Not true, because you packed candles for that float down the Chattahoochee. You bought that piss-poor excuse for a beer that Jake liked. You knotted a lanyard around his wrist, and both of you got chills when you looked up. You kissed him, and that kiss wasn’t just about fucking in a tent or blow jobs out by the fire, the heat from the coals scalding your back. That kiss was its own kind of fire.
But thinking about Jake, thinking about those days when Sam had skated closest to something normal, that didn’t help. That didn’t help at all. If anything, it increased his panic. What if Rufus wanted Sam to choose a bottle of wine? What if Rufus wanted him to order something off one of those godawful menus where everything was in French? What if Rufus—
Rufus had stopped at a set of stairs that led down from the sidewalk. A door painted turquoise hung open an inch at the bottom of the steps, and a sign in the window said: Central Park Masala. And then below, for those who needed a little help: Indian Restaurant.
“Here?” Sam said.
Rufus looked at Sam with a huge smile. “Want to give it a try?”
“You won the bet; you pick.”
Rufus trotted down the stairs in answer. He pushed the door open and was asking a passing waiter for a table as Sam came down the steps. The restaurant was hardly big enough for half a dozen tables, all with placements for two people. The lights were low, with a warm tungsten glow. There were currently four patrons split between two tables, the one young waiter catering to each, with an older woman overseeing the register in the front and kitchen in the back.
Rufus and Sam were offered the farthest corner table, and even as skinny as he was, Rufus had to contort himself a bit to get into the seat that backed up against the wall without enough space for his long legs. Still, he hadn’t stopped smiling. “Smells good,” Rufus stated. “Whoa, and check out these tablecloths.” He smoothed the tabletop with both hands.
Trailing his fingers down the tablecloth, Sam looked up, looked around, took a deep breath: cardamom and cumin, coriander and ginger. Maybe even cinnamon. No music. No stuffy waiters. He flipped the menu—a single, two-sided affair—and he could read every word. Then he looked up at Rufus.
“Is this ok?”
Rufus picked up his own menu and stared at the listings. “How should I know? I haven’t been here before.”
“No.” Sam forced Rufus’s menu flat. “Is this, you know….” When he couldn’t come up with anything better, he repeated, “Ok?” Rufus’s stare gave him nothing, so Sam gestured. “Are there supposed to be candles? What about wine? Are you going easy on me because I freaked out?”
Rufus wiggled out of his jacket, tugged his beanie off, and said, “No.”
“No?” Sam forced his shoulders to come down. “But I want to take you somewhere romantic. I’ll do that thing where you stuff money in, you know.” He mimed a jacket pocket.
Rufus’s eyebrows went up to his hairline as Sam spoke. Finally, he shook his head and said, “I don’t even know what you’re doing. This place is perfect, don’t you think?” He glanced over his shoulder, up at the lighting, then added, “Low lights, no one around, and we’ve got our own corner. If I can get my leg under the table, we can even play footsie.”
“This isn’t some sort of soft letdown?”
“No,” Rufus drew out, more firmly this time.
Silverware chimed. A girl at the next table laughed softly and leaned in to say something to the older man she was sharing her meal with. Sam wiped sweat from his forehead and said, “Ok.”
They ordered. Or rather, Rufus ordered. Sam contributed a few suggestions, but Rufus made the final decisions, and the list of dishes—curries and chicken tikka masala and lamb vindaloo and dal, on and on like that—made the young man waiting on them grin.
“I guess we’re putting him through college,” Sam said with a grin. Then he flagged down the waiter and asked for two Taj beers, and the young man’s smile got even bigger. “Don’t say anything,” Sam said to Rufus.
Rufus hadn’t stopped smiling, and his expression was the most real and open Sam had seen since they met. “Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome,” Sam said. “Thank you. For everything. Honestly, I have no idea what I’d have done if you hadn’t been seduced by those chips.”
Rufus’s cheeks got