Handmade in Quebec City: a The Best Parts of Him bonus scene
SPOILERS ABOUND!
This scene is best enjoyed after reading The Best Parts of Him.
Word count: 3050 words
Handmade in Quebec City: a The Best Parts of Him bonus scene
This scene takes place a little more than a year after the final chapter of The Best Parts of Him, and two years before the epilogue.
***
Quebec City was awesome.
Crowded, but awesome.
Ryland had expected the crowds, and although he’d wanted to come here, he was still surprised at how much he liked it. Old Quebec was hillier than he’d imagined, and it had what Dabbs called a European charm with its cobblestone streets, cute alleyways, boutiques, and bistros.
Not that Ryland had ever been to Europe, but he’d take Dabbs’ word on it.
“Ooh, a cheese shop,” Bellamy said, gesturing at a store with a sign that read, simply, Fromagerie. “Ry, hold this.” He shoved a reusable bag at Ryland—already filled with cheeses from the three other fromageries they’d frequented today—and headed inside.
Sorry, Jason mouthed at Ryland as he followed his boyfriend into the shop.
“Why did we bring them along again?” Ryland grumbled, moving out of the way of pedestrian traffic.
Dabbs stepped up behind him and kissed his neck.
Ryland shivered despite the humidity.
“Don’t pretend you’re not having a good time,” Dabbs murmured.
“Just . . . why do we need so much cheese? We’re not going to be pooping right for days.”
Dabbs laughed. He brought an arm up around Ryland’s waist, hugging him from behind. “What is this thing you seem to have about regular bowel movements?”
“What?” Ryland whined. He sent an elbow backward gently into Dabbs’ chest. “It’s important to stay regular.”
“God, I love you.” Dabbs kissed his neck again. “You sure keep things interesting.”
Chest puffing out, Ryland preened under the compliment.
Despite his grumbling, the last week had been full of laughter and new experiences. He’d wanted to take this road trip with Jason two summers ago, leaving from Columbus and hitting up Niagara Falls, Toronto, Kingston, and Montreal on the way to Quebec City. But Jason hadn’t been able to get away from his thesis research. They’d tried to do it last year, but between Jason’s commitments on the farm and Ryland’s commitments to a couple of different hockey camps, they hadn’t been able to make it work.
Now here they were. Except Ryland hadn’t wanted to go without Dabbs—they lived in separate states during the hockey season, and he wasn’t spending more of the summer apart than he had to—and Jason hadn’t wanted to leave Bellamy behind either, so their brothers’ road trip had turned into a week-long double date. And instead of leaving from Columbus, they’d left from Maplewood after dropping Dabbs’ dogs and Bellamy’s kitten off with Michael Hughes, and after ensuring Dad had help on the farm and with the farmers markets Jason would miss.
Geographically, it had made more sense to hit Montreal first, then Quebec City. In a few days, they’d circle back toward Ottawa, where they’d spend a couple of days playing tourist before hugging the Ottawa River west to North Bay, where Dabbs’ mom and stepfather would accommodate them for a week.
After that? Who knew. The road could take them in any direction.
“I want ice cream,” Ryland blurted as they waited by the fromagerie’s front window.
Dabbs kissed his temple. “You just had ice cream,” he said, stepping away from him. Probably because they were both sweaty and gross and cuddling in this humidity made them more sweaty and gross.
“Yes,” Ryland agreed. “And it was delicious. I want another one.”
“How are your teeth not aching from the sweetness?”
Ryland chuckled. They’d stumbled across an ice cream shop down a cobblestoned alley and he’d indulged in a soft serve ice cream dipped in maple instead of the standard chocolate.
He’d never tasted anything better. Maybe not even Dabbs’ precious apple bread.
Turning, Ryland brought a hand up to shade his eyes and peered into the fromagerie. “They’re sampling cheeses. We could be here a while.”
“We could sample with them,” Dabbs pointed out.
“Do you really want more cheese?”
“No. But I don’t want another ice cream either.”
“What do you want?”
“Right this second?” Head cocked, Dabbs seemed to genuinely think about it. “A beer on a patio. Long-term? World peace.”
