Jericho Candelario's Gay Debut

Jericho Candelario’s Gay Debut

R. Cooper

Copyright 2018 R. Cooper

Cover art by Erin Gamble

Content tags: coming out, coming out later in life, mention of alcoholic and mentally ill parents/unstable childhood, the taking of unprescribed medications, some drinking, on-page sex

Special thanks to my favorite perpetually exhausted pastry chef, Kristin, and to Alix and Lucy, my ever-understanding beta readers.

Table of Contents

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

The End

Jerry discreetly pulled his phone from the back pocket of his coveralls and scrolled through the messages from Susanna. She was going to be home late and suggested hot dogs for dinner, asked him to pick some up at the store, then reminded him to get veggie dogs and not real hot dogs because Sofia was a vegetarian now.

He’d hardly forgotten that, but texted back an Ok to his sister before sticking his phone in his pocket and looking up.

The client—Mrs. Foley—didn’t seem to have noticed, not that Jerry was particularly worried about angering her. Belle County HVAC had been a thriving business before the recent wave of customers from the upper-middle-class mini-mansions. It would only continue to prosper. Everybody needed their heaters and furnaces to work, and most wanted their air conditioners to function.

Mrs. Foley hovered in the doorway to the large family room for most of his visit. She was on her phone having a hushed, but still anxious, conversation. She hadn’t sat down once in time he’d been here. Jerry felt tired but she looked tired, like someone who had been up before dawn, the same as him, and who hadn’t had a break since.

Jerry quietly cleared his throat, then raised his head when she looked over.

Sorry, Mrs. Foley said to the person on the phone, only to freeze a second later at the sound of the doorbell. I’ve got so much going on, I— Who is that now? This is too much!

Would you like me to get that for you? Jerry asked politely. His phone buzzed in his pocket again.

Mrs. Foley met his gaze with the air of a startled deer. I couldn’t ask you to— Nancy, no, not you. The man checking the vents. The doorbell rang again. Mrs. Foley’s expression got pinched.

Jerry set his toolbox on the ground and headed to the front door. He smiled at the driver, signed for the delivery, closed the door, and left the package in the foyer on a table with keys and a ceramic duck on it. Then he went back to his toolbox.

Mrs. Foley ended her call without taking her eyes off him. She was not the first upper-middle-class housewife in yoga pants and a puffy vest to be thrown by a simple act of kindness. Kindness quite possibly didn’t exist in her world, which was a shame. Her big house wasn’t to Jerry’s taste, but she’d at least filled it with pictures of her kids.

You’re all set, he told her. Ready for either the last cold snap of spring or the summer heat.

She brushed her hands over the outside of her thighs and then tugged at the zipper of her vest. She looked him over before meeting his eyes. So fast?

Everything was clean, and it’s a fairly new unit. Jerry pulled his work phone from his other pocket and held it out after opening the business’s app. Just need you to sign here. Her credit card and information were on file, had to be to call a workman out to her place, but this would officially end the job and send him home.

He held back a heavy exhale as she signed, though it wasn’t even the busy season and he shouldn’t be this tired. He’d done a lot today and he wasn’t young anymore. Or maybe it was because she was his fourth mini-mansion housewife today and all their combined anxiety was wearing on him.

She signed easily but then paused, not quite drawing her penciled eyebrows together. You didn’t have to do that. I didn’t even offer you coffee. Would you like some?

I know what it’s like to get overwhelmed, Jerry told her sincerely, then pulled out a business card. He hated this part but smiled anyway as he handed it over. You can ask for me if you want, but any of the guys should be able to help if you ever have another problem.

They always asked for him. Probably because a slender, average-sized man with a low voice was a lot less intimidating than Al or Kristoff, both of whom were over six feet tall, broad, and loud.

She scanned the card and her tiny not-frown returned. Jericho Candelario? she read aloud, making it a question.

Don’t worry about it, Jerry said, as he always did. Most people call me Potts.

Mrs. Foley looked up at him again, clearly trying to reconcile a name like Potts with Jerry’s golden brown skin, and his dark eyes, and the loose black curls that always threatened to fall into his face. The hair at the sides and back of his head was cut close, but Jerry let the top grow long because tugging the curls had amused baby Sofia and he’d never changed it.

Mrs. Foley stared into his eyes for a second too long, then darted a glance to the patch on his coveralls with Candelario on it. She opened her mouth. A moment later she closed it.

