Crown & Collide: The Date
By Anthony Corona
The gate creaked open with a soft groan as Noah followed Luke along a gravel path lined with lavender and wild rosemary. The garden surrounding the carriage house looked like something out of a forgotten novel — manicured but alive, fragrant and full of little surprises. A swing seat hung from the branch of an old oak tree, and wind chimes sang gently above a mosaic
patio. Noah stopped short. “Okay. This is… not what I expected.” Luke glanced back, Cinnamon prancing beside him on her leash. “Why? Thought I lived in a shoebox with fluorescent lighting and takeout boxes?” “I thought you were a minimalist. Emotionally, aesthetically, spiritually.” “Not a minimalist,” Luke said, unlocking the door. “Just practical. And this place came with good bones.” The inside of the carriage house was warm in every sense — caramel-toned walls, worn leather furniture, textured throws in jewel tones. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with everything from dog-training manuals to first editions. Bright paintings popped against soft neutrals. A record player sat beneath a vintage poster of *Amélie*. But it was the photos that stopped Noah. Luke and Alyssa in ridiculous Halloween costumes. Luke, younger and smiling, with a tall woman who could only be his mother. Cinnamon in a birthday hat. A snapshot of Luke and a very frail-looking Alyssa curled on the same couch they stood beside now, both holding mugs and grinning like idiots. Noah let out a slow breath. “Luke… this place is beautiful. It’s actually you.” Luke rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. “Thanks. It was kind of a project. Something to ground me.” Noah tilted his head. “And it works. This place feels like a home. Like someone actually lives here… not just crashes between meetings and emotional repression.” Luke smirked. “You want a tour, or you just here to psychoanalyze my pillow choices?” They dropped Cinnamon’s leash by the back door and stepped into the bedroom — spacious but unpretentious. The bed was low and covered in a textured duvet. A row of shirts hung neatly behind sliding doors, with shoes arranged in maddeningly perfect order. “This is your closet?” Noah stepped inside, eyebrows raised. “It’s a walk-in. You could host an entire breakup montage in here.” “Pick an outfit and get out,” Luke said, but he was laughing. Noah sifted through the clothes like he was curating a runway show. “This one’s too business. This one’s too soccer dad. This one screams ‘I pay my taxes on time but don’t enjoy it.’ Ah — here.” He held up a slate blue shirt with rolled sleeves and a subtle collar. “Now this says, ‘I might let you kiss me, but you’ll have to work for it.’” Luke raised an eyebrow. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” “Fashion is foreplay.” They moved into the bedroom as Luke took the shirt and tossed it onto the bed. He knelt to pull a pair of shoes from under the bench, but paused when he saw Noah still watching him. “What?” Noah shrugged. “Just… trying to imagine you on a first date. Growing up, what did that look like?” Luke stood and exhaled. “Didn’t really date. I snuck out a lot. Made excuses. Apologized after.” “Yeah,” Noah said softly. “Same.” There was a beat of silence, not awkward — just quiet. Luke cleared his throat and held up the outfit. “This work?” Noah nodded, distracted. “Very much.” Luke opened a cabinet and poured two glasses of red wine. “Here. Since I’m about to subject you to my questionable playlist while I shower.” “Need help in there?” Noah asked, taking the glass with a grin. “I’m an excellent back-scrubber. Also available for chest, arms, or any other neglected regions.” Luke gave him a faux-scandalized look. “And here I thought royalty had self-restraint.” “Oh, we do,” Noah said. “Until we don’t.” Luke walked past him toward the bathroom, sipping his wine. “Well, I already spent the night in your bed. Maybe tonight the Crown Prince can sleep in a bed from below stairs.” Noah choked on his drink. “Below stairs? Are you seriously referencing *Downton Abbey* right now?” Luke winked. “I’m an old soul. Behave — or I’ll demote you to stable boy.” As Luke turned the water on, Noah called out from the doorway, softer this time: “Hey. I like this version of you. Here. With your walls down.” Luke paused. “Me too.” Then the bathroom