see you at the end

Leander

This was probably a very dangerous and stupid idea.

I think this as Dylan wanders around my studio. He can’t really wander around too much since it’s so small. And I really start to regret my impulsive suggestion when he stops in front of one of my unfinished paintings. It’s one I haven’t looked at in months. There are pieces of me all over this space in the form of half-painted canvases, dried up brushes, and stained easels. It reminds me of the night he admired one of my paintings in the garage. And I feel almost naked again, but not in a sexy way.

“You like that one?” I say to fill the quiet, empty space.

He smiles wistfully. “Thought you might ask how it makes me feel.”

It’s a good thing Troy isn’t just some beefy idiot. He knew what was up and stayed outside. It’s in writing he won’t divulge what he sees or hears to anyone. But it’s not in writing he won’t blab to my dad. After all, that’s who’s paying him. I almost don’t care. If Troy wants to tell my dad I took another man to my art studio to fuck, it’s fine with me. I’ve been made into a target because of my dad’s big mouth, so he can just deal with it.

“Okay,” I say, taking a step closer to Dylan. “How does it make you feel?”

Dylan examines the painting with a hand under his chin, looking exaggeratively thoughtful. “Hmm.” He taps his chin with a finger and it makes me laugh.

The painting he’s looking at is one I started several months ago. Darker colors, longer brush strokes. Sometimes I look at my old work and wonder what it was I was trying to convey. It seems to hit differently each time I look at it.

“Lonely, maybe,” Dylan says. “Lonely and…content?” He glances at me for approval.

“If that’s what you feel,” I reply. “Then that’s what you feel.”

“I just want to make sure I’m on the right path.”

“There’s no right or wrong. Everyone is going to look at it and feel something different. That’s the point.”

“Is it?”

“It is.”

We fall silent. We’re standing next to each other now, nearly shoulder to shoulder, pretending as if the reason we’re here and standing this close is because of this canvas in front of us. I know why we’re really here. He knows why we’re really here. But I have to be careful about this. I’m stepping into territory I’ve never been to before. I don’t want to freak him out. I don’t want to scare him away.

But I also really want to kiss him again.

I look over at him.

He looks over at me.

“So,” he says after a minute. “You used to sleep here?” He glances over at the futon.

I don’t think he means for it to sound as pathetic as it makes me feel. I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last couple of weeks. I’ve had plenty of time, after all. If my painting doesn’t sell—well, honestly, even if it does sell—I’m going to have to get an actual job. I wonder what Dylan would think about me if he knew I’ve never had one of those before. I never had the after school part-time job or summer job. Any position that came available adjacent to my dad and politics, he offered to Lionel. I had enough trouble trying to get through my homework and read everything I needed for school. I guess my dad thought I’d have too much trouble with a job on top of it.

Well, I’m paying for it now. I’ve been too dependent on my parents, and it has to stop. I have to get a real job, a real apartment. Something.

“I didn’t really want to be at home,” I say. “My brother kept getting into trouble. It was all my parents talked about.” I pause. “I don’t share my dad’s particular values. I prefer to distance myself, I guess.” I place a hand on my side. “Not that that’s helped me avoid trouble or anything.”

Dylan nods. “I guess I’d want to get away too. If I felt like I was an after-thought.”

That makes me want to hug him, but I hold back. “Do you have a brother? Or a sister?”

“No. Only child.”

I stare at him in those jeans and sweatshirt, looking so different from the way he does in class. “I feel like I know you. But I also don’t know you. You know?”

“I know,” he says softly.

Before I can say anything else, he takes a step toward me and presses his lips against mine. I wrap my arms around him and open my mouth to welcome his tongue. This is better than it was at the gallery. Better because we’re alone.

 I take hold of his hips and gently pull him closer to me, so we’re pressed up against each other from practically head to toe. He breaks our kiss and pulls away from me. The desire in his eyes has faded a little and there’s a shyness, an anxiety there now.

“We don’t have to do anything,” I assure him. I run my thumb over the scruff along his jaw, feel it tense and relax. “I’m not assuming anything either.”

A light pink spreads across his cheeks. “It’s been difficult. Knowing what the right thing is, but wanting the wrong things.”

“That’s everybody. All the time. Not just you.”

“But it’s just me that could—” he shakes his head and looks down.

