Chapter Seven

David

April

 

Gently, I place my fork down on my half-empty plate and force myself to look at Nick. His square jaw, peppered with dark stubble, is set tight and his full lips press together. Honestly, he looks like he might either cry or be sick. Whole body radiating tension, his eyes bore into mine.

“Okay,” I say mildly because I have no idea what else to say. My world has tipped on its axis but at the same time I’m not exactly surprised. I mean, we did have sex—amazing, mind-numbing sex. But he’d also shut down so quickly after. He’d been so adamant about it being a mistake. I decide to wait for him to go on.

His cheeks are flushed and when he finally does speak his voice is raw. “I mean, that’s kind of why I moved out here, I guess. Once I knew for sure. At first, for a while I thought, you know, maybe I was, like, bisexual, and that I could choose not to be with guys. Turn that part off or whatever.”

The words are tumbling out of him in a rush, but he’s still got his eyes locked on mine, as if he promised himself he would look at me while he said this. This was probably not a good time for me to interject that bisexuality doesn’t exactly work that way, then.

“So I got back with Christi. I’d had fun dating her in high school and I thought if I focused on women I could be straight. But it didn’t work. Obviously. I was fucking miserable. I mean, Christi’s a great woman. She was an awesome wife and my folks loved her. But being with her felt wrong. And it was hard for me to…you know, to have sex with her. I was drinking a lot.”

Now his cheeks flame. “I started having a lot of panic attacks. I never cheated on her or anything but I knew what I was doing to her was cruel. Unfair, you know? She started talking about having a family and I couldn’t do it. And I think she kind of knew something was wrong. At first she thought I was having an affair since I never wanted to have sex. And I felt super guilty so I would, like, buy her big gifts sometimes and go out of my way to be perfect in every other way.”

He shakes his head and pauses for a long time. I’m glued to his every word and my body feels almost floaty. I realize I’m hunched toward him and I force myself to relax back into my chair.

“She found out. I forgot to clear my browser history, and she saw I’d been watching gay porn. And of course it all made sense to her. I couldn’t really deny it, so I told her the truth. Made her promise not to tell anyone. I felt—I feel horrible about what I did to her. She basically understood, though, and even offered to stay married to me and both see other people. But she deserves better than that. And I knew I couldn’t keep lying all the time.”

Another long pause and sip of beer.

“I was still working at the diner but I couldn’t go back to living at home. You know how my dad is. I told Christi she could keep everything. We were living in a condo down the street from the diner. I was coming here a lot to think anyway, so I started camping out and planting vegetables and stuff. It was the only thing that kept me sane. And then my Uncle Gus told me I could have the land right before he died. He willed it to me and everything—even left me some money. But naturally my parents, my dad especially, lost it when I told them about the divorce. He told me not to come back to work. That he didn’t want to see me. And of course now he acts like I abandoned him, like I chose to leave…” Nick laughs bitterly.

“Anyway, I started kind of living off the grid out here for a while. It’s easier for me. Living out here, I mean. The idea of starting a farm had occurred to me, but I didn’t really know how to do it until I met Jenna and Hector.”

Nick smiles fondly when he mentions his friends.

“I knew Jenna from the diner. I had overheard her saying something about working on an organic farm, so I decided I’d run her food out myself. You know, so I could ask her more about it. She’d started coming in every morning. She would tell me everything she knew about growing and stuff. Pushed me to start educating myself about sustainable practices too. I went to this New York organic farming convention. Hector was there and we just kind of hit it off because he’s insanely easy to talk to. I think you’d like him a lot. So yeah, when I mentioned that I wanted to get into farming and had the land, he said he would invest and move to the area since he has family here and… Yeah. I guess that’s it.” Nick trails off and shrugs, as if he’s run out of steam to keep talking.

My mind vibrates with questions and I squeeze my eyes shut so I can try to make sense of all this. Finally I glance at Nick. He’s back to looking like he’s going to be sick. He bounces his leg under the table across from me. Archie comes to sit next to him and I swear the dog looks worried.

“So you’re not out?” It’s not what I’d meant to say and my words sound harsher than I wanted. Nick just told me all about reinventing his life and I’m nit-picking. Really nice, David.

Nick’s eyebrows pull together. “Not exactly,” he responds slowly. “I mean, Christi knows, obviously. And Jenna and Hector both know. And Cassie figured it out.”

At this my face must register surprise. I’d always liked Nick’s older sister, but the idea that he was out to any member of his family was surprising.

