Apples and gin, p.1
Apples & Gin, page 1
Apples & Gin
Apples & Gin #1
MissLucyJane
MissLucyJane.com
Apples & Gin (Apples & Gin #1)
Copyright © 2009 by Misslucyjane
All rights reserved.
No portion of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Misslucyjane.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contents
1. Now
2. Ten Years Ago
3. Now
4. Nine Years Ago
5. Now
6. Seven Years Ago
7. Now
About the Author
Also By MissLucyJane
one
Now
Noah Kingston sat on the landing, glass of scotch in hand, and watched the party going on below. It was a small gathering, only thirty people or so: Sawyer’s backup band and personal assistant and manager, and Noah’s partners from his photography studio, as well as some of their employees, actual friends, and people Sawyer liked and Noah could tolerate or vice-versa.
Despite the small size — though Sawyer would say the small size was the best part — and the variety of the guest list, it was a good party. People were chatting, music was playing, and there was plenty of beer and snacks in the kitchen. Candles in punched-tin buckets led to the tiny dock on the canal and reflected on the water, along with the lights Noah had hung from the balcony on the upper floor. It was all in celebration of Sawyer Shaw and the completion of his new album.
Sawyer was easy to spot from Noah’s position: laughing in the center of a group on the sofa, his long legs sprawled out as he cradled a beer bottle against his thigh, the only person in the room to wear plaid. His laugh was joyous, infectious, and everyone around him responded to it, from Terry Silver, his manager, to Sandi, the receptionist from Allen Kingston Stone.
Noah sipped his scotch. He supposed he should be making more of an effort, playing the host, making certain all the guests had a good time — but they were having a good time without his interference, and he could just watch, which he preferred to do anyway. Not just Sawyer — though he always found Sawyer worth watching — but the swirls and eddies of all the guests, their friends who knew each other because they knew Sawyer or Noah. He loved, for instance, to see his business partner Jonas Allen laughing with Sawyer’s sound engineer, or see Terry dancing with one of Noah’s assistants, or Sawyer’s personal assistant Arden sitting with his backup band and looking perfectly happy and comfortable between them.
He tilted his head at the black-clad woman who climbed up the stairs and sat on the landing beside him. She tucked her long skirt neatly under her legs and looked at him, friendly and unfamiliar.
“I don’t know anybody here,” she said without preamble. “Well, except for Sawyer, and I don’t think I could say I know him so much as I’ve seen him around the office. And I know my date, of course.” Noah nodded, having another sip, and she said, “And I saw you, and I thought, hey, here’s another person who doesn’t know anybody and I thought — well, obviously, here I am.”
“You are quite welcome to join me in watching the party,” Noah said.
“Thanks.” The woman nodded, smoothing her skirt. “It’s not like most industry parties I’ve been to. It’s mellow. “
“It’s not exactly an industry party,” Noah said. “It’s a ‘yay, the album’s done, I feel like having a party’ kind of party.”
“You must know Sawyer well. Like I said, I’ve only seen him around the office. And I’ve heard some of his music, of course.” She hesitated. “Is he really as good a musician as they say he is? Because his songs all sound pretty ordinary to me. Of course, I’m not really a country fan.”
“He’s a really good musician,” Noah said. “One of the best in any genre.”
“I keep hearing that. I’m not sure I believe it.”
Noah looked at her, cocking an eyebrow. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“He’s too good-looking. And all he does is sing,” she said. “And play a little guitar. My twelve-year-old nephew can sing and play guitar.”
Noah had another sip. “Sawyer writes all of his own songs, in addition to arranging them, and he played all the instruments on his first album and his fourth one. Granted, the first one was just him and the guitar, and the fourth one was just the guitar and a piano with an occasional mandolin, but he played all three.”
The woman looked nonplussed. “You must work for the label. Have I seen you around the office, too? You seem familiar but I can’t place you.”
“I’m in photography. Everything on the walls,” he gestured to the room below them where several of his pictures hung in an orderly row, “is mine.”
“Oh,” she said, “I’m sorry. You’re Noah Kingston. I’m Betsy,” she added, looking embarrassed. “Betsy Black. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. You don’t look anything like your pictures.”
“It’s the beard,” Noah said, scratching it. “The beard always throws people off. I usually shave after a trip, but I haven’t yet from the last one.”
“I think you should keep it. It suits you.” She smiled at him, a little more at ease. “So, you’re the other half of the bromance.” Noah chuckled. “Is that what they’re calling it?”
“Yes,” she said, smoothing her skirt again. “It’s touching, really: big-name photographer takes country boy under his wing and they both live happily ever after. It’s like Sawyer’s your little brother.”
Noah drank. “Little brother, best friend — bromance is a good name for it.”
Betsy got up and went to the wall behind them, where more of Noah’s photographs hung in white mattes and black frames in a row along the wall. She stepped close to one of the framed photographs, studying it with a serious expression. “You have a beautiful eye.”
“Thanks.” He watched her; she was dressed more formally than anyone else here, in her light sweater and slim skirt and serious shoes, and while she was pretty, she had a severity to her that said she was determined to be taken seriously above everything else. He hoped she managed to find whatever she was looking for here. Los Angeles was not a kind city.
