Dave rested his elbows on the polished worn wood of the bar and supported his chin on his fists as he stared into the amber depths of his third shot of Glenlivet on the rocks. It was smooth on the tongue as he sipped it, but burned his throat slightly as it went down. He hadn't set out to get drunk, but the guards on his emotions were lowering. Only a couple of times had he ever really drank enough to get drunk; those had been in happier times. Times when Bill had been there to take care of him.

Today was Dave's forty-second birthday; his second birthday without Bill. Bill had always made a big 'to do' over Dave's birthdays. Now Bill was gone, and Dave was left to celebrate his birthday alone. He slowly succumbed to feeling sorry for himself. Bill had been the center of his life. After sixteen years of blissful marriage he was alone. 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 Bill with all his being, and sex with Bill had always been fantastic.

Dave then started feeling that his thoughts were getting too maudlin, and decided this would be his last drink. Even though he wasn't driving, he still had several blocks to traverse and part of it was through the university campus. He didn't want students that frequented his bookstore to see him staggering home, so it was time to stop. He carefully set the glass on the white paper napkin and thought of how his life had changed.

Dave managed to get through each day by sticking to a strict regimen of keeping his mind and body busy. Refusing to let himself have time to wallow in self pity, he had simply shut down his emotions, while still being acutely aware of each passing day. It had been two years, four months, two weeks and five days since Bill's death. For the first few months after Bill's death, Dave had found it difficult to get to sleep, lying by himself in the same bed that he had always shared with Bill. But, after two years of following his strict evening exercise regimen, he could fall right to sleep and not awaken until six when he would rise to start his day with a two mile run, and then back to the house to start a small pot of coffee brewing while he showered and dressed. He allowed himself fifteen minutes to sit and read the paper while he drank two cups of coffee and ate a single 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'd never mastered the art of turning bread into toast without charring it. He then had to scrape the burned surface off before buttering it. When Dave started making his own toast, he discovered that he'd acquired a taste for 'scraped toast.' Regular toast didn't taste the same or as good, so Dave continued to burn his toast and scrape it just like Bill had done.

After finishing his second cup of coffee, it was off to the bookstore for the day. Dave was proud of the bookstore. He and Bill had opened it the year they graduated from college. Dave had a small inheritance from his maternal grandmother and a small frugal savings to invest, and Bill had matched that. With their combined money they'd been able to rent a single store front and start their bookstore. Over the years it had grown into the best bookstore in the city and eventually had expanded to take over the whole building. Of course, being on the edge of the campus, and having the little coffee shop, that Bill had insisted on, were big factors in it becoming such a success

The coffee shop had become a strong draw, and a major hangout for many of the students over the years. But it was also what had finally been the cause of Bill' death. He'd drank innumerable cups of cappuccino a day, and of course, he had to have his favorite pastry with it, a Cream Cheese with Marmalade Danish. The doctor had admonished Bill to cut down on the caffeine and the cholesterol, and 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 the inventory and doing most of the 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. In his basement he'd set up a gym, where he had a treadmill and a set of free weights. He'd work out until he was tired enough to sleep. Then, after a shower and a light simple meal, he'd watch the evening news before going to bed.

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'd 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'd then left the store and wandered into this bar for a drink.

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

So here he sat in The Off Campus Bar which was neither straight, nor gay. It was nearly always a comfortable mix. A perfect place, to celebrate his birthday. Ha! Without Bill, what was there to celebrate? A birthday only meant that he was getting older. One doesn't celebrate getting older when one is 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 along side of the construction crew on his 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 that special person a number of years ago, only to be badly hurt. After that Joe had shied away from relationships. His life was full enough. He did what he wanted, and didn't have to answer to anyone but himself; and, of course, since he was Italian, his mother, who had eventually given up on pushing him to find someone to share his life with.

He'd flat-out lied to his mother this morning, telling her some friends were throwing a party for him. She had wanted him and his siblings to come for a big Italian dinner to celebrate his birthday. But he was going to stop at his cousin Gio's restaurant for a quiet meal by himself tonight instead of celebrating his thirty-ninth birthday, and then go home to his Eyrie, a few blocks away, for a good night's rest. In reality he'd only succeeded in putting off the family dinner for a day, because tomorrow night he still had to show up at his mother's table.

The Off Campus Bar's neon sign up ahead flickered on in the evening's dusk. It seemed to be beckoning him. He was only a block from the restaurant, but there was an open parking space in front of the bar, just waiting for 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, if anything, tonight it would be just his Compagno Dita Cinque (Buddy Five Fingers) and himself, as it had been since the day he had found Eric in bed with another man.

