A Guy for Christmas - K.C. Wells Page 0,36

passing the mashed potatoes to his dad.

“That’s it? We don’t even get a hint?” Dad teased.

“Remember Mr. Quentin, who came to the boatyard to order a canoe?”

Dad coughed. “It was less than two weeks ago. I think I can remember that far back. Where did you see him?”

“He’d been out for a run.” Robin hated the lies with a passion. He hoped to God his face wasn’t flushed.

“Someone else who likes exercising at night,” Mom commented. “Having said that, I guess his school work keeps him busy. It might be the only time he gets.”

“He knows we’re not going to start work on his canoe until after New Year’s, doesn’t he?” Dad asked. “I did tell him that.”

“I’m sure he does, but we weren’t talking about the canoe. He was kinda excited. A friend of his is about to perform in a dance production Off-Broadway. Apparently, Mr. Quentin danced in one of his shows once.” Robin’s heart pounded. This isn’t gonna work.

“Wow.” Mom widened her eyes. “He must be good. Well, both of them. So what kind of production is his friend dancing in?”

“I’m not sure,” Robin said truthfully. “I made Mr. Quentin laugh though. I told him about when I was a kid.”

Before he could say any more, Mom laughed. “My little would-be Nureyev.”

Robin frowned. “Who?”

She sighed. “Never mind. You were so enraptured by ballet. I’ve got a video of you someplace.”

He stared at her in horror. “What kind of video? I don’t remember that.”

“Oh my God, you were adorable. You were wearing your Spiderman underwear, and cavorting all around the yard, twirling and leaping, like you’d seen them dancing on TV.”

Dad let out an explosive snort, which he then muffled with his hand. He glanced at Mom. “And he thought we’d be surprised he’s gay.”

Robin made a mental note to go through the box of video tapes in the attic, and find it. That was one video that would never see the light of day again. Then he recalled there’d been a point to this conversation.

“Well, after Mr. Quentin found out how much I’d liked the ballet, he asked if I would be interested in seeing the production with him. He’s got a spare ticket for the opening night. The friend who was going with him had canceled on him.”

Dad frowned. “Seriously?”

Robin nodded. “He said he’d be going the day before, when school closes for the holidays, and coming home Sunday. He said he’d take me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and a bunch of other cool places.” He summoned up all his courage. “I said I’d love to go. I’ve never been to a theater in New York before. It sounds amazing. And I don’t remember anything from that last trip we took there.”

Mom glanced at Dad, who shrugged. “Where would you stay?” Mom inquired.

“Mr. Quentin said he’d get me a room at the same hotel where he’s staying.”

Another glance at his dad. “What do you think?” she said.

“Maybe I should talk to him.” When Robin opened his mouth to speak, Dad held up his hand. “Yes, I know you’re eighteen, and you’re a man now, and yes, I know he’s an okay guy—well, he seems like one—but I’d still like to talk to him. This is a huge deal, son. You’ve never done anything like this. Hell, you had to be dragged kicking and screaming to summer camp when you were a kid.”

“That was only because you sent me there with Ryan,” Robin retorted.

Mom chuckled at that.

Dad waved his hand. “I’m not talking about grilling the man. I only want to make sure he’ll look out for you. It’s an awfully big city, and nowhere near as safe as Lake Placid. I’ll call him tomorrow. I’ve got his number at work—it’s on his order details—so I’ll go to the office in the morning.” He glanced at Robin’s plate. “Eat. Your dinner’s getting cold.”

Robin wasn’t sure he could eat a thing right then. He took a forkful of chicken, but his mouth was dry as a bone, and his throat tighter than a fish’s asshole. He did his best to eat most of it, but he was counting the minutes until he could be excused from the table and go to his room to text Dean.

Gotta warn him what’s coming his way. Not that he thought Dean would be concerned, but forewarned was forearmed, right?

“This production… it’s the day after the high school closes, did you say?” Dad asked suddenly.

“Yes, sir.”

Dad nodded slowly. “So you’d be