“Don’t,” I warn under my breath, though it comes out soft.
He leans just a little closer. “Didn’t realize I’d been living rent-free in your head that long, Brooks.”
“Yeah, well,” I mutter, stabbing a piece of chicken I’m definitely too embarrassed to eat, “guess the eviction notice got lost in the mail.”
Tom laughs, clueless to the undercurrent humming between us. “Good luck with that, son. Once Emily likes someone, they’re permanent.”
My mom beams, sliding a slice of pie in front of Todd like it’s a bribe. “Exactly. So you’d better keep coming around, Todd. You make him happy. I can tell.”
And just like that, my heart’s too full for words.
Todd looks at her and then at me, eyes soft and searching, like he’s trying to memorize what this feels like. Warmth. Family. Safety.
It's everything I ever wanted him to have. Everything I’m terrified of losing.
But I shake it off. We’re solid. He came out to our friends for me. I know it was for me, even without him saying it. That has to mean something that lasts.
When Mom finally shuffles off to the living room with Tom—him carrying the leftovers, her already planning dessert for “next time”—Todd rolls up his sleeves and follows me to the sink.
“I’ve got this,” I tell him, turning on the water. “Guest privilege.”
He bumps my hip with his. “You think I’m just going to sit there while you do all the work? Not a chance.”
“You’ll ruin your hands,” I tease, grabbing the dish soap. “How will you ever hold a stick again?”
He gives me that crooked half-smile that always kills me. “Pretty sure I can manage. Unless you’re volunteering to tape my stick for me now, too.”
“Not a chance,” I say, bumping his hip. “You’re already spoiled.”
He grins. “Guess I’m helping then.”
I just hand him a towel and try not to smile too hard. “Yeah, yeah. Rinse that one before I change my mind.”
We fall into a rhythm—him rinsing, me washing. His arm brushes mine every few seconds, and our shoulders bump between quiet laughter and soft conversation.
“Your mom’s great,” he says after a moment. “She didn’t even blink when I dropped a fork.”
“She’s used to my disasters,” I reply, flicking a bit of suds at him.
He wipes the soap from his jaw with the back of his wrist, pretending to look offended. “Did you justattackme?”
“Consider it retaliation for laughing about my first crush.”
He snorts. “I remember that kid. Rex? Dex? What was his name again?”
“Dexter,” I say and flick him with more suds.
“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” He dips his hand into the sink, scoops up a palmful of bubbles, and smears them across my forearm.
“Cold!” I yelp, laughing as I splash him back. Waterdrips down his shirt, and we’re both grinning like idiots when he catches my wrist.
“Truce?” he asks, breath hitching just a little.
I nod, but the word gets lost somewhere between us when he leans in. The kiss is warm and every good thing I didn’t know I needed before him. His hand slips behind my neck, mine flattening against his chest, both of us a little wet, a little reckless.
The faucet continues to flow, forgotten.
He pulls back just enough to grin at me. “You’ve got bubbles on your nose.”