“She was fine with it,” he says quickly. “She’s been great. And she knows better than to tell my parents. I mean, getting divorced was already a huge failure in their eyes. Shit, if they found out I’m gay they’d never speak to me again.”

This has always baffled me about Nick’s relationship with his family. Why did he care? He had always been desperate to be the perfect son. While his brother Jason had permission to fuck up nonstop, Nick forced himself awkwardly into the impossible mold his father created for him. Whether it was turning down the unbelievable football scholarship at Syracuse to work at the diner, or apparently denying a huge part of his identity, he did everything he could to make his father happy.

But his dad was a jerk, always complaining about Nick. Nothing was ever good enough. When Nick led our school’s football team to a state victory, his father hadn’t even shown up to the final game, claiming he was too busy at work. When Nick had started cooking at the diner after high school he’d been amazing at it, mastering the recipes and enthusiastically coming up with specials. Whenever we Skyped while I was away at undergrad in Chicago, Nick would excitedly tell me about ideas he had for new menu items. His dad always shut him down.

I hear Nick’s intake of breath and I know he’s about to bring it up. “David, I’m so sorry. About how unfair I was to you too. I mean, I was so fucked up and I know I jerked you around…”

I had promised myself I wasn’t going to be dramatic, or cry, or show him how much he’d hurt me, but as I push back from the table violently, my eyes filling with burning tears, I’m furious with myself because I know I’m about to break all of those promises. “So you expect me to forgive you?” Although I feel nothing but sadness, my voice sounds venomous. “You want me to feel bad for you, so I won’t be angry that you fucked me right after my mom’s fucking funeral and then you basically told me I disgust you?”

Nick looks at me like I slapped him. “That’s not what I said, David…” His hands are up, and he’s coming around the table toward me.

I turn away, striding over to the kitchen to pour myself another glass of wine. Shit, I better not drink too much. I put the cork back in the bottle, shove it into the refrigerator, and close the door with too much force. “Right. Nick. What was it?” I repeat his words back to him and sag against the fridge. “‘I can’t be like you. I’m not messed up. I like girls.’ That was it, right? When I tried to touch you, you literally shoved me away. Remember that? When I called you the next day, you didn’t even answer.”

A few tears inch down my cheeks and my face burns with the shame of it all. “Do you not get it, Nick? Having sex with you was the culmination of so much for me. I’d wanted it for so long but I didn’t even want to let myself fantasize about it. Then it happened, and it was so fucking perfect. Like I’d been thinking you were going to want to be with me for real. That everything was going to fall into place. That the guy I’d been in… That my best friend…”

I pause and step back from the conversational precipice I’d nearly stumbled over. “But then the second you pulled out of me, you shut down. I know it wasn’t easy for you, but you were so…I don’t know, mad at me. And then you stopped talking to me. Right after my mom’s fucking funeral.” My voice is shaking and brittle.

His big arms come around me and even though I want to jerk away from him, I collapse into Nick’s embrace. I nuzzle into his warm chest to hide the thoughts I know are etched on my face: touch me, put your mouth on me, want me.

I inhale his smell, still familiar after all these years. The warm musk I associate with him is intoxicating, and I press my face into his neck to breathe it in. Growing up, Nick had always smelled like soap and fabric softener. All his T-shirts carried the slight chemical tinge of bleach. But the scent of artificial clean is gone. Now Nick smells distinctly earthy and herbal like sage, and pine, and fresh air.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” I can feel his words as much as I hear them, pressed against his body like this.

Desperate as I am to balk at the term of endearment, as much as I want to keep railing at Nick over how much he hurt me, my body is a traitor and his words only make me melt against him.

“I know that saying sorry won’t ever make up for it, but what I said to you, pushing you away… I made a mistake. I was terrified. You were always there for me. And you put up with my bullshit when you didn’t have to. I know I was a coward. Making love with you that night…” He trails off and his arms tighten around me. My cock starts to fill at the memory of him inside me. “It was so good. I still think about it. I think about you.”

I press my forehead into his muscled shoulder and force myself to breathe. My arms hang limply at my sides as his big hands slide down my back, pulling my hips toward his. After a long moment, I shift away from him and lamely gesture toward his couch. Nick settles down, leaning back and spreading his large body out wide. I scoot to the far end opposite him and tuck my legs under me. Immediately my body cries out for his heat and heady scent.

