Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What is this?”

Above the droning background noise of Chicago O’Hare, a question delivered in sharp, clipped tones at a nearby table cuts through the hum. Ed Teach’s ears perk up. He doesn’t look up from his laptop, but. Consider his interest piqued.

“The key lime pie you ordered, sir,” another, less interesting voice says.

“Are you serious?” The first voice begins ascending in pitch, rather impressively. “This is not key lime pie!”

Hmm. Intriguing. The man he’s eavesdropping on has a pronounced Kiwi accent, though his manner of speaking is crisper than Ed’s own.

“It is key lime pie, sir.”

“You can’t possibly be serious. This is clearly lemon meringue pie.” The man sounds more and more agitated by the second.

“This is what you ordered, sir,” the server replies, with a plainly audible shrug.

That sends the complainant into what can only be described as a meltdown. A polite one, but a meltdown nonetheless. “This has meringue on it! It’s yellow! I’m The Gentleman Reviewer. I know what I’m talking about!”

All right. Now Ed simply has to see this extremely ruffled fellow restaurant-goer who is referring to himself with that absurd title. He turns partway around in his seat, trying to be subtle, but once he catches sight of the man, Ed can’t help staring. He isn’t sure what he was expecting, exactly, but it wasn’t a man in an impeccably tailored 3-piece suit with a fetching swoop of blond hair and an extremely expressive face, looking absolute daggers at the man serving him. Fascinating.

“I’m sorry you’re unhappy with your pie, sir.”

The man gesticulates randomly, as if he’s a marionette being controlled by a puppeteer who has no great interest in realism. “I wouldn’t be unhappy with it if it were the pie I ordered! Which it most assuredly is not. May I please speak to someone from the kitchen?” He adds ample stress to the word “please”; Ed chuckles at the bitchiness of his intonation. This entire scene is thoroughly entertaining. The best thing he’s seen in the airport for some time. Ed has grown so incredibly weary of the constant stress that is his life: the grind of getting from place to place, all the business minutiae he can’t ignore, with so many people depending on him. Nearly everything he spends time on is urgent but not important. It’s so far from what he started out doing, so deeply unsatisfying. But at last, he’s come across something diverting.

The server nods. “I’ll ask someone to come out, sir.”

After the server walks away, the man throws his hands up in frustration at the situation, his untouched slice of pie in front of him. Then he notices Ed looking at him. Ed suddenly realizes it would’ve been prudent not to continue staring, but the other man seems unfazed. “Can you believe this?” He gestures toward his pie, addressing Ed as if they know each other.

Ed glances around and points to himself in a “who, me?” kind of way, but the other man ignores it, merely looking at him as if he’s waiting for an answer. “Can I believe what?” Ed finally replies. Fuck me. What a fucking scintillating response.

“Look at this.” The man beckons Ed over. Well, why the fuck not, Ed thinks to himself. He’s already settled his bill, so he closes his laptop and shoves it in his bag, then rolls his suitcase over and sits down across from the blond stranger, who pushes his plate toward Ed. “Just look. Look at the color of the filing. And the meringue on top. A toasted meringue! Am I really supposed to believe this is key lime and not lemon meringue?”

“Both citrus, aren’t they?” This man’s tizzy over pie is fucking adorable, honestly. Ed can’t help but egg him on.

“Entirely different flavor profiles!” The other man gesticulates emphatically again. “Look. I’ll eat lemon meringue out of professional obligation. But the filling is jiggly and the topping is spongy, and key lime is creamy and tart and refreshing. Not bloody likely I’ll mix them up.” At that moment, the server returns with a line cook in tow. “Ah! Hello.” The man’s manner returns to aggressively polite. “Thank you for coming out here. I ordered key lime pie, but unfortunately, I was served lemon meringue.”

“Sir, that is key lime pie. Are you unhappy with it?”

The blond’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair. “I’m unhappy with the fact that it is not key lime pie.”

“It is key lime, but can we offer you something else?”

The man gapes; he seems utterly stunned. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, before saying, “Are you trifling me? I cannot believe—” At that moment, he glances over at Ed and seems to think better of causing a further scene. His shoulders sag, and he admits defeat: “Yes, fine, a slice of chocolate cake then, please,” he concludes, with an aggrieved sigh. The server and cook nod and leave their table. “What even is happening here?” he asks Ed, now sounding as if disbelief is winning out over rage. He pushes the plate further toward Ed. “Am I crazy?”

Ed has no desire to drive this handsome stranger completely around the bend; the restaurant staff has done a good enough job of that themselves. He shakes his head. “Nah, mate. Was just messing with you before. That’s obviously lemon meringue.”

“Why would they try to pass off lemon meringue as key lime?” the man wonders aloud. He seems stunned by the whole experience.

“Maybe they ran out of key lime?”

The man screws up his face, not accepting this as an explanation. “Then they should bloody well say, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but we’re out of key lime. Would you like lemon meringue instead?’ Who gaslights someone about pie?”

Ed can’t entirely hide his amusement, though he tamps down his smirk as best he can. “The folks at this fine establishment, apparently.”

“Well, that’s it.” The man speaks indignantly. “I’m only tipping fifteen percent.”

Now this is even more fascinating. Ed cocks an eyebrow. “Most people wouldn’t tip at all after something like this.”

But hearing that makes the pie gaslighting victim look appalled. “Well, I am a gentleman! I do have manners! Which reminds me. I’ve roped you into my pie drama without even asking your name.”

Ed smiles warmly as he extends his hand; he’s genuinely glad to meet this unusual person. “I’m Ed.”

The other man takes Ed’s hand and shakes it (soft skin; a grip that’s firm, but not obnoxiously aggressive). Seeing Ed’s smile, his expression shifts quickly; he looks as if he’s never been as pleased to meet someone until this very moment. Fuck. Why is Ed’s heart suddenly pounding? “I’m Stede.”

“Steed?” Ed echoes. Odd, but why wouldn’t this surprising man have a peculiar name?

“S-T-E-D-E,” Stede replies, enunciating every letter clearly. “I can tell you were spelling it incorrectly in your head by the way you said it.” The man he now knows is Stede grins at him saucily. Ed is already obsessed.

“Here you go, sir,” the server says, having reappeared with a decadent-looking slice of chocolate cake.

“Ah!” Stede reacts with surprise, as if he’s forgotten a different dessert was on its way. “Thank you.” He looks down at the massive slice in front of him, decorated with chocolate curls and lush with frosting, then fixes wide hazel eyes on Ed. “Now you have to share this with me. I assure you I have no communicable diseases.”

Ed stifles another laugh. “You sure I don’t?” As Stede looks both startled and bewildered by his response, Ed quickly adds, “Relax, Stede. None that I know of. And thank you. It does look good.” He picks up a fork; his sweet tooth makes it unlikely he’d say no to sharing a treat at any time, even if it weren’t providing an effective excuse to get to know someone this unique a bit better.

Stede nods, looking pleased, then takes a bite and reacts with a groaning “Mmmm” that doesn’t make Ed feel anything at all. Nuh uh. Nope. (Okay, maybe he’s sweating a little.) “It’s so moist. Why do people hate that word so much? I’ve never understood the problem with it. It’s evocative.”

“True.” Ed has always figured the objections were probably misogynistic, though that doesn’t seem like the most promising conversational rabbit hole to go down at present. He takes a bite himself; it’s sweet and rich and quite a nice slice of cake. “Love how generous they were with the frosting.”

“Oh, you like frosting? I’m more of a cake man myself.”

Ed chokes and has to cough for a minute, while Stede looks concerned. Don’t say it don’t say it. You just fucking met him. When he regains the ability to speak, Ed says, “We’re like Jack Sprat and his wife, then.” Which is, in hindsight, possibly even flirtier than whatever he might have said to point out Stede’s inadvertent double entendre. Fuck. Why is this guy messing with his game so badly?

Although on second thought, the way Stede’s face glows when he says that…well, that isn’t making Ed’s brain function any more successfully. He needs to get this conversation back into less charged territory. “So. Did I catch that right? You called yourself ‘The Gentleman Reviewer?’”

Stede colors deeply. “Yes. Well. Um. It was rather absurd of me to say that like anyone has heard of me.”

“Well, now I have.” Ed offers an encouraging smile. “What do you review?”

Stede’s face takes on the most mirthful of expressions. “Pie, if you can believe it. I’m trying to sample pies in all fifty states in one year. Sort of a challenge I set myself. I go to a different place every week.”

“Oh, that’s fun. And the ‘Gentleman’ part?”

“Well, I…dress up like this to eat pie.” Stede blushes again. “I know, it’s stupid. But I like dressing up. And I don't normally have a lot of excuses to do it.”

Oh, this is truly adorable. “It’s not stupid, Stede. I love it. Genuinely.” Stede looks at him askance, as if he expects Ed to take it back and burst out laughing at him. “Wish I could just take off and eat pie all around the States, dressed to the nines.”

