Love Is Proud

  Then Darrin noticed the front of Brad’s football jersey. On it was a picture of the two of them, Brad standing behind Darrin, his arms around Darrin’s shoulders. Both had beautiful smiles on their happy, handsome faces. Below the picture were the words:

  Proud To Be Gay

  And

  Proud to say,

  He’s My Guy!

  * * * *

  ABOUT TERRY O’REILLY

  Terry O’Reilly is a retired school teacher who lives a quiet life with his partner, three dogs, and horse. In addition to writing, Terry enjoys music and sports, especially football. He is active in animal rescue efforts. For more information, visit terry-oreilly.com.

  The story of Brad and Darrin started in First and Goal, which is part of the Love Wins series published by JMS Books.

  Forever Home by Jessica Payseur

  Mittens was perfect. Mal clicked through the same five pictures of the corn snake over and over, admiring the reddish, splotchy reptile at various angles. Yes, Mittens would make their little family complete. Once xe came up with a better name for the snake, that is. Mal could hardly wait for Izzy to come home from work so xe could show her their first pet.

  Three months ago they had finally moved to an apartment that allowed pets and had speculated for weeks before deciding they’d be taking a trip to the county rescue as a date tomorrow. Mal was thrilled. Xe hadn’t had a pet since fourth grade and xe was ready to take this step. The snake’s tank could go next to the couch yet up against the wall, someplace where it wouldn’t get knocked over. Xe was so intent on the layout xe nearly jumped out of xer chair when Izzy’s key ground in the lock.

  “What have you been doing?” asked Isabel, voice teasing, as Mal moved over for a kiss. She threw her purse on the counter.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” xe asked. Izzy raised her phone in a light brown hand.

  “Me first. I found the perfect pet for us.”

  “On your phone at work?” asked Mal as xe followed Izzy to the couch and plopped down next to her. “Rulebreaker.”

  But Izzy was too intent on pulling up the picture to respond. Mal put an arm around her to lean closer and see over her shoulder, hopeful xe wasn’t the only one who had spotted the magnificent reptile with the ridiculous name.

  “Here. Have a look at Zoey,” said Izzy, passing her phone to Mal, who blinked as xe took it. The happy, panting face of a dog stared back at xem from the screen, threatening long walks on the concrete and pockets full of doggie duty bags for just-in-case eventualities.

  “A…dog?” asked Mal, flicking through the other photos with xer thumb.

  “Brindle and white boxer mix, two years old,” said Izzy. “She’s still got a lot of years left on her. Already housebroken. What do you think?”

  “A dog is a big decision,” said Mal without thinking. Izzy pulled away, taking her phone with her, but luckily when Mal looked up she was giving xem a challenging smile.

  “You found a better pet?”

  “You can’t say no to Jörmungandr,” said Mal, moving to turn the computer screen toward the couch.

  “Jornunwhat? I don’t remember seeing any animal with that name,” said Izzy.

  “Well, Mittens. But obviously Jörmungandr’s a much better name for him.”

  Mal pulled up the pictures of Mittens and turned to watch the expression on Isabel’s face. Xe wondered if that’s how xe’d looked moments ago when seeing the image of Zoey. How Izzy could hesitate at three feet of sheer beauty xe didn’t know.

  “Well?”

  “I wasn’t thinking we’d get a snake, Mal,” said Izzy at last. She pulled back her long hair with a hand.

  “What’s wrong with a snake?”

  “What’s wrong with a dog? I thought we didn’t have to specify furry.”

  “A snake’s a lot less work than a dog,” said Mal, turning the computer screen back. Xe had not expected this. Jörmungandr—Mittens—was so perfect, xe had figured Izzy would be completely into having an out-of-the-ordinary pet.

  “And a lot less fun.” Izzy flipped through the pictures on her phone. “Just look at Zoey. Cute and active—weren’t you just complaining last week you don’t get enough exercise?”

  Mal held up xer hands.

  “All right, all right. Here’s what we’ll do. Tomorrow I’ll show you the wonder that is Mittens, you’ll try to convince me about the dog, and we’ll agree to adopt a snake. Sounds good?”

