Starting from Scratch Read online Lane Hayes (Starting From #2)

Categories Genre: Gay, GLBT, M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Starting from Series by Lane Hayes
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Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
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“…the meeting with the bank is at one…Yes, that’s right. I’ll see you there. Thank you.” He slipped his phone in his pocket and set his hands on his hips before meeting my gaze. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just hangin’ out,” I replied casually. I noted his colorful but fashionable exec wear, Charlie-style. The blue plaid suit was killer. It offset his eyes and his halo of golden curls. Fuck, he was beautiful.

“Did you want to talk to me?” he asked.

“Yeah. Do you have a minute? I have something I want to give you.”

“Um…sure.” He frowned before stepping closer.

I stood, then tugged at his wrist and opened the front door. “They’re for you.”

Charlie’s lips twitched and his eyes sparked with humor as he bent to pick up the package on the doormat. “It’s a pound of flour tied with a red ribbon. Wow. You shouldn’t have.”

“There are eleven more.”

He threw his head back and guffawed. “You bought me a dozen flours?”

“Yeah. Read the note,” I instructed, gesturing at the attached card.

“It says ‘Charlie.’ What is this?”

“Go on, just pick up the cards and when you get to your car, read them in order.”

Charlie flashed a lopsided grin at me before plucking the cards off the beribboned bags of flours. “Now?”

I met him at the bottom of the path. “Yeah…now.”

“Charlie. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love—” He looked up at me with wide eyes. “They all say the same thing.”

I nodded and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. “I’m not much of a poet, but…I love you, Char. I love you. And I fuckin’ miss you.”

Charlie brushed his hand over his nose and sniffed. “I miss you too. I’m sorry, Ky. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I knew about your dad. I’m sorry I called him. I’m sorry.”

“I went to see him. I realized you were probably right. I was giving him free rent in my head, and I was the one paying the cable bill.”

He smiled at my lame joke. “What’d he say?”

“He’s an asshole, Char. He’s not going to change. But that’s his story. It’s not mine.”

“Oh. What’s your story about?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. I’m in love with my best friend. I’ve never been in love. I thought it would be different. Less traumatic, you know? I thought the person I’d want to be with for the rest of my life would be a little more like me. I didn’t dare dream I might have a chance with someone like you. You fucking take my breath away, Char. I wake up sometimes in the middle of the night and just watch you…and I can’t wait for you to wake up in the morning and start talking to me. Telling me crazy shit about your cat and your underwear collection and the time you caught the garter at a wedding you crashed in Vegas and…” I pursed my lips, hoping to hold off my tears while I wiped Charlie’s cheeks dry. “Don’t ever stop talking to me. Don’t ever stop making me laugh. And if you love me…please don’t stop loving me.”

Charlie flew into my arms and wrapped himself around me. “I do love you. And just so we’re clear, I was never going to let you go. I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to crowd you or overwhelm you with…me.”

“That’s exactly what I want, Char. Crowd me, overwhelm me. I don’t want space. I want you.” I kissed his lips, eyes, nose, and then rested my forehead against his. “I want to make us work, baby. The band is important, I get that, but…I think we’re more important. You’re my rhythm, my beat, my rock…my everything. I’m willing to take a chance if you are.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes—”

I put my hand over his mouth and chuckled when he widened his eyes innocently. “What are you doing?”

“A dozen flours should get a dozen yeses…or yeasts. Does that make sense? I’m not sure. It’s probably the wrong kind of flour for bread. But it’s perfect for cookies and cakes.”

“Wow. I missed you.”

We laced our fingers as we turned to the house, snickering at the packages lining the pathway. The soft chuckles soon gave way to laughter. The joyous kind that sparked gratitude for a new beginning, starting from scratch.

Epilogue

“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.”—Rumi

Charlie

Moving sucked. Hiring a company to take care of the heavy lifting helped for sure, but it didn’t make the boxes disappear any faster. I examined the labels on the four boxes stacked next to the kitchen, then checked out the three near the sliding glass door leading to our terrace with a spectacular view of the Pacific. It was magnificent. If we had a chaise lounge, I would have been out there now soaking up the sun with a pitcher of margaritas. Venice Beach people-watching in July was off the charts.


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