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Once the first nice day of April finally warmed New York’s paved earth and stale air, Beau grabbed his sapphire cardigan and stepped out into the lively spring atmosphere. Well, it was always lively in the city more or less, but now the streets were choked with people possessed by the same train of thought. Beau tiptoed around the slow walkers, weaved through the masses and glided along crosswalks as he seamlessly sauntered towards his destination. Each light step fell into the rhythm of improvised jazz drums. A beautiful day, indeed.
Beau drifted into his favorite coffee shop. A cozy hideaway fortunately situated between his apartment and Central Park, Beau discovered it during one of these outings and visited at least once or twice a month since. The muddled scent of coffee and tea wafted through the establishment’s enclosed atmosphere, flooding Beau’s nose, filling his lungs and permeating through his capillaries to spread into his extremities. The rugs under wood tables provided a soft sight in the otherwise harsh cityscape. Already, he felt perky as a daffodil by merely breathing.
An order and quick wait later, Beau left the shop carrying a large lavender lemonade, a light-purple concoction that appeared blue-ish in the right light. He took his first small sip as he resumed his strut down the sidewalk, but he planned to reserve most of it for when he was actually in the park. He had a vision for his afternoon stroll that involved his drink, the beauty of nature, some light dancing and the novel tucked away in the azure, butterfly-shaped mini backpack loosely hanging from his shoulders.
He adjusted the bag’s straps again. Wonderful aesthetically, but a nuisance practically. Still, it was more than worth the effort for the constant compliments when he stepped outside the house.
At last, Beau traversed the final crosswalk to the park. The revived foliage shimmered under the sun’s light. Small clouds casted smaller shadows that drifted across the ground. The seasonal food stands began their operating seasons, springing up like dandelions amongst the grass. Perhaps Beau would indulge in a treat later, but he had to finish his current one first. Preferably before all the ice melted and diluted the taste.
He situated himself on a bench by the lake. A few boats glided on water, disrupting the reflection of buildings and trees with ripples. Other people had chosen the area as their resting place, feasting on picnics in wicker baskets or tossing balls and frisbees between hands. The most splendid scene for tranquility and inspiration, as it always was.
Beau shed his bag and opened it to retrieve his book. Stuck between its crisp pages was a bookmark bearing the silhouette of a ballet dancer. When he was younger, he had colored its skin to match his own dark complexion. His work faded from time and use, and now it was a smudgy brown. He could have replaced it with something resembling himself more, but it had become a memento of sorts. Holding it surface memories of clutching it in a similar manner while wishing upon a star to be a real ballerina (he hadn’t known the term ballerino at first).
Beau smiled at the bookmark. Perhaps he could retouch his younger self’s efforts.
“Mister Butterfly!” a high voice called.
Startled, Beau whipped his head up. A girl no older than eight or nine stood before the bench, bouncing on her wheels in constant motion, her cyan dress matching her rise and fall.
Beau blinked.
“Can I help you, dear?” he asked, hoping his tone didn’t betray his confusion.
The girl stopped bouncing and pointed off in the distance as she said, “My brother’s stuck in a tree. He told me to play ‘Find Help,’ and I’d get an ice cream if I won!”
Oh dear. A child was stuck in a tree? How did that happen?
“What about your parents?” Beau inquired.
“Uuu, they’re not here. He brought me to the park to fly my new kite.” The girl giggled as she recounted, “It went up, up into big Mr. Tree! So then York climbed it to get Ms. Kite, and now he can’t get down.”
“I see.” Beau still had no idea why two children were unsupervised around here, but perhaps this York was an older brother who got in over his head. He rose and said, “Very well, take me to him.” Beau would ensure this mishap ended in comedy, not tragedy.
The girl began to bounce again. “Yay! Thank you, Mister Butterfly!”
She turned and ran off without so much as glancing back at Beau, who hastily grabbed his open bag and book before sprinting to catch up. His job necessitated a lot of strength in his legs, but the pure energy of a small child made her a force to keep a pace with.
The girl stopped in front of a tall tree, the kind where the branches didn’t begin until they were well above your head. The fact that anyone climbed it at all stunned Beau, but as he neared its trunk, he realized he had miscalculated a moment ago.
Previously, he had assumed this brother, York, was a few years older. And older was correct… but instead of a gangly and awkward preteen or teenager, Beau was gifted the vision of a man in cowboy attire hunched between tree limbs, clutching onto a bright blue dragon-shaped kite with thick, rough and freckled hands. His ten gallon hat sat askew atop messy blonde mullet hair. His equally freckled face, twisted into an uncomfortable cringe, went slack upon spotting Beau’s approaching figure, his jaw unhinged. His eyes shone with wonder as he openly stared at Beau. Beau chuckled to himself. How adorable.
“Did I win? Did I win?” the girl giggled as she twirled around.
It took a moment for York to stutter out, “Y-You sure did, Aqua. Good job.”
“Yaaaay! Ice cream, ice cream!”
How curious. York spoke with a clear southern dialect, but Aqua possessed no such accent. The duo only became stranger and stranger to Beau in a way that tickled his mind’s imagination.
