I delayed my answer just to keep him standing there. “Yes, I am.”

He stood in the doorway a moment longer trying to assess for himself if I was truly okay. I may have had sex with him before anyone else, but the secrets we kept from each other in the years to come were what would threaten our undoing.

“How about some bananas Foster brioche French toast for breakfast?” he asked. Without waiting for my answer, he had already turned around to go to the kitchen to look for bananas.

It was the best French toast I’d had in a long time. The brioche that Henry had baked was out of this world. Griffin ate only some toasted brioche with peanut butter. Not exactly haute cuisine.

About that time, my brother came blowing in. He looked like a mess. If I had been happy about the events prior to breakfast, seeing my brother hungover and dissipated scared me. This moment would mark the beginning of my worry about the men I loved and their addictions. I could tell from Griffin’s expression, which resembled a nasty scar, that it concerned him too.

“Dude, you were supposed to be looking after my little sister. Did you sneak out after she went to bed?” When Griffin gave him an inquisitive look, my brother responded, “Griff, you’re eating peanut butter … ”

I saw the look pass between them. Something private. It dawned on me. Peanut butter must be what Griffin eats after sex. Henry had no idea that he had come so close to the truth.

“Hey, bro, let’s talk about where you were all night.” He paused, “I didn’t think so. Besides, I’m hungry.”

“Sorry. Somebody is certainly touchy this morning, Griff.”

I went upstairs to my bedroom. Griffin had left his flannel shirt behind, and I picked it up and smelled it. Then I shoved it to the back of my closet like a keepsake, like a memento from a favorite trip. He never asked for it back. I was truly happy Griffin was the one before anyone else.

There was a gentle rap on the door. It pulled me back to the present. Griffin came in, closing the door behind him. He embraced me and we kissed fully, holding nothing back. He said, “I’m glad you’re home for Christmas.”

“I don’t see any mistletoe,” I teased. Griffin fumbled in his pocket and pulled out some dried-up herb.

“That better be a piece of fennel from some fennel soup you made me,” I volleyed back.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Where do you want to stay tonight?”

“I haven’t even seen Daddy, so I’ll just stay with him.” We were about to kiss again when Henry barged through the door.

“Are y’all decent? Put your clothes back on.”

“Stop that, Henry. It’s Christmas,” I said. I looked over at Griffin. He was silent. The long frown that snaked across his face told me more. My heart skipped a beat. Then another. I felt a thread of discord being sewn between my two men.