“It suits him better,” O’Hara said. “He’s not a kid and he’s nothing close to little. Why keep saddling him with a nickname he never liked in the first place?”

Addressed as Emilio, the already sunny disposition of the youngest Fiskare son turned dazzling. The moniker stuck (Like a burr, Kennet thought) and soon, “Little” was used only in the most intimate and teasing of family moments.

“Have you noticed how Emilio looks at Kirsten?” O’Hara said one night, when he, Kennet and Minor were having a beer.

“Only an idiot wouldn’t have noticed,” Minor said.

“Noticed what?” Kennet said.

Minor sighed. “Like I said.”

“Do you think she knows?” O’Hara said.

“She’s a kid,” Kennet said. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing gets past Kirsten,” Minor said. “And Emilio’s barely being subtle about it.”

“Well, he’s young,” O’Hara said. “And he was cruelly robbed of your expert guidance during a critical time in his life.”

“Obviously in my absence, he attended the Kennet Fiskare School of Maudlin Crap.”

O’Hara sucked his tongue with a pitying air. “Shame. It’ll take years to unlearn those bad habits.”

“At least Emilio knows how to dress himself.”

Kennet got up. “Jesus, put me back in combat where people are friendlier.”

He walked out of the bar in a half-ass huff, secretly pleased for the excuse to leave O’Hara and Minor alone. They’d eased into a comfortable, un-fraught companionship grounded in a shared enjoyment of picking on Kennet. The two of them could be lethal, but Kennet decided it was worth the merciless ribbing to see the friendship blossom.

Boyd wants a home, Kennet thought. A little place to go at the end of the day, where he can do all the normal, boring things of everyday life. With someone special who lives there, too.

He’s not ashamed of who he is. He’s just realistic. And maybe he’s content with a good buddy who lives close by. Someone who speaks his language and knows which way the wind is blowing. An ally.

Maybe this is enough right now for Boyd. Not too much and not too little.

Minor’s not a lover, but he’s lagom.

Following Kennet into the attic one day, to retrieve something or other, O’Hara took a look around the cluttered space with a disgusted expression. “How can you find anything in here?”

“It looks a mess but it’s actually extremely organized.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s a disaster area.”

“You should clear some of it out for Xandro,” O’Hara said. “Growing boy needs a place to play. And look at all the junk blocking that great window with the built-in seat. It’s a crime.”

“You going to help me? Or just drop the suggestion and disappear down the river again?”

O’Hara snorted. “Like you even care when I’m gone.”