Feeling mostly human again, Frank watched Dean race through the condo preparing for work. Before his heart attack he used to think of sleeping in as a fine luxury. After, as woefully tired as he had been during his first week of recovery, the ability to wake early and get out of bed had become an exhilarating part of his day. It felt good to be up and about, not chained between the sheets.
Frank poured coffee into Dean's morning travel mug, straight black. He screwed the lid on as he watched Dean from the corner of his eye, hurrying back and forth.
"My watch," Dean muttered, glaring at his wrist as though it had hidden the gold watch as part of a conspiracy.
"Bedroom, your side on the end table," Frank advised. With Dean racing off to retrieve it, Frank admired the view before Dean vanished inside the bedroom. After noticing Dean had to search for nearly everything each morning, Frank had begun memorizing where Dean left things each night. It made him feel useful since all he was allowed to do right now was rest. However he had never noticed this habit of Dean's before his heart attack. Occasionally Frank wondered if it was new or if he had been too wrapped up in his own morning grumpiness to notice.
"Ah-ha!" Dean crowed, exiting the bedroom and waving his wallet above his head. Once again The Mighty Wallet Hunter emerged triumphant. Frank resisted rolling his eyes. However he noticed the watch glinting from Dean's wrist.
"Are you ready for today?" Dean asked, sliding the slim wallet into his pocket. Frank must have given him a confused look because his face hardened. "Therapist."
Oh. Her.
"I guess," he sighed. "Pretty sneaky of you and John to have Bill sign off on requiring it before I can go back to work."
"Not me," Dean protested. "According to John it is company policy when an employee has a heart attack."
Frank had a few opinions regarding any policy requiring therapy but he kept them to himself. There was no point in starting an argument before work, it would only make Dean late and then grumpy this evening. Frank preferred for Dean to come home in a good mood. Grumpy meant they watched any sporting event he could find on, even soap box derbies, good mood meant they might watch a classic film. It was in Frank's best interests to keep Dean in good moods.
"You'll call and let me know how it went?" Dean asked, accepting his travel mug.
"I thought we were meeting for lunch?" Frank protested. "You insisted, remember?"
"I did, didn't I?" Dean set his stuff down to slide his ever present stupid cell phone out. After tapping around on its surface for a while Dean nodded. "Yeah, I don't have an afternoon showing until two. I asked Ginny to make sure we had plenty of time for lunch."
"Where do I meet you?" Frank asked, assuming his love would want to meet at a restaurant, probably one which exclusively sold rabbit food.
"My office." Without so much as a blink, Dean slid his cell out of sight. "You know where it is, right?"
"Your office. You want me to come inside your office?" Up to now Dean had avoided the topic of Frank meeting coworkers. Frank had been trying to give Dean space on the issue regardless of how difficult it was for him.
Dean frowned at him. "You don't expect me to bring everybody outside to meet you, do you? What time do you expect to be there? I should warn you, our receptionist Ginny is a bulldog. She doesn't let anyone in without an appointment."
"Then you'd better pencil me in for lunch," Frank suggested.
A broad grin spread across Dean's handsome face. "Now there's a good idea. Oh, and I'm having lunch delivered to the office. I don't want any rude waiters getting in the way of hearing about your appointment. Okay?"
One bright spot in his day: no waiters. It did not make up for having to see the sanctimonious bitch but at least Dean thought of him. Frank shrugged.
"Aw, Baby, it won't be that bad. Come here." Despite being fully dressed for work in a pristine white pressed dress shirt, Dean opened his arms inviting a hug.
Unable to pass up the rare offer, Frank stepped into the embrace. Drawing strength from Dean's support, he felt almost ready to face therapy. Almost.
A sweet kiss landed on his cheek before Dean bustled out the door to start a new day, leaving Frank to deal with The Therapist.
First he had to change clothes. The baggy shorts and t-shirt were fine for a therapist appointment but not to meet Dean's coworkers. Not even close. His best dress shirt, perhaps he should save it for the wedding, Frank chose his second favorite dress shirt, the one in baby blue. Mom had insisted he buy it because it brought out the blue in his eyes. It had been too long since he wore it. Frank pulled out his best suit, the one with the light gray pinstripes. It fit a little snug but that should change the longer he stuck to his new permanent diet.
