Since forever, it seems, so many of you have been asking (begging?) me to finish (or continue writing more of) this story. After months of total blockage I decided to reread the whole thing. Something I'd never done. I was shamed by all the blatant mistakes that I had made and I'm not talking about typos and punctuation. So... I've rewritten it. Pray that I have gotten it all correct this time. Ben, I want you to know that I love ya and appreciate all the help you give me. Here's to you.

Oh, I claim all responsibility for any errors in this text. After Ben went over it, I couldn't keep my fingers out of the pudding. JWS

Those Golden Eyes

Chapter 1

by JWSmith

Dave rested his elbows on the polished worn wood of the bar. Supporting his chin on his fists, he stared into the depths of the amber liquor of his third Glenlivet on the rocks. He took a sip. It was smooth on the tongue, but strong and burned his throat slightly as it went down.

Although he wasn't out to get drunk, the third glass of single malt Scotch had lowered the guards on his emotions. Only a couple of times had he ever really drank enough to get drunk, but those had been happier times. Times when Bill had been there to take care of him. He decided this would be his last one, even though he wasn't driving he still had several blocks to traverse and two of them were through the university campus. It wouldn't do to have students that he had to deal with in his bookstore see him staggering home. He didn't want to get that drunk. He carefully set the glass on the white paper napkin.

Today was his forty-second birthday. It was his second birthday without Bill. Bill had always made a big to do over Dave's birthdays. Now Bill was gone, and he was left to celebrate his birthday alone. He wallowed in feeling sorry for himself. He was alone. After sixteen years of blissful marriage he was alone. Bill had been the center of his life and now he was gone. Anger boiled up toward his deceased partner. How could a man just go to sleep after a wonderful session of lovemaking and not wake up the next morning? He had loved sex with Bill. That last time had been as exciting, fulfilling and full of love as any previous time.

For months after Bill's death he had simply shut down his emotions and not let himself feel his loss. It had been one year, seven months, two weeks and five days. Dave had been aware of each day and had gotten through it by sticking to a strict regimen of keeping his mind and body busy. He was up at six every morning for a two mile run, and then back to the house to start a pot of coffee brewing while he showered and dressed. Fifteen minutes to sit and read the paper while he drank the coffee and ate a piece of scraped toast. He'd become accustomed to scraped toast early in his life with Bill. Bill had been a good cook, but he never mastered the art of turning bread into toast with out charring it. He then had to scrape the burned surface off before buttering it. Dave discovered that he'd acquired a taste for it. Regular toast didn't taste the same. It just didn't taste as good, so Dave continued to burn his toast and scrape it just like Bill had done.

When he finished his second cup of coffee, it was off to the bookstore for the day. He and Bill had opened the store the year they had graduated from college. Dave had always been frugal with his money. He worked his way through school saving every penny he could. So with the money he'd saved and a small inheritance from his maternal grandmother and a matching amount from Bill they'd rented the store front in the building that was now all part of the bookstore. Over the years it had grown and expanded into the best book store in the city. Of course, just being on the edge of the campus had helped it become a successful business. And, of course, having the little coffee shop that Bill had insisted on as part of the store had helped, too. The coffee shop had become a strong draw and a major hangout for many of students over the years.

The coffee shop was what had finally been the end for Bill. He drank innumerable cups of cappuccino a day. And of course he had to have his favorite pastries with it. Cream cheese and Marmalade Danish was his favorite. The doctor had admonished him to cut down on the caffeine and the cholesterol. Dave had felt like a harpy being on his case constantly about it. Bill's response had been that his father had died young and he felt he probably had no choice in the matter since it was in his genes; so he would eat what he pleased, thank you very much. Bill had made his choice, and that choice had left Dave alone.

Between helping customers, keeping up on the inventory and doing much the of paper work, Dave never had a problem staying busy in the bookstore. At seven, every evening, he turned it over to his assistant, Sue Morrows, to manage for the last two hours, and he went home. He worked out in his basement gym, where he had a treadmill and free weights, until he was tired enough to sleep. Then, he took a shower and made himself a light simple meal, watched the evening news and then went to bed.

For the first few months after Bill died Dave had found it hard to get to sleep, lying by himself in the same bed that he had always shared. But, now, he could fall right to sleep and not awaken until six when he would rise to start his day all-over again.