That surprised a laugh out of Ryland.
Dabbs planted his hands on his hips and looked up and down the street while Ryland looked him up and down.
July in Quebec City was hot, and although they’d missed a heat wave by only a couple of days, it was still hot enough to cause a person to perspire while standing in the shade. Dabbs wore shorts and a T-shirt, a Trailblazers ball cap, and sunglasses, and with the T-shirt hugging his biceps and chest the way it was, he’d gotten more than one lingering glance from store owners and other shoppers.
Ryland sighed dreamily, aware his heart eyes were on full display.
In the week the four of them had been traveling together, they’d so far flown under the radar—no one had recognized three hockey players and a hockey player’s boyfriend. And this was despite the fact that Ryland had posted more than one photo to his social media and had gone live from Place Royale only twenty minutes ago. He’d meant for it to be a quick live, but to his surprise, Dabbs had popped into the frame to tell viewers that Place Royale was the location where Samuel de Champlain had built the first permanent French settlement in the Americas in 1608.
Someone had clearly retained more information from their walking tour than Ryland had.
Not that it hadn’t been interesting. Just . . .it was hot. And his ability to concentrate in heat like this hovered around the nil mark.
Juggling Bellamy’s bag of cheese, he looked inside the fromagerie again while Dabbs fiddled with his phone. Bellamy and Jason were finally paying for what looked like several bricks of cheese.
“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. At this rate, it wouldn’t all fit in the fridge in their hotel room; they’d have to split the cheese between Ryland and Dabbs’ fridge and Jason and Bellamy’s.
They were staying at the Château Frontenac, which, at upwards of eight hundred Canadian dollars a night, was possibly the most indulgent thing Ryland had ever done. It was beautiful, though, and their room was lush with cloud-like pillows and possibly the coziest mattress he’d ever slept on. Ten out of ten recommended for the ambiance, the gorgeous views of the St. Lawrence River, and the quiet rooms.
Zero out of ten recommended for the brother who walked through their connecting doors without knocking while Ryland and Dabbs had been . . . playing tourist . . . in the privacy of their own room.
The squawk Jason had let out had almost been worth it.
Almost.
That was the last time Ryland forgot to lock the door between their rooms before going to bed.
Dabbs made a noise of contentment that had Ryland turning toward him. “What’s up?”
“My team’s public relations person—the one who’s been handling my marketing for The Hockey Diaries?” Dabbs said. “She found someone to translate the books into French.”
“No kidding? That’s awesome. Maybe next year we’ll be back here for you to do a book signing.”
“From what I understand, signings for middle-grade fiction aren’t really a thing. They’re done, just not to the degree that they are for young adult or genre fiction.” Dabbs put his phone away and leaned a shoulder against the building. “I’d rather do a different kind of event for young readers. Maybe a reading in a school or library followed by a short talk about how stories evolve and how everyone’s story is worthy of being told.”
His heart nearly full to bursting with love and pride, Ryland grabbed Dabbs’ face and kissed him stupid. This man . . . this man who’d put so much of himself into his books so he could help kids like the one he’d once been was spectacular in ways Ryland didn’t know how to describe. And the fact that Dabbs had chosen him to love . . .
It was like being offered all the maple-dipped ice cream in the world, eaten out of the Stanley Cup with a spoon.
Ryland kissed him again, and a third time, heedless of other shoppers. “I love the hell out of you.”
Dabbs’ smile was very pleased.
Jason and Bellamy chose that moment to exit the shop, the bells over the door jangling behind them.
“We may need to borrow your fridge,” Bellamy said as he added three bricks of cheese to Ryland’s bag. Bellamy’s bag, technically.
Ryland handed it over. “You don’t say.”
“Where to next?” Jason asked.
“I want another ice cream,” Ryland told him.
“Or,” Bellamy said, dragging the word out. “We could go check out that store right there. They do hand-blown glass, and we can watch the artist at work.”
“I guess that’s fine too,” Ryland grumbled, though secretly, he figured watching hand-blown glass being made right in front of them would probably be pretty cool.