Stede huffs a laugh himself now, poking at the cake in front of them. “You’re very kind, but I’m about twenty years too late to make a career of being a food critic on social media. Maybe in the heyday of blogs I would’ve done okay. But everything is so complicated now. My daughter is always rolling her eyes at me and pointing out how I do things like end every tweet with two periods.”

Hmm. Ed quickly clocked the lack of wedding ring (though Stede was wearing several others) and the fashion sense that exceeds that of most straight men he knows, but perhaps he’s made some incorrect assumptions. Time to probe a bit further. “You have kids?”

“Yes, two.” Stede pauses momentarily. “But the pie thing is a bit of a midlife crisis, actually. Recently got divorced.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ed says, attempting to sound sympathetic, though it’s pretty much an out-and-out lie. Depending on the rest of the context, that is.

“Nah, don’t be.” Stede shakes his head and laughs quietly at himself, still looking down at the cake. “My ex-wife thought it was high time I came out of the closet. I suppose she was right.” Now he looks up at Ed tentatively, as if unsure how he’ll take this disclosure.

No need to worry; Ed is quite gleeful about learning this key piece of information. He returns a smile he hopes lands on “encouraging” and doesn't cross over into “embarrassingly eager.” “Good for you. Never too late to be who you are.”

Stede smiles back in a lopsided way. “That’s kind of you to say. But I still feel like fifty is pretty damn old to be changing my life so radically.”

“Fifty? Huh.” Ed strokes his beard. “I wouldn’t have put you at a day over…forty-five.”

Stede taps Ed’s leg lightly under the table with the toe of his shoe, his face crinkling into a wry smile. “Ha ha. Very amusing.”

“S’alright. I’m almost there myself. We’re not dead yet.”

“True, but I still feel like I’m in over my head. Like I’ve been bungling every single thing in my life.” Stede sighs heavily. “Who am I kidding. I’m not a content creator, I’m an idiot!”

Oof. Clearly this guy has a propensity for being hard on himself. His forlorn puppy dog expression makes Ed badly want to comfort him. “Stede, you’re not an idiot! Probably just need some advice. I’m in the hospitality industry myself. Maybe I could help you out.”

All of a sudden, the announcement over the PA system that has been blending into all the background noise snaps into focus: “Paging all passengers for United Airlines flight 2298 to New York’s LaGuardia Airport. The flight is now boarding out of gate C21. All passengers must be on board fifteen minutes prior to departure. We are currently beginning the boarding process.”

“Shit!” Ed exclaims. “That’s my flight. It’s clear over in another concourse now. I have to run!”

“Oh!” Stede looks incredibly startled. “Don’t miss your flight!” As Ed scrambles to wrangle his bags, Stede tilts his head and says, “Hang on. You’ve got a bit of cake in your beard.” Ed starts trying to feel around for it. “No, come to the—down a bit.” Ed moved his hand down. “Just up, up a little bit.” Apparently he still isn’t getting it. “To the—to the left.” Still no success. Stede beckons him in with his finger and a whisper: “Here, I’ll get it.” Ed leans forward, and Stede brushes out the crumbs with his fingertips. “There we go.” His touch couldn’t be more gentle. “You’re good to go,” Stede says at full voice, smiling.

Ed gazes at him for the longest split second of his life. What if he leans in and kisses this man right fucking now? Just lays one on him in the airport restaurant? The sweet, everyday intimacy of what Stede just did, ensuring he’s presentable, makes Ed feel as though they’re already partners, and Stede is merely seeing him off on a solo trip. The temptation to act as if this is the case is almost irresistible.

Almost. Because they aren’t boyfriends. They literally just met, and even though Ed feels bizarrely attached to this near-stranger, if he doesn’t leave immediately, he’ll miss his flight. “Thank you,” he says softly. Then he turns and makes a mad dash out of the restaurant.

Only once he boards—it’s a good thing he hustled, as they shut the cabin door behind him as soon as he stepped onto the plane—does Ed realize he left without even trying to exchange contact information with Stede. If he’s ever been unsure what a sinking feeling feels like, he certainly knows now. The thought of never seeing Stede again is intolerable. Did Stede feel even a fraction of what’s rolling through him right now? Why can’t Ed shake the conviction that he and that dashing, broad-shouldered, well-dressed stranger are meant to be?

Chapter Text

Stede stands in a daze for some time after Ed makes his hasty dash to his gate. Did any of that just happen? Did he dream it all? Everything from his slice of pie onwards seems utterly unreal, though the last thirty seconds even more so.

Then he feels a touch on his arm. “Are you all finished, sir?”

Stede wakes himself out of his trance. “Oh, yes, I am.” Anticipating this, his server has brought the bill; Stede hands over his credit card, then tips the aforementioned fifteen percent before heading to his own gate. Back home again, as if nothing happened; as if his whole world isn’t suddenly and unexpectedly upside-down.

Stede makes his way to his own gate, barely noticing his surroundings; he’s determined to take stock, assess the situation, figure out what just happened to him. At first, he was so focused on the pie gaslighting he could think of little else. That was a good thing, in hindsight: he could simply make conversation and not overthink it; not get caught up in his own awkwardness as he inevitably would otherwise. Talking with Ed was so easy and fun. It was a relief to have his corroboration about the pie, then so pleasant simply to chat after. Ed was friendly, kind, and surprisingly encouraging. How lovely.

But once they were both on their feet, and after he helped Ed get the crumbs out of his beard—well. Standing in such close proximity, having to look up just that little bit to meet Ed’s eyes…it was like a switch suddenly and irrevocably flipped in his brain. Oh. Oh no. Ed is hot, isn't he? Make that drop-dead gorgeous, actually. Stede doesn’t know why he didn’t notice it until that precise moment, but once the scales fell from his eyes, it hit him like a gale-force wind. And—why did it feel like Ed was about to kiss him, as they stood and stared at each other for that brief moment? What kind of mad fantasy is that?

Stede is one thousand percent sure it’s only his imagination at work. Clearly he’s watched too many rom coms over the years. It’s beyond preposterous to think that he, half-a-century-old unsuccessful social media food critic Stede Bonnet, newly out of the closet, could meet his Prince Charming on an airport layover; even more absurd to think any feelings he developed for Ed could ever be mutual. He needs to get over himself immediately.

As if on cue, “Well. Look what the cat dragged in,” a voice says, in what can only be described as an audible sneer. “If it isn’t Baby Bonnet.”

Stede wishes—very sincerely—that he were an opossum and could go into tonic immobility straightaway. Perhaps if he appeared literally dead, Nigel Badminton would leave him alone. Although knowing Nigel, he’d probably kick Stede’s apparent corpse just because he could.

Stede heaves an enormous sigh. “Nigel.”

“What are you doing here? Have you been running away, like you always do?”

Stede groans internally. Nigel isn’t entirely wrong, is he? And isn’t that the problem? Stede can’t help feeling that on some level, he deserves to be mocked. But regardless, he’s not about to make it easy. Stede sure as hell isn’t going to elaborate on what he’s been doing. “Just heading home from a trip,” he replies, as breezily as he can.

Nigel’s smug face takes on an expression of faux thoughtfulness. “I suppose with your family breaking up, you do have more free time.”

For fuck’s sake, Nigel. Leave me the fuck alone! is what Stede wishes he could say. But such bluntness and salty language would be too revealing. Time to resort to his old standby, passive aggression. Stede sits up straighter and speaks crisply. “Well. At least my divorce was amicable.”

Oh, yes. Nigel grows red at that. Stede is well aware that Nigel’s wife took him to the cleaners, and pointing it out touches the other man on the raw. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it. “At least I’m not switching teams, at our advanced age,” is Nigel’s cutting retort.

Ah, there it is. But Stede expects such digs from people in his social circle, so he barely feels a thing. And he suddenly remembers what Ed said. It strikes him that this is a good time to repeat it: “It’s never too late to be who you are.”

Nigel snorts, extremely derisively. “Good luck with that, Baby Bonnet. Hope it works out for you.” Dealing what he believes is a decisive blow, he finally steps away, giving Stede much-needed space.

Nigel’s words aren’t particularly clever, but as loath as Stede is to admit it, they do their damage. Because why would it work out for Stede? Ed’s words are a double-edged sword, aren't they? Everywhere you go, there you are. Stede is never not going to be himself. Never not going to be a failure. What hope is there for him to reinvent himself into someone worthwhile? He can stop stifling parts of himself, yes, but all the rest? All of his essential Stede-ness? None of it is going anywhere.

Fortunately, the boarding process begins at last, interrupting Stede’s increasingly negative self-talk. He boards the plane when it’s his turn and takes his seat, running on auto-pilot, barely aware of his surroundings. His mind drifts back to Ed as a survival tactic; anything he can think of to keep Nigel’s voice out of his mind is worth it, even if it means Stede will be overcome by unfulfillable longing instead.