“You photograph him with such — um — compassion.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “Compassion” was not the way he’d describe it. In the photograph Betsy was looking at, Noah had posed Sawyer in an iron washtub in an abandoned barn, wearing nothing but a cowboy hat, a leather necklace, and a smile. Sawyer had used it for his fourth album, an acoustic one he named Stripped. Wal-Mart had refused to carry it.
It had sold by the truckload.
He said, “Thanks,” anyway, and added, “I can get him to play something, if you want.”
“Oh, no,” said Betsy. “I’m sure he just wants to relax.”
“Nah, he loves to play. He’s a big show-off.” Noah called down the stairs, “Sawyer!” and Sawyer stopped talking to whoever he was talking to and turned to him as conversation fell quiet all around the room.
“What?” Sawyer smiled wryly at him.
“I think it’s time for a little fiddle.”
“Oh, God, now?” Sawyer said, but his backup band was laughing and slapping each other’s shoulders, which meant Noah really didn’t have much convincing to do.
“Now,” Noah said. “Please.”
Sawyer shook his head, grinning. “You are so dead.” He waved to the stereo. “Somebody, turn that off.” He went into the guest room where the smaller instruments were kept. Kit turned off the iPod on the stereo and B.J. opened the baby grand.
Sawyer came back with the fiddle and acoustic guitar, which he gave to Kit. They both spent a few minutes tuning, Kit following Sawyer’s lead, while the three of them discussed what song to play. At the top of the stairs, Noah leaned his elbows on his knees and Betsy joined him on the landing again, while the guests got comfortable on the sofas or the steps below him.
“Okay,” Sawyer said, “no microphone, so you’ll just have to put up with my mumbling.” Chuckles scattered around the room. “We’re going to do a little Charlie Daniels, ’cause that’s the best fiddle song ever.” People murmured in anticipation and B.J. started hammering on the piano as Sawyer drew the bow across the strings.
They had no drums, but Kit kept the rhythm on the guitar and B.J. on piano, and everyone was soon clapping or stomping their feet in time. Sawyer’s voice was low and growly on the verses, his brow furrowed in concentration as he played the violin. When it was the devil’s part of the duel, his fingers flew across the strings to make the violin call like demons howling across the countryside. When it was Johnny’s turn, the best fiddler who’d ever been according to the story, Sawyer laughed as he played, his head bobbing, his fingers swift and sure, the heels of his boots stomping on the hardwood floor.
They finished the song with a flourish, B.J. pounding the last chords on the piano, and Sawyer bowed as the guests applauded and laughed. His gaze caught Noah’s, and Noah smiled with pride and nodded to him. Sawyer rolled his eyes in return and turned to put the fiddle back in its case.
“There,” Noah said to Betsy. “He’s really very good.”
“I’ll tell everyone I know,” Betsy said and laughed.
***
By two in the morning everyone had left but Arden, Sawyer’s personal assistant, who was picking up glasses and bottles left throughout the house. Wisps of blonde hair had fallen from her French braid and she’d taken off her shoes. She paused to crack her toes and stretch out her ankles before bending to pick up a few more beer bottles.
Noah went to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Arden,” he said seriously. “Go home.”
“It’s a mess,” Arden said, blinking up at him with sleepy brown eyes.
“It’s not your job to keep the house tidy,” Noah said. “The housekeeper is coming tomorrow and I warned her in advance to bring some help.”
“Yes, but—“
“But nothing. Go home. Get some sleep.”
“All right, Noah,” she said, and put the garbage bag she’d been filling in the kitchen. “Where’s Sawyer?”
“Out on the dock.” He opened the front door and called in a low tone, hoping not to disturb the neighbors. “Sawyer, come say good night to Arden!”
“I thought Arden left,” Sawyer said as he came inside, carrying a few empty beer bottles and glasses. “Go home already, girl.”
“I’m going now. You’re due at the studio at ten,” she reminded him in a no-nonsense tone.
“I will be there at ten.” Sawyer kissed her forehead. “Good night, Arden.”
“Good night, Sawyer.” She turned to go, waving good night to Noah.
“Have a good time in Greece, Noah.”
“It’s Malta, and I will.” He shut the door behind her. He turned all the locks and watched out the window for Arden’s car to pull away, only turning off the porch lights when she was gone.
Noah went back into the living room — which was, Arden was right, a mess — where Sawyer was turning off the lights. “You were great tonight,” Noah said.
“Party trick.” Sawyer nodded to the back door. “Come outside with me.” He went out to their dock on the canal, where a few candles still burned in their little buckets and the air smelled of running water. There were a few faint splashes, which Noah knew were ducks having a midnight snack.
Sawyer bent and blew out all but one of the candles, and then sat on the dock and pulled off his boots so he could dangle his feet in the water. Noah stepped out of his own canvas shoes and lowered himself to the boards, and inhaled slowly as he looked at the hedges and trees across the canal. The lights were off at most of their neighbors’, but at least no one had complained about the noise.
“It’s a good party trick. It never fails to impress.”
“Thanks,” Sawyer said, laughing, and nudged his shoulder against Noah’s. “Were you impressed?”
