Sugar, Butter, Flour, and Love - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

The sound of my phone ringing startled me out of sleep so suddenly I woke up with a yell. My mouth felt dry and my face was mashed against my pillow. I was a bit of a disorderly sleeper and my blankets usually ended up halfway on the floor. That night they were twisted around my legs and my phone was still blaring from somewhere. Finally, I found my phone vibrating on the floor and I squinted at the bright glint of the phone seeing that it was 2:37AM.
Who on God's green earth was calling me at 2:37AM?!
I picked up blearily, not even getting a word in before the other person was talking.
"Hey," Trace's voice sounded deep, gravelly, and very drunk.
The sound of him shocked me awake and I turned on my bedside light before creeping back onto my bed, willing for my brain to wake up a little. "Hi." My voice was sleep addled and I was just too tired to be nervous. Instead, I closed my eyes to the sound of Trace's voice.
Strangely enough, he giggled. "I was out with my friends and then I just started thinking about you. And you know what's funny, Darius?" He sounded light and happy but the edges of his words were slurred and I had to remember he was drunk and I shouldn't take any stock in what he was saying.
"What?" I said softly, so incredibly ready to go back to sleep.
"You're tall, dark, and handsome!"
I couldn't help but snicker, and that turned into a real, deep, laugh. "Let me get this straight. You're calling me at-" I checked the time. "You're calling me at 2:39AM to tell me—"
He talked right over me."You better not be laughing at me Darius, not when I just thought of the most amazing thing. I just had to tell you right away."
"You're drunk, Trace." But, God, he was pretty adorable like that, too. I must have looked crazy; half asleep while smiling into my phone.
"I'm not! And for laughing at me you owe me three kisses, and at least one has to be on my forehead. My friends don't even think you exist, you need to come out with us. Ssshhh, wait— Let me just. Shit. Hold on." Trace cut off a bit but I heard his voice just a little far away. "Did you guys see my phone? I just fucking had it. I need to show you guys what he looks like. He's real!" Trace let out an exasperated sigh.
"Okay, I'm back. I gotta look for my phone, so I gotta go." he almost sounded sad.
I laughed, not willing to tell him the obvious. "Okay, Trace, good night."
"Don't forget my three kisses."
I tried not to laugh too loudly. "Sure, Trace, sure." His entire demeanor was completely at odds with the cool and collected Trace I had previously been exposed to. It was a fascinating change but by the time I hung up I was already falling asleep. My phone vibrated a few times, but I ignored it, rolling over and zonking out.
#
The next morning I was too busy to really think about the conversation. It was delivery after delivery with Rick and me as we carried birthday cakes, event cakes and even wedding cakes across the city. Traffic had been rough and we were finally at our final stop of the day, racing to finish preparing the cake while the weddings guests were at the cocktail hour upstairs.
"Carefully. Carefully......" Rick warned me as I held the middle tier of one such wedding cake above the base. The cake was heavy and I had to hold it until Ricky okayed that I was in the centre. No one wanted an off centre wedding cake with wonky tiers.
"Okay, you're good, D." He said quickly and I dropped the cake onto the lower tier. I dusted off my hands, and gave it a look. It was a traditional, yet intricate wedding cake. The main colours were white and gold, and it was made up of four tiers. The decorations were classic, consisting of stencilling, delicate stripes,  and careful gold bands. My favourite part of decorating it were the hand piped flowers. I was getting especially good at doing them.
I judged that the middle tire was in place and I gently placed the top tier on top. Then, I took the last of the decorations out of our specially insulated box and began to arrange them.
We moved around each other as the two of us worked to finish the cake. I began to put some of the edible decorations and cake toppers onto the cake while Rick used a pair of tweezers to add beads to the circumference of the cake tiers.
Rick could be chatty but today he was awfully quiet and his face was grim in effort and concentration. Traffic had made us late for our appointment and the wedding planner kept approaching the area to see where we were.
Within fifteen minutes we were finished but I kept poking, and prodding at things, like ensuring the beading was straight, that some of the decorations could be air brushed and then taking a few pictures for the store's portfolio.
—The cake—
It was really quite exquisite and I was proud of what we had done.  Eventually, we finished setting up the cake at the head table and made our way back outside the venue.
Just like that Rick was laughing and joking with me. He pulled his long, multi coloured hair out of its elastic and let it fall around his face. He blew out a big breath and then launched into one of his usual openers.
"That wedding planner was such a dick. Like we can't fucking control the traffic. And—" Rick smelled his hair. "God, I need to go home and take a shower, today's been so long. Maureen needs to hire another caterer because you and I can't keep doing this alone. Oh! And you never told me about your date last week? That guy was really hot, like, honey if you didn't have your eyes on him I would have scooted right on over."