“Can you give me another chance?” The naked hope in Nick’s face sends a jolt of warmth right through my heart. “I know I don’t deserve it but I want to at least be your friend again. And if you’d be willing, I want to be with you for real.” He pauses and rubs his hands up and down his thighs, clearly trying to gather his thoughts.

“Do you hate me too much to try again? Because when I found out you were back, I needed to see you. I missed you so much.” His shoulders sag like he expects me to say no. He has always been so passive, so willing to accept any criticism or anger directed at him. My mom once described Nick as a docile, overgrown puppy. The label is pretty apt.

I want to reach out and touch him but I hold myself back. “I never hated you. You hurt me. You rejected me and made me feel like an idiot. Like I was this delusional, pathetic person. You fucked with my emotions for like all of my late adolescence.”

Shit. I need to reel this in. I’ve already broken two-thirds of the rules I set for myself. I’ve kind of hugged Nick and I’ve also cried so I certainly cannot let myself devolve into histrionics. Whenever I’m upset I have a tendency to ramble and spiral. Words I don’t mean tumble out of me as I lash out blindly. I used to do it with Christopher all the time. He was always so stoic and dispassionate with me, which would work me up into a fever pitch of trying to say the most hurtful thing possible in order to get any reaction at all. Slowly I breathe in and out before continuing. “Look, Nick, I can’t be your secret person again.” And I do mean this.

When we were little kids, our friendship was uncomplicated joy. I could cross the street to his house to spend the afternoon watching cartoons and eating junk food or we could hang out in my backyard digging in the dirt and adding to our rock collections. We would talk for hours and fall asleep whispering into the walkie-talkie set I’d gotten for my birthday.

But when we started middle school something changed. Nick ignored me at school. I was his home friend. He might nod to me in the hallway or chat with me for a few minutes before class, but at school we existed in decidedly separate worlds. He hung out with his basketball and football teammates and I found my own small tribe. He was the popular, likable jock, and I was a queer skinny kid. Sometimes his friends would even hassle me in the halls—nothing terrible, muttered comments and chuckles—and Nick would half-heartedly tell them to shut up. But basically he did nothing.

He would grind with girls at school dances and make out with them under the bleachers after football games. I would pretend not to notice. And despite the I-hate-sports-and-everything-mainstream rep I tried to uphold, I always went to his games, excited to see him succeeding at something he cared so much about. And he would pretend not to notice.

On the weekends or in the blue hours of evening, though, things were the same between us. We’d sit on his parents’ porch swing talking or hole up in my room for hours listening to music, imagining what our lives would look like in the magical realm of someday. Even when he started dating Christi junior year, we still drove out to the farm and spent long afternoons and evenings together. Then he changed everything, adding another layer to the whole messy dynamic. He started kissing me, pulling me to him in frantic bursts of desire, and giving me everything I’d always secretly wanted.

With effort, I refocus on the present and try to smash down the ever-expanding balloon of hope that’s filling in my chest. This is thirty-one-year-old Nick. The man who just told me that he is gay and that he wants me. But this is also the man who can’t be out because he’s terrified of his family. “Okay”—I’m happy to hear that my voice has softened—“I don’t want to force you to come out or anything like that. But I love being gay. It’s important to me. It doesn’t embarrass me. I can’t be a secret. I can’t do that again.”

Nick has dropped his head, pressing his face into his clenched fists. The thin cotton of his shirt stretches over his back and shoulder muscles as they ripple with tension. “I understand.” His voice is thick and muffled. Then he looks up, his eyes glassy, but I can tell he’s trying to look calm. “You always were out of my league. But it was worth a shot, right?” He barks out a laugh, but it sounds almost strangled.

Wait—does he think I’m turning him down? Is that what I’m doing? I try to take stock of what I want. Experimentally I shake my head, hoping some epiphany will get knocked loose with the movement. No luck. Nick’s eyes slide over my body. His gaze is as solid and sure as his arms around me. The air between us is thick now and I realize I still haven’t said anything. I don’t want to torture the poor guy.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I slide my body over on the couch so I’m sitting right next to Nick, our thighs touching. I turn toward him enough that I can look at his face. His pupils are dilated but I can still see the stormy slate of his eyes, the irises ringed with a fine line of dark blue, almost navy. His eyes are so striking against his olive skin and dark hair and my mind wanders to how I could mix colors to capture that complex gray and the almost luminous bronze. Nick’s lips part and he looks confused. Those beautiful, storm gray eyes dart to my mouth and his breath hitches. I lean forward, closing the distance between us, and press my mouth to his.

