Vincent's Thanksgiving Date
By R. Cooper
4.5/5
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About this ebook
Socially anxious Vincent has resigned himself to spending Thanksgiving alone this year, just him, the parade, and some pie. The last thing he expects is Cory, the handsome neighbor he's been daydreaming about, to knock on his door with a holiday crisis of his own. Vincent would love to help him, but he's afraid that the more time Cory spends with him, the sooner Vincent's anxiety will drive him away.
What he doesn't realize is that Cory finds Vincent's gentle ways adorable and has been waiting for a chance to talk with him. Cory also firmly believes that a day like Thanksgiving should be spent with the people you want to be around--and he wants to be around Vincent. If that means pretending to need help in order to coax Vincent from his apartment, then Cory is willing to do it. The only potential hitch in the plan is Vincent himself. Can Vincent gather the courage to go after what he wants? Or will he spend his Thanksgiving exactly as he planned, with only a pumpkin pie for company?
R. Cooper
I'm a somewhat absentminded, often distracted, writer of queer romance. I'm probably most known for the Being(s) in Love series and the occasional story about witches or firefighters in love. Also known as, "Ah, yes, the one with the dragons."You can find me on in the usual places, or subscribe to my newsletter (link through website).www.riscooper.comI can also be found at...Tumblr @sweetfirebirdFacebook @thealmightyrisInstagram @riscoopsPillowfort @RCooperPatreon @ patreon.com/rcoopsBluesky @ rcooper.bsky.social
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Vincent's Thanksgiving Date - R. Cooper
Vincent’s Thanksgiving Date
R. Cooper
Copyright © 2014 R. Cooper
Cover art by Kimieye Graham
"But it’s Thanksgiving." Judith sighed dramatically and loudly, in a perfect imitation of their mother, which meant long on guilt and short on any obvious signs of affection. Vincent rolled his eyes though his sister wouldn’t see it through the phone. He’d refused to call their mother for those very reasons, but Judith always felt the need to try to have a good relationship with her for the sake of her kids. Why, Vincent had never really understood, considering their mother did nothing but pick on the boys for perceived failings.
That’s what she said to me when I told her I wasn’t going to bring the kids out there for the holidays if she couldn’t behave herself. As though Thanksgiving gives her the right to force us to listen to her poison. I swear she always calls me during the big holidays just to add to my stress.
Judith was winding down now. Vincent could tell because the two of them had shared many, many similar conversations over the years.
Vincent took the opportunity to move his phone to his other ear and finally get out of his car. His sister had called while he’d been pulling into the apartment complex lot, and he’d stayed in his car to talk to her because there had been a family gathered out in front of the complex packing suitcases and bags into their car in preparation for a trip. Vincent didn’t recognize them from his part of the building, but that didn’t mean they didn’t live there, and nothing was more awkward than encountering people who knew him and assumed he knew them when he had no idea who they were. Although once he’d seen someone from his high school in a mall and no matter where he ducked, he’d run into them over and over again. Neither of them had known what to say to each other the first place, and by the end they had gone from stiltedly smiling at one another in acknowledgement to pretending not to see each other.
Vin, you there?
Judith’s question pulled him back from the humiliating memory. You know you don’t have to take her call. You shouldn’t spend your holiday with someone who will make you miserable.
Vincent stopped with his hand on the hood of his car, then frowned. Why would I be spending Thanksgiving with Mom?
he wondered aloud. He didn’t like how quiet Judith got.
So… you know how I told you James might have to work? Well, he does. Yeah, it sucks,
Judith added, when Vincent made an unhappy sound on James’s behalf. There’s more money in it, but it still sucks. But we decided, with his hours and everything, I might as well take the boys to his parents’ house to have Thanksgiving there.
She paused when Vincent made another noise. Vincent glanced around in case any of his neighbors had heard him making a weird, growly sound of disappointment—they already thought he was strange enough.
He hurried on to the collection of mailboxes for his side of the complex and dug out his mailbox key.
You are welcome there,
Judith continued, raising her voice as if she wanted to be heard over Vincent’s inner panic. "Of course you are. You know you are. They like you, Vin. I know this is short notice, and you would already have had to get up early-early to drive up to see me, and this would add time to that. But you can come up here the night before if you want. It’s still a lot of driving. But you are welcome to come."
A hushed footfall behind him distracted Vincent from responding that her husband’s parents, while friendly and polite, expected him to talk about things like sports, and thinking of things to say to them left him more exhausted than when he tried to jog. He turned and immediately made eye contact with his neighbor from down the hall.
The guy from 223 had one hand on his bike as he walked up, and he smiled at Vincent before he stopped to dig around his backpack for the key to his own mailbox.
His box was by Vincent’s. Vincent spent a moment wondering if he should move faster to get out of his way, or slower so he wouldn’t look like he was running from him, then silently cursed when an abortive, jerky motion led to him dropping leaflets and bills to the ground and slamming his mailbox closed.
Vincent, you aren’t speaking.
Judith was getting even louder. The short, open hall for the mailboxes was empty except for the two of them, so the man from 223 was going to hear her every word. "Vincent, I need to know you’re okay. I want to see you, you know that. The boys want to see you too. They think you’re the best because you let them watch Night of the Living Dead on Halloween—and thank you for that, by the way. Despite the nightmares, they both have zombie fever now."
Vincent scraped his mail off the floor and glanced behind him as he straightened. The guy from 223 slid him a careful look as he smoothly opened his own mailbox. It wasn’t often Vincent was near enough to his neighbor to see his eyes up close, but they were magnificent. All of him was, but his eyes were something special, at least to Vincent. It wasn’t the color, although they were a deep, warm shade of brown that made him think of blanket forts and toasted marshmallows. What Vincent found especially appealing about them was the expression in them, the suggestion at the corners that indicated their owner was always ready to smile.
The man was probably laughing at Vincent, but if he was, at least he tried to hide it.
Vincent dropped his gaze to stare at the soft outline of his belly beneath his plaid button-down dress shirt, which he had optimistically bought because the sales girls told him it brought out the green in his hazel eyes. Now he realized he probably had the appearance of a flushed lumberjack. No, not even that. He probably looked like a chubby chipmunk. He tried not to think about the man from 223’s rolled-up pant leg and how it revealed hard muscle from all the bike riding he did. There was a healthy glow to the man’s dark brown skin, a tantalizing hint of perspiration although the man wasn’t breathing hard. His arms were bare, as they usually were unless he cycled home in the freezing cold or the rain, and he still had on his smock from the florist shop where he worked. If Vincent were closer, he’d able to smell the scent of flowers that clung to him.
It’s not a big deal,
Vincent responded to his sister at last, trying to keep his voice low but firm enough to interrupt Judith before her guilt took over and she ended up driving down here. They both knew Vincent wasn’t going to make a crazy long drive just to spend a few awkward hours at her in-laws’ place. They also both knew that he had nowhere else to go unless it was to their mother’s—which wasn’t happening for his mental well-being—or to their aunt and uncle’s house, where he would be the overweight, perpetually single, gay cousin who couldn’t make conversation and who wrote books none of them knew how to talk about. He sighed. I’ll just stay home for the holiday. It’s fine. I’ll get some work done.
Vincent’s life was so, so sad. He hurried on, hoping against hope that the man from 223 wouldn’t follow. But as he walked the edge of the small yard of winding paths and shady trees to the back stairs, he heard the clicking spin of the bike’s wheels as the other man walked behind him,