Given the indulgent smile Dabbs sent him, the rolled eyes from Bellamy, and Jason’s snort-laugh . . .
He wasn’t fooling anyone.
***
Dabbs inspected a display of hand-blown glass bird figurines. He didn’t know anything about birds, so if any of them represented an actual bird species, he couldn’t tell. They were pretty, though. Some of them were short and squat. Others had their wings spread wide in flight. There were even tiny birds half the size of his pinky perched on a miniature bird bath.
On the far side of the workshop, an artist was describing, first in French then in English, how she used a blow pipe—a hollow, stainless-steel tube—to remove molten glass from the furnace. Her audience included a couple of kids who appeared somewhere around the same ages as Ryland’s nieces, what was presumably the kids’ parents, an elderly couple asking rapid-fire questions in French, and a trio of white-haired ladies Dabbs marked as long-time friends.
Nearby, Bellamy was deciding between one of several dragon figurines, showing each one to Jason as he argued for why it would be perfect for his collection. “I don’t have a Chinese dragon, so this little guy could be the first. But this guy’s cool too. He looks like he’s about to breathe fire. But this one’s rainbow-colored.”
“Ooh, a puffer fish.”
Dabbs turned toward Ryland.
“Look at it,” Ryland said, wide-eyed. He shoved the baseball-sized turquoise puffer fish in Dabbs’ face. “It’s so cute. I’m getting it for your mom.”
Dabbs blinked. “Uh . . . why?”
“As a gift for hosting us.” Ryland frowned, looking adorably clueless. “Do people still do that?”
“Wait, we need a hostess gift?” Bellamy asked. He looked from the two dragons in his hands to the two dragons in Jason’s. “Does your mom like dragons?”
“Guys,” Dabbs said, laughing. “You don’t need to bring anything, but if you really want to, just bring a bottle of wine.”
Ryland and Bellamy stared at him. Finally, Ryland nodded and pivoted on his heel. “I’m getting her the puffer fish.”
“And I’m putting him—” Bellamy tipped his head at Jason. “—in charge of the wine. I didn’t even know the opposite of a dry wine was a sweet wine until I met him.”
“And what about the dragons?” Dabbs asked.
“I was only going to get one, but Jason convinced me to splurge on all four.”
Jason laughed. “I’m sorry, what’s that now? I think you have that backwards.”
“Okay, I’m ready.” Ryland bounced over with his puffer fish wrapped in protective paper and secured in a paper bag. “Can we get ice cream now?”
“There’s a woodworker’s studio at the end of the street I want to check out,” Dabbs told him. “Can we go there first and then double back for ice cream?”
“Sure.”
“We’ll meet you there,” Jason said as Bellamy got sidetracked by a second shelf of dragons.
Ryland twined their fingers together as they exited the store onto the cobblestone street. Dabbs smiled at him, but Ryland wasn’t paying him any attention, too busy peering into the window of a shop that appeared to sell ceramic cat sculptures.
Telling Dabbs that the move had been instinctual.
Dabbs loved that. Loved that Ryland reached out to him whenever he wanted to without thinking twice about it. He always had, but now it was . . . more, somehow. Less about getting naked and more about comfort and safety and familiarity.
Dating from different states during the hockey season hadn’t been easy, but it had also given them room to get to know each other through phone calls and texting without sex getting in the way.
Of course, that wasn’t to say they didn’t have copious sex when they visited each other—even more so when Ryland returned to Vermont in the summer.
Hell, maybe they should skip the woodworker’s studio and head back to the hotel for a little . . . sightseeing.
Without being interrupted this time.
Dabbs was just about to suggest it when Ryland said, “Did I tell you that we’re doing another team retreat before training camp this year?”
“I thought there wasn’t going to be one this year since you had one last year.”
“That’s what Coach said, but Des pushed for it, and they’re making it happen.”
Dabbs swung their arms between them. “What will you do at the retreat this time?”
“Beats me. But it does mean that I need to head back to Columbus a week earlier than I thought.”
“That’s okay.” Dabbs kissed the back of Ryland’s hand, earning himself a dazzling smile that made his heart tumble over. “That still gives us six weeks of summer.”
