By six o’clock Thursday evening, Ted had changed his shirt three times and was considering a fourth.
The Lantern had asked for black. Apparently black came in several varieties, including funeral, nightclub, and something that suggested he was about to explain an expensive wine list.
He settled on a fitted short-sleeved shirt and the trousers he’d worn to his university graduation. The trousers were good. Sofia had said nothing too fancy, but Ted had bought them on sale and had them altered to fit. They were expensive enough to remember.
He inspected himself in the mirror.
“Employable,” he announced.
He opened an old email from Smart Serve. He’d originally taken the course while working at his parents’ restaurant in Muskoka, but fortunately, he’d renewed his certification the previous year.
One less thing to worry about.
Danish and Marcus had texted that afternoon.
DANISH: Good luck tonight. Try not to get fired.
TED: That’s a lovely thing to say to someone.
DANISH: I believe in you. Mostly.
Ted scrolled down, switching to Marcus’ incoming text.
MARCUS: Good luck tonight Teddy, I hope it all goes well at the bar!🍻
TED: Thanks Marc. Catch up soon boi ✌🏼
Ted smiled and slipped the phone into his pocket.
Outside, Toronto remained stubbornly hot. Even the Wellesley Street breeze felt reheated. He walked west toward Church, thinking about the application he’d submitted to Northstar Airways on Tuesday night. No response yet, beyond an automated acknowledgment.
Of course not. It had been two days.
He checked his phone anyway.
Nothing.
“Your loss,” he muttered to the airline.
At six forty-five, The Lantern’s front windows glowed amber against the late-afternoon light. Several of the windows stood open onto the patio, where a couple of regulars sat nursing their beers. Just beyond the patio barrier, two men stood smoking on the sidewalk, close enough to continue chatting with the people inside. Inside, glasses chimed and a bass line thudded beneath conversations. From the small kitchen came the smell of frying onions and hot oil. The Lantern wasn’t fancy, but its burgers, fries, and late-night appetizers kept the cook busy. The room also smelled of citrus, furniture polish, and somebody’s aggressively expensive cologne.
Sofia stood at the end of the spotted granite bar with an iPad.
“You’re early.”
“I was aiming for responsible.”
“Good. Keep aiming.”
She looked him up and down, stopping briefly at his trousers.
“Those are a little fancy, but they’ll do just fine. You can put your things downstairs. Then come and find me.”
Not a compliment, exactly. Ted would take it.
∞
The first hour was a surprisingly detailed education in how many ways a person could be useless in a bar.
Sofia introduced him to Noah, the bartender who’d called him handsome on Tuesday. Noah could pour drinks, answer questions, and judge people without missing a beat.
“Never promise a wait time you can’t control,” Noah told him. “Never leave a spill sitting. Never argue over a tip. And one more thing: don’t spend twenty minutes flirting with a customer when there’s a lineup at the bar.”
“What if he’s really attractive?”
“Especially then.”
“Jesus. This place has terrible working conditions.”
Noah shook his head, but Ted caught the smile.
Sofia showed him the point-of-sale system, had him ring a practice order, and then made him reverse it. She explained how the tip pool worked, who collected cash, and where the towels lived.
“You can charm the pants off every man in this bar, Ted. But if you can’t make a decent drink, they’ll put them right back on,” she said.
Ted nodded.
He agreed with the principle.
By eight, the place was busy enough that he stopped thinking about being watched. He pulled draught pints under Noah’s eye, carried water, cleared empties, ran drinks, and learned the names of regulars who’d assigned themselves permanent seats.
Danish arrived briefly, caught Ted carrying a tray, and gave him an exaggerated thumbs-up.
“Look at you,” Danish said, grinning. “Practically a professional.”
“I’ve been here an hour. Give me time to ruin something.”
“See? Thursday, like I promised.”
“You came to check on me?”
“Maybe I just wanted a drink.”
Ted raised an eyebrow.
“Fine,” Danish admitted. “Both.”
Danish ordered from Noah and left Ted to work.
At a high-top near the front, an attractive man in a white linen shirt caught his eye.
“New guy?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’re still smiling.”
“Give me another hour.”
The man laughed. He had dark, curly hair and a quick, crooked grin. A paperback protruded from his bag.