Immediately Nick’s strong hands are on me, gripping my waist like I’m magnetic. He groans into my mouth, a powerful sigh of relief. I love the way he tastes, a little like the beer he was drinking and the dinner we just ate, but also spicy and warm and achingly familiar. Wanting to taste more of him I trace his bottom lip with the tip of my tongue and I’m rewarded with a moan from Nick as he opens to me and slides his tongue against mine.

“Jesus, David,” Nick murmurs against my mouth.

I pull back and trace his square, stubbled jawline, shivering at the rough sensation under my fingertips. I’m already embarrassingly hard, because honestly, I’ve been keyed up all evening. It’s like all my energy is pulsing in my cock. Suddenly Nick grins, tightens his grip on my waist, and hauls me up onto his lap as if I weigh nothing at all. Now that I’m straddling him, his erection drags against mine, and I momentarily forget how to take in oxygen. His arms are around me again, pulling me flush against his bulk. Even through the layers of fabric, his heat and the friction are almost too much. I bend down to kiss him, cupping his face with both hands. Why does kissing him turn me on so much? I never got that into kissing Christopher, but then again we didn’t have the world’s greatest chemistry.

“David, I want you so bad,” Nick whispers. All I can do is nod.

My whole body feels almost weightless. The desire is overwhelming. My throat is dry, like waking in the middle of the night desperate for a drink of water. He rocks his hips up into me again, gruffly simulating sex, and I cry out, already dangerously close. I pull back again, forcing myself to breathe and slow this all down. Without thinking I press two fingers to my pulse point in my neck. My heart is racing.

If we’re going to do this, we have to take it slow. Nick looks dazed, his dark eyelashes fluttering closed. I’m about to speak, to tell him to take it easy, when he presses his lips to the point in my neck where my fingers just were. Then he’s kissing all over my jaw and throat, rubbing my skin a little raw, making my eyes squeeze shut with the sheer pleasure of the sensation.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says softly, punctuating each word with a kiss to my neck.

Somehow I’ve shed my jacket—did I take it off after dinner? I can’t dwell on the thought for too long, though, because Nick slides his palms up my bare back under my T-shirt. Of course his hands are rough and callused. If he keeps touching me like that, keeps rutting his erection against mine, I will actually come in my pants, something I have managed to avoid my entire life.

“Nick, stop.” I pull my mouth from his and our lips part with a soft smack that makes me want to laugh.

He looks bereft. “You don’t want to?”

I glance down to where our hips are joined, at the evidence of my arousal. A small wet dot is visible through the somewhat thin fabric of my pants. Nick follows my gaze and his body relaxes under me. That sweet, shy smile plays at his lips.

“I think it’s pretty obvious that we both want to.” I draw a shaky breath. “But we have to, like—” I wave my hand vaguely. “—talk and take things slow and stuff.” Very articulate. It’s pretty much impossible for me to focus with his hands still on the bare skin of my lower back, gently rubbing up and down. I try to shift away but that only results in Nick’s hardness pushing up closer against my erection. He lets his head fall back against the couch with what sounds an awful lot like a growl.

“You’re right,” he mutters, as if it is causing him actual physical pain to admit it.

“If you want to do this,” I start and Nick quickly interjects, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Ugh, that nostril flare. Nick’s nose is slightly too big and wide for his face and it somehow makes him even more attractive.

“I do.” He looks desperate. “I want you. I know myself now. I’m sure. This won’t be like before. I know that I acted like, well ‘an asshole’ doesn’t even cover it, but I care about you. I never stopped caring about you.” Nick’s words sound rehearsed, like he’d practiced this apology speech a few times.

His admission forces another breath of air into that hope balloon lodged in my chest. I remember him doing this when we were younger, planning out and practicing his words when he had something important to say. He tended to get tongue-tied when he was nervous.

His hands move from my waist and now he’s playing with my hair, running his fingers through it absently and occasionally grazing his nails over my scalp. All this contact is making it hard to focus. Pressing a quick, chaste kiss to his lips, I slide off his lap and reclaim my seat next to him on the couch. Still touching, but much easier to form coherent thoughts.

“We haven’t seen each other in a long time,” I say even though we are obviously both quite aware of this fact. “A lot has changed in my life, and clearly in yours too. We’re not the same people as when we were twenty-one. I basically blew my whole life up moving back here, and I know that navigating your sexuality isn’t easy.”

