“Okay, that’s fucking cute. Can I pet him?”
“He’d be offended if you didn’t.”
“Hi Roger,” I say, scratching his head. “Aren’t you a good boy.”
“He’s trying to make up for this morning,” Shaw says as he rolls his eyes.
“What happened?”
“He ate half of Vaughn’s breakfast and knocked his coffee over his laptop in the process.”
“No!” Roger barks as if to confirm my horror.
“Yes. His laptop is okay, but it was a tense couple of hours.”
“I bet.”
“Come on in. Vaughn’s making lunch. You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Good. You’re gonna need your energy.”
“Oh, it’s like that.”
“It’s like that. I hope you stretched too.” I think he’s joking. He might not be.
We walk into a mudroom with a slate floor where we leave our shoes. I follow him into what might have been a sitting room at one point, but now it’s an office. I look around at the mix of old and new. Shaw pauses, letting me take it all in. A large but shallow stone fireplace with a useless mantle takes up one whole wall. There’s a big window with a nice view of the yard. Against the opposite wall is a desk with Shaw’s computer and another drafting table, where plans for something or other are spread out. He has a really intense looking printer and shelves stuffed with books and files and little wood carvings.
On the wall are framed blueprints of the original structure of the house and the blueprints of the addition, added in 1977. I stop and look at the little metal plaque embossed at the bottom of the frame. The Thomas Haskins House 1705. I don’t know what I expected from Shaw’s home, but this old colonial farm home wasn’t it.
We continue on and I watch as Shaw has to duck as we walk into the newly remodeled kitchen and dining area. I didn’t realize how low the ceilings are. There’s another original fireplace, but it looks like it’s just for show. Roger’s dog bed is in the hearth. He happily takes a seat and busies himself with the giant rubber bone waiting for him.
The kitchen’s slightly higher ceilings provide Vaughn with an adequate amount of headroom. He looks good, but different. Like this year since I last saw him kicked his ass a little. Still, he looks good. A few greys have populated his beard and he looks sharp in his tailored Bermuda shorts and polo shirt. I feel a certain way about Shaw. A way I’m not willing to put words to yet. I don’t know how I feel about Vaughn. We haven’t spoken since that night in my hotel room. In my mind, I know I can push Shaw. I can test him. Things are different with Vaughn. I don’t want to hurt either of them, but I feel like I need to protect Vaughn.
When he turns from whatever he’s making and smiles at me, my whole body warms.He’s full of love, my memory tells me and I know it’s true.
“You made it,” he says, before he pushes his glasses up his nose. I don’t know how Batman is his hero of choice when all I see is a perfect Black Clark Kent. I cross the kitchen and walk into his arms, wrapping myself around his slender, muscular frame.
“Thank you guys for having me. What’s for lunch?”
“Crab cakes and a summer salad. There’s also strawberry shortcake.”
“That sounds amazing. You a good cook, Vaughn?” I tease.
“I think I’m okay.”
“Man,” Shaw sucks his teeth. “He’s a great cook.”
“What can I say? My mama raised me right.”
“I’m not mad at that,” I laugh.
“Why doesn’t Shaw show you to your room? I’m almost done here.”
“This way,” Shaw says, nodding to the doorway at the other end of the dining space.
We walk into a formal sitting room with nice blue and white furniture, then head up this narrow-as-fuck staircase.