Now that he plays back his mental recording of their conversation, Stede has no idea how he managed not to pick up on Ed’s attractiveness until the very end. Staring into his eyes for those last few seconds, Stede suddenly realized how big and brown and beautiful they were. How he failed to notice sooner Stede would never know, given how Ed kept them trained on his face during the entire conversation. No one ever listens to Stede that way. And oh, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Stede’s heart skips a beat at the memory.

It’s understandable that Stede didn’t fully notice his hair until Ed turned to hustle away; it was long and wavy and salt-and-pepper and pulled back into a ponytail. Stede wants to see it all the way down; see it framing Ed’s lovely face.

And even with the camouflage of Ed’s close-cropped beard, it’s evident he has the jawline of a runway model. That bone structure is clearly meant to have fingers trailing along it. Stede shivers with how badly he wants to do this, now that he never can.

And Stede isn’t simply (and belatedly) attracted to Ed. He likes him. He wants to know more about him. Stede winces when he thinks about how he kept nattering on about himself. But Ed listened and didn’t seem to hate him and actually appeared interested in what he had to say. That never happens to Stede; not ever. But “Ed” is the most common of names, and Stede has no way of finding him again. He could cry at the realization.

Stede lets his head fall back against the airplane seat, closes his eyes, frustrated with his entire existence. His airport encounter feels like yet another reminder of everything he wants but can’t have. Not that it matters, does it, that he doesn’t have a way to track Ed down. Even if he could find Ed again, there’s no way he’d be interested in Stede romantically. But maybe they could’ve been friends. And Ed offered to help him, didn’t he? But even that is now an impossibility.

Stede is sick of life, sick of himself, sick of nothing making a dent in his despair. He should be feeling better, now that he’s actively working to make his dreams a reality. But he merely feels crushed. How he’d love to show the Nigels of the world he can accomplish something. That he can do something out of the ordinary and be successful at it. How little Stede believes he can.

Chapter Text

A few days later, Stede belatedly logs into Twitter (he refuses to call it “X”), figuring he ought to post something about his recent pie mishap—at least that trying experience can make for good content—and he’s surprised to find several DMs waiting for him. Most of them are from spam bots (that they mistake him for someone looking for a lonely woman to connect with is slightly amusing), but one DM is not: it’s from an Ed04348252.

Hey. Hope this isn’t too weird, but I met you in O’Hare the other day over a slice of what was definitely not key lime pie. Sorry I had to rush off. Still happy to help you if I can

Oh. My. God. Stede’s heart rate immediately skyrockets to what feels like potentially lethal levels. It’s Ed. Who must have seen all of his ridiculous, pun-filled tweets concluded with excessive punctuation. Never mind that—Ed found him, and he’s reaching out. That’s what matters. Stede hasn’t lost him forever.

Stede thinks he might need a paper bag to breathe into (though he’s never been sure how exactly that’s supposed to help); he rubs his suddenly sweaty palms on his slacks. He’d better respond right away before he loses his nerve. With shaky hands, he types out a message:

Ed! I’m so glad you found me. I’d appreciate any and all advice you have. And I’d love to know more about what you do!

Now all Stede can do is wait; that’s going to be agonizing, to put it mildly. He turns notifications on so he won’t miss Ed’s reply. Meanwhile, he clicks through to Ed’s profile; it has no banner, no profile picture. The bio simply reads: “Some guy.” Stede snorts; clearly he isn’t going to manage to internet stalk Ed successfully. But then, Stede notices that not only has Ed not tweeted a single time, but his profile says “Joined April 2024.” Did he seriously make an account just to message Stede?

Before Stede can think too much about this, he gets a notification for another DM:

Maybe we can talk again in person? I travel a lot. Basically live in airports. You taking another pie trip soon?

Stede needs that paper bag again, thinking about another chance to see Ed in the flesh. Thank heavens for asynchronous digital communication, which lets him take his time to respond and, accordingly, appear far calmer than he actually is:

Yup, every week. I have a pretty long layover in Denver this Friday. I’ll be there about 11:30-2

It doesn’t take long for Stede to get another DM:

Would you believe it? I’ll be there part of that time too. I’m sure we can find a place to meet up. See you then?

Stede is quick to DM back:

What luck! Yes, I’ll see you then for sure 😊

Stede sits, dumbfounded, staring at his screen. Is this actually happening? What are the odds? Is he dreaming?

And, most importantly: what is he going to wear?

***

Ed is grinning like an idiot at his laptop. He swore he’d never personally darken the virtual doors of the site formerly known as Twitter, but dammit, being able to look forward to seeing Stede again is worth it. He pulls out his phone and texts Izzy:

Ed: Hey Iz. Need you to change my flight on Friday so I’m connecting through Denver instead of Phoenix. About the same times

It was child’s play to imagine the grisly groan that greets his text.

Izzy: Why the fuck do you want to do that?

Ed: Humor me

Izzy: That’ll be fucking costly

Ed: Don’t care. I’ll cover it personally. Just do it

Izzy: FINE

Ed knows he isn’t winning any brownie points with Izzy right now, but he truly doesn’t give a fuck. This is the best thing that has happened to him in forever.

***

That Friday, Ed begins the day in the best of moods. He dresses more carefully than he normally would for travel: jeans he knows maximize his assets, tighter than he’d typically wear on the plane; a casual button-down with sleeves he can roll up. He pulls his hair halfway back, leaving a few strands down to frame his face; tidy but flattering. Everything is going according to plan: he and Stede planned a spot to meet in the B terminal, about halfway between their connecting gates.

But the variable they couldn’t have anticipated was inclement weather, and thunderstorms in the area delay the departure of Ed’s first flight. He regretfully DMs Stede to let him know, hoping against hope he’ll manage to catch the tail end of Stede’s layover before he has to make his connection. Ed’s incredibly antsy, pacing up and down in the gate area, watching the time ticking away. If he’s earned Izzy’s ire for the flight change and doesn’t even manage to see Stede…hard to imagine more of a bust than that.

At last his flight begins to board. Ed settles in, getting out his laptop when it’s permitted, trying very hard to squeeze some words out of his brain to pass the time. But all he can think about are hazel eyes full of sweetness and Stede’s fingertips touching his face so gently—not to mention the deeply enjoyable polite bitchiness the pie gaslighting brought out. Ed is distinctly aware of how bored he’s been with his life for some time, but not until Stede did he become conscious of the true depths of his loneliness. He's surrounded by people constantly, but never truly engages with any of them. Writing is the only thing that brings him any satisfaction, but so rarely is he able to carve out the time and headspace it requires.

And even writing merely offers connection at a distance. Nothing immediate; nothing direct. It provides none of the companionship Past Ed would scoff at himself for wanting and Current Ed finds himself unexpectedly craving. Dating has felt pointless in his forties; both his distaste for commitment and his itinerant lifestyle makes it seem like a complete waste of time. But Ed is suddenly all too aware of how he wants someone to laugh with and be himself with and touch. The last is easy enough to come by, if he wants it badly enough, but the first two have seemed well-nigh impossible. Silly, perhaps, to imagine getting all three from a man he’s spent all of fifteen minutes with in the airport. But Ed’s having too much fun to be willing to question it.

So it’s a relief when the plane descends at last and Ed can message Stede to say he’s on his way, as he waits impatiently to deplane. He’s never wanted to mow down the people in front of him more: they’re quite literally standing between him and the man he wants to see. When Ed finally manages to get off the plane, he strides through the airport as quickly as he can, knowing every second it takes for him to get to their meeting place is one second fewer they can spend together.

And then, by gate B45, he catches sight of Stede. He’s in full Gentleman Reviewer mode again, wearing a pale blue three-piece suit with some kind of subtle pattern. Stede hasn’t noticed him yet, so Ed has a chance to take in how well he fills out his perfectly tailored suit, his worried expression, his rough golden-blond waves that are just slightly mussed, as if Stede has been running his fingers through them without thinking. As Ed approaches, walking quickly, Stede finally sees him and beams. Any secret worries Ed might have harbored about whether this meetup means anything to Stede are swept away by his thrilled smile. When Ed gets nearer, he can see how the green shirt Stede is wearing underneath his elegant suit brings out the green in his hazel eyes. Fuck, he’s so pretty. More so than Ed even remembers. “Stede,” he says.

“Ed.” They grin goofily at one another. Ed isn’t sure how to greet him—how do you say hello to someone you’ve only met once, but for whom you secretly arranged your entire flight schedule a week later?—but Stede cuts through the confusion by sticking out his hand. So Ed takes it, and Stede adds his left, turning the handshake into more of a handclasp. Ed doesn’t hate that, at all. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“Agreed.” They stare into each other’s eyes for a beat, not releasing each other’s hands. Then Stede appears to wake up; he lets go, much to Ed’s chagrin, and gestures to a nearby bank of seats: “Shall we sit for a second?”

“Sounds good.”