I pause because this is a lie. I don’t actually know this. I have no idea what Nick is going through. For me, coming out was as simple as saying the words. Being open about who I am has always been as natural as breathing. I never had to second-guess it. But when your parents are left-wing academics with tons of queer friends, I suppose that makes being gay a whole lot easier.

“I know it isn’t easy for you anyway. I get it. But you can’t assume that because we felt something a decade ago, it’s still going to work.”

When I glance over at Nick, I know I’ve said the wrong thing because his handsome face has gone serious, his mouth tight again.

“Hey,” I whisper and cup his cheek, turning his face to look at me. “I’m not saying it can’t work. Just that we have to get to know each other again. Okay? I didn’t even know you got divorced until a few weeks ago. I didn’t know you were figuring out your sexuality. And I definitely didn’t know about this whole farm thing.” My attempt at humor is rewarded with a low chuckle from Nick. “You don’t know about the job I left or my total failure of a three-year relationship.”

Nick’s eyes flick down to the floor and the corner of his mouth quirks up.

For a moment I’m confused by his reaction. Then I realize he knows more about my life than I know about his. “Anna?” I ask, unable to stop my eyes from rolling. She is such a busybody.

He chuckles and gives a small, resigned shrug. “Yup. I never used to see her much, sometimes at the library but, I mean, she would never come into the diner since my dad refused to add a single vegan option to the menu.” Nick’s voice goes bitter, but he continues. “Anyway, she was one of our first regular customers at the market and I used to get nervous seeing her, since she was your friend and, well, she kind of hated me.”

I don’t bother protesting because throughout high school and college Anna had not made any effort to hide her disdain for Nick.

“But one day she was buying some stuff—tomatoes. I remember it was the first crop of green zebras, and she casually mentioned that you had gotten this big job at a museum in Chicago. She sounded so proud of you. So yeah, she told me things sometimes, random stuff about you. Like that you were living with this guy, Christopher, and she wasn’t so sure about him. Then after she visited you last time, she told me that you guys had broken up. I, uh, was pretty fucking jealous of that guy.” Nick’s jaw tenses. “But you’re right. I do want to get to know you again.” His voice is so gentle.

We sit next to each other on the couch, legs pressing together. The silence quickly becomes charged and slightly awkward. As much as I’d like to ask him dozens of questions and unpack every single thing from our past, either that or climb back up on his lap and resume our make-out session, I also don’t want to come across like the neurotic stress ball or total hypocrite that I am. Nervous rambling is right on the tip of my tongue when Nick does the damn cutest thing. He does the classic yawn-stretch and puts his arm around me, pulling me close to him.

“Very smooth,” I snort. But I’m delighted because he’s warm, and I hadn’t realized how much I missed his arms around me.

“Hey, this is all pretty new for me,” he retorts, giving my shoulder a playful squeeze.

The comment sets my mind spiraling though. Am I the only man he’s ever been with? I want to ask him, but I also know that grilling him about his sexual history, especially at this tenuous moment, would be invasive and inappropriate. “Do you want to maybe watch a movie or something?” I suggest lamely. But then I realize Nick doesn’t have a TV. The walls are mostly dedicated to windows or bookshelves.

His arm around me tightens. “My TV’s in my room.”

Of course. “That’s okay.” I’m trying to play it cool but half of me hopes he takes it to mean I don’t want to go there. Because I’m not sure if I can be in bed with Nick and expect myself to make rational decisions.

But he hauls me to my feet and I follow him up the stairs to his bedroom. It seems the entire second floor is also an open plan, consisting of his large bedroom and three other doors, one of which I can see leads out onto a balcony and the other two I can only assume lead to a bathroom and a closet. If I thought the rest of the house was gorgeous, this bedroom is truly remarkable. The ceiling is vaulted and high, paneled in whitewashed wooden planks. A second woodstove with a similar neat pile of logs next to it stands unlit. A modern pine bedframe houses an enormous mattress draped with a colorful quilt. And as if it’s an afterthought, balanced on the dresser, there is a somewhat dated flat-screen TV.

Like it’s nothing, Nick flops onto the bed and reaches for the remote resting atop a neat pile of books on the pine nightstand that matches the bed frame. Clearly this is his side of the bed because the other night table is bare aside from a folding metal desk lamp.