“What are you reading?” Ted asked.
“A book about restoring old paintings.”
“That sounds suspiciously educational.”
“It’s my job. I restore them.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’m Thiago.”
“Ted.”
Ted caught the lilt of his accent. “Brasileiro?”
Thiago smiled. “Você fala português?”
“Not really. That’s about the extent of it.”
“Well, you got that part right.” Thiago grinned. “Toronto’s home now, but I’ll talk about Brazilian food, music, and art all night if you let me.”
Ted smiled. “Careful. I might actually let you.”
“Well, Ted, if you survive your shift, come say hello again.”
“Is that encouragement or a threat?”
“Professional curiosity.”
Thiago wrote his number on a receipt. “For after work. No pressure.”
Ted folded the receipt, slipped it into his pocket, and moved on, smiling despite himself.
Then he saw the large table at the back.
Eight guests, several bottles of wine, expensive watches, and the effortless volume of people accustomed to being heard. One guest wore a ridiculous silver birthday hat, complete with a little elastic strap beneath his chin. When he tried to remove it, the man at the head of the table gave him a mock-stern look.
“Absolutely not. I dug that thing out of the depths of my party closet just for you. You’re wearing it until midnight.”
The birthday guest laughed and settled the hat back on his head.
The man at the head of the table was tall, with darkly tanned skin, salt-and-pepper hair, a neat beard, and a pale beige suit that looked as though it had never encountered public transit.
He was handsome in a severe, meticulously maintained way. Late forties, perhaps. Fit beneath the jacket. The sort of man who looked freshly showered even after three hours in a crowded bar.
“That’s Vikram Sethi,” Sofia said quietly, appearing beside Ted. “He’s been a regular here for years. Tonight he’s hosting a birthday party for a friend. Be attentive, not theatrical.”
“Me? Theatrical?”
She walked away.
Fair.
Ted approached Vikram’s table with another bottle of red wine. The guests were laughing at something the woman in emerald earrings had said.
He leaned forward to refill her glass, carefully navigating the crowded table.
As he shifted his weight, his shoe caught awkwardly against a chair leg.
His elbow clipped a nearby wineglass.
The glass tipped, sending red wine across the polished tabletop like a spectacularly expensive crime scene.
For one horrible second, nobody spoke.
Then the woman in emerald earrings lifted her napkin out of the way.
“Well,” she said, “I suppose the table was thirsty.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ted said immediately. “No one’s been splashed?”
Everyone shook their heads. Ted set the bottle down, righted the glass, and grabbed two clean napkins from the table. He pressed them against the spreading wine before it could reach anyone’s lap.
Once the spill was contained, he fetched clean towels from the service station and carefully wiped the tabletop dry, working around the glasses.
“Again, my apologies,” he said, offering a reassuring smile before resuming service.
The party resumed its conversation.
Mostly.
As Ted stepped behind the service partition, he heard Vikram addressing Sofia.
“He’s a pretty young thing,” the man remarked, voice low but perfectly clear. “I assume that’s why you hired him. It doesn’t seem to have been for his skills.”
Ted stopped.
The heat in his face had nothing to do with the weather.
Sofia answered evenly. “He’s on a trial shift, Mr. Sethi.”
“Then I hope he improves.”
Ted kept walking.
If Vikram had been some stranger passing through, Ted might have laughed it off by closing time. But Sofia knew this man, and clearly valued his business. The thought that he might have made her regret giving him a chance stung worse than the insult itself.
And, irritatingly, he wanted to prove Vikram wrong.
He wanted to turn around and point out that nobody had died, nobody had even gotten wet, and the table was cleaner than it had been before.
Instead, he found another cloth and wiped a perfectly dry counter.
Noah watched him for a moment.
“Bad table?”
“Apparently my face is doing all the work.”
“Lucky face.”
Ted gave him a look.
Noah shrugged. “Let them talk. There are forty other people who need you.”
There were, unfortunately, closer to sixty.
Sofia sent Ted behind the bar for the next stretch of the evening. Whether this was part of his training or a polite attempt to keep him away from expensive wine, he wasn’t entirely certain.
Noah glanced at the incoming orders.
“Two spicy margaritas. Sugar on one rim, salt on the other.”
