Keaton hurried around the bed of the truck to open Jules’s door. As they slid out of the seat, Keaton wrapped his arms around their waist, pulling them in for a hug. It felt like it had been forever, instead of just yesterday, since he’d had them in his arms. He buried his nose in their hair, inhaling the pineapple scent of their shampoo. He’d bristled at such a fruity smell when they’d first moved in, but now it was like an aphrodisiac to him. It was tempting to toss them back in the truck and go back to their place for a quiet night in.
Which was exactly why they weren’t anywhere close to a bed. The way he was feeling, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off Jules, and this talk really was important for them to have.
“Damn, you’re clingy tonight,” Jules teased when Keaton didn’t want to let them go. He bristled but then relaxed when Jules held him even tighter. “Don’t you dare. I could get used to this version of you.”
Inside, the Lakeside Grill was small and warm, all wood paneling and the faint hum of blues guitar filtering through overhead speakers. Keaton let Jules take the lead when the host told them to pick any table they wanted. Jules chose one by the window where the sun still glistened off the lake, boats moored quiet and close, the water rippling with evening breeze. For a second, Keaton just stood there, hand on the back of Jules’s chair, as if he needed proof this was real—a meal with the person who’d stolen his heart, no interruptions, no scripts.
Jules glanced up, eyebrow cocked. “I feel like we just stepped out of our own lives. Are you going to order something wild and make me regret trusting you?”
Keaton gave a small, tight smile, easing into the chair across from them. “The wildest thing on this menu is the fried pickles. I’m not that reckless.”
Jules pressed a hand to their heart, mock relief layered under something softer. “Thank god. I don’t think my stomach could handle mystery meat on a Monday.”
The server was hot on their heels, eager to take their drink order. Keaton’s eyes narrowed when he saw the guy checking out Jules. But his jealousy turned to satisfaction when Jules remained oblivious. He rather liked being the sole focus of Jules’s attention. When he returned, they ordered: steak for Keaton and salmon for Jules.
For a minute, all they did was watch the light change on the water, the silence settling between them with the comfort of an old quilt. Jules tapped a rhythm on their glass with one finger, then said, “It’s weird, not knowing anyone here. Kind of nice to relax instead of looking over my shoulder to see if anyone’s going to interrupt. The last time I felt like this was when I wastraveling, and then it was strange to come home where no one thinks twice about coming up to your table while you’re trying to eat.”
Keaton shrugged, the tension in his shoulders refusing to let go. “I figured we could use a little break from being everyone’s favorite project. My mom asked if I was bringing you to dinner again this week, wanted me to tell you that you were missed yesterday. I think she’s taken over your fan club.”
Jules snorted. “She’s making a list of recipes for me to try. I said I’d only accept if she stops putting celery in everything.”
“Good luck with that.” Keaton’s mouth quirked. “She’s been obsessed with finding a way to get us to eat more veggies since we were kids. I don’t see that changing anytime soon.”
Their food arrived quicker than Keaton had expected. The place wasn’t packed, but they were plenty busy for a weeknight, so he’d anticipated the kitchen taking longer. So much for talking before dinner. Now, it would have to wait until after. Jules started in on their salmon, eyes going wide in approval. “Okay, you win. This is better than the diner, and I don’t have to dodge the town gossip.”
Keaton laughed, the sound rumbling out with more relief than he’d intended. “I needed the break too.” He forced himself to lean back, fork abandoned. “Some days I feel like everyone thinks they need to be in my business.”
Jules’s chewing slowed. They rested their fork on the edge of their plate, crossing their arms on the table. “Yeah.” Their voice was quiet, honest. “Same. It’s nice to know people care, but it feels like everyone thinks they’re entitled to an opinion about how I’m living my life.”
“What are they saying?” It felt like Jules was opening the door Keaton had been resisting, and he was going to take the opening. He went back to cutting his steak while he waited for Jules to answer.
Jules shrugged. “Sam thinks I’m a moron for walking away from sex-on-demand.” Keaton would have choked at that admission if he’d had food in his mouth. “Ollie’s a bit more subtle, but he stopped by today on his way from the bakery to the bookstore to let me know I’m being stubborn about this whole living on my own thing.”
“Don’t let anyone make you feel bad about living life on your own terms.” A thought snuck into Keaton’s brain that that was exactly what he’d planned on doing. Not that he wanted Jules to feel like they’d done something wrong, but he couldn’t control how Jules might interpret what he hoped to say. He reached across the table, lacing his fingers with Jules’s. “In the long run, I think it would have been worse if you hadn’t held your ground. You had a plan, and you followed through with it. Is how things progressed between us unconventional? Sure. But in so many ways, you’ve taught me to expect the unexpected. Maybe this will be good for both of us.”
“Maybe.” Jules didn’t sound as content as Keaton expected. There was a thread of melancholy in their single-word response. They pushed the rice around their plate, staring at it as if trying to count the grains. “I do miss being with you every night. You know that, right?”
Keaton felt something in his chest unclench. “I miss it too. Even when you left dirty paintbrushes in the bathroom sink.”
Jules grinned, quick and mischievous. “You love my mess. Admit it.”
He let out a wry breath. “Turns out I do. I thought I’d be the one who struggled with sharing space, but now it’s worse the other way. I keep thinking I hear you humming in the kitchen.”
Jules picked at the edge of their napkin, eyes shining with something softer than sadness. “It’s backward, isn’t it? Most people move in together after dating for a while. We did it the other way around, and now…” They trailed off, but the words hung there:and now we’re apart, even though we don’t want to be.
Keaton cleared his throat, forcing himself forward. “I know I haven’t always been good at saying what I want. Or feeling things instead of stuffing them down until they turn into ulcers. But I don’t want you to ever think I’m pressuring you.”
Jules’s smile was gentle. “If you do, I’ll just remember it’s because you’re a control freak.”
He ran a hand over his jaw, five o’clock shadow scratching beneath his palm. “I’ve been thinking about how to do this—how to make sure we both get what we need. I know you wanted to prove you could do things on your own, and I want that for you. I do. But I hate how much I miss you, and I can’t pretend it’s easy.”
Jules blinked, eyes wide. “I didn’t want it to be easy. I just needed to know I could.”
Keaton nodded. “As much as I hate it, I think I did too. I want to know I’m not just holding on because I’m afraid of being alone since having you. But I can see now how falling into a relationship because we lived under the same roof could have led to getting caught up in whatwasthe comfortable thing, even if one of us wasn’t happy.”
Jules’s gaze was steady as they leaned closer. “So what’s your plan, Mr. Plan for Everything?”
Keaton huffed, rolling his eyes. “You had to know I have a plan. I was thinking six months. We give it that long. You get your space. I get to prove I can let go of control without everything falling apart. We check in after six months. If we’re both still happy, still want this, then we start figuring out what’s next. Maybe we buy a house. Or build one. One with a big kitchen and light everywhere and space for all your art. And a basement I can hide in when I’ve annoyed you.”