  “Oh, you will not be able to say no to this face in person,” said Izzy, grinning. “It is on. Pizza tonight?”

  Somehow they dropped the entire topic the rest of the night. Pizza, movie, and a few beers later and they were in bed together, hands tracing patterns on skin as their hearts raced. Izzy surrendered to Mal’s touch, xer mouth, and then returned the favor. Afterward they held each other and drifted off. The best sleep was side by side.

  * * * *

  “Ready to adopt a dog?” asked Izzy as they were getting ready in the morning. Mal pulled on xer binder and laughed.

  “I think we should get a skull for Jörmungandr’s tank,” xe said. “Definitely a statement.”

  “No way you aren’t going to fall in love with Zoey,” said Izzy, leaning over to kiss xem. “I’ll drive.”

  * * * *

  When they walked in, Mal experienced the normal flutter of uneasiness in a new space. A nonbinary white person and a Latina woman holding hands sometimes was met with glares or comments, but everyone at the rescue seemed friendly enough. Izzy had been here before and led Mal back towards the dog section, the barking and yipping assaulting xer ears before Izzy had even pulled open the door.

  “Where’s Zoey now?” asked Mal, trying not to wince as Izzy pulled xer down through a series of kennels. It was difficult to be too annoyed when Isabel was so excited; she pulled Mal up and down the line of kennels several times.

  “I don’t see her,” said Izzy, catching one of the rescue workers. “Excuse me, do you know where Zoey is? Maybe out for a walk? She was posted online and we wanted to see her.”

  “Oh, Zoey, yeah,” said the worker. They offered up a nervous smile. “She was actually just adopted yesterday. But if you’re looking for another dog that needs a forever home…”

  “Thanks,” said Izzy, visibly deflating. “We’ll find you if we need anything.”

  “Snake?” asked Mal, and Izzy sighed. Mal steered her to the front desk and asked where the reptiles were kept.

  “Reptiles?” asked the receptionist.

  “You had a corn snake,” said Mal, and after a moment it dawned on the receptionist’s face.

  “Oh, right! Yeah, that got adopted, like, a week ago. Sorry. Guess we forgot to take it down online, huh?”

  “Thanks anyway,” said Mal, letting Izzy pull xem back to the far wall to regroup. This was not proceeding according to plan. Mal glanced at the cage next to them, containing a solitary black and white rabbit, then over at Izzy.

  “I guess we could always go look at the cats,” said Izzy, poking a finger through the cage at the rabbit. Mal took a breath. Xe loved this woman, wanted to build a forever home with her. Xe was willing to be open to all possibilities.

  “We could go back and look at the other dogs,” xe said. “Maybe one will pick us out like they say dogs do.” Xe paused. “Izzy?”

  Isabel was stroking the rabbit through the cage, smiling. Ignoring Mal.

  “Why don’t you just lift the top,” said Mal, unlatching the wire and pulling it up so Izzy could put her hands in and stroke the rabbit.

  “Wow, is it soft,” said Izzy, then grinned as the rabbit hopped a little. “Does it have a name?”

  Mal leaned over to read the paper clipped to the cage.

  “His name is Penguin,” xe said, and couldn’t resist a small smile. “Nice.”

  “Here,” said Izzy, stepping back. “Your turn.”

  Mal moved over and reached a hand in the cage to stroke Penguin’s back, finding the fur soft and pleasant. So maybe he wa
sn’t a snake. But Mal rather liked this creature. When xe looked over at Izzy, she was smiling.

  “What?”

  “Furry and lower maintenance than a dog,” said Izzy.

  “You think we should get a rabbit?” Xe considered. “He doesn’t have to be walked, but we could probably let him out in the apartment to hop around.”

  “Sounds perfect, doesn’t he?”

  Mal considered. He certainly did. Xe grinned.

  “Let’s go fill out an application then,” xe said.

  “Impatient to give the bunny a forever home?” asked Izzy, not arguing as she shut and refastened the cage.

  “That, and we have to get going. I want to take you out for lunch.” Xe paused, glanced back at Penguin. “And we have rabbit food to buy.”