I kiss his forehead. “It’s just you that could be here with me right now.” I place a finger below his chin and tilt his head up. “It’s just you that I want.”

I don’t know if I’ve conveyed the sincerity that I feel with my words very well or not. So, I kiss him to give it some punctuation. To give it some color and shape. The answer I want, the agreement like a contract, is in his response, his arms slipping around me, pulling me close and closer and his mouth, expressive in this way, speaking and moving without words.

I tentatively slide my fingers under the waistband of his jeans. He responds with hungrier kisses, his head pushing forward and pushing mine back. I slide my hands under his sweatshirt to find an undershirt. When my fingers finally make contact with his skin, there’s a groan echoing in the room that I can’t tell if it came from me or him or us both.

I lift both shirts and tug them off of him, quickly and with impatience. I’m a little disappointed that he’s not wearing a button-down. I’ve had this fantasy of slowly undoing each of the buttons before taking it off of him. 

He stops kissing me for a second, taking a breath, and then I feel him lifting up my hoodie, slow and pensive. I lift up my arms, giving him permission. And then we’re both half-naked and he breaks our kiss, pulling back from me. He’s nervous, I can tell. He’s not used to this, and as much as I want to close the space between us and keep this going, I pause with him, giving him time to adjust.

“I want to know what you’re thinking,” I say. “Tell me.”

“I haven’t done this before.”

“I figured as much,” I say softly, and it makes him duck his head like he’s embarrassed, but I slide a hand across his cheek and bring his eyes level with mine. “It’s okay. We can do whatever you want. Or nothing at all.”

“I just,” he says. “I just want to—can I—?” He slides his arms around me and pulls me into an embrace. “For so long, I’ve just wanted to…,” he takes a breath, his bare chest presses tight against mine, and he exhales against my neck. “You have no idea…no idea…Leander…”

I feel something wet against my neck and shoulder. I grip his back. He holds onto me so tight, you’d think if he didn’t I’d slide through the floor. I return the embrace, almost worried I’m squeezing the breath out of him, but he doesn’t let up. I feel a couple more drops of wetness and he sniffs. I rub the back of his head. Kiss his shoulder. Kiss where his shoulder curves into his neck. One of his hands finds its way to my wound and gently lays there for a minute.

I don’t know how long we stand like that until he pulls away from me and rubs at his eyes. He turns his head to one side. “Sorry. I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Hey,” I whisper. I wait until he looks at me, his eyes red-rimmed. “Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing wrong with you. I’m not expecting anything from you, Dylan. If this is all we do, then it’s okay. All I want is to spend time with you. Be with you.”

“It’s not that.” He shakes his head and sniffs again. “I mean, I’m nervous. I just…everything until now. Everything until I met you, until we…everything has been so mechanical. I’ve tried to find ways to make my life easy. I’ve done things and not done things only because it was easier and would lead to something sturdy under my feet.”

“Come here.” I lead him over to the futon. I lie down on my side and beckon him to lie down beside me. He does, but he avoids looking in my eyes as another couple of tears fall down his face.

“I’m weak,” he says helplessly.

“What does that mean?” I brush tear tracks from his cheeks and chin with my finger.

“It’s what we’re all supposed to strive for, isn’t it?” He turns so he’s laying on his back. “Stability. Comfort. And it’s absurd, ungrateful really, that I feel so tricked.”

I listen patiently, sliding one arm across his abdomen and snuggling up next to him.

“Maybe tricked isn’t the right word.” He pauses rubbing his head. “I just know that living this life isn’t treading carefully until you find yourself at the end and all that treading carefully was for nothing because you’re going to die anyway.” He pauses again and says softly. “You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t. Because you were there.”

Dylan puts one arm around my shoulders and holds me. I slide a leg in between his. He doesn’t say anything more and I don’t either. We lay there half-clothed in silence for a time. It isn’t the least bit unpleasant or uncomfortable. If anything, it’s a fucking dream come true to be like this with him. Alone, completely alone, and holding each other. If he were someone else, if he were Alex, I’d be rushing to get to the sex. Laying here like this with someone for too long, with nothing in between you, with no conversation or entertainments to occupy you, is like giving someone permission to see you in an unfiltered state.