But this evening was different, this night of his forty-second birthday, he had disrupted his routine. Sue and his employees had a little party for him with cake and cards. He had left soon after the cake was served and the cards had been opened. He'd lied to them, telling them that some friends were having another party for him. He had left the store and wandered into this bar for a drink.

In the past months, while shutting down his emotions, he'd succeeded in pushing away all his friends as he closed the world out. They had been mostly Bill's anyway he told himself. Bill had been the gregarious one, the one who loved having lots of people around. For Dave, Bill had been all he needed. His life revolved around him alone.

So here he sat in The Off Campus Bar. The bar was neither straight, nor gay. It was nearly always a comfortable mix. A perfect place, to celebrate his second birthday alone. Ha! What was there to celebrate? A birthday only meant that he was getting older. And you don't celebrate getting older when you are alone. ~~~~~

Joe Paolini drove his little red Italian Ferrari up the street, looking for a good parking space. He'd had a good day working beside all the muscular construction workers on the new downtown site. He was tired, but it was a good tired. He liked his life, even though he had no one special to share it with. He had thought that he had found the one man to share his life with a few years ago, only to be badly hurt. Joe had shied away from trying another relationship. His life was full. He did what he wanted, and didn't have to answer to anyone but himself, and being Italian, his mother, of course.

Tonight he was going to stop into his cousin Gio's restaurant for a fine meal to celebrate his thirty-ninth birthday, and then go home to his eyrie, for a good night's sleep. He'd right-out lied to his mother, telling her some friends were throwing him a party. She had wanted him and his siblings to come for a big Italian dinner to celebrate. He'd only succeeded in putting it off for a day. Tomorrow night he still had to show up for the family dinner.

The Off Campus Bar's neon sign up ahead flickered on in the evening's dusk. It seemed to beckon to him. Yeah, he thought, why not have a drink and loosen up a little before dinner. He wasn't going to be picking up a trick. He hated the emptiness of that. No, tonight it would be just Lady Five Fingers and himself, as it had been since the day he had found Eric in bed with another man.

There was an open parking space just waiting for him and he was just a half block from the restaurant. He parked, locked up the car, making sure he turned on the alarm, and then stepped into the bar. He stopped just inside the door to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. There wasn't a half dozen people at the tables and booths, and just one guy at the bar. Joe did a double take when he recognized the guy. "Damn, that's Dave Gates sitting at the bar," he whispered to himself.

He'd fantasized about Dave for many years. His senior year in college he had first seen Dave working in his newly opened bookstore. Dave was always dressed in Levi's, a plaid flannel shirt and cowboy boots. Dave's image had been instantly engraved into Joe's mind. He had set out to learn all he could about Dave. When he found he was happily involved in a long-term relationship with the co-owner of the bookstore, he had backed off of his pursuit, but he couldn't help but look and wish when he was in the bookstore. And then he'd met Eric and put Dave out of his mind. It wasn't until he came back from his self-banishment to Italy that he again took up his fixation with Dave. He would make a weekly pilgrimage to the bookstore to get a new Dave fix to fill his fantasies at night. Eventually, he formed a casual relationship with Bill, Dave's partner. They would sit over a cup of espresso and discuss whichever book Joe was buying that day.

He had been infatuated with Dave for so long he couldn't remember what it was like not to be. He was Joe's "Ideal Man." His short bristly brown hair, mustache and eyebrows contrasted with his smooth creamy-caramel skin. He had the urge to lick the skin on Dave's neck as he sat on the stool next to him. He sniffed at him. No, he could not get his scent; the bar's stench was too strong. He recalled the one time that Dave had stood close enough to him for him to catch his light cologne mixed with a scent that he identified as strictly Dave.

He had been looking for a particular book that he had wanted for a long time. Dave had come up unnoticed and ask if he needed help. "NUNQUAM by Lawrence Durrell," he had replied, knowing it was Dave standing next to him, afraid to look at him, yet his whole body quivered with the awareness of his proximity. Dave had pulled the book off a shelf and handed it to him. Joe had taken it and turned to the first page. As he read, Dave had stood there watching him. He had looked up from the book and gotten lost for a moment in Dave's eyes and then realizing he was staring, he had snapped the book closed and with a curt "Thanks," had run from him. The poetry of Durrell's words had mixed with Dave's natural smell. To this day Joe could read the first page and his memory was filled with the Dave, scent and all.