I tried to remember everything he said. "Yeah I wish the wedding planner would have let us work. And I hate catering, I never know where anything is, and I hate asking people for directions." I rubbed the back of my neck. "It just stresses me out. And my date? It went fine."
"Ooooh, dahling. You have got to tell me the tea." Rick shook his head for emphasis. Then we climbed into the car and he took the wheel. "We're the only gays at the shop, and I don't care about how het relationships are going. I want to know all the juicy details, Dairy. Is he a good kisser? Did you guys fu—"
I coughed. Violently. "Alright, so let's not talk about that. We had a great time, he was really understanding about my shyness. He hasn't asked me out again but we've been texting. And I'm glad that you're around the shop, too. I feel like when some of our co-workers found out I'm gay they were shocked. I don't know why, I have that little LGBT+ flag on my locker." That definitely should have been enough.
Rick laughed. "You're not exactly the poster boy for how hets view us. You could probably bench press a mountain."
We both laughed at that, and the ride back to Sweets N Things progressed smoothly, until I got a phone call.
I picked up quickly. "Hello?"
"Oh, Hi Darius," Trace sounded a little muffled on the line. "I was just wondering....if you wanted to hang out tonight. We could just go to the mall. It'll be fun."
I hated absolutely everything about last minute plans. They didn't give me enough time to emotionally prepare myself to be social and I hated the feeling of being bombarded.
"I mean— I don't know." I looked at Rick and he gave me a confused expression.
"If you're busy...that's okay." Trace said quickly.
In the end I caved, and just agreed to hanging out. I hated myself a little for not advocating for myself and Trace said he'd pick me up in an hour.
The hour flew by, and after clocking out, a quick shower, and a quicker dinner I was piling into Trace's car.
I gave him an appreciative once over. He was really into athletic wear, and I felt like it suited his body type especially well. Today, he was wearing an Adidas track jacket left open to reveal a loose white shirt, and track pants. I wondered what kind of prosthetic he was wearing today.
He was giving me a weird look while I buckled my seat belt. I froze. "Is there something on my face?"
Trace's eyes flickered to the road as he began to drive towards the mall. "Oh, uh. No. You look great."
"Thanks?"
"It's just- sorry for calling last night. I don't know why I did that." For once Trace seemed nervous and it was so surprising to me that I laughed.
He gnawed on his lip and I stopped laughing. "It's not a big deal, I'm not much of a drinker but it was funny. Do you even remember what you said?"
The nervous plains of his face evened out. "I remember that you promised me three kisses."
"You were drunk." I countered.
"Sober, or drunk, I'll always be in the mood to kiss you."
"Oh." The way he said it was so honest it kind of stunned me.
"Shit, Darius, don't pretend to act surprised." He hesitated. "Are you not into romance, or something? What with your knitting needles, I figured you'd be the romantic type."
"I just get nervous sometimes." I murmured. "It's not like I mind romance. And they're crochet needles, actually."
Trace gave me a long look, far too long considering he was driving. I felt his eyes scrutinizing me, and my body filled with an uncomfortable, choking heat.
"You know," he said softly. "Sometimes, I get the impression every time I learn one thing about you, another piece slips further away. But, I'll wait for you to open up to me. I think you're very much worth being patient for, Darius."
I didn't know what to say. The ride progressed in an awkward silence until we reached the mall and as soon as we started walking out of the parking lot Trace was all friendly again. I decided if he wanted to push past the awkward then I would, too.
We talked about our weeks. Trace explained how he was part of writing the script for the first arc of a new game and he was excited. Apparently, he had always been more interested in the writing aspect of video games because he loved a good story. It still amazed me that Trace had such a cool job. He tended to smile more when he talked about it as well, a little and then all at once, his eyes creasing perfectly.
I followed Trace around the mall as we went towards his first stop which was the shoe store. It was some big athletic brand I didn't really care for. There were some seating areas outside the store and Trace gestured for me to sit.
"I'll just be a few minutes," he said, "It'll be boring, just wait for me."
I sat down on the soft cushioning, aware of how full the mall was. There were families, couples, tourists and friends everywhere. I agreed to wait for Trace and watched him go into the store, where he immediately found a worker and they disappeared somewhere around the back. I stuck in my earbuds and shuffled through my Spotify playlist, looking for the perfect song to kill a few minutes.
Halfway through Beyoncé's Freedom, I got the acute feeling I was being watched. I pressed pause and looked up.
"Holy Shit. Are you Cyrus Nkrumah?" Someone said excitedly, butchering my last name.
I looked up, seeing a small group of teens standing in front of me in a semi-circle. They were in that awkward, gangly phase making some of them half a head taller than the others. All boys, looking at me with hope and excitement and almost starstruck.
