Page 60 of We Are Just Us

“You okay?” Kieran asked.

“Yeah…” Rory cleared his throat. He stopped. Shook his head. His eyes met Kieran’s. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Kieran’s throat tightened. “You’re welcome.”

Rory set the photograph down carefully, then crossed the space between them in two steps. He cupped Kieran’s face with both hands and kissed him soft, deliberate, grateful.

When he pulled back, Rory was still studying him, like there was a question he hadn’t figured out how to ask.

“You’ve been paying attention,” Rory said.

“Maybe.”

Rory picked up the photograph again, studying it. “I know exactly where this should go.”

He walked to the kitchen window and held the photograph up against the wall.

“Here,” he said. “What do you think?”

Kieran stepped closer, tilting his head. The late light from the window caught the faded blues and golds.

“Perfect,” Kieran said.

Their shoulders touched as they admired the photograph that now had a home.

“I’m hanging it tomorrow,” Rory said finally.

“You don’t have to rush.”

“I want to.” Rory set it down gently on the counter, then turned back to Kieran. “You hungry? I promised you dinner.”

“You did.”

“Fair warning…it’s pasta. And I can’t promise it’ll be good.”

Kieran laughed. “I’m not worried.”

He followed Rory into the kitchen and stopped short.

A pan was already sizzling on the stove. The counter was lined with ingredients—fresh basil, garlic, a block of parmesan, garden tomatoes, not grocery store perfect. It smelled incredible.

“I’m sorry,” Kieran said, leaning against the wall. “Did I accidentally walk onto the Food Network?”

Rory glanced over his shoulder, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Shut up.”

“You said mediocre. You said ‘can’t promise it’ll be good.’”

“I was managing expectations.”

Kieran watched him move, efficient, practiced, comfortable in a way that suggested this wasn’t new. Rory tossed the pasta with one hand while adjusting the heat with the other, added a splash of pasta water without measuring, finished it with butter and fresh basil like it was nothing.

They sat down at the small table, the photograph propped against the wall where it would eventually hang. Kieran took his first bite and closed his eyes.

“Okay,” he said. “What the hell.”

Rory looked pleased, and not quite able to hide it. “It’s just pasta.”

“This is not just pasta. This is—” Kieran gestured with his fork, struggling for words. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”