2021-04-01 - Home Sweet Home

One thing Cristobal didn't gain on their trip to England was actual class, though he'll defend that the new Pork Pie hat he's wearing gives him just that. The grey straw hat with the black rim sits at a jaunty angle over one eye, and doesn't quite compliment his current outfit of cargo shorts and white tank top unless they are headed to Cuba next instead of into the coffee shop. "I don't know if it feels real coming back. What do you think blew up while we were gone?"

"Half the town, no doubt. And then it repaired itself but in a slightly off configuration," says Dante. He went ham shopping. He came back with two suitcases and a garment bag stuffed full, and yet more coming by freight. He's sporting a dark tweed Tom Ford suit with a very subtle silver thread over a pale salmon shirt and a pink-gray pocket square. He still has the beard, though. Cris seems to like it, and he wants to keep his beau happy.

"After surviving your family, Gray Harbor will seem like a cake walk." Cris gives a theatric silent laugh and dances away a few steps. "Kidding." He tells Dante, and then to the ether of the town in general, "Kidding!" In case it takes that as a challenge. "Double espresso." He orders at that counter, then gestures at Dante saying they're together as he flicks out payment.

"Oi. You didn't even meet the eccentric ones. The ones who wear ridiculous hats and go to horse races. My mum and my sisters are pretty low on the insufferable ladder." In truth, Dante's mother quite liked Cris. She's an immaculately put together woman (easy to see where he got his style) with a confident way of speaking one gets from years in a courtroom. His sisters were more hesitant, but slowly warmed up to him. His youngest sister matched Cris in curses and crudeness after she had a few glasses of wine in her.

No visit with Dante's father, though. That's far too loaded and not something he wanted to broach on what was also a working vacation to put his latest book to bed. "Americano," he says to the barista.

Cris leaves a tip and takes his change, shoving it in one of the myriads of short pockets to likely come out in the wash later. He waits there at the counter with Dante instead of making someone deliver their coffees. "Yeah, well if any of those eccentric folk are coming to the wedding, tell me now because I'm going to have to redo the ENTIRE seating chart." Which he's already done four times, because it's awkward enough having one to begin with as that's not really 'traditional' in Juarez.

"Or we could say to hell with a seating chart and let people sit wherever," says Dante as they await the coffee. "And don't worry, none of the elderly women and their big ridiculous hats would make a long trek to see their grand-nephew marry a man. We're rather out of hate-attend range."

"Because with my family that would be chaos. I think I came up with a reasonable flow and mixtures of personalities and families. I've already had to ban my uncle's Mariachi band from playing more the three songs, which I expect you to thank me for later. You picked out your suit, right? Because I have to match the linens." Whoever had money on Dante being the Groomzilla in this relationship lost their money, because Cris has entire binders on this shit.

Dante got most of the 'planning every detail of a venue' thing out of his system when designing Sitka, so he's been letting Cris go to town on the wedding plans. "I expect my side will be much smaller than yours. Fewer in general, but also, well, further to come. And I have absolutely no problem with that. The people who I'd want there would be the ones who would make the effort." As far as suits? He grins, and then looks sheepish. "Would you be angry if I said I've narrowed it down to five possibilities?"

"Maldita sea, Dante, you're killing me. KILLING ME." But despite his ire, Cris is smirking as he scoops up his diminutive cup and presses the Americano into his fiance's hand and heads to a table. "You still jet lagged? Because I feel like the underside of a ballsack after riding a sandpaper saddle."

"Maybe you should be a writer because that's one hell of a metaphor," drawls Dante as he follows Cris to a table. "Oh I'm a bit out of it but I'm more used to that trip than you are. I'm also used to working odd hours now because of the restaurant. Which, as you may note, I didn't sprint back to the moment the plane hit the ground. I am technically on vacation a few more days."

"Pretty sure the world at large doesn't need to be exposed to my particular turn of phrase. You, however, are stuck with me and my metaphors. I liked it so I put a ring on it." He brushes his thumb down the side of his nose. "Damn straight you are." Still on vacation. Cris settles in a seat and stretches his foot across to hitch on the edge of Dante's, "I should let Joey know I'm back in town. See if I'm even still wanted at the strip club."

"What about working security at the casino? Not at Sitka, because, well, as entertaining as me being your boss would be for a little while, it would quickly get awkward. But if you were working in the same complex, we could see each other more when the restaurant gets busy. It's shaping up to be a decent wedding season." And Dante doesn't mean theirs.

"You know it's not about where I want to work, right? It'll be where I'm told I'm needed." Cris lifts his little cup and takes a sip, making a face at the strong brew, but he's attempting to feel less battered ballsack like.

"Surely you could make a request?" asks Dante, perhaps showing his naivite'. He sips his Americano. Despite his claims to not be feeling the jetlag that much, there are dark circles under his eyes. There's no such thing as a transcontinental flight without feeling the effects for a few days, after all.

Cris' shoulder rises and falls in a half-hearted shrug, "Sure, mi luz, I'll toss out some feelers." But it's clear his heart's not in the subject, nor his head back in Gray Harbor just yet. "Think you're going to have to go on a book tour when this one is released?"

"Likely. Though probably just a few major cities. I don't have to tour like I used to. Might go to a few conventions as well." Dante raises his cup to his lips, then pauses, "Would you like to come along? And don't worry, they know I'm getting married and that comes first."

"I might just join you at a few stops. See who fawns over you. Pick out a groupie and make their year." Cris' grin turns a little feral, that crooked little thing that exposes one canine more than the other. "We haven't set our date in stone yet, so we'll work around it, no big."

Dante chuckles roughly. "Oh that's quite dangerous. That's how rumours get started," says Dante with a crooked grin of his own. "Have you been to New York? That will most certainly be one of the stops." And then he tenses a little. "God, I hope this book is received well. I haven't had revisions this intense since my first book."

"Hey, what happens on the book tour, stays on the book tour." But there's a shake of his head to the question of New York, "I'd never been east of the Mississippi before you took me across the 'pond'." Cris pulls down his foot from its latch next to Dante if only so he can lean forward and catch the man's hand, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. "When you finally let me read the final draft, it was great, bebe. So if I my neanderthal brain can appreciate it, the masses will."

"If you thought I was bad just before Sitka opened, you haven't seen anything yet, I'm afraid," murmurs Dante as he squeezes Cris' hand in return. "With the restaurant, I was so busy I didn't have much time to get nervous. With a book, you birth it and then just wait for the reactions. There are sleepless nights in my future I'm afraid. So I apologize in advance." He pulls the other man's hand up to his mouth to peck.

"It's a good thing I happen to have a really fun way to pass those sleepless nights. And maybe wear you out enough that you'll eventually get some rest." Cris tosses back the rest of his espresso, and puts the cup back to saucer. "C'mon, finish up so we can pick up Diva from the sitters and get home. Knowing you, you'll insist on unpacking before we start...practice for my tried and true treatment for nervousness."