A Secret Well Kept

The partners’ well-kept secret becomes not so secret to someone close.

The two sat together discreetly in a dark, back booth at the small café on the first floor of Venice Place. They felt safe there. The chef and proprietor who was also Hutch’s landlord, Gabrielle Laroche, always welcomed the pair to Chez Gabrielle. She was the lone caretaker of a secret well kept.

Hutch reached beneath the table and softly caressed his dark-haired partner’s thigh. “Stay tonight,” he whispered with a feral smile. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. We can just lie around and do nothing.”

“I don’t know, Hutch.” After a brief pause Starsky choked, “I’m scared.”

“Of me?” the blond asked in an amused tone.

The two chuckled softly. Starsky shook his head. “What if someone figures out that I’m always here… day and night? We could lose our badges.”

With a sigh, Hutch gently squeezed the warm leg under his hand. “You know, I really love being a cop. But I don’t think I love anything in this world more than you. You’re the only thing I’m afraid of losing.”

The two glanced up when a shadow approached their table. Gabrielle, a large woman in her 50s, wearing a chef’s uniform and hat approached the table with the grace and warmth of most women her age. In her hand she carried a small silver tray holding a large pastry.

Setting the tray between the two, she smiled lovingly, her English somewhat broken, “I bring especially for you, mes amours, Napoleon… ma spécialité. I bring to you… avec mes compliments. Then she gracefully leaned over and placed a kiss on the cheek of each of her favorite diners.

Hutch reached for the plump hand and placed a gentle kiss on it. “Merci tellement, mon cher ami,” giving a heartfelt thank you to his friend and landlord. Gabrielle retreated from the booth to give the men their privacy.

“Your French is getting good,” chuckled Starsky.

“Yeah, me and Chevalier,” Hutch smirked, picking up a forkful of the creamy dessert and guiding it into his partner’s mouth.

“Mmmm,” moaned Starsky relishing the taste, “too many of these and they’re going to take our badges for another reason — being too fat.”

“Look at it this way,” laughed Hutch, softly wiping a drop of cream from his lover’s lips, “it hasn’t stopped Dobey yet.”

Hutch lifted the fork to Starsky’s mouth again, shoveling in another piece of the gooey pastry, again, leaving a wayward drop of custard on his partner’s bottom lip. This time his finger wasn’t good enough. He cupped Starsky’s chin, pulling his face slightly upward and licked the custard from his lip. Pressing harder, the two mouths joined, Hutch’s tongue seeking immediate entry, and Starsky allowing whatever he wanted. Hutch moaned softly as the kisses continued, “Mmm, everything tastes better in your mouth.”

He heard a soft chuckle from the recipient of his love, “I could think of better things to have in my mouth right now,” Starsky whispered.

Unaware they were of the large, black man standing at the front door of Chez Gabrielle, having come there for a takeout of pastries — a special surprise treat for his wife. He’d heard so much about how good they were from one of his favorite detectives.

Turning quietly, he left without the surprise for his wife — stunned into silence, suddenly the second caretaker of a secret well kept.

The sequel to this story is Decisions of a Lifetime.