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I. February 1947
“I can’t believe you’ve never been to LeBeau’s!” Miles exclaimed as he and his lunch companion, Antonie, settled into their seats. “It’s been here for years! The owner, Louis, is such a delight. He’s a bit rough on the outside, but deep down, he’s a sweetheart. He’s a war hero, you see. Ginger and I have eaten here dozens of times, and Louis likes to tease him about his French.”
Miles and Antonie hadn’t known each other too long – they’d met a couple months prior following a production of Cyrano de Bergerac in which Antonie played Baron Christian de Neuvillette. Their eyes met during the final bow and Miles sought him out after the show. From there, they hooked up and dined out from time to time.
“It isn’t very good, you know, Ginger’s French,” Miles continued. “Don’t get me wrong, he is trying, improving even, but the last time we were here, I had to prevent him from ordering tripe. The poor dear thought it was a type of fish. I can barely stomach it myself, I knew he wouldn’t – oh, stomach it, what a scream!” He chuckled to himself. “Now, what strikes your fancy?”
“I’m not sure,” Antonie replied, barely looking at his options. “Might I ask… how long were you together?”
Miles looked up from his menu. He hadn’t gone into extensive detail on his and Tiger’s relationship, nor any of his other previous lovers. In fact, since fleeing to France, he hadn’t allowed himself anything past a fling. It all felt… too complicated now. “Come again?”
“You and Ginger. He’s an old – or, current – boyfriend, yes?”
Miles blinked and laughed. “Oh no, no, darling, that’s not it at all – Ginger’s just a friend.”
“Truly?” Antonie asked. “The way you speak of him – I could have sworn there was more to the picture.”
“How do you mean?” He tried to remember what all he had told Antonie – or anyone, by that.
“You speak an awful lot about him — quite fondly, too.”
Both of these were true – but of course there was a lot to say about Ginger when they’d spent many meals, outings, even nights staying in since running into one another at Chez Cave á Vin. At first, it was just nice to have someone around who lived a similar life as Miles’, someone who knew some of the same people and experiences. Ginger was like his little slice of home when he needed it most. But the more time they spent in each other’s presence, the closer they’d become. Their encounters became less about discussing their overlapping pasts and more about getting to know one another as individuals. “He’s a good friend,” he replied finally. “We weren’t entirely in the same circles in London, but we’ve got a lot in common.”
“‘Good friend,’” Antonie repeated thoughtfully. “Forgive me for asking, but is he… attractive as well?”
Miles felt his cheeks grow warm, but he blamed it on the radiator – it must have been turned on high, what with the blustering air outside. “Ginger? Attractive?” He laughed shakily. “What sort of a question is that?”
“I’ve never seen him before. Is he?”
Where was their waiter with their drinks? “He’s… I’m not sure I’ve…” he stammered. “Well, when I first met him, he had a horrid thing on his upper lip that he called a moustache to hide this lovely little birthmark of his. He’s terribly insecure about it, but I convinced him to shave it off. You wouldn’t believe the improvement, it’s practically night and day.”
“So would you say you’re attracted to him then?”
Miles let out a breath. “Perhaps at one time, but… even if I still were, I’d be out of luck, now wouldn’t I? He’s not like us, he was married to a woman! Why are we still discussing this?”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Antonie said. “I just want to know who I’m up against, that’s all. Because… I’m quite fond of you. And if there’s any sort of competition–”
Miles shook his head and rested a hand on his. “Believe me, darling, he’s just a friend, nothing more. Besides, I’m not looking for anything serious, you know that.”
“Right… so… what exactly does that make me, then?”
Miles smiled coyly. “You’re a very special friend. With whom I’ve enjoyed an immense amount of… fun.” He stretched his foot discreetly and nudged it against Antonie’s under the table.
Any further questions ceased to Miles’ advantage with the gesture and the return of the waiter with their drinks. Ginger was just a friend, after all — what need was there to linger on the subject?
II. May 1947
Miles was surrounded by good friends at Chez Cave á Vin for his birthday. There was Léon, of course, who served them drinks at the counter, and Ginger – not to mention, the pub’s many patrons tending to themselves, most of whom knew or at least recognized Miles by his flirtatious attitude, his piano playing most nights of the week, or a mix of both. A stark contrast from birthdays in London, yes, but Miles grew to enjoy it just the same. Miles and Antonie had been on and off over the past few months, and now was another off period. Regardless, Antonie had a show that night and couldn't make it to celebrate even if he wanted to.
After another round of drinks, Léon returned to his customers, leaving Miles and Ginger alone.
“I have something for you,” Ginger said, reaching into his pocket. “I had it in my head that there would be a perfect time and place to present it, but… dash it, no greater time than the present, and whatever else they say!”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” Miles gushed, but both knew, deep down, how excited he was by the notion. Plenty of things had changed about him in eight years, but he was still Miles, after all.
Ginger handed him a small box. “Just something I thought you’d like. I’m not sure you even remember our conversation about it.”
Miles opened the box and froze when he saw its contents: a gorgeous lapis lazuli brooch. Its frame was gold with soft, intricate spikes and spirals, much like a snowflake. He looked at Ginger in total awe. He’d forgotten how long ago it’d been since they passed by the jewelers and spotted it in the window.
“I know it’s not the exact one, but I was hoping to find–”
“My grandmother’s brooch,” Miles breathed.
