the floor by the wall is a guitar case and he bends down to carefully stow his instrument away. His shirt stretches pleasingly over his upper body when he crouches down and David finds his eyes lingering in appreciation on the curve of his shoulder.

“I’m just saying, it was fun. Having you here.” Patrick stands back up, stepping back in front of David and David drags his eyes back to Patrick’s face. Not that that’s much of a hardship.

“And I, um. I suppose I had fun too.”

“A very difficult admission, I can see.”

“It was. But, I, um. I’m glad I came.”

“I’m glad you came too. It was one of our better line-ups tonight – perfect for your first event.”

Is it David’s imagination or is Patrick standing closer than before? He has no idea if he was the one to shuffle forward, or Patrick, or both, but David would only have to stretch out his hand a few inches and he’d be able to hold Patrick’s. The thought is dizzying.

“Perfect is not the word I’d use but some acts were better than others.” David bites his lip for a moment before deciding – fuck it. They’ve been flirting all evening; he might as well go for it. “One much better.”

“Ah.” Patrick nods, his lips twitching. “The comedian?”

“He’s going to have to settle for second place.”

“Was it the violin player?”

David lifts an eyebrow. “No it was not. You know who I mean. You were better than all of them.”

Patrick gives up the act. “I don’t really count as one of the acts,” he tries to deflect, although David can see the pleased shine in his eyes. “I just play first to ease everyone into it and then again to round it all off. I’m just a bookend.”

“Most bookends aren’t supposed to stand out as much as you do.” David dips his voice low – they’re standing close enough now that there’s no need for anything more – and lets his gaze roam over Patrick’s flushed face, the warm brown eyes that widen at David’s words.

His lips part on a gasp; David hears his sharp intake of breath, sees the way Patrick glances down at David’s mouth before lifting his eyes to meet David’s once more. The room is quieter now, more and more people leaving, and David knows he should be trying to find Clint and Marcy but he’s rooted to the spot, unable to walk away from Patrick.

Patrick smiles at him and then his face is closer, moving in towards him. David’s pulse beats hard in his neck, mouth drying and...

A loud crash comes from the left and they both startle, looking around to find the source of the noise.

“Sorry,” a voice calls from near the door leading to the staff only area. It’s a young man, stooping to pick up a metal ice bucket. “It fell. It’s okay.”

David turns back to Patrick but he already knows the moment has gone, shattering like glass. David’s heart sinks as he watches Patrick take a step back, blinking and clearing his throat.

“Um. Okay. I... I think we’d better... I’m just going to go put my guitar in my car. Don’t want to forget it.” He offers David a shaky smile. “I... I’ll be back.”

He takes another step away, bending to lift his guitar case and then he’s walking away, towards the exit. David stares after him, feeling bereft.

Fuck. That had been close. Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t start making out with the musician in the middle of Marcy and Clint’s business but right now he can only focus on the disappointment at being interrupted.

He hesitates, wavering as he watches Patrick walk out of the door, worry slamming into him.

What if Patrick freaks out and just leaves? He surely wouldn’t want to risk any future jobs with the Brewers, perhaps he’s thinking it’s better to go now than be seen by them acting unprofessionally.

David’s legs spur him into action. He hurries through the few remaining patrons, making his way to the exit door and after Patrick. He understands if Patrick doesn’t want to kiss David inside The Brewery but David can’t risk him leaving without at least asking for his number.

Outside, the sky is dark, the moon and stars concealed by clouds. The cool air hits David’s heated cheeks as he steps out onto the path and the door swings shut behind him, cutting off the light that spills out. A couple of streetlights light the parking lot and it’s under the glow of one of these that he sees Patrick over to the right-hand side, closing a car door and relocking it. He’s the only other person in sight and David starts walking down the path towards him.

“Hey,” he calls softly and Patrick jumps, his footsteps faltering before he sees it’s David and the wary look on his face vanishes.

“Hi,” he says, changing his course to meet David on the path by the corner of the building. “I was just heading back inside. You getting some air? It was hot in there.”

“Yeah. Um, yeah, it is but that’s not why...”

David’s words dry up. The rightside of Patrick’s face is lit up by the streetlight, highlighting his eyelashes and stroking over the plane of his cheek. He stares at David and he’s fucking beautiful.

“David? Is everything okay?”

“Yes. I was just going to ask if you- if maybe you-” he stumbles, working his way towards the words.

Can I have your number?

Can I call you sometime?

Would you want my phone number?

It seems so simple in his head but the words keep fading as he looks into Patrick’s earnest eyes. They’re beautiful; caramel brown and hypnotising and staring at David like he’s willing David to read something there. David’s mind stutters but coming out of the fog, an idea is crystallising, heady and enchanting.

