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It could be far worse, Tommy knew. In his time, he’d known plenty of first responders who turned to seriously unhealthy coping mechanisms to combat the stress of the job. But not Evan. Evan baked. Evan baked with the same determination and reckless abandon with which he approached every aspect of his life.
Which wasn’t all bad. They were saving tons of money by building their own pizzas on Evan’s homemade crust rather than ordering out. There were always cookies in the freezer. Tommy was partial to the cashew-studded snickerdoodles with a spicy cayenne kick in the coating–perfect for a late-night snack, or even for breakfast. The cakes were getting ever more elaborate, too. And there was nothing wrong with any of that. But Tommy had beef with Evan’s sourdough starter.
Namely, it was hell on their sex life.
Tommy had done his best to help, dutifully feeding the various starters when Evan was working and he wasn’t, and teaching Evan to set reminders on his phone to maintain it on schedule. The trouble was, Evan just couldn’t seem to get his sourdough starter to actually start. Not counting the very first one, which had exploded spectacularly when Evan was overzealous putting the lid on it, this was the fifth time that he’d come home, uncovered the starter from its dishtowel cocoon, pronounced it DOA, and spent the rest of the evening watching more tutorials, muttering to himself, until he finally passed out from exhaustion, tucked up against Tommy on the couch.
This was their only night off together for the next two weeks, and it had not gone how he had imagined it. And it was getting damned old. Tommy had been through some rough relationships and absolute dating disasters in his lifetime, but this was admittedly the first time he’d ever played second fiddle to sourdough starter. And yet here they were, with Evan crashed out and due in for a 24 the next morning, which would end just as Tommy started his own 48 at the 217 the day after.
Okay, so maybe this drought was mostly the fault of the LAFD scheduling gods, but Tommy still wanted a strong word with the sourdough starter–no matter how adorable Evan was, fast asleep with streaks of flour in his hair (and how had that even happened?). For now, though…it was almost midnight, and they should sleep in a real bed. He shook Evan’s shoulder gently to rouse him.
“Hey. Time for bed.”
“Mmm…could we just stay like this? I’m comfy.”
“Nope. It’s easier to cuddle in bed, and besides, I’m getting cold. Let’s go.” As gently as possible, he manhandled Evan into the bedroom, tucked them both in, and switched off the light. Yes, he told himself as he drifted off, it could be much, much worse.
~*~
The next morning started normally, and Tommy relished the routine. He woke as the first steely-gray light began to penetrate the night sky, early enough to join Evan on a pre-shift run. They did their usual three-mile loop, finishing just as the sun peeked over the horizon. The post-run shower didn’t quite make up for their lack of action the night before, but it came close. Then, while Evan dressed in uniform and packed his bag, Tommy threw on a clean pair of jeans and a tee and padded into the kitchen. He started the coffee, fished some of Evan’s meal-prepped breakfast burritos out of the freezer and tossed them in the air fryer to heat up, and set out two plates, silverware, and Evan’s favorite hot sauce on the kitchen island.
Just as he was pouring the coffee (black for himself; hazelnut oatmilk creamer, a sprinkle of cinnamon, and one spoonful of sugar for Evan, just like always), Evan emerged, shoes in one hand, bag over his shoulder, hair still shower-damp and, as always, so incredibly sexy Tommy almost had to physically stop himself from drooling. He crossed the kitchen in two strides, pulling his lover into a lingering kiss.
“Morning, gorgeous. You hungry?”
Evan chuckled. “Seems like you are.”
Tommy grinned back. “Always.” The air fryer dinged. “Impeccable timing. Breakfast is ready.”
“Hey, I’m sorry about John,” Evan said as they sat side by side at the island, munching their burritos.
Tommy nearly choked on his coffee. “John?”
“John Dough. Last night? The sourdough? I really, really didn’t mean for him to ruin our evening.”
“You named your sourdough starter?”
“Eddie did. He said it needed a name since I never shut up about it.”
“Well, I’m gonna go with Eddie on this, considering how John Dough has gotten more action than we have for almost a month.”