“One sweet rim job, one salty,” Ted said, reaching for the glasses. “Got it.”
Noah grinned. “Put that on the menu and we’ll never get this place emptied at closing.”
“I’m trying to build a loyal customer base.”
“Good. Now build the cocktails. I’ll check your measurements.”
Ted prepared the glasses, coating one rim with sugar and the other with salt. He sliced a little jalapeño into the shaker.
Noah eyed the pepper. “Easy on the jalapeño. We want spice, not a lawsuit.”
“A little heat. These are margaritas, not a personality test.”
Noah laughed. “You’re going to fit right in.”
Ted muddled the jalapeño, then measured enough tequila, orange liqueur, and fresh lime juice for two margaritas.
He’d mixed the occasional cocktail while helping out at his parents’ restaurant, although he’d never officially worked behind the bar. He certainly couldn’t remember anyone watching his measurements quite so closely.
Noah checked the proportions and nodded. Ted filled the shaker with ice, shook the drinks, strained them over fresh ice into the prepared glasses, and set the margaritas on the service counter.
“Not bad,” Noah said. “Two highballs next. Rye and ginger, gin and tonic. And a glass of white wine for Vikram’s table. One of his guests has had enough red.”
“My favorite table.”
“Just pour it, Ted. Don’t go introducing yourself to the furniture again.”
Ted snorted, made the highballs, added the garnishes, and poured the wine. Another server collected the three drinks from the service counter.
Noah nodded at the next order slips. “See? You’ve got this.”
“I’m practically indispensable.”
“Obviously. Now make yourself indispensable to table seven.”
∞
By ten-thirty, The Lantern was loud enough that conversations blended into one continuous sound. Ted had spent much of the evening behind the bar, and Noah had gradually stopped checking every drink he prepared. He’d learned where to stand so the barback could pass, which customers needed extra patience, and which empty glasses belonged to people who had simply gone to the washroom.
Sofia had also made him redo a cash transaction because he’d nearly entered the wrong tender amount. She hadn’t scolded him. Somehow that made him concentrate harder.
When the rush eased, Sofia sent him back onto the floor.
At a quarter to eleven, Vikram rose to propose a toast to his friend in the ridiculous birthday hat. The table erupted in laughter as someone raised a phone to capture the moment. Vikram turned slightly toward the room.
Ted noticed the mark immediately.
A dark brown stain stood out against the pale fabric at the back of Vikram’s trousers.
Ted looked away so quickly it almost hurt his neck.
Chocolate? A dirty chair? Or perhaps Mr. Sethi had enjoyed a rather enthusiastic afternoon. Whatever it was, Ted had absolutely no intention of investigating.
Someone was still holding up a phone. Another guest was urging Vikram to turn toward the camera.
Oh, Christ.
Ted moved toward Sofia.
“Can I ask you something privately?”
She glanced at his face and led him toward the service corridor.
“What happened?”
“Nothing I did this time.”
“Reassuring.”
He lowered his voice and explained.
Sofia’s expression changed only slightly. She glanced toward the table, then back at him.
“Are you certain?”
“About the stain? Yes. About what caused it? I have a faint idea, but I’m not willing to investigate.”
“Oh, that’s unfortunate.”
“You’re telling me,” Ted said.
“Especially tonight. He mentioned earlier that he has somewhere to be after the party.”
“Another party?”
“He didn’t say.”
Ted glanced back at the immaculate beige suit and its decidedly unfortunate trousers.
“Well, wherever he’s going, I don’t think that’s the impression he wants to make.”
Sofia considered.
“We could offer him a cleaning cloth.”
“For that? He’d need a washing machine. And he’s apparently going somewhere afterward.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
Ted looked down at his own trousers.
A ridiculous idea had arrived fully formed.
“We’re about the same size.”
Sofia followed his gaze.
“No.”
Vikram had been an asshole to him earlier. Ted hadn’t forgotten. But leaving the man to discover that stain in front of his friends seemed unnecessarily cruel.
“Hear me out.”
Five minutes later, he was in the staff washroom, taking off his excellent trousers and putting on a clean spare pair Sofia had found in the kitchen.