It’s so quiet out here, just the two of them, away from prying eyes and potential vendors and David is certain he and Patrick had both been on the same page inside. It was a moment, he knows it. They’ve been having moments all evening. The last one was lost. David doesn’t want to let this one pass as well.

He steps in close, his movements slow and deliberate to give Patrick a chance to move away.

He doesn’t. Instead he looks straight at David and pulls his lips into his mouth, just for a second, wetting them, before lifting his chin a fraction. It’s all the invitation David needs and he shuffles even closer, something deep inside him somersaulting with glee as Patrick mirrors him, both leaning in to close the gap.

David’s eyes fall closed as finally, finally, Patrick’s mouth meets his. He feels the soft exhale of Patrick’s breath through his nose and the shift of his warm lips underneath David’s, pressing, kissing him back. David lifts his hands to Patrick’s waist, cupping his sides to tug him in and Patrick moves closer at the barest coaxing, his own hands resting on David’s biceps and curling around.

The first kiss lasts only a few moments, their lips breaking apart with a soft, wet sound only for them both to surge back together, firmer. Patrick’s lips move more confidently now, sliding over David’s and his hands shift around to David’s back, holding him close, his broad palms seeming to sear heat through David’s clothes. Patrick makes a low, happy noise deep in his throat and David is immediately desperate to hear him make that sound again.

Awareness is nudging at the edges of his consciousness; it feels too exposed here out on the path, too open to interruption and so David turns, using the hands he has on Patrick’s waist to guide him the short distance around the corner of the building into the shadows. He walks him backwards until Patrick’s back hits the wall of the building, out of the glow of the lights illuminating the parking lot.

There in the darkness, Patrick sighs and wraps his arms tighter around David’s back, pulling him closer and David is more than happy to oblige, pressing his body against Patrick's.

Patrick’s mouth opens to him without prompting and David can’t hold back a soft grunt of pleasure as he dips his tongue past Patrick’s lips and into his mouth. A low groan of approval rumbles from Patrick’s throat and David hums, one knee nudging between Patrick’s as they kiss.

Patrick kisses like he sings – it’s whole-hearted, fervent, and really fucking sexy. His passion is clear in the enthusiastic press of his lips, the hot slide of his tongue against David’s, the soft, eager sounds he makes into David’s mouth as the kiss grows more intense, stretching out for long, dizzying minutes.

David wishes he could stay here all night with this man, or maybe convince Patrick to take him home to his place (which he’s sure would be much more private than the motel.) As much as he hopes they might also be able to build something longer-term between them, a night of hot, mind-melting sex is also very appealing right now.

By the way Patrick’s clutching at him, kissing him like he can’t get enough, he might not object but reality is edging back in and David has business to attend to. Reluctantly he pulls away from the kiss, taking half a step back just to get some space from the heady, irresistible pull of Patrick and his lips.

Patrick’s flushed, breathing faster, his lips looking pink even in the late evening shadows. He’s fucking gorgeous and David sends a desperate wish out into the universe that this is not a one-time thing. Surely, after a kiss like that, Patrick would agree?

David’s confidence in Patrick feeling the same rockets higher when Patrick’s eyes, half-lidded and dazed in a way highly flattering to David’s ego, drift down to his lips and stick there. He sways forward again, leaning into David’s orbit, his mouth proffered up for another kiss and oh fuck, yes please, but time is ticking on and David can’t just stay here making out with the cute, funny musician. No matter how much he wants to.

He stays Patrick’s forward momentum with a hand to his chest. (And a very nice chest it is too, a voice inside his head murmurs as his hand lands on a firm pectoral.)

When Patrick’s eyes dart up to his, a tiny crease of disappointment appearing between them, David smiles in reassurance and trails his hand up to toy with the edge of Patrick’s collar.

“Hold that thought okay, handsome?” he murmurs, lowering his voice flirtatiously and Patrick’s throat bobs inches from David’s fingers. His eyes are fixed on David’s and the warmth in them sets something fizzing in David’s stomach, electricity humming under his skin. “You have no idea how tempting you are right now. I would love to stay here with you and continue this but I have a meeting with the Brewers and their son. But maybe you can wait for me and we can pick this up again afterwards? Or if you have to leave to see your dad you could give me your number and I’ll call you?”

“What?” Patrick blinks at him, frowning. “David, I don’t-”

David’s stomach drops. Shit. Maybe he’s misread… everything.

“Or not. It’s fine. You go, your dad’s probably waiting for you. You’re meeting up with him right? Don’t worry. We can just… forget this.” He drops his hand from Patrick’s shirt, takes another step away and Patrick’s eyes widen in alarm.

“No! David, I don’t want to forget it and I will absolutely give you my number. I was hoping to ask you out tonight anyway but… I’m beginning to realise that you don’t know…”

“Know what?”