After a while, I close my eyes but I don’t intend on falling asleep. I feel his head turn and his lips find mine. The kiss is chaste and soft. But I kiss him again and he kisses me again and they begin to heat up. He rolls over on his side and our crotches rub up against each other and I get carried away wanting the friction, so I grab his ass prompting him to rub against me harder.

He pulls away looking at me, his breath quick and eyes hazed with lust. “How does it go? Do I—isn’t one of us—don’t we have to figure out who…does what?”

I grin and it’s adorable how his cheeks turn dark pink after he says it. “Well, I’m definitely a bottom.” I rub my nose against his. “If we figure out you are too then things will get really interesting.”

His face reddens deeper. “Maybe we should start out slow. Work our way up to that?”

“Of course.” I stroke his face. “Like I told you, we don’t have to do anything. I just want to be here with you, right now, alone. It’s special to me.”

His eyes turn dreamy. “It is for me too.” He kisses me again, and I restrain myself, letting him take the lead, set the pace. I wonder if he’s gone his whole life thinking he’s completely straight. He might not want to go through with any of it. He might just figure out he’s completely straight after all. That thought makes me want to get him close and kiss him like he’s never been kissed before, but I have to restrain myself.

Hands start wandering. I hear our shoes falling to the floor. Our kisses get heated and breathy. Lips start wandering. His mouth finds its way to my neck. He kisses up and down my throat, lingering on my Adam’s apple. It turns me on so much I grab a handful of his ass again without thinking. His breath catches and his mouth is on mine again. His kisses get more urgent and I feel his hand slide down my front and his palm presses into my erection. I let out a groan and he does it again.

He pulls away from me, his eyes watching mine, as he takes a shaky breath and unbuttons and unzips my jeans. I’m getting dizzy from the anticipation as I feel his fingers tentatively brush over my skin and slide under the waistband. My dick swells up and strains as if it’s trying to rise up and meet his touch. He doesn’t take his eyes from my face as he slides his fingers down and rubs them over my dick.

I moan and discover that I can no longer be restrained. “Dylan,” I whisper, turning him on his back.

His fingers fumble around my waistband, tugging down at them a little. “Is it okay? I—”

I quiet him with a kiss. “Let me.”

I take my time kissing down his front. Down his chest and stomach, glancing up at his face every so often. His eyes are closed, lips parted. When I get to the waistband of his jeans I pause and look up at him. He’s watching me timidly.

I roll off him and begin taking off the rest of my clothes. He reaches down to help me and my dick springs up hard as steel. He looks at it and then up at my face again, watching while I slowly, extremely slowly, unbutton and drag down the zipper of his pants. His breath starts to quicken as he watches me pull them down, just as painfully slow, and kiss over one hip and then the other. I pull his pants down first, leaving his boxer briefs on but I lick him above the waistband where his happy trail is. He makes a sound, a moaning gasp.

I get his pants off, with his help, lifting up so I can pull them down and off. I dip two fingers under the waistband of his boxers and run them back and forth while I move up to kiss him on the mouth again. The way he returns it surprises me. Surrendering, his mouth opening up for my tongue and my fingers dive under toward his dick.

I take hold of him, and fuck, he feels just as good as I imagined he would. I start pulling his boxers off and soon we’re both naked and I can both see and feel how hard he is for me. I tease him a little, but I don’t try to jerk him or suck him just yet. Once again, trying to give up control and let him lead.

He puts his hand on my abdomen, close to, but not quite touching my cock. I resist the need to rub it up against him. I place my hand on the same place on his body. I’m dying to touch him and make him feel good, but I don’t want to do too much or anything he’s not ready for. He leans up toward me and we kiss again, slowly, exploring this new and vulnerable step. When he rubs his hip against me, his cock jutting out and poking against me, I reach down and wrap my fingers around him. He gasps into my mouth.

“Is this okay?” I whisper against his lips.

He nods. “Is it—is it okay for you? I don’t want you to be in pain or anything.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him.

He groans when I squeeze his cock. I bring my hand up to my mouth and lick my palm a few times. I put my hand back around his dick and start slowly jerking him off. My experience, in the grand scheme of things, is minimal but it’s still more than his. I do things that work for me, have worked on other guys, and new things just to find out what he likes. I pull back from kissing him to watch his face. I rub my thumb over the head of his cock and grin, pleased, when I feel precum there.

