Adrik took a bite. The bread was chewy, the mustard sharp, the ham salty, the pickles bright. Simple, perfect. Very Hans.
“Good?” Hans asked.
Adrik swallowed, nodded, and nudged Hans’ shoulder with his own. “Yeah. You make a mean sandwich.”
Hans smiled, small and pleased, and started making his own. Adrik stayed right beside him, close enough their arms brushed now and then, pretending he wasn’t doing it on purpose.
While Hans was assembling his sandwich, Adrik moved behind him, hugged him around his waist and kissed him behind his ear.
“I love watching you make us something to eat.” Adrik planted another kiss on the side of his cheek, a soft brush of lips against skin.
Hans’ lips pressed softly against his, sharing a tender kiss. “Do you know how to cook?”
“I ate all my meals out in the city. My father wouldn’t allow his sons in the kitchen.”
“Why not?” Hans’ eyes widened in shock.
“He’s old school. From Russia. He raised us to be chauvinist pigs.”
“I don’t think it took.”
“Nope. Not on my brother either.”
Hans blinked, taken aback. “That must’ve been… a lot to grow up with.”
“Poor role model, but I can follow a recipe. I had no reason to cook, but now I do.”
“Really, what reason?”
“I want to cook for you. Us.”
“I like when you say, us.” Hans rubbed noses with Adrik.
They sat at the table with sandwiches and cold beer. Adrik took a long drink, trying to cool the heat still burning under his skin. Adrik reached for his hand and kissed the back of it.
“Thank you for giving me another chance tonight,” Adrik said.
“I’d never let you go. We can talk everything out between us.”
“I agree. Something I’m learning how to do.”
“I wanted you, Adrik, I wanted you the first night you walked into the Seebrise Bar and strutted across to the bar, looking delicious.”
Adrik smiled. “And I wanted you so much I wore a gold wristband.”
“I liked that you did that. It says a lot about you.”
“About us,” Adrik said.
Hans’ shoulders relaxed, the tension easing out of him. “I want you too. Only you.”
“Good,” Adrik said, voice low, honest. “Because I don’t want anyone else. And I don’t want you with anyone else either.”
Hans reached across the table, brushing his fingers against Adrik’s. “Then we’re on the same page.”
The jealousy, the irritation, the stupid heat in Adrik’s chest—none of it vanished, but it settled into something real, something steady. Something that felt like the start of them choosing each other, not just wanting each other.
Adrik squeezed his hand once, firmly. “Only each other.”