Checking his appearance in the mirror, Frank swept the longer hair over his eyes out of the way. High time for a haircut. But overall not bad, even if he said so himself. The suit looked slimming, making him appear more broad shouldered than overweight. Since he had no plans of going to work or out to a nice restaurant Frank decided against wearing a tie. They tended to make him feel like he was strangling.
After filling a second travel mug with coffee, remembering coffee at the therapist's office was god-awful and burnt, he was ready. Physically he was ready. Emotionally Frank was in turmoil. It would be so easy to hang out in the park until a reasonable hour and then lie about going. The problem was he did not want to lie, not to Dean. He wanted a loving honest relationship. He wanted what his parents had.
Everything required sacrifices. Someone had given him the advice years ago. The sacrifice for having Dean a permanent fixture in his life was to diet, exercise and see a therapist. No matter how horrible therapy would be, it would be worth it to keep Dean. Because Frank had this terrible feeling if he balked on therapy it would be the one thing which could drive Dean away. Permanently.
Not up to a long walk, Frank took public transportation the whole way. It was not as horrible as he remembered. No one stared at him or gave him dirty looks. In fact other people hardly seemed to notice him at all.
One woman across the aisle from him shot him a smile. Frank checked to be sure his shirt tail was not hanging out. She chuckled, hiding her reaction behind one hand.
Flirting, he wondered. Was she flirting with him? Glancing down at himself he decided it was the suit. All men looked better in suits.
The woman left the bus first but not before giving him a little wave. She was flirting.
Wow. Frank tried to recall the last time someone other than Dean had flirted with him. Nothing came to mind. Amazing. Suits were awesome, he decided.
Once he exited the bus Frank stood in front of the inconspicuous looking white building to stare. If only people walking by knew what was inside. They would cross to the other side of the street.
Taking a deep breath and keeping an image of Dean firmly fixed in mind, Frank entered the building.
Inside cool air washed over him. The waiting area was all couches and stuffed chairs with a score of small coffee tables stacked with old magazines. A couple sat against the far wall pretending to read two year old magazines while avoiding looking at each other.
Walking up to the reception window, Frank waited. The glass window slid open and a pleasant woman asked if he had an appointment. After making copies of his identification and insurance card, he was directed to wait until his name was called.
Frank sat as far from the couple waiting for marriage counseling as he could. They radiated unease and dissatisfaction. They were the opposite of what he had at home and he feared any of it rubbing off. When they were called and he was left alone in the waiting area, relief swept over him.
Until he heard his name called. The woman who stepped out was short, long black hair pulled back in an underaged ponytail, and a practiced smile with no warmth. Sanctimonious bitch, Frank thought viciously as he forced a similar emotionless smile.
"Frank," she said, pumping his hand before pointing down the hall behind her, "it's been a while."
Admonition rang in her tone, an attempt to instill guilt. He gritted his teeth and tried to keep in mind why he was here, who asked him to try again. Not just John this time, it was Dean. For Dean he could endure this.
"Sit down, sit down," the short therapist cried as she bustled him into the room.
With a sigh Frank chose one of the armchairs where he could see people walking past through window. At least he might entertain himself while she rambled on and tried to make him feel guilty.
"Frank? What brings you back?" she asked brightly, her grin without warmth or feeling, while her hand twirled a bright silver pen.
"May I see your pen?" he asked, daring to look her in the eye.
The pen stopped twirling. "Excuse me?"
"Your pen." Frank held out his hand, palm up. He curled his fingers in encouragement. "May I see it?"
With clear trepidation, she placed it in his palm.
"Thank you." Frank slid it into his jacket pocket.
"Frank? Did you just steal my pen?" she demanded, the first sign of real emotion flaring. It was about time, he had firmly believed she was a cold, soulless witch incapable of human feeling. Which made becoming a therapist a bad career choice.
"It's fine." He patted his pocket. "I'll give it back when my time is up."
"Frank." She set a file aside. Now with Frank paying attention to it he saw his file was rather thick. How could it be so thick? He only came to her a couple of times last year. At most a couple.
"Do you know my name?"
"No," he answered honestly, not feeling the slightest shame in it.
"Do you want to be here?"
"No." Hey, Dean and Missus Smith had a point about the pen. So far this was the best session he had experienced.
"Frank, I became a therapist because I want to help people. I'd like to help you."
So much for a good session. Here it came: The Guilt Lecture.