“I had to grab some food without you,” Stede says apologetically, “since I knew you were running so late.”

“No worries. I’m glad you did. Any pie mishaps?”

Stede smiles very widely; his charming dimple emerges so clearly Ed thinks he might faint. Good fucking god, he’s adorable. “Not this time.”

Ed waits to hear if Stede has more to say, but he isn’t nearly as voluble this time around; Ed doesn’t entirely know what to make of the difference. “So where’re you headed?” he asks.

“Idaho. I’m going to the Pie Hut to try their huckleberry pie. It’s supposed to be really good.” Stede pauses. “But you know all about my life. I don’t know anything about yours! Where are you going? And what are you doing?”

Ed drums his fingers on his knee. Time to tread carefully; he badly wants to connect with Stede on a personal level, but he also can’t say too much. “Going to San Fran. Helping with a pop-up restaurant there.”

That piece of information makes Stede’s eyes go very wide. “Isn’t that where Blackbeard is opening up a pop-up this weekend?”

Ed chuckles. “You do keep up with the foodie news, don’t you? Yeah, it is.”

Stede looks more and more intrigued. “Oh, I’ve always been so curious about him!” he exclaims. “Do you work for Blackbeard?”

Ed has been expecting this question, if the conversation were to head this way. “Yep,” he replies simply.

“Ooh! How long have you been working for him?” Stede is fairly vibrating with excitement.

Ed shrugs, projecting ample calm. “Oh, long enough.”

“That’s amazing, Ed! It must be so fascinating. He does so many things! The restaurants, the books…I absolutely adore his writing.” Stede is growing increasingly animated as he speaks. “I’m dying for Snake Snacks and Other Delicacies and Delights to come out. I pre-ordered it the day it was announced! He’s the one who made me want to become a food writer, you know. Sent me on my whole pie journey.” Stede grows pensive for a few seconds, caught up in his reflections. “But he’s so secretive! No author photo on his book jackets. I should know; I have every single one of his books.” Stede pauses, then grabs Ed’s arm. “Have you ever seen him?”

Ed knows he’s playing with fire, but fuck if the high wire act isn’t fun. He smiles mysteriously. “I have,” he replies, in a low rumble.

Stede squeezes Ed’s arm tightly; he hasn’t yet let go. “Oh! What does he look like?” Stede looks as excited as a child.

Ed shakes his head, giving him a faux-threatening look. “Mmm. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Stede laughs, not seeming intimidated whatsoever. “Fine, fine.” Then he seems to realize he’s still holding onto Ed’s arm and quickly lets go, as if Ed’s arm is made of spikes. Ed feels unreasonably sad about this. “Well, if you see him this weekend, please tell him how much I admire him. If I could just be like Blackbeard, even just for a moment—” Stede catches himself, seeming to realize what a pipe dream it is.

“Trust me when I tell you it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Ed says, with an extremely wry smile.

“Hmm. I suppose.” Just then, Stede’s phone buzzes. “Dammit. Ed, my flight is about to start boarding. I have to go. And we barely got to talk.” Stede’s expression couldn’t have been more mournful.

Ed thinks on his feet. Anything to give Stede comfort; anything to see him again. “I’m on the road again next weekend. Send me your flight info for your next pie trip, and maybe we’ll get lucky one more time.” This time it’s entirely a lie, but damned if Ed won’t find a way to make it happen.

Stede looks greatly consoled by this. “I will. I sure hope so.” He takes Ed’s hand again in both of his. “It was incredible to see you again.” Stede’s hands are so warm and his greenish-hazel eyes so affectionate and Ed is just gone, gone, gone. Lost forever; not his own man anymore. And then Stede is gone, too, rolling his suitcase behind him and turning around for one last wave before he disappears into the mass of humanity.

Fuck. What has Ed gotten himself into, anyway?

Chapter Text

Stede rolls away toward his gate with his insides all a-flutter. Now that Stede is aware of how desperately attracted he is to Ed, he finds himself far more tongue-tied the second time around. But how delightful to see him, to see his eyes crinkle with pleasure; to hear his voice again, with its familiar accent. That little bit of home in the untethered nowhere of the airport. And Ed knows Blackbeard! How astonishing is that? No wonder he offered to help Stede with his foundering food critic career. He certainly knows the industry well, if he’s part of Blackbeard’s impressive food conglomerate.

Stede books another flight for the following week, this time connecting through Minneapolis; he sends the details to Ed, who responds shortly after to say that he’ll indeed be flying through that city on Friday too. What are the odds? It’s really quite extraordinary. Stede is never this fortunate. But he isn’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth; he’s determined simply to enjoy it. And maybe he’ll have time to pick Ed’s brain more this time. Ed is so kind. And handsome. But Stede can’t get distracted by the latter. Well—any more than necessary, anyway.

Stede passes the intervening time writing up his latest pie adventure (the huckleberry pie was indeed delicious) and daydreaming about seeing Ed again. He tries not to make too much of it, but it feels so special that he’s having trouble not letting it take over all his waking thoughts. He secretly hopes each night that Ed will make an appearance in his actual dreams, but they are all disappointingly PG rated and feature random travel mishaps (missed flight connections; scrambling to find the proper track only to see his train pull away) instead of anything more titillating.

Stede’s impatience notwithstanding, trip day arrives at last, to his excitement and relief. He supposes he doesn’t technically have to dress up for the actual journey, but he likes to do it. Stede is never one to feel sexy, in clothes or out of them, but wearing well-tailored clothes in fine fabrics makes him feel as confident as he is capable of feeling. His outfits have long been his armor against a world that always seems to be against him. With his ensembles, Stede can choose what messages to send; he can make a statement, even if no one is listening. He has some say in how he’s perceived. And so, Stede figures: he was suited up both times he’d seen Ed before, so why not do it again?

This time Ed is arriving at the airport first; both have plenty of time to spare, so they plan to meet at the Stone Arch restaurant in Terminal 1 for lunch. When Stede arrives after a thankfully uneventful first leg of his trip, Ed is already seated, waiting for him. He seems to sense immediately when Stede comes in, looking up and waving him over happily.

For a split second, as he walks over to Ed’s table, Stede feels the familiar gut punch of wishing he were someone else—someone braver, someone who could ask for what he wants. But then he thinks: what the hell. What’s the worst that can happen? Chances are he’ll never coincidentally end up in the same airport as Ed again. Lightning can’t possibly strike more than thrice. If this ends up being embarrassing, he can escape back into the nothingness that is his life. And Ed does seem unmistakably glad to see him.

So Stede says, a bit timidly, once he rolls up to the table: “Ed! I’m so happy to see you. Can I give you a hug?” His heart pounds; the wait to hear Ed’s response feels interminable.

Ed looks surprised for a split second, before he breaks into the most delighted smile Stede has ever seen. “Of course.” Ed jumps up out of his chair and meets him beside the table; Ed immediately gets his arms around Stede’s middle, and Stede wraps his arms around Ed’s upper body. Somehow, it feels like the most natural thing imaginable. “I’m really happy to see you too,” Ed says, so close his breath tickles Stede’s ear. Stede shivers with pleasure. Good lord. How is he going to survive this meal?

Stede squeezes Ed as tightly as he dares; he would very happily hold him like that for an eternity. It’s so foolish to feel as though he belongs there, in the arms of a man he barely knows, but he isn’t in control of his emotions whatsoever. They hold each other for another precious second before they step back and smile into one another’s eyes. Then Ed gestures to the seat across from him at the little table for two; Stede sits down, unable to stop grinning in what he’s certain is the goofiest manner possible.

After a beat or two, Ed says, “That suit really suits you. So to speak.” Ed is looking at Stede in an frankly appraising manner; it raises more than a few goosebumps, truth be told. The outfit Stede chose with care is a camel-colored, glen plaid, double-breasted suit rather than a 3-piece. He knows the ensemble is flattering—he spent good money making sure it is tailored just so—but he isn’t used to anyone taking notice.

Stede can feel his cheeks grow hot from the compliment, but he does his best to respond nonchalantly: “Figured I’d better look the part, or you might not recognize me.”

“Oh, I’d recognize you in anything.” The tones of Ed’s voice are low and velvety, and his gaze so keen it makes Stede’s stomach do flips. But Stede doesn’t dare believe it means anything. That way madness lies.

Normally Stede doesn’t drink while traveling—he finds it far too dehydrating—but it might be the only way he won’t pass out from his nerves. “Are you getting anything to drink?” he ventures. “I mean, anything alcoholic?”

“I will if you do.”

“Let’s do it.” Stede begins perusing the draft beers. “When in Rome, I suppose.” Beer isn’t normally his thing, but craft beers are a focus in this restaurant, so he’s game to try something new. “Hmm, this watermelon sour sounds interesting. ‘​​Crisp and clean watermelon aromas and flavors in a medium-tart, medium-sweet fruit-forward beer. Crushable for a sour, this is full of fresh watermelon and won't destroy your palate.’ I think I’ll try it.”