"Wrong person," I deadpanned. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My mind was already starting to spin and I tried to channel calmness.
But, one of them was bold. Pale and made up of freckles and braces. He held out his phone as though it held the answer. I stared into the face of Cyrus Nkrumah, one of the up and coming stars of the New Jersey Lions, basketball star, Nike poster boy, and my older brother.
"Is that supposed to look like me?" I asked in a voice that nearly cracked. Nearly.
The boys had begun to whisper, wondering if I was secretly Cyrus and I was playing a joke on them. One of them began to take out his phone and I'd had enough.
"You boys think all black people look the same, huh?" I looked at each of them in turn, hating that I had to make them feel bad. But, I could feel the area around us quieting and the air thickening with the thought that people were nearby a celebrity. Sweat already began to build on my brow and I didn't want the attention. I couldn't take the attention.
The bold one frowned, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry." He said and they scuttled away, looking back like I would change my mind on who my identity was.
Once the crowd disseminated, one person was left and  I was horrified to see Trace standing there, bulky shopping bag in one hand and giving me a curious look. "What was that about?"
I swallowed a hard lump in my throat and stood up. I felt the gaze of the other people on the bench as I stood, and I'm sure they noticed my height. Why couldn't I just be average height?
"It's complicated." I started, "Well actually, it isn't." We started walking in a random direction and I felt sweat begin to build on my brow. "My brother is a professional basketball player for the NBA."
Somehow we were in front of the Nike store and I saw a blown up picture of my brother, wearing his jersey and going for a layup, plastered on a twenty foot wall. I pointed at the wall. "That's him."
Trace didn't look as surprised as I thought he would.
Wait.
I took a step back, nearly bumping into a stroller, but I was just so stuck in my head. My thoughts ricocheted almost violently.
"Did you know?" I said. "Did you know we were related?"
Trace winced. "I'm kind of a basketball junkie so I know who Cyrus is, but you never told me your last name, and maybe you look alike but I didn't wanna be racist..."
I exhaled. "Okay. It's just..." I had been with a guy shortly after uni and he'd loved basketball, too. Finding out he only started going out with me because he was a fan of my brother had sickened me. He had sent me a drunken text, detailing how being with me would be like having his own personal Cyrus.
I had blocked him after that on everything. The experience had been humiliating and anxiety inducing. I had been compared to my brother since the beginning of my existence. That wasn't to say I didn't care about my brother, or love him, but I hated the way other people looked to him and saw something inherently better.
But, instead of telling Trace that, I was only standing there and sweating, having trailed off several seconds ago.
I pulled out a handkerchief from my pocket, dabbing at my face. "It's just—I'm not my brother, and I'm okay with that. But, being compared is hard sometimes. He's—" I gestured at the giant wall. "And I'm—" and then pointed at myself.
Trace came into my space, eyes searching for something. "There's nothing wrong with being you, Darius. Absolutely nothing."
I almost believed it when he said it like that.
He frowned and for the first time Trace looked angry, brows knotted with his mouth settled into a flat, hard line. "You're an amazing person, Darius. Inside and out. I'm not going to stand here and pretend to worship you, because you're clearly having trouble believing me. But you're a fundamentally good person, and you don't have to be anything like your brother for anyone to believe that. Just because I have feelings for you doesn't make my words any less valid."
My face felt hot and I mumbled out my words. "That's nice of you to say."
"No. It isn't nice, it's honest and it's true, Darius. Why is your confidence so low? I can't understand it. C'mon—" he looked around before grabbing my arm and walking me to a more empty corner of the mall which seemed like a dedicated seating area.
The feel of his fingers digging into my skin went straight to my nerves, and I could feel my skin buzz as my heartbeat quickened. He pulled me to a cushioned bench and sat me down. Trace's hand lingered on my arm for a bit before he took it away.
"I'm not saying this because I think you're hot, or because I like you, alright? It's completely objective." He was looking at me with earnest brown eyes, but with a bit of a squint like he was scrutinizing me. I had to look away, so instead, I stared across the seating area. But his words made me look back again.
"You deserve the world, Darius. Do you know that?"
He looked so honest it hurt. It hurt me to conceptualize a world like the one Trace was clearly imagining. One that I deserved? That didn't seem very likely. But then a small part of me began to feel overwhelmed. Trace saw something in me I didn't feel in myself. Was I supposed to think I deserved the world? I could barely function going a couple days without a panic attack. I was too anxious to even tell Trace I had anxiety.
I stared down at my thighs, and settled my hands on top of them. There didn't seem to be anything I could say.