The chef’s trousers were black with thin grey pinstripes, shapeless, slightly too short, and equipped with an elastic waistband that belonged on somebody recovering from major abdominal surgery.
Ted examined himself in the mirror.
“Jesus Christ.”
He looked like a substitute dishwasher.
Still, they were clean.
He folded his own trousers carefully and placed them in a plain black carry bag Sofia had found in the office. Then he took a piece of stationery and wrote:
Mr. Sethi,
Please forgive the intrusion. I noticed a mark on the back of your trousers and thought you might appreciate a clean pair. These are mine, and I think they’ll fit.
Please take whatever time you need. I’ll make sure your absence goes unnoticed.
Ted
He read it twice.
No mention of an accident. No speculation. Nothing the man would have to explain if someone glanced over his shoulder.
Good.
With the bag tucked behind an empty serving tray, Ted approached the table. The birthday toast was over, and several guests had drifted away. Four remained at the table, talking over the last bottle of wine.
“Mr. Sethi,” he said quietly, “a small item for you, sir.”
Vikram looked up.
Ted placed the bag beside his chair, discreetly turning the opening toward him. The note lay inside, on top of the folded trousers.
“Whenever convenient.”
Before the man could ask a question, Ted moved to clear glasses from the far end of the table.
He did not watch Vikram read the note.
Not directly, anyway.
From the service station, he saw the man glance downward. One hand lifted the edge of the bag. His shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Then Vikram rose, excused himself to the others, and walked toward the corridor.
Nobody appeared to notice.
Ted finally breathed.
Noah glanced at his trousers.
“Where the fuck did your ass go?”
“Temporary staffing adjustment.”
“Those pants are a hate crime.”
“I know.”
Noah handed him a tray of fresh drinks.
“Table twelve. And try not to traumatize anyone.”
∞
A little before midnight, Vikram’s party asked for the bill. The birthday guest was still wearing his ridiculous silver hat, apparently resigned to wearing it until midnight, exactly as Vikram had demanded.
Ted asked Sofia to check it first. One mistake at that table was enough.
Vikram had returned wearing Ted’s black trousers. They fit surprisingly well. With his white shirt, pale beige jacket, and Ted’s tailored black trousers, he looked as though he’d planned the contrast all along.
The beige pair were nowhere in sight.
When Ted brought the folder, Vikram looked at him for a long moment.
“Ted, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Vikram nodded once.
“Thank you.”
None of the remaining guests heard.
“You’re very welcome.”
That was all.
Vikram paid the bill by card. As he stood to leave, he slipped something into the folder and closed it.
“For the staff,” he said.
Ted took it to Sofia, who opened it behind the bar.
Inside were ten crisp $100 bills.
They lay in a neat stack, brown and impossibly real.
Sofia counted them once.
Then again.
“One thousand dollars,” she said.
Noah leaned over. “You’re fucking kidding.”
Ted stared at the notes.
For a brief, beautiful second, he imagined paying rent without counting every remaining dollar. Buying actual groceries. Perhaps even purchasing cheese that didn’t come in individually wrapped slices.
Then Sofia laid the bills beside the tip-pool envelope.
“For everyone,” she said.
Right.
Everyone.
Servers, bartenders, support staff. Everyone who had carried the evening together.
Ted looked toward the door, but Vikram had already gone.
He wondered whether the man had been thanking him for the trousers or apologizing for what he’d said earlier.
Maybe both.
Sofia glanced down at his kitchen trousers.
“You made a good call tonight.”
Ted raised an eyebrow.
“Even with the wine?”
“Especially after the wine. You didn’t let one mistake decide the rest of your shift. And you didn’t make a spectacle of it. That’s worth something in this business.”
She returned to counting receipts.
“And, Ted?”
“Yeah?”
“Those trousers are hideous.”
He laughed.
“Believe me, I’m aware.”
∞
A little after one, the last customers left. Ted stacked chairs, polished tables, and scrubbed sticky patches off the floor.
Sofia checked his hours and confirmed he’d be paid for the trial.
“I can offer you Friday and Saturday next week,” she said. “Perhaps a few more shifts after that. I’m not promising a full schedule.”
Two shifts. Actual paid work.
“I’ll take them.”
“Good. You were useful tonight.”
“Glowing review.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
She smiled briefly.
