God.So brave. So strong.He only wished Rye could see it for himself.
“So, uh,”—Jake looked back ahead to focus on the road—“if you want, how about maybe you come over to my place, and we can fix something for dinner together. It’ll be nice to spend the evening together, yeah?”
He lowered his hand from the steering wheel again, offering it to his friend, and though he didn’t say it, the wordslike a datepopped into his head. It would have been too much right now, he knew, but he’d been thinking about it—thinking about when and how he might ask Rye on a date. It almost seemed funny, like a formality, since they already spent so much time together. But Jakecouldn’t deny that he wanted the opportunity to treat Rye to something special, to show Rye how important he was.
For now, though, Jake left the extra words unsaid, and he waited with his hand outstretched, hopeful but not expectant.
When Rye’s hand settled on top of his and their fingers threaded together a moment later, Jake’s heart stuttered. He swallowed hard as the feeling traveled all the way down to his toes, a tingling warmth—just like when Rye had touched his thigh that morning.
“I’d like that,” Rye said, and it took Jake a moment to remember what they’d been talking about. He must have looked confused for a second, because Rye huffed what almost sounded like a laugh. “Dinner,” he clarified, and he squeezed Jake’s hand. “At your place.”
Another stutter in his heart had Jake blinking, forcing himself to refocus on driving. But he nodded. “Yeah, okay. Good, um...”
“I’ve got—” Rye’s voice cut off abruptly, but then his hand tightened in Jake’s, holding for several seconds that seemed both too short and too long. Jake glanced over to see him shake his head. “There’s a recipe I want to try,” he said finally, the words stilted as though he were struggling to force them out.
“Perfect.” Jake let his thumb brush lightly along the skin of Rye’s hand. “We can pick up what we need while we’re at the store? I mean, I’m assuming I won’t just have all the ingredients.”
He heard a chuckle, and then he saw Rye nod. “Yeah. It’s, um... called chicken marsala. My... my mom says it’s good.”
“Ah, my sister made that once when I visited. But you know, I might not be much help, I don’t remember there being too many veggies to chop.”
Rye laughed again, more freely this time, and when he spoke, there was no more hesitation to his words. “Don’t worry, I’ll find something to keep you busy.”
Rye gave Jake’s hand one more squeeze before letting go, and as Jake turned into the tiny parking lot at the general store, Rye took his phone out of his pocket. By the time Jake had parked and shut off the car, Rye had a recipe and list of ingredients pulled up. They spent a moment looking it over, deciding what spices and things Jake might actually have already, which was a pretty short list. Then Jake and Rye both climbed out of the car. Jake moved a little slower than he wanted, because he had this image in his head of him hopping out, jogging around to the other side to open the door forhis date—even though this wasn’t a date.
Instead, Rye was out of the car well before he was, and Rye was the one who met him on his side of the car as he stood. The tiny bit of embarrassment Jake felt, however, disappeared completely when Rye smiled up at him and reached out to take his hand.
And they walked together like that toward the store’s entrance, Rye’s fingers staying intertwined with his the whole time.
It was positively wonderful.
“Thisiswonderful,”Ryesaid with a sigh as he leaned his head into the crook of Jake’s shoulder later that night.
“Mmm, yeah,” Jake agreed. His arm slid around Rye’s shoulders in a way that felt so natural and right, Jake couldn’t even imagine them sitting together any other way.
He felt Rye take a deep breath, and then Rye’s hand came to settle on his chest, right in the center. Rye’s palm pressed into him gently, and Jake closed his eyes as tendrils of fire spread through him.
God, this was different. And he was so warm. He tilted his head and let his cheek press into Rye’s hair. He smelled faintly of the hotel’s shampoo and of his aftershave. Something woodsy and masculine. And it was intoxicating.
“Mmm,” Rye hummed, and his hand shifted slightly lower on Jake’s chest. “I can feel your heart beating. I can hear it, too.” There was an awe to Rye’s voice, and his words were so clear and seemed like they came so easily.
Jake loved it. He’d loved the whole night so far—their light banter as they’d made dinner, Rye finding his words and his smile more and more as the afternoon and evening had progressed; the delicious food they’d created together, though, yes, Rye had done most of the actual cooking; the hour they’d spent playing video games.
By far, though, the best part had been the last half hour or so, when they’d just been lounging around and talking quietly, Rye alternating between leaning against him and sitting cross-legged facing him on the couch.
Jake let out the breath he’d been holding and brought his hand up, setting it carefully on top of Rye’s on his chest. Then he let his fingers caress Rye’s. Softly.
“So, the book club thing... you’re going to try?” Jake asked, a warm flicker of pride settling in his chest as he picked up their conversation where they’d left off.
“I’d like to.” Rye hummed again, and it sounded happy and content. “But it’s hard not being able to talk to anyone. Or, um, not being sure if I’ll be able to. I’d have to be able to communicate with the kids, and that’s the part I’m worried about. If I can’t do that reliably, then I couldn’t really do the job, couldI?”
“You’ve been talking with Phil semiregularly, right?”
“Yeah, when we play games online.”
“And this would be a small group of young kids, up to what, ten years old?”
He felt Rye nod into him, though Rye didn’t otherwise move. Jake’s fingers still stroked lazily back and forth across the back of Rye’s hand. And it still felt wonderful.