Evan winced, draining his coffee cup. “Totally my fault. And now it’s going to be two whole weeks before we have a night off together again.”
“Well, you’ll just have to make it up to me, won’t you?” He grinned wickedly. “Want another cup?”
Evan glanced at his watch. “Better take it to go.” He stood up, carried his plate to the sink, and topped off Tommy’s coffee before pouring another cup into a travel mug for himself. “What are you going to do with your day off? You could come by the firehouse for dinner. I think Cap’s making spaghetti.”
“Maybe I’ll do that. I’m going to start a new batch of cider today, get some chores done and maybe do some reading” He slid off the stool to give Evan one last kiss. “Stay safe out there, Evan. Come back to me.”
“Always.” And then he was gone.
~*~
It was dinner that night that gave Tommy the idea. After a day of running errands, mentally spitballing ideas of Valentine’s Day gifts for Evan, and puttering around the house, he did indeed swing by the 118 around dinnertime, and, as always, was instantly reabsorbed into that tight-knit circle. Over plates heaped with spaghetti and giant meatballs, between bites of crusty toasted bread dripping with garlic butter, the conversation inevitably turned to Evan’s latest baked goods and the sourdough fail.
“How many times is this now, Buck?” Eddie asked, helping himself to another chunk of bread.
“Five.”
“Six, actually,” Tommy corrected him good-naturedly. “Or weren’t you counting the first one?”
“What happened to the first one?” Eddie wanted to know. “Didn’t it just…not grow, or whatever it is that sourdough is supposed to do?”
“No, that was the second one,” Tommy told him. “The first one exploded. I came in and found Evan up on the ladder, scraping goop off the ceiling.”
“I didn’t know not to put the lid on tight,” Evan protested weakly, but he laughed along with everyone else.
“Buck, I don’t want to crush your dreams or anything,” Hen said, “But maybe sourdough is just too high-maintenance for someone with our lifestyle.”
“You know, maybe there are just some things you can’t learn from YouTube,” Howie offered. “Maybe you need to find a sourdough Jedi to teach you the Way.”
The conversation was cut off by the sound of the bell.
~*~
Later that night, Tommy was curled up on the sofa, wearing Evan’s hoodie and flipping idly through the latest copy of Flight Magazine with Otis Redding playing for background noise, when Howie’s words from earlier suddenly popped back into his head: Maybe you need a sourdough Jedi to show you the Way.
Howie was right. Evan was never going to give up on trying to make sourdough, even if, as Hen had pointed out, it was much too high-maintenance for someone who lived like they did. Others might have given up, but Evan? Never. He wasn’t going to stop playing with John Dough until he’d satisfied himself and all the naysayers that he could make a good loaf of sourdough bread. The only way to make him stop was to help him succeed. Tommy himself didn’t know the first thing about making any kind of bread, but somewhere out there, someone did. He picked up his tablet and began to Google.
So it turned out that sourdough on the internet was kind of a cult. No wonder Evan’s YouTube and TikTok tutorials had taken up so much of his attention. There were, in fact, teachers who would teach the art of sourdough-making, but locally, it looked like that would probably be one unit of a community-college baking class, which Evan surely did not need, nor have time for. Up in San Francisco, though, there were plenty of people willing to spend an afternoon teaching the basics for the right amount of money. And he knew from his experience working wildfire seasons up there before he came to the LAFD that San Francisco was the place to get good sourdough bread.
WIthin a couple hours, he had concepts of a plan, but it was going to take some work. First, he logged on to the LAFD’s scheduling site and put in a request for time off. Then, he picked up his phone and fired off a text to Bobby:
Hey, Bobby. Evan doesn’t know it, but he needs a favor…
The team must have been out on a call, because no answer came right away. It was getting late, so he texted a quick good night to Evan, then crawled into bed.
He knew his plan was working when he woke up to a response from Bobby: Done. By the time he and Evan finally had a night off together again, the plan was mostly in place.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Evan announced as he bounced in from his shift. “B shift finally has to do holiday duty. I have the entire weekend off for Valentine’s Day.”
