He rationalised it: if he went to the theatre, he could see the progress on the sets and costumes and report back to Sofia.
He entered through the backstage door and spotted Bruce talking to Kenzie, their heads each over their own scripts. He hung back to watch Bruce as the two of them discussed something; it didn’t matter what it was. Bruce could be explaining the merits of different paint finishes or where to buy the best screws; it would all be the same. Firm, in control, confident and respectful. Though Bruce towered over the diminutive Kenzie, he adapted to her size, never looming over her to force his point, exuding a warmth and friendliness that came from a place of strength.
Bruce was one of the first gay adult men that Gabriel had met and his confidence hadn’t just been sexy, it had been inspiring. After being beaten for being different, Gabriel had needed to know that gay people did have a safe space in the world and they didn’t have to hide or be ashamed. Bruce had found his place and it wasn’t some gay ghetto but in a real community where he was loved for who he was.
That’s what Gabriel had always wanted.
And he’d never get it if Bruce found out he’d lied.
The secrets bubbled at the base of his throat, threatening to burst. They’d gone from a simmer to a boil over the past week, exhaustion turning up the heat. What if Bruce found out?
Bruce and Kenzie showed no signs of stopping. He’d find Bruce later, but as he turned, he called out his name.
He spun back. ‘Hey.’
Bruce hurried over. ‘You weren’t going to say hello?’
‘You looked busy.’
‘Never too busy for you.’ He closed the gap between them, an arm slipping around his waist and pulling him close. He rested his forehead on the top of Gabriel’s head, and the gentle giant’s body pressed against his.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured.
Bruce leaned back. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Yeah, it’s been a tough week.’ The only real bright spark had been telling Sofia that he and Bruce were seeing each other. If only cancer could be cured with happiness …
‘You know you can—’
‘I know, but I’ve got some help coming in and you’ve got your own things to deal with, not to mention this place taking up all your time.’
‘They can do without me if you need me.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Can I kiss you now? I’ve been waiting all week and I don’t think I can hold out much longer.’
He laughed. ‘You may.’
Bruce beamed then bent down to kiss him with a week’s worth of pent-up sexual energy. It barrelled through him and toppled the worries stacked inside of him, their crashing down almost taking out his knees.
Someone whistled, and Gabriel scrambled to break from the kiss. He’d forgotten where he was. He turned to see Angela gawping at them.
‘Your mother will be thrilled.’ She clapped her hands and marched over.
‘She already knows,’ Gabriel said.
‘Wait, she does?’ Bruce asked.
Gabriel tensed. ‘That’s alright, isn’t it?’
‘Hell yeah. I just wasn’t sure we were telling people.’
‘Says the man who just kissed me in front of everyone at the theatre.’
He blushed, the colour rushing up to match his hair. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’
‘I can tell exactly what you were thinking.’
Bruce’s skin went an even darker shade of red.
‘Sorry to interrupt.’ Angela’s grin must have hurt her cheeks. ‘If Bruce has quite finished with you, I want you to see the costumes and fill Sofia in on what we’ve done.’
‘Mind if I come too?’ Bruce asked.
‘I don’t think I’d be able to stop you if I said no, am I right?’
‘You could try but you’d lose.’
Angela hooked Gabriel’s arm. ‘He’s gotten so bossy since he became stage manager.’
‘There have to be some perks to the job.’ Bruce walked along his other side with a hand on his lower back.
This is what Gabriel had always wanted with Bruce—this ease between them where they could joke and kiss and talk like the best of friends but with so much more. His lips tingled from Bruce’s attention and he craved more. They had no chance of finding a dark corner now. Maybe later. If the whole theatre gave them a moment’s peace.
When they walked into wardrobe, Magda was there pinning together pieces of black fabric. She stopped and was as excited as Angela to show them what they’d done.
Angela took him over to a rack. ‘These ones are the standard costumes for the lesser characters. They don’t need as much work.’ She showed shirts and blouses, skirts, dresses and trousers, blacks and browns and greys and whites, an occasional spot of colour which he liked. ‘And there are also the plain clothes for the principal actors … here’s Ron’s and this one is Elizabeth’s.’
Good so far.
‘And then we’ve got some of the war costumes and the Hollywood glamour. But what we wanted to show you was the dress for Mary.’ She and Magda pulled a red gown off the rack. The sewing was remarkable, the shimmer of the fabric elegant and glitzy without being tacky. But something wasn’t right.
‘What do you think? Would Sofia approve?’ Angela asked.
‘Is there something missing?’ There was. ‘Isn’t there meant to be some embroidery on here?’ Ravens stitched in black thread with diamanté eyes.
‘Yes, and we would have loved to include it but it would have been a lot more work than I think Sofia anticipated.’
Heat flared in his belly. ‘Yeah, but …’ He had to be careful. ‘The ravens were important because of their symbolism, the death of the relationship even at a time of promise.’
‘I understand but we’re able to