Joe had stayed away from the bookstore since Bill had died several months ago. When he'd learned of Bill's death and had seen the empty expression on Dave's face, it had scared him. Maybe it was because he had felt the way Dave looked when he had walked in on Eric in bed with that man. Something had died in him that day. He'd lost the love on which his world revolved.

And here Dave sat at the bar next to him. Joe knew that Dave was single; he'd actually attended Bill's funeral. He'd sat in the back at the service, not wanting to intrude on Dave's loss, even though Dave would probably have been completely unaware of him if he'd sat right next to him. He didn't know how to handle Dave's grief and had just stayed away from him, until now. Joe realized there was nothing but his own inhibitions keeping him from talking to him.

He just couldn't help but rub against Dave as he sat down next to him and ordered a beer. Dave just stared into his glass of scotch and ignored being jostled Joe picked up his beer and took a swig. He sat the bottle down and flexed his wrist. The muscles were tight and sore. He noticed Dave's stare move from the glass to his arm. He seemed to be mesmerized by it. Joe flexed his forearm again. Dave continued to stare at it. Joe watched as his eyes traveled to his hand. He noticed that Dave shivered. He turned his hand over as Dave continued to study it. He opened it. Dave leaned toward it, obviously studying the lines in his palm. Joe whispered, "Do you see yourself there?" Dave didn't seem to have heard him.

~ ~ ~

As Dave sat on the tall bar stool, staring into his drink, the scotch having loosened his thoughts, he became aware that someone had occupied the stool next to him. Without turning his head, he glanced sideways and saw a tanned muscular forearm covered with sun-bleached hair, straight fine hair. Hair that looked so soft that he wanted to reach out and caress it. He watched the arm, fascinated by the defined muscular movement under the skin as the man flexed his wrist. The hair rippled as the muscles beneath moved. He was mesmerized.

He studied the hand attached to the strong wrist. He'd always had a fascination with strong manly hands, almost to the point of it being a fetish. After looking at a man's face he always checked out his hands. Bill had had big strong hands. He and Bill both had calloused hands having always done all the yard work in their large old fashioned yard that covered a quarter of a block. Calloused hands got Dave right in the pit of his being.

This strong hand was weather worn, tanned. The bleached hair covered the back of the dark tanned hand and all of the first knuckles of the long blunt fingers. A few scars marred the sun-browned skin on the knuckles. The nails were neatly trimmed and clean. He noted that the nail on the long second finger was deformed, it had been smashed and had begun growing a new nail. For Dave, that didn't mar its masculine beauty.

Dave wondered what the palm side looked like, with heavy callouses formed from a life of hard manual labor. As if on command the hand turned over and the fingers straightened. He imagined the calloused fingers caressing his body. He quivered at that thought. Dave then studied the palm, noting a long life line. The love line started out rather weak. Half an inch from the beginning of the line another short line crossed it. The intersection of the two lines was red, angry. He wondered if the man had really been hurt as badly as the line indicated. From there, it became a strong deep line that wrapped around the side of his palm. "Whoever this man loves is going to be well-loved for a lifetime," Dave thought to himself.

"Do you see yourself there?" The man's voice was soft, low and soothing. Dave didn't realize the man had spoken. The words were his own question. He wondered if it were possible, now that Bill was gone, to find another man to love for the rest of his life.

Dave let his eyes travel back up the arm past the elbow. The bulging bicep stretched the rolled-up plaid flannel shirt sleeve. His eyes traveled past the muscle-stretched roll of fabric, on up to the shoulder. He took note of the tuft of light brown hair in the open neck of the plaid shirt. It, too, was straight and fine like the hair on his arms. Dave looked up into his warm hazel green eyes, dappled with gold flecks. he became aware that the man had been watching as he studied his arm and hand. The man was beautiful. His light brown hair, bleached by the sun, parted on the left side, hung over his forehead on the right, giving him a boyish look. There was a bit of grey at the temples. He had a strong chiseled chin covered in a dark five-o-clock shadow; there was a sprinkling of grey there too. A long aquiline nose with flaring nostrils perched above a neatly trimmed mustache and firm lips that turned up at the corners, giving him a perpetual smile. 'This is how the Mona Lisa's lips would look were she a man,' Dave thought. He looked back into his wide set eyes. He was in a deep woods looking up at the dappled sunlight through the tree tops. The color of the man's eyes changed as Dave stared into them. They were now mostly gold with green flecks, where before they were green with gold flecks. Those golden eyes haunted some ghost of a memory he couldn't draw forth. "I've seen those golden eyes before." he murmured.

