"Stop staring at me," he said without looking up. "It's distracting."
"Can't help it. You're nice to look at."
He glanced up then. Smiled. "Flattery won't get you out of helping me measure the cottage tomorrow."
"I'm head of security, not a contractor."
"You're my boyfriend. That means you hold the other end of the tape measure when I ask."
Boyfriend. The word still hit differently when he said it. Still made something warm unfold in my chest.
"Fine," I said. "But you're buying dinner after."
"Deal."
The evening settled around us.
Tobias eventually closed his laptop and stacked his papers into something resembling order. I made dinner—nothing fancy, just pasta with whatever was in the fridge—and we ate at the kitchen table, blueprints pushed to one side.
"I talked to my mother today," Tobias said eventually.
"Yeah?"
"She wants us to come to dinner." He looked up from his plate. "Sunday. At their place in Manhattan."
I went still. "Us."
"You and me. As my partner." His expression was careful, watching for my reaction. "If you want."
"Your parents. Dinner. With me." I set down my fork. "I thought your dad needed time. A lot of time, from what you told me."
"He called my mom this morning. Said he'd been doing a lot of thinking. That he'd been reading, talking to people." Tobias's voice was cautious, as if he feared to hope too much. "He told her he wants to meet you. That if I'm happy, he wants to understand why."
"That's a big change from 'I don't understand it.'"
"I know. Tristan thinks he's been working through it in his own way. You know, research and strategy; it's how he handles everything." A small smile. "Apparently, he called Tristan last week to ask questions. Tristan said it was awkward but kind of sweet."
"Your dad called your brother to ask about being gay?"
"My dad called my brother to ask how to be a better father." Tobias shrugged. "I think he's really trying."
"Trying is good."
"Trying is terrifying." He reached across the table and caught my hand. "But I want them to meet you. I want them to see why I'm happy."
The panic was immediate. Vivid. A full-bodied, a memory of every time I'd been judged and found wanting. Foster families who decided I wasn't worth keeping. Commanding officers who saw only a troubled kid from nowhere. Every person who measured me against their expectations and decided I came up short.
"They're going to hate me." The words spilled out before I could stop them. "Rich family, security guard boyfriend. That'll go over well."
"First, they're not that rich. Second, you're head of security at a prestigious hotel. Third, I don't care what they think."
"You should care. They're your family."
"I care what you think." He squeezed my hand. "That's enough."
"What if I fuck this up?"
"Then we figure it out together."
