Dylan would give an awful lot to erase the guilt and confusion he’d seen in Apollo’s eyes. But Apollo hadn’t given him a chance, carefully ensuring that he wasn’t alone with Dylan even after Marilyn and Pat went home. It was like he didn’t trust Dylan to not jump him in the middle of the kitchen. Which okay, was a tempting thought, but Dylan knew full and well how to segment things and wait until the girls were asleep—not that Apollo had given him a chance then either, mumbling something about needing a muscle relaxer for his back.
“What’s this?” Apollo’s voice startled Dylan out of his funk. And he didn’t sound particularly happy to discover half the inventory of Discount Fabrics strewn around his kitchen table, bright felt and satins draped over chair backs.
“Oh, sorry. Just working on some stuff for the camp play. Wasn’t expecting you back yet. There’s a plate for you in the fridge.”
“Thanks.” Apollo wandered over to the kitchen, getting the plate of pasta out of the fridge and putting it in the microwave before turning back to Dylan. “Camp play?”
“Yeah. Invites went home last week. I put yours on the household binder. This month’s theme is drama and there’s a play next Friday afternoon. Grandparents welcome too, so you might mention it to Marilyn and Pat.”
“Hell. I haven’t checked my binder in days.” Apollo scrubbed at his closely cropped hair. He went to the binder on the counter and held up the invitation.
“Hey, that’s not a bad thing.” As far as Dylan was concerned, Apollo could lighten up and reduce his dependency on all his organization systems. Life needed more spontaneity, and Dylan was glad to have provided that for him, even if for only a weekend.
“I’ll have to see if I can rearrange some things, but I’ll try to be there.” Apollo retrieved his plate from the microwave. “Where’d you learn to sew?”
“When I was thirteen, my mom accidentally signed me up for the wrong summer day camp session and I ended up making a mini-quilt. And liking it. Then later I used my pretty basic skills to help my drama club friends and then the kids at the Y I volunteered at in college. I’m not an expert, but I can make a few capes and stuff.”
“Well it’s impressing me.” Apollo laughed around a bite of food as he lounged against the counter, looking both formidable and entirely too kissable in his uniform. “Hate to admit it, but I still let my mom sew on buttons for me.”
“It’s okay. I figured that sewing might not be in your skill set. I’ve got enough other parent volunteers on costumes so that it’s no trouble for me to do the twins’ and a few others’.”
“Hey now. I can help.” Apollo bristled, looking every inch the pissed-off lieutenant looking for something to command. He studied Dylan and table long seconds before gesturing at the tabletop ironing board that Dylan had set up on the far side. “Want me to iron for you? That I’m good at.”
“There’s lots you’re good at,” Dylan said, keeping his voice light and easy and okay, a little bit flirty. He couldn’t help it, just like he couldn’t help adding, “You sure you want to be alone with me? Not afraid I might have something contagious?”
“Contagious?” Apollo’s forehead wrinkled. “What? Oh. You’re upset that I slept in my own room last night?”
“Not upset.” Dylan didn’t want him thinking that he was some petty kid. “But you did ghost me hard all day. Wasn’t sure what to read into that.”
“Would it help if I said that I wasn’t sure either?” Apollo gave a gravelly laugh. He reached for the stack of fabric pieces Dylan had lined up by the ironing board. “These the ones you need done?”
“Yeah.” Dylan was more than a little unnerved by Apollo’s candor. He showed Apollo how to iron the seams as he struggled with what—if anything—to say. “You shouldn’t feel guilty, you know?”
“Ha.” Apollo made harsh noise. “You’re kidding, right? Guilt is the only thing I should be feeling here—you’re too young, you’re my best friend’s little brother, and I’m widowed. And fuck it, mainly I feel guilty because all that guilt isn’t enough to keep me away, isn’t enough to chase away other feelings.”
Dylan tried not to grin too widely at Apollo’s admission as he returned to the sewing machine. Also, the sight of the big man carefully ironing pink satin was definitely smile inducing. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know? I know you’re Mr. Bigshot SEAL and Dad-of-the-Year, but even superheroes get days off. It’s okay to kick back a little and not give a fuck what people think about.”
Apollo sighed heavily. “I hear you. And this is just the summer. I can sort myself out later.”