The man smiled at him and Dave blushed. He turned back to his drink. He picked it up and took a big gulp. He choked on the strong liquor. The man thumped him on his back, instructed him to raise his arms above his head. The coughing subsided.

"Are you all right, buddy?" the man asked. The voice again washed over him. It was soothing, caring, oh so warming. The hand rubbing his back sent little shock waves through him.

Dave nodded and managed to find his tongue. "Yes. Yes, thanks." He didn't look up. He was still being embarrassed at having been caught looking, not only looking, but being interested in another man.

The man rested forward on his elbows and leaned toward Dave. "My name is Joe. And it's okay," he said.

Dave looked at him; his forehead furrowed. He wondered if the man was telling him that it's okay for him to be interested in him. "Okay?" He asked.

"Yeah, I don't mind you looking at me. I've looked at you for a long time. You're a damn good-looking man," Joe said, wondering where the courage to be so forward was coming from. He'd only had a couple of swallows of beer.

Dave blushed and looked around the bar to see who might have heard. There were a few patrons at the tables across the room. The bartender was at the other end of the bar. He looked back down at his drink. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"Have you got a name, or should I just continue to call you buddy?" Joe asked. He knew full well who Dave was, but had never been formally introduced to him. When he had stepped into the bar and had seen Dave sitting there so morose, he had known at that moment that his time had come. But Dave didn't even know he existed. As far as he knew, Dave had never looked at another man besides Bill.

Dave glanced up at him and smiled. It was a little smile, a sad smile. A smile that said, "It's nice of you to show interest, but you don't need to go out of your way for me."

Joe smiled back at him. "Yes, I'm coming on to you," he admitted aloud. "But why so sad?" He knew why Dave was still hurting. He wanted to get Dave to talk, then maybe he could alleviate the pain.

Dave stared at his drink a moment. This was the first time he had been out on his own since Bill had gone. He felt skittish. He glanced back up at Joe. Joe's concern stirred something in him. He made a decision at that moment to get on with his life. He sat up on his stool and turned to face Joe.

"I'm Dave Gates." He held out his hand. "I own---"

Joe swiveled on the barstool, and took Dave's hand in both of his. His countenance glowed with pleasure. "Gates-Way Bookstore." Joe said, finishing the sentence for him. Dave looked surprised as he smiled. "I've spent many hours in there," Joe explained.

"I'm sorry, Joe, but you just don't look like a book worm. You do look familiar, but I don't remember ever seeing you in the store. I'm sure that if I had, I would recall it."

"And you look like the owner of a books store? Not." Joe grinned. "Anyway, I used to have a beard And I was usually in a suit. I dress like this only on the job. I just got off work a little while ago. Didn't feel like going right home, so I stopped here for a drink."

"That puts a question or two in my head." Dave said.

Joe studied him for a moment.

"I'll answer them, if you will tell me why you look so sad." He had to get Dave talking about himself if he were going to get anywhere with him.

Dave turned back to the bar. He stared into his watery drink and then picked it up and drained it down his throat. He sat the glass down and stared at it.

"That bad, huh?" Joe asked.

Dave shrugged. "No, not really bad. I just haven't talked about it to anyone before." He kept his eyes on the empty glass.

Joe reached out and rubbed his hand up and down Dave's forearm. It felt so good. Dave missed being touched so much that it brought tears to his eyes. The calluses felt like he had imagined they would. Little shivers ran up and down his spine; he wanted more.

"Hey, it's alright," Joe said, soothing Dave's emotions. "You don't have to tell me."

Dave glanced up at Joe and saw the concern on his face. There was something more. Dave couldn't decide what it was, but it made him want to talk to Joe, to tell him everything. He stared back into his empty glass for a moment.

"I want to tell you about it, Joe. You're a nice man. And I-I want to.... ah..... know more about you, too." He took a deep breath and let out a ragged sigh. He turned back to face Joe. "A year and seven months ago I lost my partner. He died in his sleep." Dave realized, as he said it, that he had just outed himself to this man. He mentally shrugged, if Joe was worth getting to know it would be okay; if he wasn't- - well, nothing ventured nothing gained. He continued. "Today I'm forty-two and I'm feeling old and sorry for myself."

