by M. A. Hinkle
“I’m going to ignore that or else we’ll be here all night.” Damon’s expression softened, and his eyes moved over Cathal’s face like he was trying to memorize every detail. “Did you mean what you said?”
Cathal knew he was blushing, and he hated it. He pressed his face into Damon’s shoulder so he could sit still instead of wiggling like Felix caught with his hand in the cereal box. “Of course I did. I wouldn’t have yelled out all that sappy stuff in front of an audience if I hadn’t meant it. But you know me. No filter.”
Damon traced his fingers through Cathal’s hair, slowly. “I didn’t know you were afraid. I never would have guessed that in a million years.”
“Yeah, well, it turns out I’m a big fat coward.” He pulled his head back so he could look into Damon’s eyes, even though he still wasn’t used to the idea that he didn’t need to run in the other direction. “I thought you saw that about me.”
“I’m not good at guessing games, Cathal. I take people at their word. And I didn’t…” Damon sighed. “It was hard to believe you meant all those things you said.”
Cathal shrugged, leaning forward to press his cheek against Damon’s. “Yes, well, it’s hard for me to let my guard down, too, so we can go on being idiots together. Only with more sex.”
Damon shivered. “I think you finally found something we can agree on.” He leaned down to kiss Cathal, but instead of the deep, lustful kind that had lurked in the background of Cathal’s dreams lately, it was gentle, quick. Then Damon drew back again, his eyes grave. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right?”
Cathal fought the urge to close his eyes. “I know.” And he pulled on Damon’s shirt collar, closing the space between them.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Cathal woke up the way he usually did—with his face buried under the pillow to block out the light. Only the bedroom he was sleeping in didn’t have windows, and his sheets were not this nice. It took him a moment to remember where he was and why, and then he spent another few seconds under the pillow to make sure he was only smiling like a fool instead of an idiot.
But Damon wasn’t in his bed. Cathal glanced at the clock and shook his head—it was after six, so of course Damon was up. He found his discarded clothes and slipped into them, in case Felix had come home early in the morning. But Felix’s room was empty, and so was the bathroom. Cathal glanced down the hallway, to see if Damon was in the guest room for some reason, and something caught his eye.
The pictures of Era were back. There she was, smiling in three separate sets of graduation robes. And the picture of her with Felix, when he graduated from his elementary school. Cathal stared at them for a minute, swallowing hard.
It didn’t hurt, though. Not to see her smiling. Not to see her at her best.
Dazed, Cathal walked down the stairs. Damon was in the living room, sitting on the floor next to a box. Cathal glanced at its contents, even though he already knew what they were—all the photographs Damon had taken down. Era smiling and laughing and making faces with everyone in her family.
Damon looked up and smiled, then patted the spot beside him. Cathal knelt. Although he was still excited about the whole “I can look at Damon whenever and however long I like thing,” he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the photographs.
“Yeah.” Damon had his wedding portrait in his lap. “I didn’t mean to leave you to wake up alone. But this didn’t feel right anymore.”
Cathal picked up the top portrait from the box—Era with Felix, a few months after he was born. “It was never right,” he said softly. “I told you, I don’t know how to be a person without her around either.”
Damon put his arm around Cathal’s shoulders. “I think we’re off to a better start than we were, don’t you?”
Cathal kissed him, and Damon put his hand on the side of Cathal’s face to keep him there. “I think so.”
Epilogue: Everyone Told Felix the Leash Was a Backpack. He Still Believes It.
JUNE 25TH, 2016
The only problem with spending most of his time at Damon’s house was that Cathal kept forgetting his keys. Morgan answered the door when Cathal knocked. To Cathal’s surprise, he was wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Usually, he dressed like he’d wandered out of a job interview, never mind how beastly hot it had been lately.
“Hello, Morgan,” said Cathal. “I’d ask where Felix is, but he probably forgot I was coming.”
“I did not!” Felix shouted from inside. “I don’t see why I needed to rush over there. You basically live here anyway.”
Cathal shrugged. He hadn’t renewed the lease on his apartment, but he had yet to tell Damon that. Not because he was afraid things would go south, but because everything had been so good he feared any change in the variables would disturb it, like observing a quantum experiment.
A scattering of papers on the kitchen table suggested Felix was working on a new song, which explained his distraction. Gareth was slumped in a chair, his head lolling back. He waved at Cathal, but lazily, and only sat up when Felix came back to sit beside him, tugging on one of Felix’s curls.
Damon was ladling soup into bowls lined with ice. Cathal walked up beside him, making himself stand still instead of fidgeting. He didn’t want to admit he was still nervous that Damon would turn his face away instead of turning to smile at him. “What is that?” he asked, peering at the red liquid.
“It’s gazpacho. I figured it was appropriate for the weather. Especially since the air conditioning is on the fritz again. And it was easy to make after work.” Damon was only a casual employee at The Jasmine Unicorn, although that was mostly to avoid members of the audience who wanted to ask about his relationship with Cathal. Someone had taken a phone video of their argument and uploaded it to YouTube. For a mid-sized city like Cherrywood Grove, it had an uncomfortable number of hits.
Cathal narrowed his eyes. “I still say it’s not soup if it’s cold.”
Damon ignored this and turned to him, putting his hand under Cathal’s chin to tilt his face up. The kiss was brief and gentle, the kind of married-person peck Cathal had never understood until he experienced it.