“Hello, dear,” Beau greeted. “Need a hand?”
York nodded, a fierce blush reddening his cheeks. “I figured if I could get up, I coulda gotten down,” York mumbled. He hung his head. “ I couldn’ get down…”
Cute, Beau thought to himself. He always was weak for shy sweethearts.
“Well first,” Beaut gently suggested, “why don’t you toss down the kite so your hands will be free?”
“O-Oh! Yer right. Here, Aqua, catch!”
York dropped the large kite below, which Aqua jumped to catch between her small hands without so much as a stumble. Immediately, she took off twenty feet in the other direction, eagerly running in a circle around the tree, the kite dragging behind her on the ground.
“Now what?” York asked.
Beau tried assessing the situation. York stood on a limb at least six feet from the ground, a little taller than Beau. If York could have climbed back down, he surely would have, and if he jumped, the impact would likely hurt. It was taller than the stage Beau’s company was performing at, and even that distance agitated the knees. Hmm, the easiest solution was…
“Sit down,” Beau instructed.
York carefully sat on the tree limb. Denim-clad legs dangled in front of Beau. York’s belt buckle displayed an emblem of a horse, and his western boots had spurs in the heels. Beau held up his arms in preparation.
“Okay,” Beau said. “Start sliding off, slowly now. I’ll catch you.”
York anxiously bit his lip, reminding Beau of a nervous puppy. “Promise?”
Sweet bouncing butterflies, this wasn’t good for Beau’s heart.
“Promise.”
York took in a deep breath, then nodded. He planted his palms against the limb’s bark and pushed himself, slowly but surely lowering himself closer and closer to Beau’s awaiting hands. Beau shifted his stance. He needed to make sure he wouldn’t get knocked off his feet from the weight of another person-
“York!” Aqua suddenly squawked right beside them. “I’m bored. Are you almost done?”
York startled, his hands releasing themselves from the limb. Which would have been fine, if they weren’t keeping his balance in his precarious position. He fell fast, and Beau’s trained reflexes were the only thing that allowed him to catch the other man with minimal stumbling backwards. The impact knocked the wind clean out of his lungs, which he inhaled sharply to regain. Beau was certain that something would bruise by the end of day.
“Oh my stars,” York babbled with his delightful drawl, “I’m so sorry, mister. I messed up yer plan and probably hurt ya-”
“I’m fine,” Beau interrupted. “Are you hurt at all?”
“You don’ needa worry ‘bout me.”
Well, at least York was on the ground, and nobody had to go to urgent care. Comedy triumphing over tragedy was an outcome Beau considered a victory any day of the week. And once things settled, Beau couldn’t complain about the man turning scarlet as a rose in his arms either.
A thumping heart pulsed from skin to skin. Heat seeped between them. A vermilion, bashful face occupied Beau’s vision, and he could not be more pleased with how his afternoon turned out.
“Ah,” York mumbled, “I should prob’ly get outta yer hair.”
In this attempt to disentangle from Beau, York tripped over an unearthed root, sending him toppling backwards. Beau shot his arms out and managed to grasp York’s waist, but the force of the other man’s fall was too great, and they both dropped to the ground together, Beau slamming on top of York. He heard a pained grunt from the man now underneath him.
Aqua, watching this entire series of mishaps, clapped wildly as she cheered, “Again, again!”
“I’d rather not, love,” Beau declined.
“Uuu, why not?”
“It’s not good to have bruised ribs.” Dancing with the extra soreness the next day promised to be a nuisance.
Beau sat up and looked at the other man below him. Somehow, he was redder than ever, his flush traveling all the way down past the collarbone and past the v-neck created from undone buttons. Beau’s eyes lingered on the triangle of exposed chest, where sandy blonde hairs peeked out invitingly. He ignored the thoughts rising in his mind and rose to his feet instead. He held out an outstretched hand, which York grabbed after a moment’s contemplation. Beau felt rough callouses as he helped the blonde stand. The western-dressed man had a strong grip, and wasn’t that interesting information to file away in one’s mind.
Something was missing.
Beau glanced downwards and kneeled to grab the fallen cowboy hat. When he straightened his stance again, he carefully placed it back on York’s head.
York smiled for the first time since Beau saw him, and lord was it worth it. A charming little gap between the front teeth became noticeable upfront. His lips cracked with the stretch. His previous awkwardness shed in an instant, his green eyes brightened with light from somewhere deeper than the sun.
“Thank yew,” York sighed dreamily. “It was mighty kind to lend a hand.” His grin lowered into a guilty frown. “Oh, but you got hurt, didn’t you? Oh, it’s all my fault. I should go punish myself-”
“Don’t fret, dear,” Beau assured him, not wanting to know what ‘punishing himself’ meant and not wanting York to follow through on such ominous words. An idea came to him, so he added, “As long as you buy me an ice cream, too, then all is well.”
York’s smile returned in full blinding force as he replied, “Well, shoot! I can do that.”
“Excellent.”