  * * * *

  ABOUT JESSICA PAYSEUR

  Jessica Payseur lives and writes in Wisconsin, where she spends the long winters typing with cold fingers. When not writing she enjoys snail mail, trying not to get lost geocaching, and bicycling around the countryside. For more information, visit twitter.com/jessica_payseur.

  The Bake Sale by Matthew Robbins

  “In, pull up a loop, swoop, pull through. Three.” Miles raised his pinky finger a bit higher, adjusting the tension on the working end of the electric green yarn that wound through his fingers. “In, pull up a loop, swoop, pull through. Two.” He was crocheting with his favorite plastic size H hook. One of his metal hooks would have made quicker work of this project, but he really liked the squeak the taut yarn made as it wound around the plastic one. “In, pull up a loop, swoop, pull through. There. Done.” He snipped off a final tail of yarn and pulled it down inside what was now a finished stuffed octopus. He gave the toy a final kiss right between his shiny black plastic eyes before gently tossing it into a basket filled with impossibly cute crocheted animals. Over the last few weeks he had churned out many kitties and bears and turtles, but the octopus pattern was still one of his favorites.

  He paused for only a moment to take a satisfied breath of crisp morning air before picking up his basket of yarn to pick through the sunny yellow, shocking pink, and vibrant green balls that were now much smaller than they had been when he first started this project, trying to first pick a color for the next animal that needed to be born from it. Communing with his yarn was serious business, but he was interrupted before he got very far into it.

  “A little help here? Please?”

  The tone of his voice told Miles this wasn’t the first time Scott had yelled for him. Miles hopped up, drained the last of his coffee, and hurried into the house, knocking off the last little bits of yarn from his pants. He scurried down a short hallway into their kitchen to find a flustered Scott giving him an exasperated look.

  “I yelled like three times,” said Scott.

  Miles slapped his hand over his mouth to try to hold in an ill-advised giggling yelp. His handsome husband’s neatly trimmed black beard was dusted with flour. His cute, floppy haircut was sticking up at odd angles in the front and streaked with what appeared to be chocolate. He was standing over a metal bowl that had been precariously balanced on a pot of boiling water. He had a crumpled lollypop stick in his right hand and chocolate-covered lumps in his left. The cabinets they spent so much time refinishing to look expensive despite their humble beginnings were also flour-covered and on the tile countertop next to the stove were a sad little army of misshapen chocolate lumps impaled on leaning white sticks shoved into a piece of Styrofoam.

  “Holy crap!”

  “Yeah, yeah. Save the holy craps for later. Can you get the cupcakes out of the oven?”

  It was only then that Miles realized the oven timer was incessantly beeping, adding to the chaos. “Oh! Yeah.” Miles grabbed an oven mitt and ducked under Scott’s arm to open the oven door. Despite the timer’s urgent warning, the cupcakes were a perfect golden brown. He held the hot pan in one hand and surveyed the kitchen for a spot to set it down, but since every available surface was covered in either baked goods or their ingredients, he was at a loss.

  “Dining room table,” was all Scott had time to say while trying to mash the chocolate glob around the stick.

  Miles ducked into the dining room to see that Scott had set up a staging area of sorts, with baked confections awaiting decoration. He moved a cooled pan of cupcakes off a red ceramic trivet with this left hand and plopped down the warm one that was getting uncomfortably hot through the mitt. The chaos of the kitchen had not touched this room. Scott’s culinary tsunami was the messy labor pains, but here was the serene nursery filled with resting cakes and cookies awaiting their final polish. The oven’s timer interrupted Miles’s admiration of his husband’s baking skills, letting him know he’d forgotten to turn it off.

  Once again awkwardly reaching around Scott, Miles turned off the timer.

  “Always turn that off first. Even before opening the oven door,” said Scott.

  Miles, realizing that one of his favorite songs was softly filling the kitchen from an olive green vintage radio they kept on top of the refrigerator, danced his way from behind Scott to stand in front of him. He dipped a finger into the make-shift double boiler to taste some of the chocolate. He raised an eyebrow at Scott.

  “Please,” said Scott, his expression softening.