His eyes are half-closed with pleasure as I feel his fingers brush against my dick and when he’s got his hand wrapped around it I groan and push my hips into his grip. We jerk each other off for a time. At first, his movements are uncertain and a little clumsy, but then he starts to imitate mine. He licks his palm and rubs his thumb over the head of my dick. When he starts pushing down a little there, and rubbing circles, my eyes squeeze shut and I think I’m going to blow, but I don’t want to until he does. I imitate the action on him and he comes so sudden I’m not ready for it.

I feel warm drops all over my arm and chest and I squeeze him through it while his hips roll and he groans again and again. When he’s finished he catches his breath, then he starts jerking me faster, and I come all over his chest.

I’m hoping that didn’t turn him off, but it doesn’t seem to when he looks at me lustfully and gives me a long kiss.

I get up to find something to clean us up and find some paper towels. I lie back down next to him on the futon. He’s got an expression on his face that I can’t quite read. It worries me. Maybe we did too much too soon.

I run a hand down his bare chest. “Are you okay?”

He’s staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah.” He turns to me. “Are you?”

“Absolutely.”

He smiles, then the smile fades. He looks back up at the ceiling again. “I’m sorry if I did anything wrong…or just not the right way.”

“You couldn’t possibly. It was wonderful.”

“Really?” He looks at me hopefully.

“Of course,” I grin.

I have something else I want to ask him, but I’m afraid of the answer. And I’m afraid of what it will make him think of. Especially right now.

We’re quiet for a time. I can’t decide if it’s uncomfortable or not. I idly wonder if Troy was listening in outside. Or what he’s even doing.

“I’m sorry,” Dylan says again after a minute or so.

“What could you possibly be sorry about?” I ask him.

“I don’t know. I just feel like I should apologize.”

I turn his head so he’s looking at me and not the ceiling. “For what?”

He blinks. “Because I’m going to have to go home after this. And so will you.”

“Oh.”

There are two ugly elephants in the room with us. Maybe even three. And still, maybe I’m just a bad person, but I don’t feel all that guilty.

Well, maybe a little bit.

But I wouldn’t take back what just happened between us.

We’re quiet again for awhile, before Dylan pulls me close to him and kisses me again.

And again.

And again.

***

Dylan

I wondered on my way back home, if it would even be noticed if I didn’t come home.

But I know that whatever time Brynn got home from work, she’d be texting me and calling, wondering where I was. Wouldn’t I do the same thing?

When I do get back home, it’s after midnight, and at first I’m resolved to be honest with her, have a discussion with her, but I also have a bunch of excuses lined up. I went for a drive and got lost. I went for a drive and stopped off for a drink and lost track of time. I went to campus to get some work done and lost track of time. I’m not sure what to expect when I get there.

When I walk in the door, the place is dark. I quietly shut and lock the door and listen. Did Brynn get home and just go to bed? I peek through the bedroom door and see the bed is empty.

Confusion morphs into worry.

When I take out my phone, I see a text waiting from Leander.

For what it’s worth, I enjoyed being with you. We didn’t even have to do anything. I could just sit in a room with you and talk all night, and I’d be happy.

I smile at the message. I text back: Same here. I wish I could have stayed longer.

His reply is immediate. Me too.

And maybe I will another night. My stomach flip-flops at the thought. It’s an exciting flip-flop. A hopeful one. One that has only a slight edge to it. An edge that makes me pull up Brynn’s number and call her. I let it ring a few times and she doesn’t answer. When it goes to voicemail, I don’t leave one because I know she hates voice mail and probably won’t check it. I send her a text instead.

I cut on the TV and wait. A couple minutes later my phone vibrates and it’s her. I’m SO sorry! We didn’t finish up until like 10 and I was just going to have like one glass of wine with everybody at this place across the street (it’s REALLY nice, we’ll have to go sometime) but I guess I lost track of time!

I stare at the text for a minute or so. She lost track of time. I reply, Okay. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.

I’m okay :) I’ll be home soon!

I feel a weird surge of hypocritical anger. But I think part of the anger is because I could have stayed with Leander longer. I’d been worried about nothing. I know it’s guilt. Because I’ve done something now. Something I can’t undo.

And you know what?