As a child, Miles admired much of his grandmother’s jewelry. She’d let him wear it when it was just the two of them. He suspected she knew about him before he did, and she loved him just the same. Her lapis lazuli brooch, one that looked awfully similar to the one in the box Miles now held, was his absolute favorite. He’d hoped she would pass it down to him when she died, but of course, it went to his mother. It wasn’t fair! Margot never even wore it! In retaliation, Miles managed to pocket it a handful of times and pin it to himself when she wasn’t around. Oh, how cross she was when she finally caught him! He tried to convince her he wanted it for his “future bride” (he and Aggie had a pact, after all, so it wouldn’t have been a complete lie), but the day they saw the similar brooch in the window, he realized that it would never be…
…until he opened the box from Ginger.
“In truth… I did try to find the real thing, based on your description,” Ginger said.
“Did you really?” Miles asked.
“I stopped by the jewelers and pawn shops periodically, but I didn’t have any luck. Thankfully for me, this one was still available.”
“Oh, Ginger, it must have cost you a fortune!”
“That would be Adam’s fortune, to be precise,” Ginger chuckled. “I still have some left over.”
“Oh my… you shouldn’t have,” Miles said, though this time he meant it.
“It was nothing,” Ginger insisted. “The day you told me about it – well, you seemed rather fond of it, rather taken by it, so I thought I’d do my jolly best to find it.”
Miles smiled and wiped away a tear. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I believe this is the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.” He leaned up, kissed his cheek, and let out a giggle when Ginger tried to hide his reddened face. “I do mean it, you know. Exact or not, it’s absolutely perfect.”
“May I?” Ginger took the brooch and pinned it gently to Miles’ shirt. Miles sat still so as not to melt from his touch. Could Ginger feel how quickly his heart beat beneath fabrics and fingertips? Could he hear how loud it felt in his own ears, or even see it trying to break out of his chest?
Miles shook the thoughts away, such nonsense.
”Brilliant,” Ginger grinned, satisfied with the placement. “It’s like it was made for you.”
Miles couldn’t help but smile back. “Isn’t it just?”
He was suddenly thankful Antonie wasn’t around to see his behavior; he would’ve accused him once more of fancying Ginger. Imagine! He was merely overwhelmed by how truly thoughtful his gift was, nothing else, and any other insinuation was utter ludicrous.
III. June 1947
The phonograph lulled Miles and Ginger as they listened to its music together, side-by-side on Ginger’s sofa. It was late, and Miles really should’ve gone home at least an hour ago, but Ginger insisted on just one more record as they finished their bottle of wine. And now, here he was, fast asleep with his head resting against Miles’ shoulder. Such a sweet, peaceful sight. He couldn’t sneak away and leave Ginger to sleep on the sofa without waking him, but he didn’t seem to mind.
In fact, despite his best efforts, he, too, found his eyes drooping to the soothing music. When he fluttered them open, Ginger’s head was resting in his lap. Now he really couldn’t slither away. Instead, he brought a hand to Ginger’s hair and combed through it gently. He closed his eyes briefly again, but when he opened them this time, Ginger’s were staring straight at him.
Miles startled slightly. “You fell asleep,” he said, still playing with his hair. “We both did, I think.”
Ginger only watched.
“I should go home. Mother needs her beauty sleep, you know. She’ll turn into a pumpkin without it.”
“You're already gorgeous from this angle.”
Miles’ heart skipped a beat and he stilled his hand.
Ginger lifted his hand to Miles’ face and stroked his cheek. Miles remained paralyzed as Ginger sat up, their eyes glued to one another.
“Did he ever tell you that?” Ginger asked. “He” who? Antonie? Tiger? Miles’ lips trembled under his gaze, quite unsure. Ginger looked between Miles’ eyes and lips for just a moment before closing the gap between them.
Miles closed his eyes and drank in Ginger with a thirst that went deeper than the wine.
Ginger leaned into him, effectively pinning him to the sofa. When they finally parted, Miles opened his mouth — to speak or to breathe, he couldn’t tell — but Ginger placed his finger upon his lips before he could figure out which.
“Not a word,” Ginger whispered, his eyes staring directly into Miles’. “Just relax.”
He kissed him again, this time dipping down to trail additional kisses down his chin, his neck, his collarbone…
Miles tilted his head back and closed his eyes, allowing Ginger to take complete control.
Miles opened his eyes. He sat straight up in his bed, taking in the surroundings of his bedroom as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He brought a hand to his still rapidly beating heart. Slowly, his fingers traced up to the light, tingly sensation that remained on his lips. He pressed gently against them, trying to hold onto the feeling of Ginger’s on his own. Miles had fantasized over straight men before, sure, but Ginger… this was new, this was different. It was… it was…
It was just a dream, he reminded himself, and dreams didn’t have to mean anything or make sense, for that matter. There was no use getting worked up over something that wasn’t real. His quickening heart rate and the fluttering in his stomach (not to mention the further, ahem, stronger reactions down below) were just side effects of surprise, he was sure of it, and they would settle themselves soon enough. He nearly convinced himself, in fact, that by morning, he would forget all about it. But if he didn’t…
Hmm. Well. That would be a problem, now wouldn’t it?
His heart had been through enough with Tiger — having feelings for a man like Ginger who could never reciprocate would only break it more, whatever was left that hadn’t been touched. He’d have to get his mind off of it somehow, by force if necessary.
Then again, he thought to himself, perhaps he was just lonely. Perhaps with all the time he spent alone with Ginger, Miles filled him into the role he wanted someone to be in.
Perhaps he’d give Antonie another call in the morning.