"But if you won't open up, if you won't talk about what's bothering you, I can't help you develop coping strategies or figure out why you're so stressed."
"I'm not stressed," Frank snapped. He was tired of people saying stupid things about him.
"Really? Because your medical charts and blood pressure indicate otherwise." She gestured to his file. No wonder it was so thick if she had all the information about the heart attack in there.
"I have an idea. Why don't we start over? Like this is our very first time meeting and you've never been here before?" She stood and held out her hand in greeting. "I'm your new therapist, Sue Taylor. It's very nice to meet you."
Stupid, stupid, stupid. This was the dumbest thing she had ever come up with. Start over indeed. He glared at the woman standing before him with her hand outstretched, motioning for him to join her.
Start over. New rules. And he had the pen. Brightening, Frank stood to shake her hand.
"Frank Warren," he said, giving her a firm handshake. "Nice to meet you, Miss Taylor."
New Rule Number One: no rude therapists.
"Thank you, Frank." She smoothed her skirt as she sat.
Frank glowered down at her, arms crossed over his chest.
"Is something wrong?" she asked hesitantly, casting her eyes around until they landed on the pen gleaming from Frank's pocket. She actually made a face when she realized he still had it.
"I didn't know we were on a first name basis, Miss Taylor," he declared, feeling his blood pressure rise.
With a pained smile, she nodded at him. "My apologies, Mister Warren. Would you care to have a seat?"
"Thank you." He checked his travel mug, empty.
"Would you like some coffee or water, Mister Warren?" Miss Taylor asked, her eyes fixed on his pocket.
"It's killing you, isn't it?" he asked, patting the pen.
Her eyes darted back to his. "I don't know what you're talking about. Coffee?"
"No thanks, your office has lousy coffee. But thank you for offering." He slumped in his chair. "Go ahead, I think you were lecturing me for being uncooperative."
Her finger waggled at him. "No, no. Not this time. Mister Warren, may I ask why you are seeking my services?"
Ouch. He had not seen this one coming. Squirming uncomfortably, Frank decided on the unvarnished truth. "Dean asked me to come."
Her fingers twitched with the need to write and her gaze darted again to his pocket. He grinned over her discomfort.
"Who is Dean?" She folded her hands in her lap while forcing her gaze to his face. He could tell it was a struggle.
"The love of my life."
A real smile, perhaps the first one he had seen from her, appeared. She was almost human when she smiled. "How nice. When did you meet?"
Frank found himself telling his new favorite story, how he and Dean met. When he reached the part where they met up in the park she interrupted.
"Goodness, Kelly must be pretty strong to have hit you hard enough to cause bruising. Or did she hit you with something, like a vase?"
Staring at her, Frank tried to figure out what the heck she meant. "She? Kelly isn't a girl."
"She's not?" Flustered, her hands groped for the nonexistent pen. "I-I mean, oh. Kelly is a man. So Dean is..."
"A better man," Frank answered. "We never covered the fact I'm gay? Seriously? Sometimes I think I'm wearing a sign, it's usually so obvious."
"No." Miss Taylor shook her head. "It wouldn't matter if it came up before because we started over, remember?"
"But I don't look gay?" Frank demanded, trying to figure out if she was for real. "You acted surprised. I even own a t-shirt with the words 'there's no such thing as too gay' printed right across the front. In pink."
"The names Dean and Kelly are given to both boys and girls." She shrugged. "Had you worn the shirt it would have been obvious. So yes, as unprofessional of me as it was, I acted surprised. My apologies.
"Please rest assured there was no value judgement in my surprise, you simply caught me off-guard. Could I have a moment to think?"
Nodding, Frank gestured for her to take her time. He could use a few minutes too. It was a new experience, someone not noticing he was gay. Or had he stopped seeking out the strange glances and odd frowns? Nothing along those lines had bothered him in quite a while.
"Mister Warren?"
Dragging his eyes back to hers Frank nodded for her to continue.
"Again, my apologies. Since I have a better understanding of the situation, would you mind if we backed up a little? I'd like to ask a few questions about this Kelly person."
Frank groaned, rolling his head to the side until he could prop it up on his fist. "Do we have to? I was just getting to the good part, our first date. I didn't even know we were dating for sure until the third one. Dean is so smooth."
A serious frown came over her and she shook her head. "No, I'm afraid I need to ask. Nothing against Dean, I assure you. I do want to hear about how wonderful he is. But Kelly...