  “That’s better,” smiled Miles. He leaned his head toward Scott at an angle that invited Scott to kiss Miles in that sweetly innocent place that was not fully on the mouth but also not quite on his cheek. Scott’s soft beard tickled Miles clean-shaven face and caused him to giggle and pull away a bit. Scott dropped the lumpy stick into the molten chocolate and moved closer, wrapping his arms around his sweet husband and kissing him full on the mouth. Their tender embrace took Miles breath away. It always did. Even after their five years together, Scott still made his breath catch in his throat.

  “You’re covered in chocolate,” said Miles quietly before giving Scott another tender smooch.

  “And now you are, too,” said Scott.

  “You bastard,” whispered Miles with a broad, playful smile.

  Scott traced a line of flirty nipping kisses down Miles neck, causing Miles to squirm in his strong arms. They both dissolved into laughter and pulled slightly apart, their hips still touching and each man’s hands on the other man’s hips.

  “What exactly are you doing there?” asked Miles, nodding toward the stovetop.

  “Well, I was attempting to make cake pops,” said Scott.

  “I see,” said a skeptical Miles as his eyes followed a line of chocolate that trailed from the bowl of melted chocolate to the ragged forest of lumpy treats, some of which were recognizable as a badly-executed cake pop, but just as many had the white stick poking out of the top or side or had just plain broken in half. “Babe, I don’t think cake pops are your thing.”

  “You don’t, do you?” Scott planted one last affectionate kiss on his husband’s lips before pulling away and turning off the stove’s burner. “Well, thank you Captain Obvious. It’s really hard!”

  “I can tell,” said Miles, opening a nearby drawer to take out a kitchen towel to begin the clean-up. He nodded toward the dining room. “Have you seen how much stuff you have in there?”

  Scott leaned against the counter and let out an exhausted sigh while he took off his apron. “Yeah. Do you think it’s enough?”

  “Do I think it’s enough?” asked Miles. “Baby, that’s so much! You did such a great job. I guarantee you’ve done more than your fair share.”

  “Well, I hope it’s enough because I’m pooped.”

  “By the way,” said Miles over his shoulder with a devilish grin. “I think the apron is the cleanest part of the kitchen. I don’t think you were using it right.”

  Scott slipped his arms around Miles from behind and kissed the side of his neck. With a chuckle he said, “Smart ass.”

  After cleaning up the kitchen and themselves, they spend the rest of the morning icing and decorating the cupcakes. Some of
the cookies were placed into clear Mylar bags by the half-dozen and others were made into sandwich cookies with various icing centers. Slowly the large plastic tote taking up the far end of the dining room table filled up with hand-made baked goods.

  “What time does this thing start?” asked Scott, tying up the last of the bags.

  Miles looked up at the clock jumped to his feet. “In, like, fifteen minutes!”

  “Shit,” said Scott. “Help me carry this.”

  The two men lifted the tote and made their way down the steps off the tiny side porch where Miles had been crocheting earlier and loaded it into their ancient hatch-back car. Miles skipped up the steps and retrieved his basket of stuffed toys, placing it in the back as well. He began to close the hatch, but Scott stopped him by ducking under and scooping out the octopus.

  “Babe,” he said as a sparkling smile spread across his face. “These are so cute! How many did you make?”

  “I don’t know. A lot. They’re small. They didn’t take a lot of time.”

  “They’re amazing! These are going to outsell our food! I’m so proud of you.”

  Miles blushed at the complement and Scott kissed him right on the reddened cheek. “It’s for a good cause.”

  * * * *

  The trip across town took up most of the fifteen minutes, but they shouldn’t have worried about being late. As they pulled into the parking lot of the church’s recreational building there were plenty of parking places left.

  “Oh, yikes,” said Scott. “Not many people are here.”

  “It’s early yet,” said Miles. “Hurry, let’s get this stuff inside and set up.”

  Miles threaded his arm through the basket’s handle, then lifted his side of the plastic tote. They scrambled up the ramp leading to the building’s side door which was being held open by a tiny woman in her eighties.

  “Well, lookie there,” she said with a smile. “Someone’s been busy!”

  Miles once again blushed, but Scott said, “Thanks for holding the door, Miss Phelps. Where can we set up?”