"Your mate was Bill Way. I knew him slightly, you know. I had heard that he had died. I haven't been in the bookstore for a while." Joe said. "He used to converse with me occasionally when I sat in the coffee shop to read. I could see why you loved him. He was a real sweetheart of a man. I'm so sorry for your loss." He paused wanting to wipe the tears from Dave's eyes, but he felt that kind of intimacy wouldn't yet be abided. "Dave, I wish there was something I could say or do to make you feel better." He took Dave's hand in both of his as he spoke.

Dave not only heard, but felt the sincerity of Joe's words. "You just did." He smiled a little more brightly. He covered Joe's hands with his other. "I do feel better. Thanks, Joe." They gazed into each other's eyes, reading the needs and desires each held hidden. After a moment, Dave broke the spell. He turned back towards the bar. "Would you like another drink?" he asked.

"No, Dave. And I don't think you really do either." Dave bristled. He turned and looked at Joe, surprised that he was being so assertive. Joe realized he had overstepped his bounds. "Wouldn't you rather go have dinner with me?" He asked, trying to look like a forlorn little boy and succeeding.

Dave smiled. There was no way he could refuse that look. "Yes. Yes, I would."

"Let's get out of here then." Joe grabbed his hand, pulling him off the barstool and out the door.

"Where to?" Dave asked.

"Are you familiar with Gio's Bistro?"

"Yes. It's an Italian restaurant around the corner, near my store. I've had their carry-out lunch, which is wonderful, but I've never had dinner there."

"Well, then, it's time you did. Dinner's on me."

"Hey, I can't let you do that. I hardly know you."

"It's your birthday and I hope you know me quite well before dinner is over."

They strolled around the corner to the restaurant with Joe's hand resting on Dave's shoulder. It felt natural to both of them. Joe was a good four inches taller than Dave who stood at five feet eight. As they walked they talked.

"You had some questions I haven't yet answered." Joe said. Dave looked up at him as though he were waiting for the answers, but he didn't say anything. Joe grinned at him when it looked like Dave was going to just stare at him. "So what are the questions?" he asked.

Dave startled. "Oh, well, let's see. First, what kind of work do you do?"

"Pretty obvious isn't it? Construction." Joe grinned at him.

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes. Dave kept looking up at Joe and shaking his head in disbelief that this macho guy was interested in him.

"So any more questions?" Joe asked, breaking the silence.

"Well, one I guess. Why didn't you want to go home tonight?"

Joe ducked his head. Suddenly he was feeling shy and backwards. "Because there is no one at home for me, either. And it's my birthday, too."

Dave smiled at him. "Happy birthday, Joe."

Joe grinned, stopped and hugged Dave. "Happy birthday to you, Dave. You're really forty-two? I would have guessed maybe thirty-two."

"I'm really forty-two as of today." Dave returned the hug with alacrity.

"You obviously take good care of yourself."

"Well, I used to be a bit lackadaisical about it, but since Bill died I've really been strict about my diet and working out. And how old are you today?"

They were just outside the restaurant. Joe opened the door, and gestured for Dave to enter. "Me? I'm thirty-nine."

Just as Dave started to say that Joe didn't look that old, he was interrupted by a rotund young man in a white apron and a floppy white chef's hat that hung over his right ear. Grinning, he swept Joe into a bearhug.

"Joe, happy birthday, partner. I'm so glad you've come to share your evening with me." He had a strong Italian accent.

"Thanks, Gio. Don't you dare let Mom know I'm here. This is my friend, Dave Gates, he owns the book store around the corner. I just discovered that it's his birthday, too. Dave this is my cousin Gio. That's G-I-O."

"Mr. Gates, it's so good to meet you. I've purchased many Italian cookbooks from you over the last couple of years. Happy birthday to you, too."

"Thank you, Gio. I remember seeing you in the store. And please call me Dave."

"Thank you, Dave. Let me seat you gentlemen."

With a flourish he turned to lead them, but he ended up following as Joe lead Dave to a private table in a corner where they could have a bit of privacy.

"This is the owners' table." Gio explained to Dave as he pulled a chair out for him. Joe had seated himself. "Only he and I and our special guests do we seat here."

"So we are your guests, Gio?" Dave asked.