Trace didn't say anything either. He only sighed and suddenly I felt his body heat next to mine. His lips pressed so quickly against my cheek all I felt was the featherlight touch of his mouth against my skin.
I turned to him while touching my cheek, blinking fast. "You just— kissed me."
Trace gave me a slow, blossoming smile. "Yeah, I did."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Just because. Can I come over to your place?"
I paused, not exactly sure what he was asking. "Why?"
"To hang out."
I spluttered. "I'm not ready to—"
Trace touched my arm. "Calm down, Darius. I'm serious when I say I just want to hang out. Maybe make out a little, nothing more."
God, I felt like my skin was burning. He had to think I was such a loser.
"Okay," I mumbled.
#
I was nervous all the way to my apartment, but Trace was listening to Japanese music and singing softly on the ride to my place. It was the first time I really heard him speak it. Something about the simple act of singing along to music calmed me down a little bit and by the time we got to my apartment I felt mostly okay.
We clamoured through the doors and Trace took off his bag. He hesitated at the doorway.
"Can I get a chair?" He asked quietly, looking up at me in the dim light.
"Yeah, sure." I said, while getting him a stool from the kitchen.
He sat down on the stool and started to remove his shoes. It took him some time but he got them off. His prosthetic limb ended off in a sort of pale brown prosthetic foot. It didn't quite match his skin tone and I wondered how hard it was to get something that was almost right.
Trace put his shoes neatly side by side and gave me a smile.
"Alright, my shoes are off, Darius. You still owe me three kisses."
"Huh?" But, my heart was beating and I was nervous yet excited. The feeling of being wanted was so new and delicious I barely knew what to do with it.
Trace stood up, moving right into my space and looking up into my eyes. He reached up and wrapped his arms around my neck. We were so close our hips were pressed together. It felt good. It felt hot.
Trace kissed me. It was slow and served as an introduction with just his lips pressing against mine.
He moved a hairsbreadth away only to speak against my mouth. "One," he whispered.
And then he kissed me again, even slower and with an open mouth so that his tongue slid wonderfully against mine.
My eyes were closed and all I did was feel. I felt the push and pull of Trace's tongue and the slow, building grind of his hips against mine.
He stopped kissing me, yet again, only to speak in a soft, husky tone. "Two."
My eyes were closed as I waited for the third kiss. Somehow, my hands were around Trace's waist, and his body heat was washing over mine. We were in our own little bubble, and I was enchanted by just everything about him. It was like my body remembered what it was like to want someone, making my skin abuzz with electricity and my heart soar.
The third kiss was taking too long so I opened my eyes, only to find Trace looking back at me.
His lips were parted and it seemed like he was waiting. But my brain was more focused on how wet his lips were, how clear his skin was, the feel of his arms around my neck and how just looking at him was making me feel lost in the best possible way.
"I'm waiting for my forehead kiss." Trace said petulantly. "Remember, the one you promised me?"
I laughed, dragging my hands up his body to cup his face. "Really, Trace? A forehead kiss?" That wasn't really the kind of kiss I had in mind.
He moved his hands to surround mine. "I can't reach your forehead from here, Darius. You gotta lean down."
I lowered my head and as soon as I did, Trace gave me a peck on the forehead before hugging me.
"Fuck, I love how tall you are." he said, while squeezing me tight. I loved the feel of him in my arms, too.
Trace was hugging me and our chests rubbed together, but something kept snagging at me.
"Hey, is there something stuck to your shirt?" I said, looking down between us. But all I saw was Trace's baggy shirt.
Trace paused and then gave me a long look. "Just my piercings."
I blinked. "You have piercings? On your chest? Where?—" I stumbled to a stop. "Uhh—"
Oh my God, they couldn't be...there?
"My nipples, Darius." Trace said dryly. "My nipples are pierced."
"Wow," I just kept blinking, my mouth opening and closing but nothing was coming out. "Wow."
Trace let out a loud laugh and stepped back,then started to walk into my living room, throwing a comment over his shoulder. "You reacted better when you found out I have a stump. Not to mention you have all those tattoos, and—" he looked up at me. "Your ears are pierced!"
"Can you call it that?" I asked, feeling like it seemed offensive and ignoring the other statements.
"A stump? I can call it whatever I want. But, let's not talk about my leg." Trace took me by the arm and pulled me to the couch in my living room. "Let's talk about you."
My brows shot up into my forehead. "Me?"
Trace settled on the couch and patted the seat beside him. Slowly, I sat down, too.
"So, we have two options," he began. "We can talk a little, or...We can keep working on those kisses."
Overcome by a strong desire to kiss him, but too embarrassed to act on it, I said, "I think I like option number two better."
The building smile on Trace's face told me we were both thinking the same thing. I closed my eyes, waiting for the next kiss...