I ran my eyes over him, and he stood there for a moment letting me take him in. After a while he exhaled and gestured toward the ceiling, but made no move to get any closer, respecting the boundary I’d set.

“I’ll go and get things started. It’ll take me like thirty minutes. Come up whenever you want okay?”

“Okay, I’ll just wash up and come up. Thanks.”

It was starting to become startlingly clear for me that when Easton called, I would have a very hard time not running.

Easton

“I brought the champagne to have with dinner. It smells great in here.” I looked up and saw Patrice walking into my apartment. He had the bottle of Veuve I brought him in one hand, and it looked like he’d showered before coming up. He had another pair of those fitted sweats he wore that molded to his thighs, and a long-sleeved Cornell T-shirt. He looked edible. His big body filling up the room and robbing me of oxygen.

“Hey, come in. I’m just finishing up the vegetables. Do you like green beans?”

“Sure.” Patrice came up to the kitchen and I pointed at one of the stools on the counter. “Take a seat. I’ll open this.” I took the bottle from him and went to open it as Patrice’s eyes followed my movements.

I poured us each some bubbly and handed him the glass, then lifted mine. “To all your accomplishments this year. May it only be the beginning.”

Patrice made a sound between a grunt and a “thank-you” and we both took a sip. I turned around to start plating the salmon fillet, green beans and curried pearl couscous I’d made us for dinner. As he sat there quietly watching me move around the kitchen.

I’d changed too, and was in an old pair of jeans and sweatshirt, but the way his eyes kept landing on my ass told me that he was not as unfazed as he’d like to pretend he was.

“That looks amazing, Easton.” He sounded pleased. Patrice’s voice was deep and he always spoke carefully, every word measured. Whenever he said my name it seemed to sound different to how everyone else said it. I didn’t know if it was because from the start I never knew where I stood with Patrice that made me pounce on every morsel of attention I got from him.

“Thanks. We can eat over here.” I gestured with my head, walking out of the kitchen with the two plates in my hands and set them down on the dining table. I felt such a thrill from the simple act of preparing this food for Patrice. Taking care of him like this. I was not a nurturer, but I suspected he was not one to let people who weren’t his friends or his mother do for him, and that made it even more significant.