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Church Street has always been a place I’ve wanted to check out, but haven’t had the opportunity.

Today I’ve got the whole afternoon.

The bell over the door jingles behind me. A young couple comes in, trailing cold air and laughter. The woman at the counter greets them by name.

I keep my scarf up while I wait for my coffee. It’s the same soft gray knit thing Finn placed around my neck the day we went to see the Christmas lights.

Between the hat that covers the silver streaks I’m known for, the scarf, and my coat collar, I look like most other middle-aged men in Vermont on a Wednesday afternoon in November. Or at least I hope I do. Nobody’s looked at me twice on the street, so I might just get away with it.

The woman behind the counter is the closest anyone has come to actually recognizing me.

She slides the plate and the mug across the counter.

“Enjoy,” she says.

“Thanks.”

I take my coffee and my life-changing cardamom bun to the window and sit down.

This morning I left Winterberry before Finn was up. I’m a coward, but I couldn’t stand to say goodbye to him.

The next time I see him, I won’t be able to just kiss him or wrap my arm around his waist while he’s washing dishes.

So I took the easy way out and left him with an apology written on a piece of paper before driving to Burlington.

After Thanksgiving, I’ll be going back to California, so I’ve done all my Christmas shopping.

Kay is getting a leather journal with her initials embossed on the cover, something I ordered online to pick up. She’s fourteen now, which is old enough to want something adult, but young enough to still love a gift that’s just for her in her favorite color. I also grabbed a set of good pens because I know she’s been getting into drawing lately and a small silver bracelet.

I’ve bought other things too. Bourbon for Bastian. A record for Stone. A ridiculous scarf for Nikko that he’ll pretend to hate. Something warm and soft for Sylvie and a book for Finn and Bastian’s dad, Henry.

I haven’t bought anything for Finn yet because what do you give the man you’re pretty sure you’re in love with but can’t do anything about?

We’ve exchanged small, insignificant gifts in the past. Small tokens that never raised suspicion in anyone watching him open his gift on Christmas Day.

Now anything I can think of feels loaded with significance. A book isn’t just a book if it’s by one of his favorite authors. A new case for his tablet would mean I’ve been paying attention. A new houseplant? How would I know he’d like that?

I sip my coffee and watch the street.

Burlington in late November is gray, slushy, and beautiful. Lights decorate most of the storefronts.

Across the street, a couple looks in the window of a jewelry shop. Two men, one taller than the other. Both bundled up. The taller one points at something in the display and laughs. The shorter one shakes his head like he’s telling the taller one, “No, absolutely not. That’s insane.”

Then the taller one leans down and kisses him.

It’s a quick kiss. Nothing showy. Just a small, warm gesture in the middle of the street.

The shorter one laughs, swats the shoulder of the tall guy, and tugs him farther down the block.

I watch them go.

My coffee suddenly feels too bitter. Or maybe it’s me because I know I can’t have what they have.

I can’t hold Finn in public, or go window shopping and point at ridiculous things I might want to buy for him. And I certainly can’t kiss him in public.

The phone call I had with Nina almost two weeks ago keeps replaying in my head. “You’re in love with him. You’ve been in love with him for years. You didn’t drive to Vermont for a quick fuck, Foster.”

I’ve been carrying those thoughts around and turning them over in my head ever since. Every time I try to argue with them, my argument falls apart in the first sentence because Nina is right. She’s just right.