I don’t want to stop doing it.

***

I open my eyes to find myself laying on the sofa, still wearing what I was the night before.

I’d meant to take a shower, just in case some of Leander’s yacht cologne got on me, so I sit up and look around in the morning daylight. I look to see that it’s eight, and I’m thankful when I remember I don’t have any classes to teach today.

Brynn comes down the hall, her coppery hair a mess, and one shoulder of her night gown slipped down. She yawns and when she sees I’m awake, she sheepishly bids me good morning.

“What time did you get in?” I ask her.

She goes over to the fridge and looks inside. “Um. Like one, I think?” She takes out a carton of eggs and some veggies. “I don’t know. I was just so tired when I got in, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Why don’t you go back to bed?” I say. “I’ll make breakfast.”

She scoops some coffee into a filter. “No, it’s okay. I actually need to go in for a few hours today. This exhibit is really kicking my ass. We were going to borrow some antique lace garments from the American Revolution museum in Philly, but now they’re holding it up, so we’re going to have to try to find something else.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

She turns on the coffee machine and turns to me yawning, still with that sheepish look on her face. “Yeah, it’s a mess.”

It’s Saturday. Usually on Saturdays we have lunch with either of her parents. Or we go to Target, clean up the apartment, and order in and watch something on Hulu. Well, that used to be the routine. But I realize over the last few weeks, it’s changed. We spend the majority of the day apart. We’re spending the majority of the week apart.

“You think,” I say, watching her cut up some veggies as the coffee brews. “We might…talk?”

She quickly glances up at me and returns to chopping. “About what?”

“We don’t really see each other anymore, do we?”

And she hasn’t asked me at all about why I was sleeping, fully dressed, on the couch. Doesn’t she ever wonder about what I’m doing?

Or what I was doing last night?

“Well,” she says. “It’s like I’ve said—this is a really busy time and sometimes my job goes outside of normal business hours. There’s nothing I can really do about that.”

“I understand that. But we really don’t spend a lot of time together anymore. And you didn’t tell me you’d be out late last night.”

She purses her lips, slicing through a green bell pepper. “I didn’t think I had to report to you or anything.”

“That’s not what I meant at all. It just seems like…,” I pause. “Who’s Ansel?”

She stops chopping for a second. Then starts back. “He’s a coworker. Why? Have you been snooping in my phone?”

The accusation stings. “He texted you the other night, and I saw his name come up on the screen.”

“It was work stuff,” she says, avoiding looking at me as she gets some coffee mugs from a cabinet. “If you were thinking anything.”

“Brynn.” I wait for her to look at me. “We need to talk.”

She glares at me. “What about?”

“We don’t spend time together anymore. Or really even talk anymore. And I think we need to discuss why.”

Her shoulders sag as she pours a cup of coffee. She pours another one and brings it over to me. She stares down at me on the couch for a second. “I guess I don’t really need to go in today.”

“Okay. Then let’s talk.”

***

Leander

As the morning hours go by and no word from Dylan, I start to prepare myself.

And restrain myself.

I haven’t ever been in a situation like this before. With Alex, it was all about sticking it to James “Jim” Webber and my dad while Alex was sticking it in me. I thought I was actually doing something at the time, but now it just seems dumb. I didn’t care when Alex texted me, I still don’t, and I’m sure he feels the same.

But I would assume me texting Dylan first thing the next morning would be too needy and weird. And pressuring, maybe? I have to be prepared for him to regret last night, even though it hurts. I have to be ready for him to say he can’t do this anymore. It would be the sensible thing for him to do.

But I haven’t given a shit about being sensible in a long time.

I try to find something else to do to distract me. I text Malik and Meadow. They came to visit when I was in the hospital and Kristi took the opportunity to cite statistics on gun violence to piss off my dad. He couldn’t really say anything because there was hospital staff around. I would’ve enjoyed it more if I hadn’t been so drugged up.

I also think about whether or not I’m going to drop my classes this semester or go back—with a damn bodyguard. On the one hand, I don’t want to be chicken shit. It’s not very brave to just stop showing up, and I wouldn’t get to see Dylan three times a week. But on the other hand, I have an irrational fear of someone walking up behind me and loud noises. I would also have to see Dylan three times a week, which would suck if he decides he doesn’t want to be involved with me anymore.