"No-o-o-o. You are my cousin's guest." Gio said. He stood behind Joe with his hands on his shoulders. "I'll send Tommy right over." He patted Joe's cheek with affection and left for the kitchen.

Dave looked around. He was impressed by the tasteful appointments of the room. There were no plastic grapes nor wine bottles woven into baskets. The wood paneled walls were hung with oil paintings of Italian landscapes. The tables were covered with white clothes instead of the common red checkered ones. The wooden chairs were upholstered in a luxurious cloth. Nearly all the tables were occupied. People were talking, Classical piano music played in the background, and yet the noise level was low. It all bespoke of quiet luxury.

A young waiter in a white shirt and a tie, and a short apron around his waist came to their table. He was probably a college student Dave thought to himself.

"Good evening, Joe, and Happy Birthday, old man." He turned to Dave. " I am told it's you birthday today also. Happy birthday, sir."

"Thanks, Whippersnapper. Dave this is Tommy, Gio's other half. Tommy this is Dave. By the way, Dave, Tommy will be a quarter of a century old in less than two months."

Dave fell right in with ribbing on the younger man.

"A quarter of a century! Now that's getting on up there."

They all laughed.

"Okay, so I won't be a spring chicken any more. I retract "old man and sir". So, would you and your guest like to order from the menu or do you have something special in mind?" He spoke directly to Joe, but included Dave with his eyes."

"I'm sure Gio has something special in mind. Tell him to just do his thing. And bring us a carafe of the house Chianti."

Tommy made a slight bow and about faced. Dave studied Joe for a moment as Joe studied the goings on in the room. Dave thought he looked proprietary.

"Gio and Tommy just got back from a two week trip to Italy. Gio arranged for regular shipments of some of the best Italian Chianti," Joe said turning back to Dave.

"Joe, why do I get the feeling that this is your restaurant? Your not just a special guest here just because it happens to be your birthday."

"What gave you that idea?" Joe looked surprised.

"Well, let's see. First off, Gio called you partner. Second, you were headed for this table before Gio led the way. I'm your guest at this table, not Gio's. And when you were just looking around there was a expression of pride on your face, like-- well-- like you own this place."

Joe blushed. "Your very observant, Dave," he said. "Yes, Gio and I are partners in the place. Thus the name."

"So your name is spelled the same? G-I-O?"

"No, I'm second generation American, so it is J-O-E."

Dave nodded his head. He continued to nod as he studied the man. He liked to put people into orderly little niches. Joe wasn't fitting into one.

"You are an enigma. You're a restaurant owner. Apparently it's a very successful restaurant, too. What the hell are you doing working as construction laborer?"

"I love working with my hands, building things. So I formed my own construction company. That way, when ever I feel like it, I can just go help build whatever the men are working on at that moment. Plus it's a good money making business." Dave shook his head in wonder. "My grandfather was born in Italy during the first world war," Joe continued. "He has always been impressed that here in the USA one can do or be anything they want. He pounded that into my brain. I will take you to meet him. He is an amazing old man. Gio is my cousin. He wanted to come to America and be a chef. I sponsored him and helped build this restaurant with my own two hands, because that's what I wanted to do."

Dave smiled and shook his head in amazement. Tommy took that moment to discreetly serve the wine. Joe picked up his glass and tasted it even though it was poured from a carafe and not a freshly opened bottle. With a smile of thanks, he nodded to Tommy, who set the carafe on the table and left.

"So. Tell me more about you," Joe said.

"What's to tell? You know almost everything about me."

"Let's see, what do I know about you. You've got black hair, the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. You're short" He grinned devilishly, "You're in great shape. You're 42, which I can't believe. Today's your birthday, so you were born in 1961. Hmm. What else do I know about you. Oh, yeah, you obviously keep in shape. And by the way, you have great biceps. That was the first thing I noticed about you in the bar; how your muscles strain against the sleeves of your shirt. What gym do you go to?"

Dave blushed. He knew that he had great looking arms. He admired them himself, after his workout in the evenings. Arms really turned him on, almost as much as hands. He didn't realize they affected other men like they did him. "I have a small gym in my basement."

"You lift weights? You press by yourself?"

"Well, yeah, I just don't over do it."

"You still should have someone to be there spotting, just in case."

Dave grinned. It was nice to have someone worry about him. Joe's serious concern for him, made him want to get to know him better. "Want to volunteer for the job?"

