Rory hastily put as many dishes as he could to soak in the sink. He’d be the first one here in the morning anyway; he’d finish up then. He tossed his apron into the laundry chute and got his hat, money, and lock from the locker, heading out through the staff hallway that kept the workers unseen by the hotel guests in the lobby.

He’d just reached the sidewalk when the red Cadillac pulled up along the curb. And Rory didn’t care how angry Arthur was, he just wanted to see his face in person.

He was stumbling forward as Arthur leapt out of the car, leaving it idling as he scrambled around to the sidewalk. Travel rumpled, in only his shirtsleeves and vest with no hat, with more than a day’s worth of stubble on his face—Arthur was still always going to be the best-looking man Rory’d ever seen.

They were on a Fifth Avenue sidewalk in the middle of Midtown, and even at ten thirty on a cool April night there were taxis driving past and people loitering. They stopped short of each other, maybe a foot of space between their bodies. “I missed you—” Rory breathed, just as Arthur said, “You shit, I was so worried—”

They stared at each other, and Rory thought he might explode from not being able to hug, to touch.

Arthur took a deep breath through his nose. “Car,” he bit out, and there was no mistaking the tension in his voice. He opened the passenger door and held it open for Rory.

Rory stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. “Probably not the time to make fun of you for acting like a gentleman even though I’m not a doll.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

Rory ducked his head and slunk into the car.

A moment later, Arthur got in the driver’s seat, and then he reached past the stick shift to grab Rory’s hand tightly, low, where no passersby would see.

Even the small touch was electric, sending pleasure and a kind of familiar affection through Rory. He tightened his fingers around Arthur’s. “I missed you so much.”

Arthur shot him a dirty look. “I’m so angry with you,” he said, although he hadn’t let go of Rory’s hand, and he wasn’t crushing it, just holding it like he couldn’t bear to let go.

Rory frowned. “What’d I do?”

“Are you seriously—” Arthur cut it off. “We’ll talk about it later.” He let go of Rory’s hand with obvious reluctance, and shifted the car into gear.

Rory slid closer across the bench seat and put his hand on Arthur’s thigh. When Arthur glanced at him, Rory said, “I haven’t seen you in weeks and weeks. I don’t care how cross you are, no way I’m not touching you unless you tell me you don’t want it.”