Outside, Church Street was still awake. Ted found Thiago’s number in his pocket and typed a message. It was late, but perhaps Thiago was still awake.
TED: Survived the shift. Are you still awake?
His phone buzzed a moment later.
THIAGO: I’m at the diner by Carlton. Fancy some herbal tea? Bit late for coffee.
TED: Be right there. Peppermint if they have it.
Ted walked toward Carlton. A few minutes later, he spotted Thiago outside the diner, holding two steaming paper cups and smiling at his screen.
Thiago had even ordered for both of them.
Ted crossed toward him.
“You know,” he said, “this is a very elaborate way to get a bartender’s attention.”
“I’m a conservator. I believe in patience.”
“And preserving things?”
“Among other skills.”
Thiago handed him a cup of peppermint tea.
They walked slowly along Carlton, sipping their tea while Thiago told Ted about a woman who had brought an old painting into his studio.
“She was convinced it was worth thousands,” Thiago explained.
“Was it?”
“It was a reproduction. A very convincing reproduction, but still a reproduction.”
“Oh, that’s heartbreaking.”
“Not particularly. She paid forty dollars for it at a flea market.”
Ted laughed.
“And she was angry when you told her?”
“Furious. Apparently, I should have waited until after she’d told all her friends.”
“I’ve dated men like that.”
Thiago looked at him.
“Worth forty dollars?”
“More concerned about their reputation than their actual value.”
Thiago burst out laughing.
They turned down a quieter side street, where an iron-and-wood bench sat beneath a tree. Its narrow wooden slats were interrupted by strategically placed iron armrests, including one dividing the middle.
“Shall we?” Thiago asked.
Ted examined the bench.
“How romantic. Somewhere between a park bench and a medieval torture device.”
“It’s not that bad.”
They sat down.
It was that bad.
The wooden slats pressed against Ted’s backside, while the iron divider between them seemed determined to prevent any possibility of human affection.
“Toronto really doesn’t want anyone sleeping on these things,” Ted observed.
“Or enjoying themselves.”
“Apparently that’s against municipal policy.”
Thiago laughed, stretching his legs.
They continued talking about terrible dates, favorite restaurants, and the peculiar experience of building a life in a city where almost everyone seemed to be from somewhere else.
Eventually, Ted glanced at the time.
“Jesus. I should probably get home.”
“Probably,” Thiago agreed.
Neither moved.
A moment later, Thiago looked at the iron divider between them.
“I think this bench is trying to tell us something.”
“That the city hates happiness?”
“That we should stand up.”
Ted smiled.
“Now that’s a proposal I can get behind.”
They stood, and Thiago brushed his fingers against Ted’s hand.
“You don’t seem particularly tired.”
“I’m extremely tired. I’m just attractive enough to disguise it.”
“Modest, too.”
“I have many talents.”
Thiago leaned closer, giving Ted plenty of time to decide. Ted kissed him. It was gentle at first, then warmer, more insistent.
Thiago slipped both hands into Ted’s trouser pockets and drew him closer by the hips. Then he paused.
“Do you work in the kitchen, too?”
Ted blinked. “What? No. Why?”
Thiago grinned and jiggled his hands inside Ted’s pockets, making the loose, grey-pinstriped fabric flap around his hips.
Ted looked down. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“What happened to your trousers?”
“I gave them away.”
“You gave your trousers away?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Someone needed them.”
Thiago looked him up and down. “And you were the only person in Toronto with spare trousers?”
“Apparently. And those were my nicest pair, too.”
Thiago raised his eyebrows.
“Wait. You gave someone your best trousers?”
“Well, I wasn't planning on it. But he needed them more than I did.”
Thiago studied him for a moment, his teasing expression softening.
“That's actually really sweet.”
“Please don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”
Thiago laughed.
“You're full of surprises, Ted.”
“You have no idea.”
Thiago glanced down at the ridiculous pinstripes.
“Well, at least you've got these.”
“Don't remind me.”
Thiago smiled. “Okay, now I need to hear this story.”
“Maybe next time we meet.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good. So would I.”
Thiago kissed him again, and a passing cyclist rang his bell as he slipped by. They broke apart laughing.
They started walking again, neither particularly interested in saying goodnight.