He grinned, and it was stupid, and he couldn’t help it.
Another knock came at the door. Morgan jumped up to get it, since he was the only person in the house with real manners, and came back with George and Evie. “We could have watched the tape any time we wanted, you know,” said George.
“I like it this way better,” said Damon, turning back to the soup. “I’m old-fashioned.”
“Watch out, Damon.” Cathal leaned against the counter. “Sooner or later, your horse is going to throw a shoe, and then you’ll be late for the quilting bee.” Damon looked at him dryly, but Cathal just grinned.
After a beat, Damon grinned back and picked up the tray of soup bowls. “Come on, you lot. The music’s not going anywhere.”
“I’ll be out in a minute, Dad,” said Felix, bent over a notebook page. “I wanna get this down before I forget it.” Morgan shrugged apologetically and went back to watching over Felix’s shoulder. Gareth pressed against Felix’s side, and Felix turned to murmur something to him. Evie joined them, peering at the finished pages of music.
“Suit yourself,” said Damon. Cathal followed him to the living room. Damon set the tray on the coffee table and sat on the far edge of the couch.
George started to follow them, then stopped. “Dammit, I left the drinks out in the car.”
Into the sudden silence, Cathal said, “Oh, no, we’re alone.”
Damon held up a six-pack, grinning crookedly. “Look, I got some of that shitty craft beer that you like.”
“You like it too, or you wouldn’t drink it.” He sat down. Damon put an arm around his shoulders, and Cathal settled against him. He accepted one of the beers and took a loud, obnoxious sip. “Ah, that’s quality.”
Damon shuddered, but he was smiling. Then his watch beeped, and he fumbled for the remote.
“Do you seriously have an alarm set
on your watch? What is this, the fifties?” Cathal held up Damon’s wrist to figure out how to stop the beeping.
“Not everyone does everything with their phone, you know.” Once Damon had the TV set to the local public access channel—currently showing the last five minutes of a show about gardening—he tugged his wrist out of Cathal’s hold and turned his alarm off himself.
Cathal elbowed him. “Not everyone is as efficient as I am, either. Embracing new technology would simplify your life. You’re not Amish.”
“Maybe I like the challenge.”
They both hushed as the credits for the gardening show ended, and the usual “please fund us since the government won’t” advertisement played in front of the next show.
“Are you nervous?” Cathal asked quietly.
“I already know what happened.” But Damon was sitting stiffly. Cathal tangled his fingers with Damon’s, and he relaxed.
“It’s starting!” Cathal yelled when the ad ended.
“In a minute!” Felix yelled back.
Cathal shook his head. “You can’t take that boy anywhere.”
“He’s a good one.” Damon’s tone was unbothered, but his eyes danced. “But you have to put a leash on him or he’ll run off in the crowd.”
“Speaking of which, do we have any pictures of Felix with the child leash? It would be good blackmail.”
Damon looked like he was going to object, and then he nodded. “You are a bad person.”
Cathal tucked himself closer along Damon’s side. “You like it.”
Damon kissed his temple. “I do.” Cathal stared furiously at the TV, telling himself he was not blushing.
The show started, and both of them hushed, even though it was only the host giving the introduction they’d already seen live. When he started to talk about the contestants, Damon paused the TV.
Cathal stared at him. “When did you learn to do that?”
“I do know how a pause button works, Cathal. And I’m recording it.”
Cathal pressed his free hand to his heart. “You! Using technology, as though you’re a member of the new millennium and not a monk illuminating a manuscript by the light of the noontime sun, keeping time with your water clock! I am overcome.”
“I can think of better things to do while we’re waiting for everyone,” Damon replied, and he leaned over and pressed his lips to Cathal’s.
“You know,” Cathal said as Damon moved his lips to Cathal’s neck, “I never thought I’d say this, but I like the way you think.”
About the Author
M.A. Hinkle swears a lot and makes jokes at inappropriate times, so she writes about characters who do the same thing. She’s also worked as an editor and proofreader for the last eight years, critiquing everything from graduate school applications to romance novels.
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: www.facebook.com/SkysongMA
Twitter: @SkysongMA
Website: Maryannehinkle.com
Coming Soon from M.A. Hinkle
Diamond Heart
A Cherrywood Gove Novel, Book Two
Gareth has a problem. He got expelled. Now he and his twin brother, Morgan, have to start over at an artsy new private school, and it’s all Gareth’s fault. Not to mention Morgan’s crippling social anxiety and Gareth’s resting jerk face aren’t making them any friends, and their father is furious with him. Gareth could live with this, but Morgan’s mad at him too, and Morgan is the only person alive who can make Gareth feel guilty.
Good thing Gareth has a plan. Cute, bubbly Felix, a student at their new school, has a crush on Morgan, and they both want to act in their school’s production of Midsummer Night’s Dream. Gareth figures it’s the perfect way to help Morgan come out of his shell and set him up with Felix. Then, maybe Morgan will forgive him, and Gareth can go back to not caring about anything or anyone.
But Gareth has another problem. He’s been cast as Oberon, and Felix is Titania. Oh, and Morgan doesn’t like Felix back. And maybe Gareth is enjoying the play and making new friends and having a good time at his new school. And maybe—just maybe—he’s got a crush on Felix. Can Gareth keep up his tough-guy act long enough to repair his relationship with Morgan, or will Felix get caught in the fallout of Gareth’s dumb schemes?
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