“‘Dangerous Man,’ eh?” Ed replies in a teasing way, with a raised eyebrow, noting the name of the brewery.

Stede gives him a cheeky wink. “I like to think so.” In my wildest dreams, maybe, but Ed doesn’t need to know that. “What about you?”

“Hmm.” Ed continues scanning down the list. “Think I’ll try the 9 Mile Pub Ale.”

“Where is that? Oh, here it is.” Stede reads the description: “‘A complex mix of toast/bread/chocolate/raisin in this beer can be easily brushed aside by how light and easy it is. Its dark appearance hints that it might be a rich and robust brew but it’s actually very light and playful.’ That sounds fun.”

“I thought so.” Ed smiles enigmatically.

They settled on their drink selections just in time, as their server appears to take their orders. They both go ahead and select burgers for their meal as well: the Sticky Whiskey for Stede, and the Jalapeño Three Ways for Ed. “Trying to spice up your life?” Stede asks whimsically, after their server departs to put in their orders.

Ed gives him a small half-smile before responding; it seems Stede inadvertently got it in one. “Sometimes have to do what you can to try and feel something.” Ed pauses and plays with his fork for a few seconds, frowning slightly. “You ever feel trapped?” he asks, finally. “Like you’re just treading water? Waiting to drown?”

Stede is both startled and intrigued by this sudden turn into deep conversational waters. “Yes, I have—I very much have felt that way,” he replies slowly. “That’s…uh…why I started the whole pie venture.” On the one hand, Stede is eager for an opportunity to get to know Ed on a deeper level; on the other, it feels undeniably risky to say too much. Ed seems to like him, at least for the time being, so Stede hesitates to reveal too much too soon about his many insecurities, lest that change Ed’s perceptions too radically. Ed doesn’t need to know about the gaping hole where Stede’s self-esteem should be; that missing piece that is forever holding him back.

So Stede opts to lighten the mood: “Do you think I dare order the key lime pie here? If they have it?”

That gets a chuckle and a wide grin out of Ed, his brow clearing. “Now you have to, don’t you?”

“I kind of do.” Stede muses for a moment. “I still can’t believe that even happened. The gaslighting, I mean.”

“It is a bizarre way to do business.”

“Isn’t it?” Suddenly, Stede’s fertile imagination takes off. “Ooh! Ed! What if there was a whole restaurant designed around gaslighting? Everything just that little bit off. Tell people they’re getting one thing, but they’re really getting something else.”

Ed looks skeptical. ”It would get terrible reviews! Who would come to a place like that?”

Stede taps his chin, pondering. ”It would take someone special to pull it off. Someone no one would dare question.” The answer to that conundrum is simple, in Stede’s mind: “Blackbeard could do it.”

Ed gives him a look that’s impossible to interpret. ”You think so?”

”Mmhmm.” Stede is entirely confident on that score. “He’s such a legend! People would doubt their own senses before they questioned Blackbeard.”

Ed’s expression grows increasingly impish. “That would be some fuckery. I love that.”

Stede and Ed continue to riff on ideas for the gaslighting restaurant, chatting easily, sipping their beers once those come out and sampling each other’s. The conversation jumps from topic to topic, and Stede marvels: nothing is ever this uncomplicated with anyone. Stede somehow still doesn’t even know Ed’s last name, but that doesn’t seem to matter; they make conversation like old friends, laughing and joking as if they’ve known one another forever.

When their burgers come out, Ed begins rolling up his long sleeves, and Stede can’t help an audible gasp. Every turn of Ed’s cuffs reveals more tattoos: small ones, large ones; a snake that travels up his arm, who knows how far; a tūī; a chef’s knife and whisk. More that Stede can’t identify from across the table. “Oh, the tattoos?” Ed says, casually. “I forget how unusual they can seem. Spent lots of time in kitchens where everyone has ‘em. And some are from back in Aotearoa.”

“They’re beautiful,” Stede whispers. How many more does Ed have? And where? What if Stede badly wants to conduct a full-body inspection? (He keeps these thoughts to himself, hoping fervently Ed can’t guess them.)

Ed smiles. “Glad you’re not freaked out by them.”

“Not at all.” Stede pauses for a beat. “I wish I were that brave.”

“It’s not that bad. It’s good pain. Productive pain.”

Intriguing as that is, Stede knows quite well he’s not up for it. “At this point, I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Well, if you ever decide to get one, I’ll come hold your hand.” Stede scoffs; now Ed is just messing with him. But Ed fixes his big brown eyes on Stede. “You think I’m joking, but I’m serious.”

Stede looks into those eyes and is surprised to find only sincerity, as impossible as that is to believe. “Now I might have to get one, just for that.”

Ed looks…charmed, is the only word Stede can think of to describe it. What to make of this? Before Stede can ponder further, Ed issues some cautions: “Take your time, though. You’re stuck with it once you get it. Don’t want a tramp stamp you’ll regret forever.” They both giggle. “And now I’m looking forward to seeing how a gentleman eats a hamburger.”

“Not with a knife and fork, if that’s what you’re thinking. One cut ought to do it. Though maybe I will take off the jacket.” Stede rises and unbuttons his jacket as Ed watches, waiting for him to sit back down to begin eating. It’s mildly disconcerting, how closely Ed is observing him; Stede’s pulse races as he lays his jacket on the back of a chair. The shirt he was wearing underneath the suit is also a subtle glen plaid, in a slim cut that hugs his body. He unbuttons his cuffs and begins rolling up his sleeves as he sits back down in his chair. Ed’s gaze on him feels like fingertips grazing everywhere, and it feels good. Nerve-wracking, yes, but also good. Like he’s alive. Like maybe someday someone could want him for real.

They tuck into their burgers, both pronouncing them quite delicious for airport food. Ed substituted soup for fries with his meal, but he begins stealing fries from Stede’s plate, looking at Stede out of the corner of his eye while doing so. Stede at first pretends not to notice, but on the third fry, he grabs Ed’s hand swiftly, mid-theft. “And just what do you think you’re doing?” he asks, with mock sternness.

But Ed merely looks at him with laughter in his eyes, continuing to draw his hand back. Stede lets him go, his fingertips running over Ed’s knuckles before Ed brings the fry to his mouth and takes a bite, the most mischievous possible expression on his face.

Oh, Stede is toast. Ed can get away with absolutely anything with him. Take everything I have, he wants to say. Take all of me. It’s all for you.

***

Ed is as happy as a clam, sitting there with Stede and munching his stolen fries. He took a gamble, not ordering any of his own; he hoped Stede would, so he could use them to test the waters a bit. And to his delight, Stede did opt for fries. Stede makes a show of protesting Ed’s thievery, but he doesn’t make any substantive effort to say no. Perfection.

And fuck, Stede is good-looking. He carries himself as if he has no awareness of this fact whatsoever, which frankly makes him even hotter. His forearms may not be tattooed, but Ed can’t help staring at them any more than Stede can at Ed’s. He’s mesmerized by every gesture Stede makes, how strong his fingers look, his adorable crooked pinky finger. When Stede begins absent-mindedly stroking the condensation on his water glass with his fingertips while he speaks, Ed swallows thickly. He’s never envied a drinking vessel more.

Stede does indeed order a slice of key lime pie for dessert, which this time lives up to its name. Stede insists Ed share it with him; an even easier sell than the chocolate cake the first time. “You still haven’t given me advice on being a more successful food critic, like you promised,” Stede chides lightly, gesturing toward him with his fork.

Ed has been in a sort of trance, watching Stede eating bites of creamy pie with relish, thinking about all the things that mouth could and frankly should be doing. “Oh, right. Did read some of your Medium posts.” Read all of them, actually. “Your descriptions are great. Very readable prose. But you need more human interest in your stories.”

“But my life is so boring.” Stede looks pitiful. “This is the only interesting thing about it. Going on pie adventures. Meeting you. Otherwise I’m just a divorced father of two who lives in the middle of nowhere.”

“Make some shit up, then. Embellish it. Who’s gonna know?”

Stede sighs heavily. “I have no gift for fiction. And anyway, I like things that are true. That’s why I love Blackbeard’s books so much. They’re so real, you know? Even though he doesn’t give away much about himself.” Stede gets a wistful look on his face. “I wish I had more interesting things to talk about. Or that I could be as good as Blackbeard at being mysterious, at least.”

“Hmm.” Ed weighs a number of possibilities in his mind. If he plays his cards right, he might be able to kill many birds with one stone. “Look. I probably shouldn’t be saying this. But. I can feed you tidbits about Blackbeard here and there, so you’ll have the exclusive scoop. That’ll get some traffic to your blog.”

Stede’s eyes grow very wide. “You’d do that? For me?”

“Sure I would.” Ed leans in conspiratorially. “He’s planning another pop-up soon. Real soon. Maybe I can get you in.”

“Seriously?”

