It’s a beautiful night, so I set the table outside, both of us stealing glances. His jaw’s tight in concentration, forearm flexing as he plates. This is a man who likes taking care of people. Of me.
When he brings the plates over, he doesn’t sit across from me, he sits next to me, thigh pressed to mine, like we’ve done this a hundred times.
I nudge him. “You know, this is really good boyfriend behavior.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re complaining?”
“Not even a little,” I say, unable to hide my smile.
He smirks, takes a bite, then turns the fork toward me. “Eat.”
I do. And yeah… I’m so, so gone.
The meal tastes wonderful, just as I knew it would. He says he can’t cook, but I think it’s more that he just doesn’t. I get it; it’s hard when you live alone. Making a big meal for just one person amplifies the loneliness.
I clear the dishes, rinse them, load the dishwasher, and lean against the counter while it hums to life. His kitchen isn’t shiny or new, but it’s honest: good light, wide counters, space to breathe. I could cook here. I want to. I wonder if he’d let me come over and use it whenever I wanted to. It’s a boyfriend perk, right? The thought of this big grumbly man moving around this kitchen alone tightens something under my ribs.
Out the window, Dom’s on the back patio, setting cushions on the bench he built with his own hands. He said it was for me, but the way he lowers himself onto it carefully, like he’s easing down into his own thoughts, makes me think it’s for him too. I can almost see the overlook where he told me about his father. The bench is another overlook, just closer to home. A reminder of some of the things on his mind.
I pour two bourbons and head outside. He looks up when I open the door, that small shift in his mouth saying,you’re here.
“I thought maybe you could use one,” I say, handing him a glass before sliding in beside him.
“Thank you.” His palm lands warm on my thigh. Not possessive. Anchoring.
I take a sip and rest my head on his shoulder. “I like this,” I murmur.
He kisses my hair. “Me too.”
We sit like this in silence, just watching nature fly by, before he finally speaks.
“I’ve decided to go to my father’s parole hearing.”
I press a kiss on his shoulder, then tip my chin to look up at him. “Okay.”
He stares ahead, jaw working. “I don’t want him out. He was… mean isn’t the word. He made everything small. Me. My mother. The house. Like we needed his permission to exist.” He swallows, thumb brushing once over my leg as if to apologize for the weight he’s letting go of. “I haven’t seen him in twenty years, and somehow I still feel twelve when I think about him. I hate that.”
I cover his hand with mine. “You don’t owe him anything.”
“I know,” he says softly. “But I owe myself something. I want to look those people in the eye and tell the truth. And then I want to walk out and not carry him around with me anymore.” He drags in a breath. “I, umm… I was going to ask if you’d come. Just… to be there.”
My heart kicks. “Say when and where. I’ll be there.” Never a question, never a doubt. I know I will always be there for this man. I’ll be the person who loves him and shows him how many people he has in his corner.
He nods, and some of the tightness eases from his shoulders. “Thank you.”
“Always,” I say. “And Dom? Whatever he did, whoever he was… that’s not you. You’re the man who builds benches to find peace, creates beauty on skin, and kisses me like you mean it. That’s who you are.”
He turns to me, gratitude showing in his eyes. He sets his glass down, takes mine, and sets it beside his, our fingers brushing. The touch sparks straight through me.
“Beckett,” he says, my name a rough edge. “I keep thinking if I let you all the way in, I’ll lose control.”
“You won’t,” I whisper, scooting closer until my knee presses his. “You’ll just have company.”
Something in him loosens; I feel it like a shiver. His hand comes up to cradle my jaw, careful and sure, and I lean into it,covering his wrist with my fingers. The air between us tightens, charged.
The first kiss is unhurried, a seal pressed into a promise. The second lands deeper, heat building low in my stomach, his thumb stroking beneath my ear until my whole body leans toward him. He tastes of something that feels a lot like home.
When we break, our foreheads touch. His breath skates across my mouth.