“Anything you wanna watch?” Nick asks, sprawling his long limbs out on top of the weirdly garish quilt.

I shrug and gingerly perch on the bed, again scooting far away from him like a total prude.

“Do you like Blue Planet?” he asks, clicking through his Netflix.

I try not to creep on what he’s recently watched but I can’t help myself. Nature documentaries, that well-produced show about famous chefs, and Gilmore Girls. I choke back a laugh. Nick follows my eyes and shoves my shoulder.

“Shut up. Not everyone can have your fancy taste in movies. Gilmore Girls is awesome.”

I shake my head and relax back into the pillows. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Nick shuts off the lamp next to him, plunging the room into the diffuse, cool light of the TV, and puts on an episode of Blue Planet about the Arctic seas. Watching the polar bears and ice floes makes me start to shiver. Then I realize it’s cold up here since the temperature has probably dropped outside and the fire isn’t lit.

“You cold?” Nick asks, his eyes still fixed on the penguins waddling around on screen.

“No, I’m fine,” I say, but my body language definitely gives me away. I’m all scrunched up and my arms are crossed tight against my chest. Naturally, Nick takes this as an invitation to slide over toward me and hoist me up on top of him again. I’m sure neither of us can see the TV now, but I also do not care. His heat immediately relaxes me and I whimper with pleasure as he grips my ass.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his lips ghosting over mine.

How is it possible for a man to look like he does and to smell so damn good? I grin against his lips and nod.

“You make me crazy,” he whispers and then his mouth is engulfing mine and my whole body is pulsing.

We’re moving together at a delirious, delicious slow tempo. My head spins. His strong hands are still kneading my ass, almost overwhelming me with pleasure. I trace my fingers up under his shirt, loving the flex of muscle and tickle of hair. His heart hammers in his built chest and I’m rewarded with a feral growl when I experimentally tweak his taut nipple. The same desperation-like thirst builds again and I start to drag a hand down his body, dipping into the front of his jeans.

“David.” Nick’s breathing is uneven as he pulls back. He looks almost nervous. Our legs are twined together and we are both rock-hard, pressing against each other. “We should stop.”

I lift my hand to gently cup his face and nod. He’s right. I’m the one who said we should take things slow, and there I was with my fingers inside the waistband of his boxers. I extract myself from him and start to move away but he stops me.

“Stay here?” It’s less of a command and more of an invitation but he keeps one arm wrapped around me, my face resting on his chest.

Surrounded by the tranquil sounds of the ocean and images of sea life, Nick falls asleep within minutes. Nick’s breathing slows under me and his grip around me relaxes. For a long moment I consider giving in to the warm comfort of Nick’s bed and his body. After all, Anna did bring her overnight stuff. My dad is fine with her. But I need time to think and it’s almost impossible for me to be rational when I’m surrounded by Nick’s herbal, earthy scent.

Quietly I slip out of bed and flip off the TV, pulling the other side of the quilt over Nick’s large frame. He looks so boyish as he sleeps, his full lips parted and curved up, his long dark lashes fluttered closed. I press a soft kiss to his forehead, but he doesn’t stir. He’s really out.

As I pad down the stairs I’m greeted by the gigantic dog, Archie, who is sitting next to the front door, his mismatched eyes regarding me expectantly.

“Do you need to go out?” I ask, glancing around for a leash. As if the dog understood what I said he paws at the door. I open it a crack, throwing out a silent prayer that he doesn’t bolt into the dark and I won’t have to wake Nick up and explain that I lost his dog. But he does just that. When I step out into the hazy black of the night, I don’t see any sign of Archie. I whisper-scream his name a few times into the darkness, my heart now somewhere right at the top of my throat. But the dog comes trotting right back and lopes up the porch stairs, tossing an Are you coming? look back at me. Laughing to myself I follow him inside and quickly do my best to clean up the dishes and scrawl a note for Nick on the magnetic whiteboard mounted to the side of his fridge. I’m not sure what to say, so I keep it simple and light.

Nick,

Thanks for a great evening. The food was delicious and so were you ;) I took Archie out around 11. Call me tomorrow?

David

I know the line about him being delicious is cheesy as hell, but I also bet he’ll love it.

When I finally get home, my dad is in bed and Anna is asleep on the couch, her fingers tangled in a knitting project. When I gently shake her awake, her eyes narrow for a moment then zero right in on my face. Her voice is soft and I lean down to hear what she says.

“You have beard burn.”