“Mmhmm. Can you keep next weekend clear? Or do you already have a pie trip planned?”

“I did, but I can move it.” Stedes eyes remain like saucers. “This is incredible.”

“Don’t say anything about it yet, okay? This only works if you can keep a secret. I’ll send you the details. You can post about it after.”

“You can trust me.” Oof. The childlike trust and sincerity in Stede’s eyes makes Ed feel slightly guilty about keeping certain details of his plan from Stede, but he’s all in now.

“I know I can.”

As much fun as they’re having, their time together is running out, and soon after Ed proposes another meetup, Stede has to leave to get to his gate to board his connection. They settle their bills; Ed thinks about offering to pay for Stede’s, but he feels weirdly hesitant about it. Better to wait and see what next week brings.

When Stede rises from his chair, but before he can put his jacket back on, “One more for the road?” Ed asks, hopping up and opening his arms. Stede’s face lights up with shy happiness, and Ed folds him into an embrace. With fewer layers between them, Ed can feel how warm Stede’s body is. How solidly muscled. And does he ever give great hugs, holding Ed tightly like he means it. Ed wants to feel that every day.

“It’s just lovely to see you again,” Stede says, sotto voce, as he steps back. “And I’ll keep an eye out for your message.” He holds Ed’s gaze for just a moment longer before putting his jacket back on and buttoning it. “I’ll see you in a week?”

“Yep. Can’t wait.” Ed truly can’t. He watches Stede leave; Stede turns around for his customary final wave before he goes out of sight, making Ed feel like his heart no longer quite fits in his chest the way it used to.

But there’s no time to get too sentimental. He has a lot of planning to do. Before Ed leaves the restaurant, he pulls out his phone:

Hey, Iz. Need you to make some calls.

Chapter Text

Stede spends the next week massively distracted; he finds it difficult to tell his arse from his elbow most of the time. Two days after he had lunch with Ed in the Minneapolis airport, Ed DMs him an address and a time in New York City, along with another exhortation to keep it quiet: “Tell no one, ok? This is an extremely exclusive VIP sneak peek.” Stede quickly books himself a flight, and all he can think about after that is his impending trip. How extraordinary that Ed is giving him such an amazing opportunity! This could be the break he’s been looking for. Maybe his nascent career as a food critic can take off after all.

Stede moves through his normal life in a mild stupor, his mind always thinking ahead to the adventure to come, even as he takes his children to school and shuttles them to basketball practice and music lessons. He’s cagey when Mary asks where he’s heading on his next trip; he tells her New York City, but true to his promise to Ed, that is all he says.

When it’s time for final preparations and the trip itself, everything becomes a genuine whirlwind: selecting his outfits, packing, driving to the airport, flying, getting to his hotel and checking in. Stede has always enjoyed travel; he loves being on the move, breaking the monotony of his otherwise humdrum life. In some ways it’s all quite routine by this point in his pie review challenge, but everything feels heightened this time around. A Blackbeard pop-up! Stede has to ask himself once more: is this really happening?

Shortly before the appointed time, Stede gets into a taxi to head to the address Ed supplied, dressed in an ensemble he deemed appropriately elegant for the occasion: a navy suit that’s one of his most expensive, with a floral brocade waistcoat (he does love a bit of whimsy) and a goldenrod-yellow tie. He arranged his hair carefully before leaving the hotel and put on just a hint of fragrance. Not nearly enough to interfere with his enjoyment of the meal, but enough to feel fancy. When he alights, he finds that the taxi has left him at an unassuming hole in the wall; a small brick building next to an alleyway. Dim light shines out through the windows; it seems surprisingly quiet in the area for a culinary event of this magnitude. But perhaps Ed simply wants Stede to arrive early. Yes, that must be it.

Stede walks up to the door, turns the handle, then quickly steps inside. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he gasps. The tiny restaurant space is deserted, but it’s full of delicious aromas. The room is dark except for one spot along the counter, facing the open kitchen: a place setting for a single diner surrounded by pillar candles of various heights and bud vases filled with colorful flowers. There’s none of the hustle and bustle Stede was anticipating. It is also incredibly romantic.

Stede could not be more certain he’s in the wrong place. Even glancing over and seeing Ed in the kitchen, wearing an apron and smiling at him, only increases his confusion.

“Ed…what…” Stede struggles to get out a single word, let alone a coherent sentence. “But this is…where is everybody? Where’s Blackbeard?”

Ed replies, in the most offhand possible manner: ”Oh, I’m Blackbeard.”

Well, that settles it. Stede is now positive he’s being pranked. He turns and bolts out the door as fast as he can, without another word.

“Stede! Wait!” Stede can hear Ed’s voice faintly behind him, but he ignores Ed’s pleas, walking swiftly, dashing the tears from his eyes. He has no idea where he’s going; he just knows he has to get as far away as possible from whatever that was. He hears rapid footsteps getting louder behind him; he still doesn’t turn around. Then a hand catches his arm. There’s no grip to it; just enough of a touch to get his attention and slow him down. “Stede. Please. Can you stop for a second and just talk to me?”

Stede halts and whirls around. Ed is behind him, breathing a little hard, still wearing his apron. Stede hurls his next words at him with barely suppressed fury: “Why, Ed? Why would you do this to me?”

Ed twists the front of his apron with his hands. “I’m sorry, Stede! I can explain. I—”

“Why did you lie to me?” Stede interrupts, his voice high pitched and reedy. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this?”

“Stede…I…okay, I know it feels like a lie. It kind of was, but not as much as you think.” Ed shuffles his feet, searching for words. “It was…it was supposed to be romantic.”

“Romantic?” Stede’s utter disbelief is audible in every syllable.

“Yes, romantic! Just, y’know, trying to sweep you off your feet and shit.” Now Ed peers at him in the dusky light. “Wait a minute. Stede. Was it not obvious I like you? That I’m interested in you?”

Stede stares at him. “No, it wasn't. Not to me.”

“Stede.” Ed’s voice becomes the most pleading sound Stede has ever heard. “I know we never called them dates, but I changed my connection to meet you in Denver. And then I hadn’t planned to travel at all last weekend. Just flew to Minneapolis since you said you’d be there.”

“You what?” Stede hears the words coming from Ed’s mouth; he does. But he can’t make heads or tails of any of them. None of them make any sense. No one would do a thing like that for him. Ever. That is simply impossible.

“Holy fuck.” Now it’s Ed’s turn to look stunned. “You really bought it? That I just coincidentally happened to be connecting through your airport every time?”

Stede shoves his hands on his hips. “It would have been presumptuous to think you were doing it on purpose, wouldn’t it?”

“I…uh…” Ed appears unsure what the correct response is; it seems he wants to be truthful, but also doesn't want to risk setting Stede off further.

Stede wants to stay angry with Ed—he does—but all his defiance and defensiveness are only temporary. As it begins to dawn on him what everything meant—all the signs and signals he managed to miss or misinterpret; how very oblivious he’s been—he collapses against whatever building it is that he’s standing beside and drops his face in his hands. He wishes a convenient sinkhole would open directly where he’s standing. “Oh god. You must think I’m a fool,” he says, his voice muffled. “I am so fucking embarrassed.”

“I don’t think you’re a fool,” Ed replies quietly. “I think it’s adorable you had no idea. It makes me even more into you, if I’m honest. And I see why it would feel like this came out of nowhere, if you had no idea how I felt about you.”

“Mmmph.” Stede still won’t uncover his face.

“Stede, I get it. I do. You probably want to hide somewhere. Been there.” Ed leans against the wall next to Stede, and gives him a gentle nudge with his elbow. “Hey. If you need to go, I understand. But I made you a pie. Two pies. Think you know what kinds.” Ed pauses for a second or two. “Was supposed to be a surprise. But I’d love for you to review them.”

At last, Ed has hit on the one strategy that might lift Stede out of his valley of humiliation: an appeal to his quasi-professional expertise, along with a reference to the experience that brought them together. Ed seems sincere. Stede still doesn’t know what’s real anymore, or what to believe. But maybe there’s a way to solid ground. Stede slowly removes his hands from his face. “You know this isn’t going to automatically get you a good review,” he says, one side of his mouth quirking up just the tiniest bit. “If the pies aren’t good, I’m not going to pretend they are.”

Relief begins trickling into Ed’s face. “Completely fair. I surrender to your expert judgement.” He extends his hand with a tentative smile. “Give me one more try? No more secrets? Cross my heart.”

Stede looks at Ed; he seems so hopeful, and as winsome as ever, with those big brown eyes gazing at him so imploringly. Like Stede is capable of turning his back on that look. “Well. I did come all this way.” He takes Ed’s hand and lets Ed lead him back to the restaurant. The entire situation could not feel more unreal. Stede is feeling so many things at the same time that he can’t name a single one of his emotions. Just pure, overwhelming chaos inside him.