It was Joe's turn to blush, but he came right back with a quick question. "Are you inviting me?"

Dave turned serious. He stared at him and then nodded. "Yes, Joe, I'm inviting you."

"To be your personal spotter?" They were staring into each other's eyes at this point. Joe got nervous, had to break the tension. "Ah, you just want to look up the leg of my shorts, don't you?" He smirked.

Dave smiled, but continued his intense look at Joe.

"That could be fun. Wanna show me something?"

"Could be dangerous. I mean a---holding a heavy bar above your head while trying to peek."

Dave's expression was dead-pan serious. "But, Joe, you'd be there to save me if I started to drop it, that is if you were not too busy showing off." The laughter in his eyes gave it away.

Joe raised his eyebrows in surprise at being caught in his own game.

"Oh, yes, you're right. I'll have to be very conscientious while I'm spotting for you. " He chuckled and nodded his head as his face turned red at his lascivious thoughts.

The two men stared into each others eyes for several moments. For the first time in many months Dave was feeling happy. Joe had awaken his sense of humor. The sadness had abandoned his eyes for the moment. Joe wondered if there might be more than just the joy of good company. "Tell me what you were thinking in the bar as you studied my arm and hand, Dave." Joe said in a quiet almost whispering voice.

Dave saw a hunger in Joe's eye, a need. He found himself wondering if he could fill it. He blushed, but he didn't break eye contact. He smiled, feeling this was a time for honesty and openness. "I wanted to reach over and caress the hair on you forearm. I was wondering what it would feel like to have your strong calloused hands touching me." He dropped his eyes to Joe's hands resting on the table and blushed a little deeper.

Joe's grin was again full of mischief. He reached across and covered Dave's hands with his own. It thrilled him that Dave was being so open with him. "Hey, Dave." Dave looked up at him. "I'd love to give you a full body demo." Dave blushed a still deeper shade of red and grinned back.

Dave and Joe continued talking, joking and learning more about each other late into the evening. Gio served them a sumptuous dinner, starting with a Mixed Seafood Salad of shrimp, clams, mussels, and squid, tossed with fresh fennel, sweet onion and a dressing of lemon-olive oil vinaigrette. A small dish of Lemon Granita was served to clear their pallets before the main course of Pork Fillets with a Caper Sauce served with a side of the lightest of Potato Gnocchi dressed with Virgin Olive Oil and Parmesan cheese and grilled spears of Asparagus.

Gio let the two men have plenty of time between courses. They were so involved in becoming acquainted that they didn't even realize that when their table was cleared after their main course that the restaurant had emptied of customers. They were served another dish of Granita and then Gio and Tommy joined them for desert. They enjoyed the complicated flavors of a Zuppa Inglese, off set by a demi-tasse of wonderful Italian espresso. Gio had chosen well for his dear cousin/business partner and his new friend to celebrate their birthdays and they both let him know how much they had enjoyed the meal.

When the two men made their adieus, Gio gave his cousin a hug, then turned and gave Dave a big hug. "We want to see you often, Dave, so don't be a stranger," Gio said, giving him another hug.

"I won't, Gio. Thanks for making the evening so wonderful. The dinner was beyond delicious."

Gio went back inside to close up for the night. Joe and Dave stood looking at each other. The restaurant's outside lights turned off, leaving them in the dark.

"Joe, you made this birthday one of the best I can remember. I was ready to slink home and doze off while watching the tube."

"It isn't over yet. Unless you want it to be." Joe took him into his arms. Dave laid his head on Joe's chest as he hugged him.

"No, I don't want it to be, but----"

"But what, Dave?" Joe whispered into his ear. He ran his lips over it and then nuzzled his nose into Dave's hair. It smelled so good to him, so much the scent that he identified as Dave. He could easily become addicted to the scent. Hell, he had been addicted to it for years. Dave didn't answer. Joe pulled back and looked at him. There were tears running down his cheeks.

"What's wrong? Why the tears?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm just being silly, I guess."

"Silly doesn't make for tears, Dave. Talk to me."

"It's-- it's just been such a wonderful evening. I've forgotten about myself for the last four hours, all the loneliness. Suddenly, I feel like I'm being unfaithful. For nearly eighteen years there was no one but Bill. I know he's gone; that I have to move on with my life. It's what Bill would want me to do. It's just so hard to let go of him."