He parked, and locked the car; then after making sure the alarm was on, he entered the bar. Stopping just inside the door, he let his eyes adjust to the dim light. There were only 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 man. "Damn, that's Dave Gates sitting at the bar," he whispered to himself.

Dave had been his fantasy man for many years. His junior 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 everything he could about him. When he'd found he was happily involved in a long-term relationship with the co-owner of the bookstore, he'd backed off, but he couldn't help but look and wish every time he was in the bookstore. Then he'd met Eric and managed to put Dave out of his mind. It wasn't until he'd returned from his self-banishment to Italy that he again took up his fixation with Dave. Joe was an avid reader and would make a weekly pilgrimage to the bookstore to buy another book, and to get a new 'Dave fix' to fuel his fantasies at night. Eventually, he'd formed a casual relationship with Bill, Dave's partner. They'd sit over a cup of espresso and discuss whichever book Joe was buying that day.

He had been infatuated with Dave for so long that he couldn't remember what it was like not to be. Dave was Joe's 'Ideal Man' with his short neatly groomed brown hair that parted on the left side. His mustache, eyebrows and hair contrasted with his smooth creamy-caramel skin. Suppressing the urge to lick the skin on Dave's neck as he sat down on the stool next to him, he sniffed him instead. No, he couldn't get Dave's scent; the bar smells were too strong.

He recalled the one time that Dave had stood close enough for him to catch his light cologne mixed with a scent that he identified as strictly Dave's. He'd been looking for a particular book that he'd been wanting for a long time. Dave had come up, unnoticed, and asked if he needed help. "Nunquam by Lawrence Durrell," he had replied. Knowing that it was Dave standing next to him made his whole body quiver with the awareness of his proximity, yet he was afraid to look at him. 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'd read the first page, Dave had stood there watching him. He'd looked up from the book and gotten lost for a moment in Dave's eyes, then realizing he was staring, with a curt, "Thanks," he had snapped the book closed, and had run. The poetry of Durrel's words had mixed with Dave's natural scent, and to this day Joe could read the first page of that book and get lost in that memory filled moment with the man of his dreams.

Joe had stayed away from the bookstore for several months after Bill's death. When he'd returned and saw the empty expression on Dave's face, it had scared the crap out of him. Maybe it was because that was the way he'd felt when he had walked in on Eric and 'that' man in bed together. Something had died in him that day. He'd lost the love on which his world had revolved. That was exactly the way Dave had looked. Joe had run from his own grief, and he didn't know how to handle Dave's grief, so he'd just stayed away from him.....until now.

Joe purposefully rubbed 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, sat the bottle down and flexed his tight, sore forearm muscles. He noticed Dave's stare move from the glass in front of him 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 and opened it as Dave continued to stare. Dave leaned toward it, obviously studying the lines in his palm. Joe, realizing there was nothing but his own inhibitions keeping him from talking to Dave, whispered, "Do you see yourself there?" Dave didn't seem to have heard him.

Having lost himself in memories as he stared into his Scotch, Dave was at first unaware that someone had occupied the barstool next to him. Without turning his head, he glanced sideways and saw a tanned muscular forearm covered with fine sun-bleached 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 forearm. 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 big strong hands. He and Bill both had calloused hands having always done all their own yard work and gardening in their large old fashioned yard that covered a quarter of a block. Bill's calloused hands had always gotten Dave.... right in the center of his being.

This strong hand was weather-worn, tanned. Fine, sun-bleached hair covered the back of the dark tanned hand and all of the first knuckles on 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 appeared to have been smashed and a new nail was beginning to grow. For Dave, that only added to its masculine beauty.

Dave wondered what the palm looked like. Would it have heavy callouses formed from a life of hard manual labor? As if on command, the hand turned over and the fingers straightened. He imagined those calloused fingers caressing his body, and quivered at the 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 that 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 that intersection, it changed into a strong deep groove 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, for 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. A man with hands like this he knew he could love.

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. He looked at the man's face, he was beautiful. His light brown hair, bleached by the sun, and parted on the left side, hung over his forehead on the right, giving him a boyish look, but there was a bit of silver at the temples. He had a strong chiseled chin covered in a dark five-o-clock shadow; there was a sprinkling of silver there, too. A long aquiline nose with flaring nostrils, perched above his neatly trimmed mustache. His firm lips 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.