As Ed opens the door for him and Stede steps inside, he starts attempting to wrangle his obstinate brain, figuring he has to try and process what’s going on if he’s going to survive the evening. Stede thinks he can start by naming what he sees, even if he doesn't know how to feel about any of it yet. There’s the place setting lit by flickering candles and surrounded by delicate flowers; that is for him. Everything that smells so appetizing in the small restaurant is for him. Ed’s hand is warm and grounding, and it’s holding his. Not so tightly it’s painful; not like a limp, dead fish either. Just gentle pressure that says, “I’m here. I care about you.” These all appear to be stable, verifiable facts.

But then there’s the other…business. As Ed shows Stede to his candlelit seat at the counter, Stede says wryly, “Okay. I guess I can accept this isn’t all a trick. But I still can’t believe you expect me to believe you’re Blackbeard.”

Ed doesn’t look chastened by this, however; in fact, he grins from ear to ear. “Aha! Was ready for that one.” Ed lets go of Stede’s hand, then rests his hand gently on Stede’s shoulder for a few seconds—that feels nice—before going behind the counter into the kitchen. “Didn’t anticipate you running away immediately, I will say, but thought you might doubt me about being Blackbeard. So, here.” He reaches down to a shelf out of sight of the counter, then hands Stede a book: Snake Snacks and Other Delicacies and Delights, by Blackbeard.

Stede smooths his hand over the cover, now doubting his senses once again. “But this is his next one! It’s not out yet!”

“Author copy,” Ed responds simply. “Open it.”

On the flyleaf, Stede finds a handful of handwritten words:

To S-T-E-D-E
I’d follow you anywhere

The printed name “Blackbeard” is crossed off; in its place is a scrawling, dramatic signature, with a short parenthetical underneath:

Blackbeard
(Ed)

“I’m trusting you,” Ed says, in a low rumble that adds yet more feelings to the mix swirling through Stede’s body and brain. “If you sell that, it’ll give away part of Blackbeard’s identity. I’ll never be able to hide completely again.”

“It was you,” Stede says softly. He traces Ed’s nom de plume signature with his finger. “All this time, it was you.” He pauses for several seconds. “Christ. You’ve known all this time how I idolize you.”

“Trust me, Stede.” Ed leans forward with his elbows on the counter. “You not knowing who I was was the best part. It was nice just to be ‘Ed’ for a while.”

“If you say so.” It still isn’t truly sinking in. That Blackbeard himself is writing romantic messages to him in a book he’s been eagerly anticipating does not—cannot—compute. Nevertheless, Stede has regained some of his sense of humor: “Guess I can cancel my pre-order now.”

“Aw, mate.” Ed gives him a look of mock reproach. “That’ll hurt my numbers.”

Stede huffs a quick laugh. “All right. I suppose I can gift my un-signed copy to someone.” He stares again at the book he’s holding. None of it is getting easier to believe. “Ed. I’m really trying to wrap my head around all of this. But this is a lot. A lot a lot.”

“I know. How about we forget about everything else for now, and you just let me feed you? As a friend?”

Stede heaves a sigh of relief. “Sounds perfect.”

Ed grins before beginning to move around the kitchen, dishing up Stede’s appetizer. “So. This is the best I could do at a gaslighting menu with a week to plan. ‘Cause this is Blackbeard’s latest pop-up. Just with a guest list of one.” Ed smiles as he sets a small plate in front of Stede. “Here you go. This was your idea, remember, so don’t get mad at me for tricking you again. Only some of those are olives.”

One “olive” is flatter than the others; Stede puts it in his mouth and bites into it, and it gushes into savory olive oil. He makes a startled noise. “Old molecular gastronomy trick,” Ed says, smiling. “But you need real food, too, so I added some real olives. Like José Andrés does.”

“Appreciate that.” Stede bites into a real olive, enjoying the salty tang.

“Oh!” Ed exclaims. “Almost forgot. Not used to doing all the things myself. Can I offer you wine pairings with your meal?”

“Yes, please.” Stede can certainly use something to steady his nerves.

Ed retrieves a bottle and two glasses, then pours a splash of white wine into one of them. “Sauvignon Blanc. Just a bit; not trying to put you under the table.” He pours some into a glass for himself as well. “Cheers, mate.”

“Cheers.” They clink glasses, and Stede sips; it has a pleasant citrusy aroma, and the acidity cuts through the oiliness of the fake and real olives nicely.

“Time for your next course.” Ed gets to work again, eventually returning with a plate of what looked like doughnuts, which he sets in front of Stede. “These are savory, mind.” He pours them each a different white wine in a fresh glass. “Pinot Gris from Alsace.”

Stede takes a bite; the doughnuts are filled with sweet, perfectly seasoned crab and silky crème fraîche. “Mmm!” he says. “Ed, these are so good!”

Ed beams. “Glad you like ‘em,” he says, before popping a doughnut in his own mouth. Stede sips the wine, which is fresh and crisp, with a light hint of pear; a perfect complement to the seafood dish.

Now Ed eats another doughnut, then bustles around the kitchen again as Stede finishes the doughnuts on his plate. Ed eventually comes back to the counter with something that looks like a clementine, with a crusty, grilled piece of bread alongside. “Here you go. Can’t take credit for the idea, but it fits the theme. Plus a bit of Provençal rosé for you.” Ed proceeds to pour them each a splash of wine in yet another fresh glass.

“You’re going to have so much washing up to do,” Stede says, mildly concerned.

Ed nods, with a small shrug. “Haven’t been a busboy or dishwasher for a long time. Good to remember how hard the work is. But, I’m also gonna say that’s tomorrow Ed’s problem.”

Stede inspects the dish in front of him; even the texture of the clementine “skin” is perfect. “This is so gorgeous, Ed! It’s hard to cut into it.” But Stede does, finding that his “orange” actually holds a smooth, creamy pâté on the inside. He spreads it on the bread and takes a bite. “Oh, Ed, this is delicious!” He chases that mouthful with a sip of rosé. “And the wine pairs perfectly yet again.”

“Being in the biz, I have no shortage of sommelier friends,” Ed says with a wink, before he eats a bite of some plain pâté on toast. “Fang helped me with the pairings.”

Stede raises an eyebrow at the nickname, but before he can inquire, Ed is walking away, shoving down a few more bites before getting Stede’s next course ready. Stede watches with fascination as Ed makes the efficient movements of someone who has spent years in restaurant kitchens. He retrieves what looks like cupcakes from under a heat lamp and dishes something up from a pan keeping warm on the back of the stove. “This isn’t so much a fine dining fakeout,” he says as he comes back to the counter, “but I didn’t want to serve you a meal that’s all flash and no substance.” He clears Stede's old plate, then sets down a plate of cupcakes, presented with some incongruous roasted root vegetables fragrant with thyme. As Stede examines the dish, Ed acquires another bottle and pair of glasses and pours a taste of yet another wine for each of them. “Crozes-Hermitage,” he said. “Rhône valley.”

Stede’s head is starting to swim now, less from the wine than from the care and thought that Ed has put into every stage of this meal. He must surely be dreaming. He slices into a cupcake with his fork and tastes it: it’s actually the most delicious meatloaf he’s ever eaten, topped with the fluffiest, butteriest mashed potatoes imaginable. He can’t help a moan at the mouth-watering flavors; that certainly makes Ed look over with a quickness. “Ed, this meatloaf is fantastic!”

“Thanks, mate. My mum’s recipe, just tweaked some.”

Stede sips the wine: rich, jammy, smoky, and spicy. Everything Ed is serving him is luxurious beyond belief, far exceeding his wildest foodie dreams. “Ed,” he says. “This is absolutely amazing. I can’t believe you did all this for…me.” His voice hushes to a whisper by the end; it feels wrong even to say it aloud.

Ed leans on the counter again, looking at Stede with deep affection. “You’re worth it, Stede. These past few weeks have been the most fun I’ve had in ages. Years. Maybe ever. I loved our airport rendezvous. Rendezvouses? Anyway. They gave me something to look forward to. Can you blame me for trying to win you over? Even though you didn’t pick up on any of my flirting, apparently.”

Stede scrunches up his face at the last bit, taking some mild umbrage. “How was I to know your intentions? Maybe you do that sort of thing all the time!”

Ed can’t help but smirk at him, now. “Yes, Stede. Can confidently say I do go out of my way to flirt with every attractive man I find getting gaslit about pie in the airport.”

So Ed did feel some kind of way about Stede since that very first encounter. Stede blushes quietly as Ed downs a couple of meatloaf cupcakes, then gets back to work on his next offering. “One more course before the pie. I’ll come ‘round and join you.” After a few minutes of prep and clearing Stede’s used dishes, he pours them each some lightly fizzy red wine—“Puianello lambrusco”—and then carefully carries a cheese board out from the kitchen. Stede helps him move aside some of the candles and flowers so there’s space for the board. Once he sets it down, Ed settles in on the stool beside Stede’s. “Beware!” he says. “Not everything is as it seems.”