"You were allowing him to abuse you, weren't you? Over and over, you let him beat you up. For months, from the sound of it. Why?"
After pondering the situation, Frank took the pen out of his pocket. "Here," he offered it to her, "I'll make a deal. You can have the pen back if you don't bring him up again."
Her frown deepened. "Keep it. I'd rather have an answer."
"Damn," he muttered, returning the pen to his pocket. He had been positive returning the precious pen would work.
"Because..." His mind drifted back to those dark days when the world had turned cold, unfeeling. "Because I deserved it."
As the words left his mouth he heard the ring of truth in them. It was an admission he could never make to Dean, dear sweet Dean who would never believe it.
"You deserved it," she repeated, hands gripping the couch cushion on either side of her legs. "Why, Mister Warren? What could you have possibly done to deserve any kind of abuse?"
"It's not what I did," Frank replied defensively, "it's what I didn't do."
"And what didn't you do?" she asked, peering curiously at him.
Once again his nice white wall slammed down, blocking off the answers. Grateful for its existence, Frank shrugged.
Glancing down at her watch she made a face. "Oh, dear, I'm afraid we've run ten minutes over."
"Really? It's been a whole hour?" he asked, astounded.
"Mister Warren, can we please pick this up again next time? I do want to hear about how you and Dean started dating, how smooth he was." She smiled at him, a real smile this time. "Honest."
"Sure. I think I'd like telling you."
"Good." With a large grin she showed him out and called in another tense couple from the waiting room.
#
The bus trip to Dean's office building was shorter than to the therapist's office. Standing outside for a moment to get his bearings, Frank watched the people walking in and out of the building. Every last one of them wore business suits, men and women. Obviously he correctly anticipated the dress code. Feeling rather pleased with himself, especially after soaring through a therapy session he had dreaded with every fiber of his being, Frank entered the building with a spring in his step. Today he would meet Dean's coworkers.
The crowds at the elevator bank were leaving the building, not going up. Frank had to wait for a car to empty before entering and pressing the button for Dean's floor, assuming he remembered it correctly.
When the doors opened to a lavishly furnished area, more along the lines of a wealthy family's living room rather than a reception area, Frank paused. Surely this was the wrong place. Dean worked in real estate not a lavish furniture store.
Deciding he should ask before hightailing it downstairs to the building reception desk, Frank stepped out. From his new vantage point he spotted a woman sitting behind a tall mahogany reception desk. She had flouncy blond hair straight from the 1980s and a wide toothy smile. Her bright blue silk blouse did fit in with the lavish living room.
"Good afternoon and welcome to Charming Realty," she greeted in a bubbly, perky voice. "Do you have an appointment?"
Clearing his throat nervously, Frank felt way out of his class here, he asked, "Dean Smith?"
"Let me check the book," she replied, eyes darting down. Her fingers danced over a computer keyboard. "Are you Mister Warren? Mister Smith's lunch appointment?"
Her bright smile flashed at him again.
"Yes," he replied, wondering how upset Dean would be if he made a break for the elevator.
"One moment, please." She picked up a phone receiver. "Mister Smith? Your lunch appointment is here. Yes, sir."
After setting the receiver down she smiled again. "Mister Smith will be right out. Please make yourself comfortable."
"Thank you."
Wishing he had opted for the tie because it would have provided a handy noose to strangle himself afterward if this went sour, Frank resisted the urge to pace. At least he did not have to wait long. A door set in the paneled wall behind the receptionist swung open and Dean, in all his glory, strode out.
Thank God. The results were instant, Frank's feelings of unease drifted away and were replaced with confidence. Especially when Dean smiled this way at him.
"I was afraid you'd be late," Dean exclaimed as he held the door open. "Come on, lunch arrived ten minutes ago."
The receptionist shot Dean a disproving frown. Dean snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering something.
"Oh right, you haven't met, have you?" In a few long strides Dean stood beside the receptionist's desk.
"Ginny, this is Frank. Any time he shows up, even if I'm with a client, let him in. Okay?"
"Any time, Mister Smith?" The receptionist frowned at Dean. "I'm prohibited from interrupting when you're with a client."
"You used to interrupt when my ex came up here," he snapped, color flushing into his cheeks and ears.
Uh-oh.
"Boy am I hungry," Frank jumped in. "Did you say the food was here? Let's go."