Patrick’s face screws up in a wince. “Listen, I’m thinking this is going to look really bad and I swear I wasn’t keeping this from you. I thought you knew-”

“What?” Confusion and anxiety war within David as he stares at Patrick.

Patrick sighs and slides out from between David and the wall, stepping sideways and into the light before facing David.

“Hi. I’m Patrick Brewer. My parents own this place.”

Whatever David was expecting, it wasn’t that. “You... You’re the son?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh god.” David cringes, embarrassment flaring. “I didn’t know.”

Patrick gives a tentative half-smile. “Just now realising there’s no reason why you would. Don’t think I ever gave you my surname, did I? Did my parents never point me out?”

“No. Oh fuck,” he curses as the weight of the situation crashes into him. “This is so- I thought you just played here sometimes! I’ve been trying so hard to make a good impression on your parents and show them how professional I am and then I go and... and pin their precious son against a wall so I can shove my tongue down his throat!”

Patrick’s smile fades in the light of David’s distress. “Their son was more than consenting to absolutely everything that just happened. I wanted to kiss you. David, I’ve been attracted to you since the moment I saw you. It has nothing to do with my parents, my love life is my love life.”

“Oh.” And well, even in his anxiety, Patrick’s words serve to settle something inside him. Maybe he can have both – the Brewers as vendors and Patrick as… something else. There’s only one problem his mind can’t let go of.

“But aren’t you like, their advisor? It’s not a conflict?”

Patrick shakes his head. “Not for me. I give my parents business advice when they ask for it and help with the numbers when needed but the business is theirs. When they showed me your proposal and asked my opinion I said I thought it was a good one because it is. Ultimately the decision they made to join up with you was their own but either way my attraction to you had no bearing on it. Is… is this going to be a problem for you?”

David bites his lip, thinking, as he stares at Patrick’s face.

The thing is, he’s been here before. When his mother admitted that most of his gallery success was bought for him rather than earned on his own, his self-belief suffered a hell of a blow. He’d hate to think external factors were influencing the Brewers decision here, that the parents were doing their son a favour or trying to please Patrick.

But if what Patrick’s saying is true, if David’s proposal succeeded on its own merit, then no, he doesn’t think this is going to be a problem. He has to ask, one more time, to be sure.

“Your parents aren’t agreeing because you asked them to? Because you liked me?”

“No,” Patrick says instantly, his voice strong and firm, urging belief. “I don’t even think they know I’m interested in you. I might have to tell them so they have all the facts but I don’t think it will change their minds. They know the importance of keeping business and personal things separate.”

“But what if things go wrong between us? It’s going to get awkward.”

“I promise, I wouldn’t use anything that happens with us to try and influence my parents. I wouldn’t do that. This deal is good. For you and for them and that won’t change no matter what happens between us. It’d only be awkward if we let it and I won’t let it.”

Patrick’s words are earnest, his voice steady and when David looks into his face, there’s nothing but hopeful sincerity waiting there. The last of David’s doubts dissolve and he nods slowly.

“Then, um, no. I don’t think it’s a problem for me. You being their son.”

Relief spreads across Patrick’s face, happiness sparking in his eyes. “Really?”

“No. We can agree to keep this separate from your parents’ business?”

“Yes. It always was for me anyway.”

“For me as well,” David says softly and Patrick’s face splits into a wide smile.

“Of course. You didn’t even know who I was!”

“You didn’t tell me!”

“I’m sorry, I really did think you knew. But now it is all out in the open… can I take you out sometime? Maybe someplace not owned by my parents?”

David sucks his lips into his mouth, delight and excitement filling his chest at the question. He nods again. “Mmm-hmm. Yep. Yes, you can. We should definitely do that.”

“Perfect.” Patrick reaches out to David, taking hold of his hand where it hangs by his side, running his fingers over David’s rings. David glances down and shifts his hand so Patrick’s fingers can slide between his, sparks spreading out from that point of contact throughout his whole body.

“And I know you what you said before,” Patrick murmurs, fingers twining with David’s. “About things maybe going wrong but for the record, I have a good feeling about this.”

“Me too.” The confession slips from his lips without thought but it’s true. Things might have gotten a little bit confused for a moment there but he still feels better about this growing thing with Patrick than he has about another person in… ever, probably.

Patrick tugs at his hand. “We’d better go in. They’ll be waiting for us.”

David takes a deep breath and follows him back inside, dropping Patrick’s hand just before they enter the main event room where Marcy and Clint are waiting to lead them into the office. Once there, Patrick explains the situation and David flushes, shifting uncomfortably until the Brewers express delight and understanding before they all move on to discussing the contract. Patrick was right, they won’t let personal business get in the way of professional.

It's with a smile and a light heart that David leaves later that night, carrying with him a signed contract, a promise of a date and Patrick’s number safely in his phone.