G.I. Joe Holiday

Quickest Way to a Man's Heart

THE next day they didn't stay in bed. Mason got responsible and practical and talked Deck into sitting for him so he could work on the clay sculpture. Deck figured it gave him a good reason to study Mason. Being responsible and working hard lasted until lunch time. Deck needed calories in a serious way.

He left Mason, hands wet from clay, detailing the statue's hair with tools. It was surreal watching a giant-sized head appear under Mason's calloused hands. Deck had to keep reminding himself that it was supposed to be that big and to not get a complex that his head was that giant.

He made a pot of stroganoff and a salad with chunks of green apple, and put them with a couple of forks and a large bottle of water in a box so he could carry it back to the studio. He nodded a hello to Grumpy Nick and smiled politely to anyone else he saw. They were friendly but distantly polite. Either they knew who he was and didn't care, or they didn't know and didn't care. Either way he made sure he left the kitchen better than he found it.

Mason pulled two stools to the worktable, and they ate out of the pan and salad bowl in companionable silence until their stomachs stopped growling.

"This is really good. Not from a box. Your mom teach you to cook?"

"Some. Mostly I learned in college. All my elective classes were culinary art stuff."

"You have a college degree?"

Deck stopped mid-scoop to glare at Mason.

"You're enlisted. If you have a degree, aren't you an officer?"

"You're an officer if you want to fill out a lot of paperwork. Plenty of enlisted guys have degrees. Mathews lead from the front, not from behind a desk." When his parents worried over bad omens and Deck's unique blue eyes, he had figured being a chef was a safe kind of difference. He believed his cousins and brothers, all of whom had brown eyes, when they teased that his blue ones meant he was a freak. It wasn't until a college biology class that he realized his eye color came from his mom's family and had nothing to do with being gay.

Deck nodded to the covered statue. "It coming along like it's supposed to?"

"You mean, does it always take this long?"

"It's a big piece. Of course it'll take some time."

"Seven months. And that's only if I get every transfer right the first time." Mason looked at Deck, his head tilted to the side. Maybe seeing if Deck was really interested. So Deck nodded to encourage him. "The original sculpture is in clay. Then I'll encase it in layers of rubber. All done in sections."

"Thus the legless torso."

"Right. I then pour wax in the rubber molds and just coat the inside. Got to work it so it isn't too thin or thick." Mason gestured with his hands, and his whole body sparked with excitement. "I use the wax mold to create the ceramic shell. You can't go clay to bronze in one step, or even rubber to bronze. Only ceramic can handle the heat of molten bronze. There's a lot of little details in there. Like sandblasting." Mason laughed. "Even with covering the loft in tarps, I have sand in my shorts for weeks. If the ceramic molds break in the kiln or the wax won't hold up...Got to go back and repeat a step."

Seven months of intense focus and all kinds of possibilities to mess things up. "They better be paying you decent."

"The government? Don't get me wrong; some of the best patrons are politicians or vets, but the job goes to the lowest bidder." He shrugged and used his fork to dig the last piece of apple out of the salad bowl. "It gets my name out there. My goal is to have a major piece in each part of the country, and Florida will give me presence in the South. I'd love to do a piece for the 9/11 memorial." He munched the green apple, and Deck stared at his mouth. Such a pretty mouth.

"If I get lucky, I'll be able to fly it down to Florida in September, and they can do a grand reveal on the 11th. The government dudes think it will be good PR."

Deck leaned forward and waited until Mason's eyes focused on him, his lids drooping and his pupils expanding. Deck kissed him. The fact that Mason loved what he did was obvious, and his enthusiasm made Deck ridiculously proud and horny.

That night Mason took him to the nearest pizza joint, which involved taking a twisty snow-covered drive forty minutes north. Christmas lights decorated the windows of the restaurant, and a set of life-sized plastic reindeer had been posed around a corner booth with a deck of cards dealt out for a poker game. Rudolph looked like his nose was red from the cognac, and Prancer wore a rainbow scarf and a pair of gloves. Deck used his cell phone to take Mason's picture with the reindeer, an ace peeking out of his coat sleeve, and his snow hat set at a street punk angle. Then Mason, laughing, always laughing, had the waitress take their picture with the cell phone.

"Make sure you send that to me," he said as the waitress handed the phone back to Deck.

"Just did."

Mason flipped open his cell phone to receive the picture, and smiled. His head was tilted down, snow had melted on his eyelashes, and the wind had reddened his cheeks. He looked so confident and sexy. He had pulled his hat and winter coat off, and his spiky hair made him look sleep rumpled. The tight T-shirt accentuated his pecs and the definition in his arms. Deck looked his fill, time-stamping the image. When he saw the picture of Mason and the reindeer later, he'd actually think of this moment in the booth when he realized he was completely lost.

It wasn't training. It was the real deal. And Deck didn't think he'd ever recover.

"I could come back after Christmas." Deck shut his mouth and looked out the window. God, why did he say that? He had to be back in San Diego and Phase 2 training on the 28th. He'd have two days to himself between Phases 2 and 3, and then nothing, not even Martin Luther King's Day off until April. Three months of carefully worded texts and emails, since all communication leaving the base was monitored. And here he'd gone and put himself out there, offered a possible relationship that he couldn't follow through on. Set himself up for rejection. Mason might even laugh it off, and Deck wanted to sit in that booth forever and cry. Please don't say anything. Just pretend it didn't happen.

"Declan?"

Deck knew Mason wanted him to look at him, but he ignored it. So Mason kicked him under the table. "Hey!" "Don't be an ass. Yes, I want you to come back after Christmas. But it's not that simple. My family comes in tomorrow afternoon. Are we ready for you to meet them?"

It sounded like a great reason to be gone by noon.

"Let's just see how things go." Mason rubbed his boot up and down Deck's shin, silently apologizing for the kick.

Mason wanted him to come back, and Deck wanted to come back. So he was coming. He just had to figure out the details, like if he'd lie to his family or tell them the truth. He loved a man in Paris, Idaho.