“That’s amazing! Unbelievably, so do I.”
“Three days off together? Do you think we can handle that?”
“I’m definitely willing to try. In fact, I have an idea for that.”
“Oooh. I have never been disappointed in one of your ideas.”
“Good. Let’s order some dinner, and I’ll tell you all about it. But first, do you need to do anything to John Dough?”
“I just have to feed him, I think.”
“So he’s going to work this time?”
“Probably not, but this time, I promise not to freak out.”
“Good. Mexican or Thai?”
While Evan tended to John Dough (who seemed to be holding for the moment), Tommy ordered up their usual from the Thai place, and they spread the containers out on the coffee table and cued up Overboard on the TV.
“So here’s my idea,” he said, trying to keep the anxiousness out of his voice. It had all sounded so good in his head. What if Evan hated it? He took a deep breath and continued. “We need to go somewhere. Somewhere where neither of us will be distracted. And then when we get there, we each plan a date for the other. We have about three weeks to plan, so that should be plenty of time.”
Evan’s face lit up. “I love it. Where did you have in mind?”
Inwardly, Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. The plan was working. From behind a throw pillow, he produced a baseball cap filled with folded slips of paper. They all read San Francisco, but he’d wanted this part to be romantic, and he could burn the rest tomorrow during a scheduled training exercise. “You pick the city.”
Evan made a show of reaching into the hat, pulling out a piece of paper, and reading it. “Looks like we’re going to San Francisco for Valentine’s Day.”
“You’re on. You have three weeks to knock my socks off with a dream date.”
“Challenge accepted.”
~*~
From the moment they arrived, San Francisco was a dream.
They arrived on Friday afternoon and checked into the Hotel Zeppelin, a place they’d Googled up together. The room had a stunning view and came with its own record player and a collection of vinyl. Then they hit the town, checking out a few spots Tommy had first experienced during a long-ago wildfire season and others that he’d just discovered via the internet. They wandered hand in hand through Haight-Ashbury, mingled with the crowds at a farmers market, and meandered around Chinatown, nibbling steaming bao from a street cart as they enjoyed each other’s company. As evening fell and the fog rolled in off the bay, they had dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf, a cozy table by the window offering a breathtaking view while they feasted on fish tacos and craft beer flights.
Saturday morning dawned clear and bright. After breakfast in the hotel, Tommy shepherded them onto a cable car. He could have lived for a year on just the sound of Evan literally squealing with delight at the sights and sounds of the city while the cool breeze blew through their hair. Then they got off and walked a few blocks until they came to a bakery.
“Here we are,” Tommy announced.
The bell above the door jangled merrily as they let themselves into the airy space, which smelled of yeast and pizza sauce. A blonde woman looked up from behind the counter. “Welcome to Sour Flour. How can we help you today?”
“Kinard and Buckley, here for a class?”
“Of course.” She led them into a side room equipped with gleaming worktops, stainless-steel ovens, and other kitchen gadgetry. “Welcome to Sourdough 101, gentlemen. Ravyn is your teacher today, and they’ll be in momentarily. Have fun!”
Beside him, Evan was gaping like a landed fish. “We’re taking a sourdough class?”
“I love you, Evan, but I am sick and tired of John Dough being the third in this relationship. I don’t care if he lives with us, but I’m a jealous man.”
They had the class to themselves, and it was clear that Evan was in his element. Ravyn taught them about starters and water filtration, acidity, and other things that mostly flew over Tommy’s head, but Evan took copious notes. Then Ravyn helped them mix their own loaves. While the loaves proofed and baked, there was a spread of samples for them to try: warm bread with different compound butters, sourdough pizza, and charcuterie plates. It was all delicious. At the end, they left with their paper-wrapped fresh loaves, and purchased a commemorative San Francisco bread board for their apartment.
“That was amazing,” Even said as they climbed onto the streetcar to head back to the hotel. “I might be an actual sourdough Jedi now.”
“Good, because I meant what I said. John Dough can live with us, but I am a jealous man.”
