From the corner of his eye, he saw Mateo turn to look at him in the dark car. Seconds later, he couldn’t stop his eyes from falling on Mateo, too.

“What’s your story, man? Who are you? On the surface, you have your shit together more than anyone I’ve seen. One of those guys I’d think had never been through anything. But that’s not what’s really there. Under the surface, you’re just as fucked up as I am, aren’t you?”

In that sentence, Mateo nailed down everything about him and made his heart race. He was just as Mateo said, but he wanted everyone to see that put-together man he tried to portray. “You know the answer to that question, so why ask? As for my story, you also know I won’t tell it, so we’re just wasting our time here.”

Mateo’s hand slipped off his wrist, and Tristan got out of the car. As soon as they stepped inside, the scent of Italian food bombarded his senses.

“It’s almost ready!” Josiah called out from the kitchen. Tristan set his briefcase by the door and headed that way. He didn’t fully get through the kitchen doorway before Josiah stood in front of him.

Tristan tilted Josiah’s head up with a finger under his chin and pressed a kiss to his lips. “It smells fantastic.”

“Thanks.” Josiah kissed him again before pulling away. “I’m starved. It was a busy day at the coffee house, and then I had an appointment with the realtor after. She—”

His speech dropped off when Mateo stepped around Tristan. “Teo. Hey. I thought you weren’t coming.”

Mateo shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that contrasted the tense set of them. “Eh. Figured I couldn’t pass up a home-cooked meal.”

That had nothing to do with the reason Mateo was there, but Tristan didn’t call him on it. Josiah turned to Tristan, his eyes saying so much. Thank you... I’m sorry...

But he had nothing to be sorry about. Tristan hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t do things he didn’t want to. If there was a part of him that didn’t want Mateo here, he wouldn’t be.

The buzzer on the stove went off, breaking through the silence in the room. Without a word, Josiah went to the stove, pulling a rectangular baking dish out of the oven. Tristan went straight for his wine. He withdrew a bottle then glanced over his shoulder at Mateo. Josiah would have one glass with him. He always did. Tristan held up the bottle. “Would you like some?”

Mateo’s forehead wrinkled. “Do I really look like a wine kind of guy to you? Hell, I’d rather sell that bottle. It’s probably worth a few days’ pay. Got a beer?”

The room was silent for a moment as they both stared at Mateo. Josiah laughed first. Then Mateo. Tristan couldn’t help the chuckle that fell from his mouth, too. When the laughter died down, he felt like he could breathe again. As though the tension that had filled the room all leaked out.

“Everyone can be a wine kind of guy, Mateo. Come here.”

Mateo shook his head as though he thought Tristan was crazy, yet he still walked over to him. He slipped the bottle from his hand and back into the cooler, pausing before pulling out one of his favorite whites.

Tristan popped the cork, plucked a glass from the top of the cooler, and poured a little in. When Mateo tried to grab it from his hand, Tristan pulled back. “Don’t be in such a hurry. Wine is something to be savored. Let yourself really taste it.”

“You’re crazy.” Mateo shook his head.

“Trust me.”

They both froze at that. Trust. The word wasn’t something Tristan truly believed in. Or he hadn’t. But then...he’d grown to trust Josiah, hadn’t he? And Josiah had never done anything to betray that trust.

And damned if there wasn’t a part of him that trusted Mateo, too.

As the pause drew out between them, his chest grew tight, because he realized this turned into something more than trusting him with the wine.

Slowly, his rough, beat-up hand reached for the glass. This time, Tristan let him take it. Mateo paused before he raised the glass to his mouth. Paused before taking a drink and lowering it, taking his time, just as Tristan had said.

And then he frowned. “How about that beer now?” Mateo asked. Damned if the three of them didn’t start laughing again.

Tristan had never really been much of a laugher, but somehow when Mateo came to dinner the next night, they found something else to laugh over, too. And then the next, and the next. That didn’t mean things weren’t awkward, because they were. It didn’t mean there weren’t times the looks Mateo and Josiah shared with each other didn’t rip Tristan up inside... But there were also those times when he felt Mateo’s eyes linger on him. When Josiah would innocently touch him, and it took all the strength he had in himself not to fuck them both right then and there.