"I don't think so," Dean insisted, his ears turning red.
"But it was different with her," the receptionist Ginny insisted to Dean's reddening countenance, "you were engaged."
"I'm engaged now," Dean growled. Literally. He growled. His ears burned redder. Crap.
"Hi, Frank Warren." He grabbed the girl's hand to give it a quick pump. "Nice to meet you. Love to stay and chat but Dean said our lunch was here."
Before Dean's ears could burst into flame, Frank hustled him through the open door. Safely on the other side he shut the door, closing them off from the ditzy receptionist.
A chuckle of relief escaped and Dean's eyes leveled on him like a gun sight.
Frank held up a hand to ward off his love's temper. "That was the craziest 'coming out' I've ever seen in person." He chuckled again as he rubbed his hands with anticipation. "I can't wait to tell John."
"You would." With a deep breath Dean shook his head. "Please tell me you actually went to the therapist. I don't know how I'm going to react if you skipped it."
"I went," Frank promised. "You can call and ask if you want."
A deep breath of relief whooshed from Dean and the red began to recede. "Come on. My office is over here."
One door away from the corner office, Dean's name was etched in brass. He opened it to reveal an office nearly as nice as the plush lobby.
"You are going to hate my office," Frank declared, taking it all in. "Man, it's like you work inside an old movie."
Chuckling, Dean pulled two guest chairs up to his desk where a large plastic bag waited. Both ears were cooler and his face had returned to normal color.
Before Frank could sit a knock sounded on the door.
Frowning, Dean crossed to open his door. In the hall stood a familiar looking woman.
"Frank." The woman's face lit up, her brown eyes lively, her brown hair smooth with every strand in place. She walked with a classic grace and elegance. Her dress hung to calf length and radiated in timeless elegance, light summer green with bold brass buttons. "I hoped it was you."
After shaking Frank's hand she shot Dean a glance. "The girl called to tell on you."
Closing his eyes, Dean shook his head and groaned.
"I'm afraid it could have gone better," Frank admitted for him.
"I doubt it," Elizabeth said airily. "The girl is a dingbat. However she's an excellent bulldog at the reception desk, so I haven't fired her. But Frank," here she turned deadly serious, "since the girl knows now, if she ever gives you any trouble I expect you to inform me. It will be the last straw."
"Thank you, Miss Elizabeth," Frank replied using his best manners, "but I'd hate for anyone to lose her job because of me. I'll be sure to call first so Dean always knows I'm coming."
"How absurd," she replied bluntly. Then a smooth smile appeared. "But very gentlemanly of you. Dean keeps telling me how old-fashioned you can be, now I see what he means. Welcome to the family, Mister Frank."
After shaking his hand again and insisting he take one of her cards, Dean's boss left them alone to eat.
"Wow, she has real class," Frank remarked, taking the seat beside Dean.
"Better believe it," Dean replied, digging into the plastic bag. As Frank had suspected it contained rabbit food. A large clear plastic container of green leaves, shredded carrots, and tomatoes was placed in front of him.
"Without Elizabeth this whole office would sink," Dean declared, passing Frank wrapped plastic utensils. He frowned at Frank's salad before pawing through the bag again. "Here we go, fat-free salad dressing."
A silver pouch proclaiming to be the tastiest fat-free dressing made was pressed into Frank's hand. Though he doubted it was possible for fat-free to taste good, he accepted it. Better a fat-free salad than a plain one.
"How was therapy?" Dean asked, drizzling his salad dressing over his meal.
"Not too bad," Frank admitted. "Miss Taylor was kind of decent."
"Miss Taylor?" Dean asked, glancing at him. "Wow, that's a serious step up from sanctimonious bitch. What happened?"
"We started over," Frank replied, copying Dean's technique with the salad dressing, trying to splatter some on every leaf. "And I took her pen."
Choking on his first bite, Dean grabbed his bottled water to clear his mouth. "Y-you took her pen? How? Tell me you didn't wrestle her to the ground for it. You're supposed to be taking it easy."
Frank wrinkled his nose over the implication. "As if. I asked for it and Miss Taylor gave it to me. Don't know why I didn't think of it last time, would've made things more tolerable."
A suspicious look came into Dean's eyes, which cut to the side to stare at him. "Frank? What does Miss Taylor call you now?"
