Eli Marlowe's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Eli Marlowe had one week to win the baker's heart, and he planned to do it with his ass. The harvest festival ended Sunday. By then he wanted Marcus Knight holding his hand in front of the whole town. So Eli picked his tightest shorts, the ones that hugged every curve, and marched next door to the bakery. Marcus was the shy baker Eli had been chasing all season. He was tall and built, with arms that filled his cropped shirt. He barely spoke unless spoken to. Every morning Eli waved through the bakery window, and every morning Marcus blushed and looked at his dough. That blush was the whole reason Eli believed he had a chance. Eli pushed open the door. The bell jingled. He turned slow, giving Marcus the full view. He bent to study the muffins in the case, holding the pose a beat too long. "Morning," Eli said. "See anything you like?" Marcus looked up. His eyes dropped, then snapped back to Eli's face. His jaw tightened. He set down his rolling pin. "You'll catch a cold in those," Marcus said flatly. Eli laughed and leaned on the counter. "Then keep me warm." Marcus didn't smile. He crossed his big arms and stared at Eli for a long moment. Then he wiped flour on his apron and stepped around the counter. "Look," Marcus said. His voice stayed low but steady. "I've watched you do this all week. The waving. The shorts. Standing on your toes to reach the top shelf." Eli's grin faltered. "So it's working." "No." Marcus shook his head. "It's noise. Loud. Every man in this town looks at you like that. I figured you wanted them all." The words landed hard. Eli straightened up. He had aimed the whole plan at making Marcus stare. He'd never thought the staring might push Marcus away. "I don't want them," Eli said. The joke was gone from his voice. "I want you." Marcus studied him. He seemed to be deciding whether to believe it. "Then quit performing," he said. "I don't know you. I know your shorts." He turned back to his dough. The talk was over. Eli walked out into the morning light. His plan hadn't failed quietly. It had failed to his face, out loud, from the one man he cared about. Worse, he'd learned the truth. His body got attention easy. It got him nothing real. He passed the bright inn on the corner, all pink shutters and heart-carved doors, where couples slipped away during the festival. He'd pictured leading Marcus through that door on Sunday. Now that felt impossible. Eli stopped and looked down at himself. The shorts had never been the problem. He was. Marcus wanted to know the person, and Eli had shown him a shape. He had six days left. He needed a new plan, and this time it couldn't fit in his back pocket.