“If they don’t already know how amazing you and every human in that building is, what are they doing serving on the board?”
“That’s an excellent question.”
With a heavy sigh, Kent drops his shoulders. “Distract me,” he says. My hand tugs at his waistband. “With food and LEGOs.”
“LEGO.”
“Excuse me?” he asks.
“LEGO, nosnecessary. Per an official statement from the company. There are LEGO bricks, pieces, parts, but never LEGOs with ans.”
“You’re a nerd, you know that?”
“I do.” My head lands on his shoulder, the softness of his fleece comforting.
“Distract me with LEGO.”
“Deal. Let’s eat first,” I say.
“Once we know it’s all working, you can be my good boy.”
“Yes, sir.” I wrap my arms around Kent’s waist, my hands caressing his sides, as our foreheads touch and something magical conjures between us. There’s a closeness—a sweetness. More than simply physical, somehow, we’re becoming anus. Breathing him in, my body fills with a sense of warmth and comfort. I never thought this would happen to me.
With full bellies, cleared dishes, and washed hands and faces, we head to the dining-room table.
“Now, for your present.” Kent fetches the gift bag and hands it to me with a flourish. “To celebrate the go-live.”
“We shouldn’t celebrate until Monday. When it’s all over.”
“Okay, then I’ll just keep this until Monday.” He grabs the white corded handle.
“No, no,” I protest, pulling the bag away. “Now. Let’s celebrate now.”
Kent laughs and grabs me instead of his gift. He scatters kisses over my neck, crawling up to my cheek and landing on my nose. He sighs softly and whispers, “My handsome boy.”
Sitting in one of the gray cloth-covered chairs around the table, I remove the tissue paper and spy a large black box. The logo on the bottom instantly clues me in. LEGO. My lips part, but only a small gasp escapes.
“It’s The Louvre. For Paris,” he says. “You don’t have it yet. At least I didn’t see it. I can return it. I kept the receipt.”
For a moment, I’m unsure what to say. My parents and I agreed to stop exchanging presents years ago, and I honestly can’t remember the last time I received a gift. And this is LEGO. From Kent. I hug the box to my chest and squeeze it tightly. “I love it. Yeah, LEGO definitely is my love language.”
“And I adore that about you.” He kisses my neck from behind. “Were you planning to include it?”
“For sure. I hadn’t decided whether to build it from scratch or with the kit.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kent says, pulling his hands behind his back. “I didn’t mean to … ”
“No. You helped me decide.”
I stand and wrap my arms around him, and when he exhales, and his body melts into mine, a lightness overtakes me. This kind, caring man, eager to please, unearths my heart. And with his head resting on my shoulder, I softly say, “You know. Things seem to be better lately.”
“Things?”
Holding Kent. Here. I’m amazed at how relaxed I am. I’ve grown so accustomed to being tight, compressed, restless. Kent somehow has become the ultimate distraction. It’s like I’m floating on a cloud. Even when I’m not with him, the power of his affection lingers. The urge to tell him more, connect more, prods me.
“Me.”
We stand in my living room, overlooking LEGO Paris, clinging to each other. “Because of you.” I lean my forehead on his. “You don’t try to fix me.”