Dave looked up into the man's warm hazel green eyes, dappled with gold flecks, and became aware that the man had been watching him. He blushed and dropped his gaze a moment, but couldn't resist looking back into the man's smiling eyes. It was as if 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 had been 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 again. He turned back to his drink and took a big gulp, choking on the strong liquor. The man thumped him on his back, and instructed him to raise his arms above his head. His 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 was sending little shock waves through him.

Dave nodded, and managed to find his tongue. "Yes. Yes, thanks." Embarrassed, he didn't look up.

The man leaned close to Dave. "My name is Joe. And it's okay," he said.

Dave's forehead furrowed as he glanced at Joe. 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 had come from. He'd only had a couple swallows of his beer.

Dave 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 glanced at Joe and then 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 Joe knew, Dave had never looked at another man besides Bill.

Dave glanced up at Joe and smiled. It was a little smile, a sad smile, a smile that stated, '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?" Although he knew why Dave was still hurting, he wanted to get him to talk, then maybe he could somehow 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 died. 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 swivelled 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 pleasant 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 seeing you in the store. I'm sure that if I had, I would recall it."

"And you look like the owner of a bookstore? 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 in 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 to talking about himself if he was 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. He set the glass down and stared at it.

"That bad, huh?" Joe asked.

Dave shrugged. "No. No, 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 callouses 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 picked his glass back up and stared into its emptiness 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. "Just over two year 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 shrugged it off, 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. I'm feeling old, and sorry for myself."

"Your mate was Bill Way. I knew him slightly," Joe said. "He used to converse with me occasionally when I sat in the coffee shop to read. I can 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 in Joe's words. "You just did." He smiled a little more brightly. He covered Joe's hands with his other hand. "I do feel better. Thanks, Joe." They gazed into each other's eyes, reading the needs and desires that each held hidden. After a moment, Dave broke the spell by turning back to the bar, and asking, "Would you like another drink?"

"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 realizing he had overstepped his bounds, asked, "Wouldn't you rather go have dinner with me?" while 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 said as he grabbed Dave's hand, pulling him off the barstool and out the door.

"Where to?" Dave asked.

"Are you familiar with Gio 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 that 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, and 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 it was him who was feeling shy and backwards. "Because there is no one at home for me, either. And it's my birthday, too."

Dave smiled and hugged him as they walked. "Happy Birthday, Joe."

Joe grinned, stopped and hugged Dave back. "Happy Birthday to you, too, 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. "Me? I'm thirty-nine," Joe said as he opened the door, and gestured for Dave to enter.

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 bear hug. "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 several Italian cookbooks from you over the last few 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 led 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 replied. 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 cloths 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 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'm told it's your 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 the younger man. "A quarter of a century! Now that is 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 where 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 and that you're not a special guest simply because it happens to be your birthday."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Joe said with a surprised look.

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

Joe blushed. "You're very observant, Dave," he said. "Yes, Gio and I are partners in this 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, and apparently, it's a very successful restaurant, too. So what the hell are you doing working as a construction laborer?"

"I love working with my hands, building things. So I formed my own construction company. That way, whenever 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 constantly pounded that into my brain. I'll take you to meet him one day. He is an amazing old man. Gio's 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 brown hair, the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. You're short." He grinned devilishly. "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." Joe made a point of admiring them again. "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 there spotting for you, 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, and 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....ah....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 weren't too busy showing off." The laughter in Dave's eyes gave him 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.

Joe had awakened Dave's sense of humor, and for the first time in many months he was feeling happy. The two men stared into each others eyes for several moments. The sadness had abandoned Dave's eyes for the moment, and Joe hoped that it 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 eyes, 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 notice when their table was cleared after their main course, or 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 bid 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," he 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 were 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 Dave's 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 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; and 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 his on Dave's 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 entrance to 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 now.

"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 have I 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. Dave 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 them. 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 Joe with a neatly trimmed beard. It was Professor Paolini. He was the big name Architect that the university had snagged a few years back.

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 it, too. Didn't you?"

"Yeah, I designed it, too."

"I've got to go. Thanks for an amazing evening, Professor J. V. Paolini." He headed into the house and 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. "You're 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 restauranteur. Now you are an internationally renowned architect who lives in the penthouse of one of the most acclaimed modern buildings in the U.S. He stepped backwards into the elevator. "Oh, I forgot. You're also a Professor Emeritus of Architecture. It's mind boggling. I need some time and space." Joe moved toward the door pleading with his eyes. Dave locked eyes with him and pushed a button. As the door closed, he said, "And, yes, I've already fallen in love with you."