door shut, and Noah stood in the golden light of Luke’s bedroom, smiling like someone who knew — maybe for the first time — that something real was starting. By the time they pulled out of Luke’s driveway in Noah’s sleek Porsche, dusk had painted the Miami sky in bands of coral and lavender. Cinnamon had been left with an extra-long chew and her favorite music playlist — yes, Luke had actually curated one. Noah didn’t ask. He just nodded solemnly when Luke told him. They were headed to Noah’s penthouse for a quick change, but the energy in the car had shifted — less tension, more… calm. Settled. Real. Luke checked his phone when it buzzed. **Alyssa:** *Steady for now. But not long. Today was a bad memory day. She asked for you twice.* Luke’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Just stared out the window, thumb tapping his screen with quiet force. Noah reached over and took Luke’s free hand, lacing their fingers together with ease. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. They didn’t linger long at Luke’s. By the time they reached Noah’s penthouse, the skyline had deepened into twilight, the city pulsing softly beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows. They poured another glass of wine each, and while Noah disappeared into the shower, Luke stepped onto the balcony, phone pressed to his ear. Alyssa’s voice was quiet but steady. “She’s calm now. But it’s fading. She knew me today — for a little while.” Luke closed his eyes. “Did she ask for me again?” “She did. But… just let that be comfort. You don’t have to rush. Not tonight.” He nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Thanks. For holding the line.” **Always. Love you.** “Love you more.” He was hanging up just as Noah reentered the room, barefoot and damp, a white towel slung low around his hips. Water glistened along his collarbones. His hair was slicked back, but a rogue curl had already begun to fall forward. “You’re supposed to *be* the distraction,” Luke muttered, setting the phone down. “Not provide new ones.” Noah smirked, stepping in close and wrapping his arms around Luke from behind, damp skin meeting cotton. “I could dry off. Or… you could accept the inevitable.” “What’s that?” “That this is going to end with one of us shirtless and the other late for dinner.” Luke laughed under his breath but leaned back into the embrace. “You always this cocky after a rinse cycle?” Noah kissed the side of his neck. “Only when the person I’m kissing doesn’t immediately run away.” Luke turned slightly, pressing their foreheads together. “She doesn’t remember me most of the time.” Noah stilled. “My mom,” Luke said softly. “Her name’s Dorothy. Dottie. She had breast cancer twelve years ago — double mastectomy, chemo, the whole thing. Got through it. Got *clear.* And then… about a year and a half ago, the dementia started. And while they were doing tests for that, they found the cancer was back. It’s been a slow decline. Plateaus… then setbacks. She didn’t want aggressive treatment again. She’s in hospice now.” Noah didn’t speak. Just kept holding him. Luke swallowed hard. “Most of the time she doesn’t know me. But Alyssa? Somehow she always knows her. They’ve got some unbreakable thread I never really understood. Also, Dottie and Cinnamon *hated* each other. Total power struggle. No warm grandma-meets-fur-baby energy.” Noah laughed gently. “Cinnamon probably saw her as a rival for your affection.” “She wasn’t wrong.” Luke pulled back and reached toward the valet stand where a single black-and-white polka-dot bowtie hung. “You’re not seriously wearing that pale blue button-down *without* this.” “Oh, I am,” Noah said, backing up. “Absolutely not. I’m not giving off jazz-band-at-a-wedding vibes.” Luke advanced with the tie. “Hold still.” A brief, ridiculous wrestling match ensued — Noah dodging, Luke lunging — until they both tumbled back onto the bed, Luke landing half on top of him, the tie crumpled between them. Noah’s laughter faded first. His hands found Luke’s jaw, and he pulled him down into a kiss — slow, deep, breathtaking. When they finally broke apart, breathless and tangled, Noah brushed his thumb across Luke’s bottom lip. “Come on. I’ve got a night planned. Then later, *I* get to go below stairs and play with the servants.” Luke grinned. “You’re insufferable.” “And you love it.”