Evan had planned his date for Tommy for Sunday, but it wouldn’t take place until the afternoon and evening. They spent a leisurely morning in bed, then took a run through the park, admiring the view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the fortress of Alcatraz in the distance. Then they found brunch at a tiny cafe, including sourdough avocado toast that sent Evan into a fit of rapture.
“You’ll be making bread as good as this or better in no time,” Tommy told him. As part of the class, Sour Flour would send Evan a jar of starter to use at home, which should arrive in LA sometime in the next week.
“Ready for your date?” Evan asked once they’d settled the bill and emerged back into the cool early-afternoon sunshine.
“Bring it on, Buckley.”
“Do you want to be blindfolded when we get there?”
“Kinky as that sounds, no. I don’t want to walk into something by mistake.” They both laughed as Evan pulled out his phone to call them an Uber.
Some time later, they pulled up in front of a large building with a plane on the roof. Evan grinned broadly at him. “Thomas Kinard, welcome to the Hiller Aviation Museum.” Grabbing Tommy’s hand, he eagerly led them inside.
If Disneyland had designed an entire indoor theme park catered for Tommy’s interests, they could not have done a better job. The hours flew by as the two of them explored all the exhibits and played like kids with all the interactive features. Tommy loved the historical planes and geeked out hard explaining every aspect to his boyfriend, who paid rapt attention the entire time. The sun was setting when they finally emerged, and Tommy’s face and sides hurt from hours of laughing and smiling.
“One more surprise before we head back,” Evan informed him as they crawled into the backseat of their Uber.
“I don’t see how you can top that museum. Also, I think I should maybe give you some flying lessons,” Tommy replied. Evan had crashed spectacularly in every single flight-simulator game at the museum. “Good thing you’re so good at other things.”
“Shut up, Kinard.”
They left the Uber in front of the de Young Museum. “Funny, I never pegged you for an art museum guy,” Tommy mused. “Also…this building is closed? I’m confused.”
“Just wait.” He led them up the winding path to the museum’s entrance, where they were greeted by a uniformed security guard who pulled Evan into a bear hug.
“It’s great to see you, Buck.” He stuck out his hand to shake Tommy’s. “You must be the famous Tommy. I’m Matt. Buck and I tended bar together a couple of lifetimes ago.” He turned back to Evan. “Everything’s ready, Buck. Just follow me.”
They followed Matt through the darkened museum exhibits and swiped a card to let them into the elevator. On the top floor, they got out, and Evan insisted that Tommy close his eyes. Tommy complied, allowing Evan to lead him.
“Right over here. Buckley, table for two?”
“Thanks, Matty. I owe you.”
“It’s yours until nine. There’s a private event downstairs, but no one will disturb you. Just text me when you’re ready to leave.”
Footsteps receded, and Tommy felt Evan’s arm go around his waist. Then he breathed into Tommy’s ear: “Okay, open your eyes.”
Tommy did, and gasped out loud. In front of him stood a small table, linen-draped and candlelit. Out the window, the lights of the city spread out like a twinkling blanket.
“So…” Evan teased as they sat down to plates of steak and risotto. “How’d I do?”
“Would it be uncouth of me to jump you right here and now? Honestly, this is the most romantic day of my life.”
~*~
“We should definitely do this more often,” Evan observed later that night, as they lay tangled together in bed, sated in every way possible, with the lights low and a record from the hotel’s collection playing softly in the background.
“Well, I’ve been trying,” Tommy teased. “But work’s been a beast for both of us. And you’ve kind of been two-timing me with another man. Or are you saying that it’s over between you and John Dough?”
“Definitely not over, since I know what I was doing wrong now. But John Dough should be a lot easier to handle from now on. And if we’re going to do what we just did every night, I just might be willing to let go of sourdough for good. Someday.”
“I’m glad you’re not giving up, since that baking class was a little costly. But it’s good to know it can be done. I’ll keep working on it.”
“God, I hope so,” Evan replied, and captured Tommy’s lips in a kiss that made them both forget everything else.