Chapter One
One of the advantages of working in a gourmet grocery store in Hollywood was that you met all sorts of people. Olly was an outgoing person who liked people, liked getting to know them. Some more than others.
At the moment, he was busy slathering organic hummus on a dozen pita chips and laying them out in neat rows on a tray. It was eleven in the morning, but the lunchtime nibblers would start arriving soon. A woman in a pink T-shirt drifted by and snatched a sample. Still chewing, she wandered off toward the deli section. As Olly followed her with his eyes, a twenty-something guy standing by the cheese section caught his attention.
Olly considered himself a connoisseur of men, and the stranger’s lean build, caramel skin and Greek nose earned his appreciation. Especially the nose. Olly had developed a thing for them at an early age when he’d discovered the art history section of the public library. Those Greek statues—especially the male ones—enthralled him before he could tell why.
Greek Nose was holding two plastic-wrapped chunks of cheese in his hands. He seemed undecided. Looking up, he caught Olly staring and gave a relieved smile. It was full of straight, white teeth, like a Colgate commercial. Sadly, he wore shades, and Olly couldn’t see his eyes. He picked up his shopping basket and sauntered up to Olly’s counter. He flashed another smile. “I wonder if you could help me choose.” There was the slightest hint of an accent in his voice.
Olly studied the options. “Well, it really depends on your preferences. One’s a New Zealand sharp cheddar, the other one’s for Havarti with dill. What kind of cheese do you normally like?”
“Oh, I don’t eat the stuff—this is for a gift.” Greek Nose frowned. “They seem so paltry like this. Do you have them in whole wheels?”
“No, sorry.”
“Ah. Then tell me, Olly, where can I buy a proper wheel of cheese? Preferably something gourmet?”
Not many customers bothered to read Olly’s name tag, but it happened, and so he wasn’t fazed by being called by his name. The question, on the other hand, gave him a pause. “Hm.” At first he drew a blank, but then he remembered the most recent Best of LA issue of the LA Weekly. “The Beverly Hills Cheese Store,” he said, pointing the butter knife at the guy. “I don’t know the address, but it’s somewhere in Beverly Hills. Obviously.”
“No worries, I’ll find it.”
Greek Nose sauntered back to the deli case, and a pair of new customers stopped by Olly’s table. Millie and Joe were regulars who came to the store once or twice a week and liked to chat with whoever was doing demo. Olly asked them about their weekend plans—it was already Thursday, after all—and they happily filled him in about their granddaughter’s impending visit from Florida.
When they tottered away, Olly was surprised to see Greek Nose back at the counter and observing Olly over the rim of his shades with amber eyes. “I’m Hunter,” he said. “As you probably guessed, I’m new in town.”
“Where are you from?” Olly asked out of more than politeness.
Hunter didn’t reply immediately, as if he had to think about it. “France.”
“You sure?” Olly jested.
Hunter’s lips quirked sideways. “Sorry, I’m not a morning person.”
“It’s almost noon.” As the banter progressed, it developed a layer of piquancy.
Hunter must’ve felt it too, because his smile grew suggestive. “Yeah, way too early to be out of bed. Say, where does someone go for fun around here on a Friday night?”
Olly pursed his lips and pretended to think. “Well, depends on your idea of fun.”
“Where would you go?”
“Probably to Ombre—it’s a nightclub on Sunset, in the middle of West Hollywood. Not far from here, actually.” Olly noticed Roger, the manager, marching down aisle three in their direction. He switched to his professional tone. “And we also have spicy and garlic hummus—all organic, of course.”
Hunter straightened his face and nodded. “Thank you. I’ll check them out.” He winked and left.
Catching the last word seemed to please Roger. He came around the counter looking as cheerful as the flowers on his Hawaiian shirt. Fred’s Trade Post—FTP for short—prided itself in its relaxed atmosphere. “I’ll take it from here.”
Olly shed his plastic gloves and moved on to the next task on his schedule. At this store, all employees did different jobs throughout the day, so Olly spent the next couple of hours restocking produce.
Olly clocked out a few minutes after five. His friend and coworker Jem was already waiting in the parking lot, leaning against a silver Honda. Olly and Jem had met three years ago when Olly started to work at FTP, and hit it off right away. And not just because at the time they were the only two gays at the store. They simply fit. Strangely, they never had the slightest spark of physical attraction, despite both of them being good looking enough. Probably for the best—lovers were easier to find than good friends. To Olly, Jem was more like a brother he’d never had.