Sure enough, alongside chunks of genuine parmesan and wedges of Camembert, some of the “cheeses” are morsels of chocolate masquerading as cheese, and the “grapes” are silky white chocolate truffles painted purple. They nibble together on the savory and sweet bites, which are set off perfectly, of course, by the bubbly wine.

Feeling emboldened by Ed laying his cards so obviously on the table—as well as having sampled five different wines by this point—Stede reaches over and takes Ed’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Ed. I don’t even know what to say. This is so magical. Thank you.”

Ed squeezes back, his eyes full of softness. “My pleasure. You’re having an okay time, now?”

“Way better than okay,” Stede assures him, with a gentle smile. “It’s all just so…unbelievable. Every single part of this.”

“I get that.” Ed goes quiet for a minute, looking away; Stede senses he’d like to say more, but he seems determined to stick to his promise to keep this only a friendly meal. But then Ed turns back to Stede with a small, mischievous smirk. “I know it’s probably a lot to ask you to trust me, but. I have an idea. Since I can’t surprise you with the pies, what if we try a blind taste test for them? See if your taste buds really can tell the difference?”

Stede grins. He feels far more relaxed than when he’d started the evening; enough that he’s willing to let his guard back down and play. “I’m game.”

Ed looks pleased, hopping off the stool immediately. “All right. Let me get it ready, then you shut your eyes. No cheating, yeah?”

“No cheating. That would take the fun out of it, anyway.”

Ed gives Stede’s hand one more squeeze before he lets go to pick up the cheese board and take it back to the kitchen. He then disappears into an area Stede can’t see. Stede is content to wait; he’s full of good food and fine wine, gradually wrapping his mind around Ed spoiling him and apparently being happy to do so. He can still very nearly feel the warmth and gentle pressure of Ed’s hand in his. What an extraordinary thing. Then, “Ready?” Ed calls, poking his head out from around the corner.

“Mmhmm.”

“Then shut your eyes and keep ‘em closed. No peeking.”

“Okay.” Stede hears Ed’s footsteps coming back around; then the sound of him setting plates down on the counter; then the scraping noise of Ed pulling his stool closer. Stede dutifully keeps his eyes shut, his nerves sparking and pulse speeding up with anticipation.

“Turn toward me a bit.” Stede does as he’s instructed. “That’s it.” He hears the quiet metallic tap of a fork meeting a plate. “Here comes your first bite.” Stede opens his mouth, and Ed slides in a bite of pie; Stede pulls it off the fork with his lips. There is no mistaking the tart, fragrant burst of lemon. But unlike so many of these pies he’s eaten elsewhere, the texture is perfect: not slimy or gelatinous, just luxurious and smooth, with the softness of a perfectly cooked meringue and the crispness of a well-baked crust. No soggy bottoms here.

“Mmm. Tangy.” Stede says, keeping his eyes closed. “That’s the lemon meringue, of course.”

“Of course.” Another small fork scraping sound, then: “Here’s another bite.” Stede opens his mouth again, and he is greeted with a mouthful that is partly zingy filling, partly silky cream, with the flavorful slight savoriness of a graham cracker crust. Delectable and mouthwatering; bursting with flavor; just the right balance of tart and sweet.

“That’s what I’d thought I ordered!” Stede exclaims, after he swallows the bite. “Beyond delicious. And tangy, but in a different way.”

“Zangy?” Ed supplies, a smile in his voice.

“Yes! Tangy and zangy! Perfect!” Stede opens his eyes and is glad he does, as he catches the mirthful look in Ed’s as they erupt into giggles together. When they settle, “I…um…” Stede begins. He puzzles for a moment over how to articulate what he wants to say.

“Yeah?”

“I liked that,” Stede whispers. “The surprise. Not knowing which one I was going to get.” Not only the surprise, truthfully, but the breathtaking intimacy of it. Ed being so close, gently and carefully placing delicious treats on his tongue…he doesn’t want that to end.

There’s so much in the smile Ed gives him now: giddy pleasure at the success of his idea, enjoyment of the moment, and something else Stede has no choice but to interpret as frank desire. That last takes his breath away. “Then close your eyes,” Ed replies in a low voice, “and I'll keep feeding you bites. You won’t know what’s coming.”

Stede gazes at Ed a few seconds longer—he wants to memorize Ed’s beautiful face with that incredible expression; hold it in his mind as he tastes the decadent desserts—then lets his eyelids flutter closed. Ed rests his left hand gently on Stede’s knee; Stede can’t stop his breath from hitching in response. Stede lays his own hand on top of Ed’s. That feels grounding, even as it makes his heart rate speed up noticeably. Ed proceeds to feed him bite after bite, sometimes the same pie two bites in a row, sometimes switching, keeping Stede guessing so he never knows what to expect. It’s divine, and no less dream-like than everything that has come before. Stede wishes it could go on forever.

But at last, Stede has to open his eyes. “I don’t want to stop, but I’m gonna pop if I eat any more,” he says with a rueful laugh.

Ed grins. “Fair. Plus that means I get some, too.” He scoops himself up a bite of the key lime. “Hey, that is pretty good.”

Stede chuckles. “Yeah, it is.” He looks at Ed again, so many feelings welling up within him that he doesn't know what to say. “Thank you,” he says again, simply. “I don’t have words right now, Ed. You’ve truly blown me away.”

Ed eats a bite of lemon meringue before replying. “Really glad I got you to come back,” Ed says, looking at him sideways. “And I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything. Okay? I wanted to do this.”

“I get that. I appreciate it. But, Ed, I…” Stede trails off. He looks at Ed. Really looks at him. Not just his perfect profile, with his hair up and back, though Stede still can’t fully wrap his mind around Ed’s beauty. But knowing who Ed is now, how full his life is, and yet, how he hoped to keep Stede in it; remembering how every time they’ve talked, Stede has grown more fascinated, more drawn to Ed in every possible manner. There is only one way Stede can think of to communicate a fraction of what he’s presently feeling. He reaches over and touches Ed’s face gently. It’s turned slightly away, as if Ed is suddenly feeling shy. That makes Stede bolder. He guides Ed’s face to turn back toward his. After locking eyes for a few long moments, “Come here,” Stede whispers. He moves his hand around to the nape of Ed’s neck as Ed slides off his stool. Stede feels his heart pounding dramatically, certain Ed must hear it, his own pulse is so loud in his ears.

And then—as if it is as natural as breathing—Ed tilts his head and begins to lean in; Stede pulls him closer and brings their lips together. And, oh. The unmatched sweetness of Ed’s lips on his. The way he can feel how much Ed wants this; how much he’s holding himself back, not wanting to overwhelm Stede any more than he already has. Stede is relieved he’s still seated; he feels the kiss from top to toe, a shivery rush of pleasure that would knock him clean over, were he standing. This is what Stede has always wanted. He didn’t even realize how much. The way it satisfies something deep inside him, yet makes him hungrier than he’s ever felt for another human being…Stede has watched many a movie where characters tear clothes off one another in the most inappropriate places, feeling only deep amusement at how unrealistic those scenes are. He’s never understood that compulsion.

Until now, that is. The way he feels an irresistible pull toward Ed, everything in his body and mind crying out more, more, more—it’s fully, wholly new. Nothing has ever felt this good or this disorienting. It’s intoxicating.

When Stede pulls away a few delicious seconds later and seeks Ed’s eyes again, he sees a love-drunk, desire-addled look in their brown depths that mirrors precisely what is welling up inside him. “Stede,” Ed gasps. “Fuck. I—I don’t want you to feel pressured. It’s—”

“Ed,” Stede says firmly, interrupting him. “Do shut up.” He reaches for Ed, pulling his whole body to him so firmly that the only logical course of action is for Ed to straddle him. So Ed does, and Stede draws Ed’s mouth to his again; instant paradise. This time he runs his tongue lightly over Ed’s lips, which part delightfully easily. Deepening the kiss starts just that smallest bit awkwardly, like teenagers French kissing for the first time, tentative and slightly out of sync. But as Stede grows more confident and the kiss stretches on and on, they find a rhythm together, tongues rolling against each other, breath aligning; the most beautiful give and take. Stede groans out loud with the pleasure of it. The only word he can hold in his brain is Wow.

At last they have to break apart to breathe and get the cricks out of their necks. “You’re too tall,” Stede says with a quick giggle, as Ed stretches his back. “There has to be an easier way to do this.”

Ed smiles at him in a way that makes his heart thump dangerously. “Well. I mean. Everyone’s the same size lying down.”

Good god. The surge of adrenaline and absolute, overwhelming need that comes over Stede at that moment. It’s so powerful it sweeps away his higher faculties; all that comes to mind as a response is the cheesiest possible thing any person could say. But, somehow, it seems undeniably perfect.

Stede grins at the man in his arms, dimple carved deeply into his cheek. “Your place or mine?”