Once I mastered my scooter, we ventured into town. Marco drove and then insisted on walking on the street side of the sidewalk. “You’re the only guy I know who does that,” I remarked after he soundlessly ducked to the left. “Even before my ankle, you always made sure I was nowhere near the road.”
I remembered our first walk in Princeton; whenever I got too close to the curb, Marco smoothly nudged me toward the storefronts.
Marco smiled. “It’s a tale as old as time,” he said. “Men would stroll street-side so passing carriages wouldn’t ruin women’s dresses by splashing mud or water on them.” He paused. “Horse shit, too. Horse shit was everywhere.”
I laughed, and in response, Marco took my hand and threaded our fingers together. Smiling, I squeezed as he knocked on Fable’s discreet front door. The hostess opened the top left mahogany pane, exchanged a nod with Marco, and then opened the door and led us to a secluded, smoky-mirrored nook in the back. Marco helped me into the cushy velvet banquette and carefully propped my boot up on the chair across from us before joining me. We ordered almost every appetizer and drink off the mocktail list. It was then that I discovered that Marco was adorably affectionate by nature, and that I was, too. We only let go of each other’s hands to eat, and every so often, I leaned over to drop a kiss on his warm shoulder.
By the time Fable’s famous butterscotch pudding arrived, Marco had wrapped an arm around my shoulders and we werekissing. Silently, slowly, dreamily kissing. “Marco Álvarez, what would your mother say?” our server asked.
“Something encouraging,” Marco replied as I blushed. “She’s wanted this”—he gestured between us—“to happen for a while.”
In mid-November, Marco invited me to Stone Harbor for the night.My parents asked me to close up the house for the winter, he texted me,and I’d like some company.
Company sounds spectacular!I’d said, pulse twisting and turning with pleasure.But I don’t know if my parents will be cool with it.
I’ll ask them, he texted.
I had no idea what Marco ended up saying to my dads, but amazingly, they gave us the green light. I suspected they knew Marco wasn’t going to try anything; my boot-and-scooter combo was an effective chaperone.
Marco knew how to drive stick, so after some begging and pleading on his part, I let him drive the Defender to the shore. I liked the way he drove, with one hand on the wheel and the other on my knee between gear shifts. He looked completely at ease, and I kept not-so-sneakily snapping photos of him. “They’re for my own personal consumption,” I said.
I hadn’t told the bridesmaids about Marco and me yet. Katie knew, but I didn’t want her friends to act like Marco had won a contest. I mean, I’d joked that he had, and his grin said he knew it, but this was different. I wanted it to be just the two of us for a little while.
It felt good to see the Álvarez cottage again with its light green shingles, pebbled yard, and picket fence. Marco helped me inside—my scooter wasn’t meant for such rocky terrain, so I’d packed my crutches—and he brought our stuff in after I sank into the den’s deep couch. We watched an episode of that creepy stalker showYou, but while curled into Marco’s side, his body as warm and cozy as a crackling fire, my eyelids fluttered shut.
I must’ve slept for an hour, maybe longer. The TV was off when I woke up, and Marco gone. I found him in the kitchen, humming as he stirred something on the stove. We’d picked up groceries on the way here. “Hello…” I said, my delivery perfectly Penn Badgley. “YOU.”
Marco jumped and spun to face me. “Never do that again,” he said, dead serious. “Please.”
I smirked. “Dinner smells incredible.”
“Paella,” he said, which was like a Spanish stir-fry with rice, saffron, vegetables, chicken, and shrimp. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” I leaned my crutches against the wall and then hopped over to hug him from behind. He laughed when I nuzzled the back of his neck.
Later, we waited for our food comas to subside by watching a movie, and afterward I took a shower and changed into a sweatshirt and pajama pants. “Hey, sweet tart!” I heard Marco shout as I carefully strapped up my boot. “Guess what?”
“What?” I shouted back.
“It’s snowing!” he said from outside his sister’s door. “Come on, I have your coat.”
Marco gave me a piggyback ride to the beach, his breath visible in the night air. I could feel my wet hair starting to freeze. Both of us had beach towels around our necks and I held a lantern to light our way.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I whispered once we’d settled on our towels. We’d duct-taped a garbage bag over my boot so no sand would get in it. “Snow on the beach.” I turned to Marco, white flakes soundlessly falling around us and calming waves washing ashore. “I feel like I’m in a dream.”
He nodded before breaking into a wide grin, one that suggested his soul shined brightly within him. When I looked at Marco, the rest of the world blurred. “But it’s not,” he pointed out, then smiled and murmured, “I’ve never been so happy to be awake.”
His words sent a shimmer through me, one that rippled deep into my core and swirled into a long ache. “Yes.” I smiled and snuggled into his side. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”
***
I thought of that night a couple weeks later, at the dining room table on Thanksgiving. Marco and I’d walked back to his house around midnight, and after he helped me into Carina’s bed, I’dconvinced him to climb in so we could sleep together. The next morning, the snow had vanished—it hadn’t been cold enough to stick—and after French toast for breakfast, I cleaned up, and Marco shut off the water and did whatever other chores needed to be done to winterize the cottage. We’d hit the road around noon.
Most Novembers, my family drove up to Rhode Island to spend the holiday with Da’s side of the family. But this year, those relatives had decided to celebrate Thanksgiving on a Disney cruise. “No,” Dad said before the rest of our family got any ideas. “I am not having Mickey Mouse carve my turkey. No, thank you.”
“Trust me, Harry,” Da said. “We are in total alignment.”
This year’s group was small. Nana brought her Man Friend, and because she and Austin were less than a month away from getting married, Katie came, too. She and Austin had never spent Thanksgiving together before; it was the one holiday they refused to sacrifice.