Frank pretended to busy himself with coating all the leaves with fat-free goodness. He shrugged.
"You made her call you Mister Warren. Didn't you?" Dean nudged his arm. "Didn't you?"
"I didn't make her," Frank replied stiffly. "It was her stupid idea to start over. I just thought if we were starting over, maybe she could get a few things right this time."
With a chuckle, Dean reached over to pat his thigh. "Once of a kind, Baby. You are one of a kind."
"I still think that's a compliment," Frank warned, waving his fork in the air.
"Because it is," Dean replied with another chuckle, his eyes laughing openly.
They finished their meal amid amicable teasing and open laughter. Dean seemed especially enamored of Frank's tale regarding the pen. Frank had to retell it four times.
"And she just gave it to you?" Dean asked. Again. Frank nodded. "She never saw it coming. Baby, you're like a force of nature."
Frank shrugged it off, stuffing his empty salad container back into the bag. "How much time do we still have?"
"About an hour," Dean replied, adding his trash to the bag as well. "Want to meet anyone else? I'm sure the dingbat is spreading rumors all over the place. There's no telling when somebody will-"
A knock on the door interrupted Dean, who made a sour face at it.
"If they thought I was with a client, no one except Elizabeth would dare knock," Dean whispered. "Busybodies."
With a shrug, Frank motioned to the door. "So let 'em in."
"Really?"
"You just offered to introduce me around, why not start with the busybodies?" Frank reasoned.
With a nod Dean headed for the door. Frank checked he had not dripped fat-free on his suit before standing to greet whoever came to check him out.
The door opened to reveal two men in suits, not quite as nice as Dean's but still pricier than Frank's. They were both tall and the similarities ended there. One had jet black hair slicked down to his skull and a waistline twice the width of Frank's. The other wore blond hair in curls which hung past his ears, a slim waistline, and a cold grin which claimed he knew more than you. Frank hated the blond on sight.
"Jerry. Joe." Dean leaned against the door. "Can I help you?"
"Heard you were entertaining during lunch today," the blond said, taking the open door as an invitation to walk right in. "Wondered who was visiting? Cousin?"
Asshole.
Frank held out his hand and plastered his best client smile on. "Frank Warren. Nice to meet you."
The asshole gripped his hand hard enough to crush bone. Gritting his teeth Frank endured it while refusing to break eye contact.
"Joe Wilson," the asshole replied, releasing Frank's hand. "So who are you? Cousin? Frat buddy?"
"Roommate," Frank answered honestly while his hand throbbed. However he refused to give the asshole the satisfaction of shaking it out or rubbing it to relieve the pain.
"You moved?" the dark haired guy, presumably Jerry, asked Dean. "Where?"
"The Whispering Arms," Dean replied. Frank rather enjoyed watching Jerry's surprise. Joe's reaction was downright predatory.
"How many two bedrooms are left?" Joe asked curiously. "And how the hell did you score one?"
Dean shrugged. "We didn't. I moved into Frank's one bedroom."
"But there isn't anything unseemly going on," Frank jumped into the conversation. "We're engaged."
"Ah, no." Joe chuckled and shook his head. "No, no, no. Not possible."
He laughed, elbowing the other guy Jerry. Jerry simply stood staring, his face blank. If Frank were not enjoying it he would find Jerry's reaction rude.
"See, he used to be engaged to my wife," Joe declared as if he were proud of the fact.
"Is he the one I should thank?" Frank asked Dean, standing before the asshole. "This is the guy who freed you from the cheating slut?"
Frank grabbed the asshole by the shoulder and gave him a shake. "Thanks, man. Seriously. If it hadn't been for you two cheating behind his back, Dean might never have been turned off women and driven to men. I appreciate it."
Frank slid to the side so he could wrap an arm over the asshole's shoulders. "I mean, look at him. He's so gorgeous. Who the in their right minds would cheat on him?" Frank shot him a knowing glance, implying the 'for you' part.
Next he moved to Jerry who remained statue still in the middle of the room. Frank grabbed his hand to give it a quick shake. "Jerry is it? Good to meet you. Sorry you can't stay. There's an important phone call for you."
"Phone?" Jerry became animated, his eyes blinking slowly. "There's a call for me? Ah, yeah, good to meet you. Later." With a weak wave of his hand he left Dean's office.
"You're next," Frank informed the asshole. "Oh, and please tell your wife thanks from Frank. Does she like flowers? I'd like to send her a personal thank you."