“Oh hey, is this the place?” Ryland nodded at a studio set on a street corner. Its window showcased wooden bowls, urns, jewelry boxes, cutting boards, and even watches.
“Yeah.” Dabbs held the door open for him. “If we’re lucky, we’ll get to see the artist at work.”
They were lucky, as it turned out. The artist, a woodworker named Jean-Pierre, demonstrated how to turn a salad bowl from behind a glass partition that protected his audience from wood shavings.
“Oh wow, these are cool.” Ryland pulled a wooden ring out from a display of them. It was sanded smooth and had a slim turquoise band on one outer edge. He tried a few on in various sizes, popping them onto different fingers before he seemed to settle on one that fit his middle finger. “How do you make something like this?”
“Go ask the artist,” Dabbs suggested. “I’m sure he’ll tell you.”
“Good idea.” Ryland put the ring back in the display. “Be right back. Remind me to buy that before we leave.”
While he spoke with the artist, Dabbs purchased a few pieces of his own: rustic coasters for his stepdad, a birdhouse for his mom, a set of measuring spoons for his sister, and a trivet shaped like a fish for his other sister. He also grabbed a set of ramen bowls for Hughes as a thank-you for babysitting his dogs and Bellamy’s cat.
Bellamy texted to say he and Jason had snagged a table on the patio of a nearby bistro for lunch, so Dabbs thanked the cashier, hefted his items, and went to grab Ryland.
Who’d apparently moved on from ring design to maple syrup farming.
“Dabbs, Jean-Pierre grew up on a maple syrup farm too, just like me,” Ryland said, gesturing at the artist. “Isn’t that cool?” Ryland bounced on his toes, clearly excited to have made a new friend.
God. He was as vivacious as he’d ever been. Dabbs wanted to kiss him right then and there.
“I never really did much on the farm,” Ryland told Jean-Pierre. “That was always my brother and sister’s domains, and . . . Wait. Speaking of Jason, did he and Bellamy get lost?”
“They got us a table for lunch at a place down the street.”
“Oh sweet. I could eat.” He waved at the artist. “Thank you.”
It wasn’t until Dabbs was showing off his purchases—at Bellamy’s request—while they sat on the patio of a French bistro that Ryland said, “Crap. I forgot to buy the ring I was eyeing.”
“We can go back and grab it after lunch,” Jason said from across the table from him.
“No need.” Dabbs removed a parcel from one of his bags and handed it over. “Here.”
“You got it?” Grinning, Ryland tugged open the fabric jewelry bag, then unwrapped the tissue paper from around the ring. “Thank you. I totally forgot. Oh.” He frowned as the ring didn’t go past his knuckle. “It’s too small.”
“Because it’s not meant for that finger.” Gently, his heart echoing in his ears, Dabbs tugged it off Ryland’s middle finger and slipped it onto his ring finger. “It’s meant for that one.”
Bellamy made a little “eep” sound while Jason’s jaw dropped.
“Kyle . . . ” Ryland said slowly, his eyes wide in his face and his cheeks pink. His hand began to shake in Dabbs’. “Are you . . . ”
Swallowing hard against the nerves pushing at the back of his throat, Dabbs squeezed his hand. “You’re the coffee to my Timbits and the butter to my apple bread, Rya.” He could already see the answer on Ryland’s face, and he smiled, nerves transforming into happiness so acute he felt light as air. “Every second I don’t get to call you my husband makes me feel like I’m watching a hockey game through a window and been told I’m not allowed to play. Marry me, and—”
Ryland cut him off with a wild laugh. Grabbing his face in both hands, Ryland kissed him thoroughly. Hotly. Wetly. Dabbs chuckled against his lips, mentally revisiting that thought he’d had about returning to the hotel.
Christ, he loved this man—flashy, loud, attention-seeking and all.
“In case you missed it,” Ryland murmured as Jason ordered two bottles of the bistro’s best champagne. Ryland’s face was flushed, and his eyes were bright. “That was a yes.”
Copyright 2025 Amy Aislin. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Don’t forget to check out my other books!