Joe pressed Dave's head to his chest. He ran his fingers through his hair.

"You shouldn't be alone tonight. Come go home with me. I've got a cozy little guest room. We can talk more. Will you do that? I promise not to do anything you don't want me to do. Come home with me, Dave."

Dave didn't move or answer for several moments as Joe continued to caress his hair. Then he nodded his consent.

Joe took his hand and they walked back to where Joe had parked. The street was dark. As they approached the well of light in which the car sat, Joe let go of Dave's hand and placed it on his shoulder, his thumb around the base of his neck.

"Do you live far from here?" Dave asked.

"You know the Tower condominium on the corner of Halifax and Alamo?"

"Yes, the one that has been written about in every architectural magazine in the world."

"I live there."

"Nice."

"Where do you live, Dave?"

"Oh, I live over in Lincoln Heights." He pointed at a diagonal from the direction they were headed.

"Great area. So we're almost neighbors. What's your address?"

"201 Madison Place."

"Hey, I bet we can see your house from my place."

"Really."

"Yeah, I look right out over your neighborhood."

Joe pulled into his parking space next to the door into the lobby. As they entered, the guard stood up behind his desk.

"Good Evening, Mister Paolini." Bells went off in Dave's head. He hadn't heard Joe's last name before.

"Hi, Tim. Quiet evening?" Joe asked.

"As always, sir."

"Tim, this is Dave Gates. Please give him access to my place anytime he comes in." He said it as a request, but it was really a command. Tim understood that, and appreciated the way Joe had phrased it.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Gates."

Dave smiled at him and nodded, but didn't say anything. He was thinking furiously where had he heard the name Paolini before.

"Good night, Tim." Joe said.

"Goodnight, Gentlemen."

Dave followed Joe to the elevators. He was expecting one of the double doors to open. It surprised him when a single door to the side slid open instead.

"This one is faster, Dave." Joe said, taking Dave's hand and stepping inside. He noticed there were only four buttons, all unmarked. It dawned on him that they were heading to the penthouse.

When Dave stepped out of the elevator he had expected a super modern look, all glass, chrome and Black leather. Instead, he was greeted with rich warm colors, lots of wood with mostly bronze for metal accents. Many of the furniture pieces were fine antiques. The sofa and club chairs were modern and looked super comfortable. The look matched Joe's personality, warm and embracing. Dave immediately felt at home. He tried to ignore the feeling.

Joe gave him a tour ending up in the garden that wrapped around the structure. The trees and plants were all in containers, but he got the feeling that there was a lot of time and loving care put into it. As they stood on the east side of the roof garden, Joe pointed out where he thought Dave's house would be. Dave started nodding to himself. He'd remembered where he'd heard the name Paolini. He pictured Dave with a neatly trimmed beard. It was Professor Paolini. He was the big name Architect that the university had snagged a few years ago.

Joe looked at him. "What?" he asked.

"You, Joe."

"And what about me?"

"You're just so unassuming. You live in the penthouse of the best high-rise condominium in the city. Hell, the world.

Joe looked out over the city. "It's no big deal. It was just something I wanted to do."

"No, it's no big deal. You want to build something, so you build a thirty story award-winning building. You want a house, so you build it on top of the building. What you forgot to mention is that you designed, too. Didn't you?"

"Yeah, I designed it, too."

"I've got to go. Thanks for an amazing evening, Mr. J. V. Paolini." He headed into the house toward the elevator. As he punched the button for it to open he heard Joe behind him.

"Dave, please don't go. What did I do to offend you?"

Dave turned, holding the elevator door open with his heel. "Your toying with me. I'm just a lowly bookstore owner. What do you want with me?"

"I like you, Dave. I want to get to know you. I want you to get to know me, maybe ---- learn to love me."

Dave looked everywhere except at Joe as he spoke. "I'm not sure who you are. I thought you were a simple construction worker. But then you're a restaurateur. Now you are an internationally renowned architect who lives in the the penthouse of one of the most acclaimed modern buildings in the U.S. Oh, I forgot. You're also a Professor Emeritus of Architecture. It's mind-boggling. I need some time and space."

He stepped backwards into the elevator. Joe moved toward the door pleading with his eyes. Dave locked eyes with him and pushed a button. As the door closed, he said, "I have already fallen in love with you."

End of Chapter One.