Jerry decided he liked her, in a way, because she didn’t ask. And maybe Susanna would have ended up like Mrs. Foley if she’d ever gotten married. Not entirely happy, a little too frustrated, but deep down someone who wanted to be nice and who loved her children.

Are you sure I can’t get you a cup of coffee, Potts? Mrs. Foley tried a smile, still tense, but much warmer than before. It’s the least I can do.

No, thank you. It really wasn’t anything. Jerry hefted his toolbox and skirted around her to the unnecessarily big foyer and the front door. Call us if you have any trouble. Have a good evening.

He waited until he was in his work van and she’d finally closed the door before he leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes.

His phone immediately buzzed.

And some kind of vegetable, Susanna added, guilty about hot dogs for dinner. And buns.

Jerry snorted and rolled his eyes where his sister couldn’t see, but started the van and left his last job of the day.

He reported into the office as he drove, since Angelica, the dispatcher-slash-bookkeeper, worried when people didn’t check in because she watched too many crime shows. She gave Jerry a brief idea of what tomorrow would be like, then he ended the call and pulled into the grocery store parking lot.

Jerry would do anything for his niece, but he still stopped and got cans of vegetarian chili for himself. He’d drown his veggie dogs in chili and live with it. Dad would probably do it too. At the thought, Jerry grabbed another can and then went back to the produce section to get an onion although he was almost sure they had one at the house. He had to cross the store for the buns. His feet ached. He couldn’t tell if he needed a nap or if this was what thirty-four felt like.

What vegetable goes with hot dogs? he asked himself out loud, at a loss in the middle of the produce section. In the end, he snatched a few bags of premade salads to make his sister happy, and then a pack of the veggie dogs.

He checked his phone before he went to the registers, just in case, but his family was quiet now. A blessing or a portent of trouble to come, although he tried not to think of it like that.

Susanna sent another message as he was leaving, but only a warning. Don’t rush to get home. Sof is at a study group & I’m going to drive Liz to the mechanic. Her car died. Liz was one of Susanna’s coworkers at the bank.

The message brought Jerry up short. Having an hour or so free in the evenings was a lot less rare than it used to be, but it still took him by surprise.

He considered the gray and purple clouds of sunset through the windshield, and the brisk, icy breeze stirring trees that had shown hints of being ready to bloom. Then he eyed the paper bag full of veggie dogs that would be perfectly fine inside the car for a few minutes if he stopped somewhere.

Before he could change his mind, he put his phone away and drove down a block and half to the small, two-story building that stood at the intersection of a fairly big street and a tiny lane that led to the old post office, now converted into a thrift store.

Across the way was a local theater that only played two movies at one time, but had a sort of cult following for its midnight shows on Saturdays. Next to that was an Italian restaurant and a diner that had been around since before Jerry’s dad had been drafted.

The location was perfect. Jerry parked in the lot in front of Rosemont Bakery—Bakery Rosemont, Lincoln would insist, although no one else called it that—and hoped that all of Lincoln’s plans for this place came to fruition. Lincoln worked hard and was shrewd when it came to his business. He’d probably driven out here from the city to view the property, taken a good look around, and adjusted his bow tie in excitement.

Jerry didn’t actually know that Lincoln had been wearing a bow tie at the time, but Lincoln said he liked to for momentous occasions, and Jerry liked the image.

The parking lot was empty when he got out of the car, except for the bakery van just visible at the rear of the building. The bakery had a shaded, cemented patio area around the outside, where tables and chairs would be when the weather was nicer. Lincoln had plans to serve brunches and to stay open later in the summer to offer more sophisticated dessert pastries to the after-dinner crowd, but for now, the patio was mostly used by Lincoln himself and occasionally Jerry when he stopped by and they felt like sitting outside.

Last year, Lincoln had planted lavender around the edge of the property, probably to give the place more of a French feel. Lincoln always sighed wistfully whenever got to talking about pâtisserie. He could make fine pastries, but for the moment contented himself with scones and muffins and croissants and cake orders.

Macarons, religeuse, and pain au chocolat were delicious when Lincoln made them, but right now Rosemont was a sleepy suburb only just waking up, and pain au chocolat sales didn’t compare to blueberry muffins and carrot cake cupcakes decorated for Easter.

The bakery was closed, most of the lights off, but Jerry walked up the main path to the entrance and smiled