They made it perhaps twenty feet before Ted stopped.
Ted had intended to say goodnight. He was fairly certain of that. But somewhere between the ridiculous bench and Thiago’s crooked smile, the plan had become considerably less appealing.
Thiago turned toward him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s a suspicious look.”
“I’ve been told I have one of those.”
Thiago smiled.
Ted stepped closer and kissed him.
This time, neither seemed particularly interested in stopping.
Thiago’s hand was warm at Ted’s waist. A few moments passed before Ted’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of Thiago’s shorts. Thiago moaned quietly as Ted licked his own thumb, then wrapped it around the thick, already-leaking head and smeared the slippery precome in slow circles.
By then the streets were mostly empty. Ted knew the quiet alleyways. The nearest was less than twenty feet away. He pulled Thiago into the shadows and kissed him hard, tongue deep, then dropped to his knees on the concrete.
Thiago yanked his cock free. It swung out heavy and slapped Ted across the cheek, leaving a wet streak. Ted shoved his face into the warm, low-hanging balls, inhaling the thick musky scent, then dragged his tongue over the wrinkled skin and up the thick vein on the underside of the shaft. He opened wide and took every inch in one greedy slide, throat stretching around the fat head until his nose was buried in dark hair and spit ran down his chin.
“Porra, que gostoso!” Thiago whispered.
Ted answered with a choked, wet moan, lips stretched tight around the base. He pulled back until just the swollen head was left between his lips, sucking hard while his hand stroked the spit-slick length, twisting under the ridge. Thiago’s hips jerked; a louder, broken moan spilled out of him.
Ted didn’t ease up. He fucked his own mouth on that throbbing cock, hand and lips working together, spit flying, until Thiago’s thighs trembled.
“Puta que pariu, Ted—gonna cum already—”
There it was again.
Danish had done the same thing Tuesday night, slipping into Punjabi when English apparently wasn’t enough. Now Thiago was doing it in Portuguese.
Ted hadn’t understood Danish then, and he barely understood Thiago now. Apparently, understanding the words wasn’t the point.
He doubled down, stroking faster, sucking harder, tongue working the slit. He felt the thick shaft pulse hard against his palm a second before hot, salty cum flooded his mouth in heavy spurts. Ted moaned around it, gulping greedily, swallowing every thick load without spilling a drop. He kept his lips sealed and sucked the last drops clean, then licked the head and shaft until nothing remained but spit-shine and the faint salty taste on his tongue.
He rested his forehead against the still-hard, glistening cock hanging out of Thiago’s shorts. They were both breathing hard. Then Ted stood.
Thiago stared at Ted, speechless for a moment. He shook his head slowly, then let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Ai, caralho…” He paused, still catching his breath. “That was unexpected.”
“Seriously,” Thiago continued. “I think that was the most mind-blowing head I’ve ever had.”
Ted grinned.
“You’ve got my number.”
“Oh, I’ll use it. Maybe next time somewhere that isn’t an alley.”
They both laughed as Ted studied their surroundings.
He kissed Thiago again and whispered in his ear, “Do you like the taste of your own cum?”
He could feel Thiago’s dick throb again under his shorts.
“Fuck, you are something, aren’t you?”
Thiago glanced down at Ted’s baggy grey pinstripes.
“And you did all that wearing those terrible kitchen trousers.”
Ted grinned. “Imagine what I could do in something flattering.”
They stepped out of the alleyway. The streetlight seemed almost blinding after the shadows. Ted kissed Thiago once more, said goodnight, and headed home through streets now silent.
His phone lit up.
DANISH: How was the first shift, handsome?
Ted smiled.
He thought about the spilled wine. Sofia’s unreadable expression. Noah’s commentary on his ass. Ten hundred-dollar bills he would never forget.
And Thiago.
There was more than one answer to Danish’s question.
TED: Eventful. I’ll tell you about it.
He slipped the phone into his pocket.
Thursday had produced two shifts, one extraordinary tip, and a man who knew how to kiss.
Not bad.
He still had rent to pay. The airline still hadn’t called. And somewhere in Toronto, a wealthy stranger was wearing his best trousers.
Ted began to laugh.
Adulthood, apparently, had a dress code.
And he’d given his away.