“Always.” Noah returned Sawyer’s smile. “What’s left for you to do in the studio tomorrow?”
“Technical stuff. Sound levels, deciding the track order, the usual. We’ll get the album to the label by next Friday.” He leaned closer so he could rest his head on Noah’s shoulder. Noah stroked his fingertips through Sawyer’s spiky brown hair. “Do you want to come and hang out while we work on it?”
“I’ve got a shoot scheduled. We can hang out here when you’re done for the day.”
“Hiding out again.” He sighed.
“When you’re in a secret relationship,” Noah said dryly, “hiding out is inevitable. But since people seem to believe it’s just a bromance—“
Sawyer started laughing. “A what?”
“A bromance. That’s that the blonde I was talking to called it. Best friends with a little extra spice, I guess. “
“Oh, that’s fuckin’ funny,” Sawyer said, and kicked his feet in the water. “A bromance.” Noah smiled, watching the moonlight ripple on the water, and Sawyer said, “I can believe most people think we’re just friends. We hardly get to spend any time together anymore. You’ve got your photo shoots all around the world, and I’m on tour six or eight months every year, and you can’t always come along, and I miss you.” He looked at Noah, far more serious than usual. “I always miss you.”
“I miss you, too, kid,” Noah said. “Next time we’re in the same time zone we’ll schedule things better, and maybe you could come with me when I have to jet off to the far corners of the world.”
“Or you could say no to the next spoiled movie star who wants only you to photograph him.”
“Hey.” He pulled Sawyer closer, his arm around Sawyer’s shoulder. “David and I are old friends. I’ve known him since college — I’ve been photographing him for that long. I’m not going to say no when he asks.”
“Okay, okay. No refusing the spoiled movie stars.” Sawyer kissed his cheek. Noah inhaled and shoved his fingers deep into Sawyer’s hair, making a soft sound in his throat. Sawyer kissed him again, smiling, his tongue darting out to flick the skin by Noah’s ear. “Five days,” Sawyer whispered. “Five whole days without you.” He sighed and Noah raked his fingers deeper into Sawyer’s hair. “Hey. Can you keep a secret?”
Noah laughed. “I should think so, by this point.”
“This is a different kind of secret.” He lifted his head. “This is something everybody’s going to know eventually. Kit’s going to ask Arden to marry him.”
“Seriously?” Noah blinked in surprise — but it made sense, the way they’d been snuggling together during the party, all the times they’d shared a smile that didn’t include anyone else. “Wow. That’s great. She’s a great kid. I knew they’d gone out a few times but I didn’t think it was that serious.”
“Apparently it is,” Sawyer said. “Hey.”
“Yeah?” He rubbed Sawyer’s scalp with his fingertips.
“Do you ever think about getting married?”
“Oh,” Noah said and his hand stilled. “No.”
“Not ever?” Sawyer said, lifting his head. “‘Cause I do.”
That was even more surprising than the news about Kit and Arden, and Noah couldn’t answer for a moment.
“I really haven’t. I guess I never thought it would apply to me.”
“Oh,” Sawyer said. He laid his head on Noah’s shoulder again.
Noah moved his hand down to rub Sawyer’s back. “But you do think about it.”
“I think about it a lot. You and me have been together for a long time — longer than a lot of people I know have been married. And now the laws are changing all over the place, so we could, y’know, actually do it.”
“We could,” Noah said with wonder. “Do you want to?”
“I don’t know,” Sawyer said. “I guess I’m just thinking.” He traced circles on Noah’s knee. “Will you start thinking, too?”
“I’ll start thinking,” Noah said. He patted Sawyer’s back. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
Sawyer grinned and leaped up, grabbed Noah’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “The magic words, brown-eyed handsome man.” Noah let Sawyer pull him along, laughing when Sawyer stopped and kissed him and tugged his shirt over his head. Noah grabbed Sawyer’s shirt as well and yanked it off, grinning at the sound of buttons rattling on the deck, and Sawyer muttered into his mouth, “I liked that shirt.”
“I’ll fix that shirt.” Sawyer wore a T-shirt under his button-down, and Noah slid his hands up under it along Sawyer’s back.
“Liar. You can’t sew.” Sawyer’s fingers raked through Noah’s hair and Sawyer pulled back Noah’s head to give him a hard, long kiss.
Noah inhaled and held Sawyer’s waist, stroking his back with light fingertips. Seven years and his heart still raced when Sawyer kissed him like this. He whispered, “I hope I never fall out of love with you.” Sawyer laughed and stepped out Noah’s arms. He pulled his T-shirt off slowly, sucking in his belly and arching his back like a striptease, and Noah growled and grabbed him for another kiss.
“Fuck, I love you,” Sawyer said and pulled on Noah’s hips to get him into the house.
Noah kissed him again when they were inside and pushed him against the nearest wall. He’d never dare do this in the day, not with their big windows and the neighbors just across the canal, but at night he could do anything — including pulling down Sawyer’s jeans as he slid down onto his knees.
“Oh,” Sawyer breathed, his hand raking through Noah’s hair, “I’ve been wanting this all night.”