I hope that doesn’t happen.

Sometime in the afternoon, I lose my resolve.

Me: Hey

He doesn’t text back right away, so I pace and pace and pace around my bedroom, wondering if I should get Troy to help me take some of my paintings from my garage to my studio.

Then he finally responds

Dylan: Hi how are you?

Me: Ok, you?

Dylan: Had an interesting morning. My fiancée and I are taking a break.

Am I a total asshole for getting kind of happy? But that happiness is short-lived.

Me: Holy shit. Did you tell her?

Dylan: Yes and no. We had a long talk today. I told her I met someone. I didn’t say who. But it also turns out she’s met someone too, someone she’s been working with…so…

Me: I’m really sorry.

Dylan: It might be for the best. I don’t know how to feel right now. I’m going to find temporary housing in the meantime.

Me: Okay. If you don’t want me to text you or anything, I understand. I can give you some space.

Dylan:  I don’t want any space from you, Leander.

Me: Good. I don’t want any space from you either.

There’s a pause of a couple of minutes. Then he sends, When are you coming back to class?

I smile. I don’t know yet. Have you been missing me?

Dylan: Yes

Me: Good to know :) But seriously, maybe I shouldn’t. Wouldn’t it be better if I’m not your student?

As soon as I send it I regret it. I’m assuming things. He’s just told me he’s splitting with his fiancée—or taking a break, I guess—and I’m assuming he’s going to start seeing me. And aren’t I still technically his student even though I haven’t been to class? I’m starting to worry. Maybe it’s all too much trouble than it’s worth. Maybe I’m too much trouble.

Dylan: Better for who?

Me: I just don’t want you to get into trouble with the school, you know? You’ve got enough going on.

Dylan: Maybe you’re right

Me: And I need to get a job

Dylan: Thought your job was painting?

Me: Not if no one is buying it

Dylan: Someone will

Me: I want to see you, but I know you’ve got a lot going on

Dylan: I do, but I want to see you too

***

After a quick shower and shave, I meet Dylan at a cafe just a couple blocks away from my studio. Troy insisted on driving me and he takes a seat at a table near us with a newspaper, peering over it occasionally at all the other patrons.

It feels weird to see Dylan after last night. Not weird in a bad way. I guess it makes me feel weirdly shy.

Dylan smiles at me. “What?”

“I don’t know. It’s just good to see you.”

“Good to see you.”

We’re both quiet for a minute or two and it’s a little awkward. I don’t know if me saying I’m sorry over him and his fiancée splitting is going to come across genuine. Because he might be sad about it. But I’m not.

So, I just blurt out something. “I might have to go to see a hypnotist.”

Dylan takes a sip of his coffee. “Really?”

“Yeah. Detective Reed has been throwing around the idea. Since it’s hard for me to remember stuff. But I don’t know if I want to do it or not.”

“If you don’t, it’s okay. You’re no worse off than you were before. And if you do, it’ll help the police.”

“Yeah.” I fidget with the zipper on my hoodie. “I keep having these dreams. Well, I guess they’re nightmares. And I can almost see the guy’s face. I think I know him. I can’t even begin to think of how or from where, but…he knew me. Why else would he ask if I remembered him?”

“I don’t know. You don’t think he mistook you for your brother, do you? You both sort of look alike.”

I shake my head. “He said my name. So, he knows me. He knew stuff about me that not a whole lot of people do.” I shift in the chair. “He knew I was staying at my studio before. Somebody was leaving me weird notes stuck in the door. I thought it was my brother at first. But it wasn’t him.”

“Holy shit. What did they say?”

“Just weird stuff, like I’m watching and waiting.”

“That doesn’t sound weird. That sounds scary.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrug and glance over at Troy, who’s pretending to be engrossed in the newspaper, but I know better. “I guess I’m okay as long as I’m not alone.”

Dylan frowns. “I shouldn’t have let you leave alone that night. It may have never happened, if I’d just—”

“Kissed me?” I’m joking, but he’s serious.

“If kissing you meant saving you from a gunshot, then yes. I should have kissed you.”

I bite my lip, glance around us, and whisper “But you wanted to, didn’t you? Last night?”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

He reaches across the table and takes one my hands. I slide my fingers through his and squeeze it tight.