This might last more than the holidays, more than a winter.
This could be everything.
When they finally pulled back from the hug, Noah cupped Eli’s jaw with a hesitant hand, and Eli leaned into the touch.
Noah’s heart pounded.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispered.
Eli’s breath warmed Noah’s lips. “I thought I told you what the answer would always be to that question.”
The kiss started warm and tender, a lingering brush of lips, Noah’s thumb sweeping Eli’s cheek as he memorized every inch.
Eli kissed him back as though he’d been waiting all day for this moment.
Noah deepened the kiss, giving rein to his hunger, not careful at all. Eli slid his hand to Noah’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the muscle. Noah drew him closer, feeling the tremor in Eli’s breath, the answering tremor in his own.
Eli’s voice shook. “Last night wasn’t a one-time thing for me.”
Warmth crept over Noah’s skin, and he rested his forehead against Eli’s.
“Good. Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all day, not for a minute.”
Eli made a small, helpless sound and kissed him again, deeper, slower, and more certain. Noah responded in kind, sliding his hands to Eli’s waist, steadying him, drawing him closer until their bodies aligned just right. When they parted, breathless, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bruised, they stared at each other as if the room had tilted.
Eli’s stomach gave a loud rumble, and he bit his lip. “Sorry. Will dinner be ready soon?”
Noah chuckled. “Okay, I lied. I had this idea we could make dinner together. Something simple and burn-repellent, like pasta.”
“You planned this?”
Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe?”
Warmth flooded Eli’s chest. “I like that.”
Noah seemed relieved. “Good. Because I chopped things.”
Preparing dinner was an unexpectedly intimate ritual. They moved around the tiny kitchen as if they’d done it a hundred times, Noah stirring a sauce, Eli chopping garlic, elbows bumping, shoulders brushing, both trying and failing not to smile every time it happened.
“Watch your fingers,” Noah said when Eli’s chopping got enthusiastic.
“I’m a professional,” Eli insisted.
“You draw for a living. With hands you could lose. Don’t make me explain circulation to you.”
Eli snorted. “Okay, Mom—ow!” He’d nicked his thumb.
Noah immediately dropped his spoon. “Okay, give me that.”
“It’s fine,” Eli insisted. “Barely a scratch.”
“Blood is blood.” Noah dragged him to the sink with gentle but unyielding pressure. He rinsed the cut, grabbed a clean towel, and held Eli’s hand carefully, his thumb brushing Eli’s knuckle.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Eli murmured.
“You’re wounded.”
Eli rolled his eyes. “It’s a papercut with ambition.”
