“I’ve been practicing,” he said. “YouTube, mostly.”
Demarien turned his head to look at him, his expression soft. “You don’t have to do all this, you know.”
He met the omega’s eyes, his expression steady. “I know. I want to.”
There was something simple and solid in the way he said it, something that made Demarien’s eyes glisten just a little. “I know what you and Patrick did today.”
Boone winced. “How did you find out?”
“Milo keeps track of everyone’s appointments.” Demarien turned completely around and cupped Boone’s face. “Thank you.”
Boone brushed a hand over Demarien’s hair, smoothing it back. “You’re doing all the hard work. I’m just backup.”
“You’re so much more than that.” He reached for Boone’s hand, guiding it to rest over his belly. The baby shifted faintly beneath his palm, and his face lit up.
“Hey there,” Boone whispered, almost shyly. “Be nice to your dad, alright? He’s a big deal.”
Demarien smiled, leaning into him. “You’re going to spoil this kid.”
“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “No question.”
The omega laughed softly, settling against his shoulder while his hand stayed where it was, warm and steady. The light began to fade as the sun set. “I love you, Boone. No one has a heart like yours.”
“I love you too,” he replied, kissing the top of Demarien’s head.
“I think, if you want, you should move in with me.” Demarien hid his face. “It’s fast, I know, but I want you with me all the time. Is that so bad?”
Boone tilted Demarien’s face up. “Iloveyou, Demarien. I would follow you to Hell and back if you let me. If you want me by your side, I’m there. Patrick will help me move my stuff tomorrow. I don’t care how fast it is. It feels like I’ve been waiting for you since high school.”
Demarien pulled him into a kiss, and the world faded away.
Chapter 14
Afew weeks later, the kitchen smelled like butter before the sun was even fully up. Demarien stood at the stove in an old flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, smiling happily at a pot of gravy. Behind him, every counter in the kitchen had disappeared under bowls, cutting boards, pie tins, and handwritten recipe cards stained with decades of use.
Joe walked in carrying a sack of potatoes against his chest. “You ordered enough potatoes to feed the Marines.”
Demarien didn’t look away from the gravy. “Felix eats mashed potatoes like it’s a competitive event.”
“How much can he really eat? He’s what? Five foot two?”
“And dangerous when it comes to mashed potatoes.”
Joe laughed under his breath and dumped the potatoes into the sink. The faucet squealed to life. Outside, cold November rain tapped softly against the windows, but inside, the kitchen was warm enough to fog them.
Demarien tasted the gravy from a wooden spoon, frowned deeply, then added more pepper with the concentration of a chemist stabilizing explosives. Gravy was arguably the most important dish at an American Thanksgiving dinner.
Joe watched him for a second. “You know, nobody would notice if this stuff came from a jar.”
Demarien turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “I would notice.”
“Right. Of course.”
“And Aunt Dahlia would rise from the dead and haunt this house.”
“That’s fair.” Joe nodded in agreement. “She passed down her recipes for a reason.”
For a while, they worked in comfortable silence. Joe peeled potatoes while Demarien basted the turkey, the skin already turning glossy and brown. A football game murmured from the small television hanging in the corner.