With a sour glare, Joe stalked out of Dean's office.
"Frank?"
Frank turned and instantly felt shamed when he remembered where he was. He had not gone off like this in a long time. Had he done it to Dean's coworkers? How unprofessional.
"Lose your temper a little, Baby?" A smile played around the edges of Dean's lips.
"What an asshole," Frank griped. "You have to work with assholes all day?"
"Unfortunately," Dean chuckled, waving him closer. "Have I mentioned lately how much I like you?"
Shaking his head, Frank stepped close. Dean's special smile blossomed and Frank knew he was not in trouble. Two muscular arms wrapped over his shoulders and around his neck, tugging him closer.
"I'm not in trouble this time?" he whispered against Dean's lips, his arms wrapping around his love's back.
"Not this time," came Dean's breathy promise. Then he was rewarded for throwing a tantrum and running off Dean's coworkers with a sweet kiss.
"Oh, uh, Mister Smith?"
They both turned their heads to face the open door, which neither of them had remembered to close. The dingy receptionist stood in the hall, one hand covering her eyes. "Mister Smith? There's a phone call for you, if you're back from lunch?"
"Go on," Frank encouraged, giving him a gentle shove towards the desk. "I'll wait."
"Fine, Ginny," Dean called out, moving around Frank. "I'll take it."
To Frank he said, "Might be the Dunbars. They're my two o'clock. Shoppers. I'm expecting to show them at least a dozen houses before they start making offers."
Frank settled into one of the guest chairs to observe Dean in action. This should be fascinating.
Sitting in his chair behind the impressive desk, Dean spun around one of the picture frames facing him. It was the photo of the two of them in the lounger at the party.
"Mom." He grinned.
Figured. She must have had one made for him at the same time as the one for Frank's wall.
The phone rang and Dean turned the photo back around to face him. He picked it up on the second ring.
"Dean Smith. ... Yes Missus Dunbar, you're confirmed for two. ... Well, actually I have another appointment until then." Dean made a face at the phone base and stroked his cheek with his thumb.
"I guess I could, but only if you'll let me bring a guest. ... No, he's not a client, he's my lunch date." Dean chuckled. "You should've seen the faces of some of my coworkers." He nodded at the phone. "As long as you don't mind the extra company, I don't mind going early. I'd love for him to see it too."
Dean checked his watch. "Okay, I will meet you both in the lobby in fifteen. ... Yes, ma'am. See you then."
He hung up, a broad grin on his face. "Oh, Baby, you are going to love this house."
"I am?" Frank asked. "They said you could bring your lunch date?"
"I've already been trying out the gay realtor thing on other clients," Dean admitted. "Some of them have been enthusiastic. It's like they think I must have inherently great taste if I'm gay. It's weird, but I can use it. Especially now."
"Especially now?" Frank questioned.
"Yeah, since we're getting married." Dean stared at him. "Right?"
"Right," Frank agreed quickly. "Not what I meant. I didn't think you liked showing affection in public."
"You've kind of blown that one out of the water," Dean muttered with a hard look his way.
"Meaning?" Frank demanded, warming to this idea.
With a sigh, Dean gazed at him much the same as a lovestruck teenager. "After the way you acted in the hospital where you wouldn't calm down for anyone but me?" The special grin which belonged exclusively to Frank appeared. "Oh, Baby, I had no idea before. I mean, I knew you liked me, but I never realized how much."
"I love you," Frank reminded him.
The grin grew. "I know. It's why I'm going to hold your hand whenever you want, and let you hug or kiss me in public, because you mean it. It's not some statement or protest for you, it's honest. It's how you feel."
"Statement?" Frank felt thunderstruck. "Are you serious? Who in their right minds would use someone as a statement? And I'm not big on kissing in public."
"What?" Dean snorted through his nose. "You kiss me on the cheek all the time."
"Cheeks are different," Frank insisted.
With a chuckle Dean stood. "Whatever you say, Baby. Come on, I'd rather be in the lobby when the Dunbars show. Why did you dress up today? I was expecting shorts and a t-shirt, it's what you were wearing when I left."
"At your work?" Frank glared at him. "Are you insane? I didn't want to be accused of vagrancy and thrown out."
"You know, I wouldn't put it past Ginny." Dean nodded at him. "She might. Good call."