“I wanted you to meet,” Kennet said. “Full stop. I figured worst case, nothing happens, but you’d still have a pleasant vacation with my family. Best case…something happens. You and Minor hit it off. Or become friends. And you have an even more pleasant vacation with my family. Most of all, I wanted you to meet because I trust you. Minor is someone I love more than myself. If I’m going to introduce him to anyone, it’s you.”

O’Hara stared, lips pressed tight.

“Look, Boyd, if I fucked this up or overstepped my place or offended you, then I’m sorry. Truly sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. I swear I did it from the heart. I did it with best intentions.”

“I know you did.”

“Did I do wrong?”

“No.” Bit by bit, O’Hara’s face relaxed. His crossed arms dropped and his hands went to his hips, then to his sides. He exhaled. “Minor is… I wasn’t expecting…”

Kennet smiled. “He’s a bit of an all right.”

“Yeah.”

“Am I forgiven then?”

O’Hara nodded. “I wasn’t offended, I was just… I’m not used to people knowing I’m queer. Much less being all right with it. Or making well-intentioned introductions.”

Kennet nodded. “I can see how it comes across as a little sneaky. I didn’t think that part through too good.”

“Thank you,” O’Hara said. “For inviting me here for a vacation, which I’m sure will be a good time. And for the sneaky introduction, which I don’t know what to do with.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I seem to have trouble trusting good times. So when people care about me enough to orchestrate good times, I attack those people. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just enjoy yourself. My home is your home.”

“Christ on a cracker, Fish, you’re way too easy to like.”

“I wish I were your type.”

O’Hara put up his palms. “My chops are rusty. One beautiful Fiskare brother at a time, please.”

Kennet waved him off. “You don’t have to call me beautiful.”

O’Hara leveled that enthralling cobra gaze at him. “Oh, but I do.”

“Don’t friggin’ look at me like— Get out of here.”

“Can I come in?” Kennet said through the crack of Astrid’s bedroom door.

She sat in the easy chair in the corner, reading. She shut the book around her finger and beckoned with the other hand.

Kennet moved on soft feet. Xandro slept on one side of the big bed, a wall of pillows keeping him contained. He had both arms thrown over his head, thumbs tucked beneath curled fingers.

“Whenever my grandmother said goodnight,” Kennet said, “instead of sweet dreams she’d say, aux poings fermés. With closed fists. Like a baby sleeps.”