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There had been other mornings like that and an evening that Dom would like to forget entirely.

A week after Gavin came back, his job ran late. Gavin had texted around four to say the kitchen renovation he was finishing had turned into a plumbing disaster and he would be late for dinner. That was it. Nothing dramatic or catastrophic, and Dom had responded with a thumbs-up. Then he’d texted Gavin twenty minutes later. And again forty minutes after that. A third message had also gone unanswered. By the time Gavin had walked into the house almost two hours late, Dom had gone from annoyed to angry to quietly terrified before circling back to pissed off.

“You couldn’t answer your phone?”

Gavin stared at him from the foyer, halfway through taking off his boots and visibly exhausted. “I was underneath a sink.”

“For two hours?”

Gavin’s expression changed, and he looked at Dom carefully. “I don’t think we’re talking about me being late.”

“We are.” Dom crossed his arms over his chest.

“No.” Gavin set his keys on the table by the door. “We’re not.”

Gavin finished taking off his boots, and they stood there in silence until Gavin finally asked, “What did you think happened?”

“I don’t know.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

Gavin crossed over to him but didn’t immediately touch him. “You thought I changed my mind?”

“No.” Dom swallowed. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t fucking know.”

Gavin nodded slowly. “I should’ve taken a minute to text you back.”

Dom shook his head. “No. You told me you were going to be late. This is my shit.”

“Some of it.” Gavin’s mouth tilted faintly. “I can still answer a text.”

It had been uncomfortable and embarrassing. But Gavin had kissed him in the kitchen, and then they’d eaten their reheated dinner side by side at the island.

There had been other conversations and more than a few uncomfortable silences. One argument that neither of them handled well was followed by Gavin going into the garage to get away from Dom. Dom had followed. Of course he had.

But Gavin had stopped him, told him he needed twenty minutes to calm down before he said something he didn’t mean just because he was angry. Exactly nineteen minutes later, Gavin walked back through the door. Dom knew because he’d checked the clock roughly six hundred times. They’d finished the argument, made up, and moved on.

Gavin kept the appointments he’d made for himself. Sometimes he wanted to talk about things afterward. Sometimes he just wanted to sit next to Dom on the couch and watch something stupid. Dom learned to ask, and Gavin learned to tell him when he needed space. Neither of them learned perfectly, but they kept going anyway.

Dom realized one night that he couldn’t remember the last time Gavin had to pack a bag before coming over. Or the last time he’d asked if he could leave something there. Somehow, neither of them had noticed that Gavin belonged there as much as Dom and Lucia did.

A few nights later, Gavin sat on the living room floor with Lucia, helping her stack blocks before she knocked them over. Dom watched from the couch for a minute before saying, “When was the last time you slept at your apartment?”

Gavin looked up. “What?”

“Your apartment.”

“I heard you.” Gavin frowned, apparently doing the math. “Last week?”

“It was nine days ago.”

“If you knew, why did you ask?” Gavin rolled his eyes. “Why do you know that?”

“You left at five in the morning because you had that job in Carlsbad. It was memorable.” Dom leaned back against the couch. “What about before that?”

Gavin narrowed his eyes. “Is there a point coming?”

“Eventually.”

“That’s reassuring.”