Calvin was staring at the open menu when I walked in. I leaned against the doorframe, hands in my pockets, studying him. Even though we’d been together for a month and a half, this was still surreal as hell. Sometimes I thought my vision was getting worse, and I’d watch him extra hard, as if to be sure he wasn’t a trick of the eye that would slowly dissipate.
But Calvin was real.
Real and breathing and mine.
When I first met Calvin, it was frightening to come to the realization that he was my soul mate. It was a nightmare when the world around us seemed insistent that we would never be an item. It had broken my heart, frankly. It’s pretty fucking melodramatic, but there was a brief moment last year when I didn’t know how I would live without loving Calvin.
A bullet really changes things. It makes you realize how short and precious life actually is.
And it gave Calvin the courage to come out at his age. To his family, who had all but locked him out of their homes and hearts, to his partner, Quinn Lancaster, to my dad, and to the world in general, really. And I know it must have scared him.
But he did it for us.
“Are you staring at me?” Calvin asked, not looking up from the list of food.
I blinked and straightened. “Sure am.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re pretty.”
He snorted and glanced at me. “I’ll order. What do you want?” Calvin pulled his phone out.
“Sweet-and-sour chicken.” I walked into the kitchen and wrapped my arms around him from behind, resting my forehead against his back as I listened to Calvin call the restaurant and place our order for delivery. “I hope my fortune cookie says I get lucky tonight,” I said as he hung up.
Calvin laughed as he put his phone away. “I wouldn’t worry too much about what the cookie says.”
FOR HOW shitty the day started, it certainly ended on a high note: cheap food, a few beers, and classic Buster Keaton films on the couch with Calvin. I liked old black-and-white movies. They were easier to watch, what with never being overwhelmed by the mess of tones and colors blending into one another that represented modern cinema. Plus, silent films were underappreciated. Keaton was by far more brilliant than most of today’s actors, and I don’t care how old and crotchety that statement makes me sound. I sat cross-legged, cardboard container balanced on my knee. Snapping a pair of chopsticks apart, I dug into dinner.
“What’s this one called?” Calvin asked, pointing at the screen.
“Sherlock Jr.,” I said between bites. “One of my favorites.”
“It would be.”
“Don’t tease.”
Calvin laughed quietly. He took a few bites of his food, which really meant he cleaned out half of the container, before asking, “So what happened with the brick?”
“The brick,” I muttered in annoyance. “Some asshole failed to recognize that I have a telephone.”
“What?”
I waved the chopsticks in my hand while finishing the bite I’d just taken. “Sorry. There was a note attached to the brick.” I turned to look at Calvin in the dim light, realizing I had his full and undivided attention. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh?” he repeated.
“You went from Calvin to Detective Winter real fast.”
He frowned. “What did the note say?”
I leaned over to set the takeout on the coffee table before pulling the folded note out again. I opened it and handed it over. “‘I know you like mysteries.’”
Calvin took the paper, narrowing his eyes as he looked it over. “I’m assuming you filed a police report?”
“Yup.”
“Did you tell them about this?”
