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Chapter 1: Însămânţa-4

The message was gruff, almost to the point of rudeness. Even woven into sonnet and sung from a balcony it would have been hard to make the words sound anything but cruel. “I do not like technology. And it does not like me. So if you would like to speak to me then you must come find me.” And how exactly, Dustin snarled at the phone, did one find someone without address, direction, or surname? Especially when that someone had called him from, of all places, the shop of which Dustin had already been to and been denied any useful information? He hefted the weight of the phone for a split second trying to decide if he was going slam it against the wall or throw it out the window. He had no avenues open, short of going back to the store and dropping to his knees begging for something, anything that would lead him to Nicolae. Of course, the shopkeeper would merely toss his head back with a laugh and once again refuse him. Well, Dustin’s conscience prodded, he hadn’t actually been refused the first time. After all, the questions Dustin had deigned to ask had been answered. Perhaps it was he, that little voice teased, that had failed to ask what he needed to know? And why did that realization make him want to beat his head against hard surfaces? “Communication,” Dustin could almost hear his father’s voice. “As much as I love you, son, I can’t read your mind.”

Dustin growled and tossed the phone on to the couch where it bounced safely and, for the meantime, still whole. With exaggerated movement and an epic pout, Dustin flung himself into a chair. He didn’t need this. He didn’t want this. Dustin didn’t chase men; men chased Dustin and he didn’t like this switch in dynamics. Not in the slightest.

Why that disgruntled feeling drove Dustin to call the cab, ride across town, and face the shop yet again, was beyond him. Yet there he stood, reading the handmade posters that he couldn’t understand, and silently cursing his own weaknesses. It urged him further still, to grab the handle, to grit his teeth and yank the door open. It pushed him into the shop and towards the counter and forced him to stop and wait for the shopkeeper when the man was not behind the register. And he was pretty sure it was the same emotion that caused the unreasonable, incomprehensible, and irrational wave of jealousy when a young, pretty, dark-haired woman stepped from behind the curtain that masked off whatever it was hiding from the rest of the store. “Hello, there,” she said with a smile, all warmth and sunshine and Dustin resisted the urge to stalk from the store in a fit of God-only-knew-what-the-hell-he-was-feeling. “Is the owner in?” Dustin asked, returning the smile and ignoring the bile creeping up his throat. “Ah, no,” she offered back. “He’s already left.”

Ingenuity and years of perfecting lies provided his next sentence. “Damn. I just missed him then?”

She frowned. “No. He left early this morning.”

Dustin ran a hand through his hair and pasted on an expression of angst-ridden bewilderment. “Damn. Damn, damn, damn.”

“Is something—?” He shook his head before she could continue. “I must have misunderstood. I was supposed to meet him at four-o’clock.” He let his expression fall to sheepish. “I guess I picked the wrong four didn’t I?”

The woman’s face softened. “Oh, dear. Probably. He did leave very early. Were you supposed to help him set up for the wedding?”

Dustin’s brain racked through possibilities, all in a split second’s pause. “No, not exactly. I was more just muscle.” He grinned, faked a flex. “I know, I know, not much of body-builder, but I got it here,” he said, patting his chest, “where it counts.”

She laughed, a bright, melodic sound, and it reminded Dustin of happier times, family moments, shared jokes. “And let me guess,” she said, her face still light with amusement, “Papa didn’t tell you the actual address because hey, why use things like numbers and street names when you can remember your way by landmark and funky trees, right?”

Papa. Damn. Grandfather? Father? That meant it probably wasn’t a family wedding, or else this woman would be in attendance as well. Which, in turn, meant Nicolae would probably not be a guest. It also meant that Dustin was going to have to be cautious of what he said. “You got it!” He smiled his most dazzling smile back. “And why is it that you’re not going?”

“Oh, I am.” The woman put out her hand. “I didn’t need to be there quite so early so I offered to watch the shop until the party started. I was actually just considering flipping the sign when I heard the bells. I’m Christina.”

“A lovely name,” Dustin said, taking the offered hand. “And one hell of a grip, too!”

Christina lifted an eyebrow. “And this is where you tell me your name.”

Nothing came quickly enough. “I’m Dustin.”

“And how do you know Papa?”

He cleared his throat. Tension lit fires along nerve endings. “I’m a friend of Nicolae’s.”

Christina’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Nico! How wonderful!” She gave him a quick, appreciative once-over. “I didn’t know he was dating again.”

Dustin almost curled up his nose at the abbreviation. It sounded…wrong. Then his mind replayed the sentence. Dating. Again. As if…they could be dating. Nicolae and him. Halle-freaking-lujah. “Nicolae is gay!” He didn’t even realize he’d said it aloud until he caught Christina’s expression. “You don’t know Nico at all, do you?”

Damn it, Dustin cursed silently. Retreat, his mind warned urgently. But before he could throw on his customarily sported figurative running shoes, his tongue reacted without him. “No. But I’d like to.”

A grin replaced Christina’s concern. “Oh, really?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Well then,” she said coyly. “Feel like going to a party?”