“Grab some glasses, will ya?” Mitch nods at a glass cabinet behind me. In a daze, I move, stopping in front of the large cabinet, shelves upon shelves of glasses of all sizes and colors lined up in front of me. And I just stare because they’re all so goddamn pretty and I have no clue which ones to choose. How do you choose between so many pretty glasses?
“Take the orange ones,” a deep voice says to my right, a waft of warm breath hitting my neck. “They’re my favorite.”They’re mine too, I want to say. Orange is my favorite color. Then the warm presence is gone again and replaced by a quiet, intimate murmur around the island.
I open the cabinet door and pick out three orange glasses. I carry them to the kitchen island like they’re the fucking holy grail or something. Three glasses, all in my favorite color. Apparently, Cal’s favorite color, too, because it wasn’t Mitch’s familiar voice that brushed against my ear before. I would be able to pick out Mitch’s voice in a line-up even after all these years. No, that was all Cal. I place the three glasses on the oak kitchen island one by one, counting them in my head as I go.One. Two. Three.One is always alone, right? Two are company. What are three then? Family? Are three a family like we used to be, Mitch, Mom, and me?
Then Mitch places the large pot on the island, followed by the eager clang of cutlery. The smell of melted cheese and freshly baked bread enters my nostrils, while Cal or Mitch, or whoever, chuckles at something. And it’s all too fucking much. It’s just too much. Because here I was, a few hours ago, thinking that I could just run my usual bullshit act past some deadbeat parole officer, and now I’m here. In Mitch’s house. With his husband, Cal. Setting the table for three and we’re having fucking…
Cal opens the lid, beaming brightly at Mitch, his hazel eyes sparkling.
“Ta-da!” He grins while Mitch looks close to swooning. I sneak a peek inside the pot and what the hell is this?
“What the fuck isthat?” I point at the pot like it’s a venomous snake.
“It’s onion soup,” Cal says, still smiling. “It’s Mitch’s favorite.”
“I ain’t eating no fucking onion soup,” I spit, because shit, I’m so mad right now. At that imposter onion soup. No fucking onion soup should be allowed to smell so good. This onion soup is now my sworn enemy, like Dale the Dipshit and corn on the cob because it always gets stuck in your fucking teeth.
“Fine,” Mitch shrugs as he starts filling a bowl with steaming hot traitor soup. “The dog can have yours.” Dog? Dog? They have a dog?
“You have a dog?” I squeak.
“Yeah, somewhere around here we do,” Cal says, still fucking smiling.
“You can’t miss her,” Mitch says. “Fat AF.”
“She’s not fat,” Cal mock-scolds, accepting the bowl from Mitch as he breaks off a piece of bread. Looks home baked and all. I decide I hate the bread, too.
“She’s fat, sweetheart. When she turns around, it’s Christmas again.”
“M, cut it out,” Cal laughs in that hearty way that goes straight to your chest—or your balls, if I’m being 100% honest. “She’s not fat. She’s fluffy.” He smears a thick layer of butter on his bread, some dripping down his thick fingers, and I just want to grab his hand and suck the buttery digits into my mouth. Because I’m famished but somehow, I forgot why.
“Fluffy my ass,” Mitch murmurs, filling another bowl.
“You know it is,” Cal smirks and Mitch blushes as he attempts to suppress a moan. What the fuck? I feel like I’m in the goddamn twilight zone.
“Why am I here?” I blurt, and they both look at me like I just asked some advanced mathematical question. Then they look between them, Cal licking butter off his bottom lip like I’m not already close enough to screaming as it is. Then Mitch clears his throat.
“You’re here, Tyler, because you’ll be doing your six months of community service at Cal’s bakery.” Then he starts eating. They both do, fucking humming around their traitor soup. And I’m rewinding like crazy because did Mitch just say what I think he did?
“I’m doing my community service in a fucking bakery? With your stupid baker husband?” Yeah, I know I sound like a bratty kid, but I kind of feel like one right now.
“Yeah,” Cal says, licking that goddamn lip again. “I’ve got a spot open, so you’re in.” I’min.Hell, no, your boy ain’t in. I’m so out. I’m more out than when I actually came out at sixteen.
“Fuck this shit!” I say, scrambling to my feet, the stupid fancy kitchen stool scratching across their stupid hardwood floors.
“Tyler!” Mitch yells after me, his stool scrambling too. “Wait!”
“Go piss yourself!” I yell. “Just go piss your—” and then something strange happens all at once. Mitch looks… scared or worried. I can’t really tell which, while Cal calls out, “Bree! No!” And then I’m hit full force and slammed to the floor by something that is, in fact, fat but also fluffy, so I guess they were both right.
Chapter Five
Mitch
Tyler is laughing. He’s full-on laughing. And I see him now, hidden behind the angry exterior. He was right there behind the guarded frown, the defensive posture, and that sailor’s mouth of his.MyTyler. The boy I used to love like he was my own.
Cal has tears in his eyes as we watch Tyler being loved on by Bree. She’s not a dog that takes easily to strangers, half-blind and left behind by her previous owners, tied to a fence behind an old warehouse. No use for her anymore. Too old to be loved, apparently. Too much of a hassle with her incontinence. And sure, she’s somewhat of a hassle with the daily pools of piss around the house when she can’t make it into the backyard. Butit’s hard making it anywhere when you constantly bump into stuff because you can’t see a goddamn thing. But she’s not too much of a hassle for my man because he has a heart of pure gold.
That’s why he’s close to tears right now. That heart of his. Because he knows what this means to me. What Tyler means to me.
