They headed straight to the glassworks from there. Noah’s unsettled thoughts were distracted as Beckett gave him a tour of the factory and the offices. All of it was astounding. The ingenuity that man was capable of in the modern era astounded Noah. He was able to keep his thoughts away from Marcus and worry and sex and Beckett for most of the day as he learned about plate glass manufacture, and about the glassworks’s filing system.
Mr. Smith did indeed seem happy to employ Noah, though the man was far more concerned about him that Noah thought his inexperience warranted. He seemed to hover, constantly asking both Noah and Beckett how he was faring and if everything he was presented with was too much.
It wasn’t too much; it was just right. Noah felt like Goldilocks in Mama Bear’s bed by the time they left the glassworks late in the afternoon and headed down to The Slippery Slope.
“I think the job will suit me,” he told Beckett as they sat shoulder to shoulder in the streetcar that traveled downtown. “It will be refreshing to be employed again. My last employer sacked me for erratic behavior, as if anyone knows what that means.” He scoffed at the notion.
Beckett merely hummed. And grasped his hand for a moment. Even though they were on a crowded public conveyance.
Noah ascribed the action to the crowd on the streetcar and Beckett’s need to hold him steady as they jostled over a dip in the road. He ignored the way his heart sped up at the touch.
The Slippery Slope was already buzzing with activity—though nothing as fanciful as the Halloween ball, even though some men were expertly dressed as women—by the time they got there. Beckett was greeted heartily by his friends, like Kelsey Jamison and Lawrence Cowper, as they entered.
Those same friends were far more cautious about him, but Noah didn’t care. Even when they drew Beckett away from him and started whispering in his ear and sending furtive glances Noah’s way. Whatever Beckett’s friends thought of him was not as important as what Marcus thought of him.
Marcus was there, sitting at the end of the bar, chatting animatedly to Ravenswood and Russo. A thrill filled Noah’s chest. The odious Jasper Werther was nowhere in sight. He and Marcus must have called things off, which meant Marcus was all his again.
With a quick glance to make certain Beckett was being taken care of—Beckett looked to be arguing with his friends now—Noah put on his brightest smile and crossed the club to his beloved.
“No,” Marcus said, leaping up from his stool as soon as he saw Noah coming. He turned to face Noah defensively. “Don’t come anywhere near me, Noah. I’ve had quite enough of your shenanigans. I thought I made myself clear the other night. It’s time you face reality and let this silliness go.”
Noah’s smile dropped. “But, Marcus—”
“No, Noah, and that’s final.” Marcus took a step back, then glanced to Ravenswood. “I’ll be back in a bit, when things are safer.” He glanced to Noah, then turned and hurried out through the back corridor.
Noah let out a breath, his shoulders dropping. He had no idea what had just happened, only that his beloved had rejected him out of hand.
The salt for his wounds arrived moments later as Beckett softly touched his arm and said, “Come on, Noah, let’s go have supper at Delmonico’s.”
Noah turned to him as though he were moving through jelly, then blinked. Beckett had been happy moments before, but now he wore an irritated frown.
“I thought we were spending the evening at The Slope,” he said, allowing Beckett to lead him toward the door.
“We were.” Beckett sent a look to the table where his friends sat. They stared at him with varying degrees of disappointment and frustration. “I suddenly feel unwelcome here.”
“Has something happened?” Noah asked as they stepped out onto Bleeker Street. He should have been paying more attention to his friend.
Beckett frowned and huffed out a breath. “My friends are full of unwanted advice about who they think I should be keeping company with,” he said.
“Oh.” Noah’s spirits sank even further. More than that, after weeks of holding it at bay, he started to feel the creeping, sticky tendrils of the blackness trying to push into his heart.
He shook that off, throwing himself into forced cheer with double his previous efforts.
“Never mind, then,” he said, grasping Beckett’s hand and pulling him along to where he knew the streetcars stopped. “I’ve heard so much about this place, Delmonico’s. I cannot wait to dine there.”
Beckett’s mood seemed to improve a bit, though if he were honest, Noah would have admitted they were both on edge all through the journey back uptown, and through the meal—which he had to admit was excellent. He complimented the wait staff, informed several of the diners around them, and would have rushed back to the kitchen to compliment the chef personally, if Beckett hadn’t stopped him.
After supper, they walked back to Beckett’s house. Noah found the exercise invigorating, and even though he could feel the sharp edges of his mood ricocheting about like a stray bullet in a tin can, he was pleased with the evening overall.
At least, until he and Beckett were back home, flopping into the parlor furniture, at a loss for what to do with the rest of their evening.
“I’m sorry Marcus didn’t want to speak to you today,” Beckett said with a sigh, reaching for Noah’s hand as they sat together on the sofa. “That wasn’t very sporting of him.”
“He didn’t give me a chance to say anything,” Noah said, trying his best not to pout.
He grasped Beckett’s offered hand, twining their fingers together. It was a much-needed show of camaraderie. The touch of his skin against Beckett’s ignited a world of feelings, from the sentimental to the carnal.
Again, the baser side of his nature flared. Even more so when he gazed into Beckett’s dark, contented eyes.