Page 206 of Checking Out the Librarian

His boyfriend, a designation that had become extremely easy to adopt after the past week of missing the galloping blond giant, had already yanked open the door and let Ribby dash past.

Connor thumped his hand on the small of Jonathan’s back and pushed him over the threshold.

For a millisecond he thought that Connor wouldn’t notice the changes, he was so focused on getting their hands and mouths on each other, but then Connor froze.

“What happened?” His lips parted and he spun his head to take in the hallway. “This is amazing.”

Jonathan held the word amazing, and the tone of delight and surprise, in his heart. “You wanted to redo it, and I didn’t want you to have to put it on your list like you do with all the other things around the house. I wanted to help you with it.”

They both left the open-ended antecedent of that particular “it” unexplored. It could mean decorating the hallway, it could be processing the violence that had happened here, it could be the previous eight years of Tony. It was it, and it was done. Finished.

Jonathan knew Connor had made each day better for him, and he wanted to do the same.

Connor took his time touching everything. Trailing a hand along the glossy white cabinet, pulling on the gold handles and looking at the shoes stored inside, brushing one finger across the indigo-colored paint and stroking the freshly whitened baseboards and trim.

He sniffed the pillar candle and looked inside the treat jar and stared for a long moment into the gold-framed mirror. Specifically at Jonathan, who stood slightly behind him in a pressed pair of white linen pants, a gold belt and a cropped royal blue and white striped tee with a wide neckline that slipped to the side.

He’d deliberately matched his clothes to the colors of his work product. Connor had better not comment on that.

The silence stretched without Connor speaking.

Maybe the table lamp with a sleeping greyhound as its base was a bit too much, or not as cute as he’d thought when he saw it online. He should offer to return it, but his mouth was too dry.

“Jonathan, these were your things.” Connor’s voice was low and steady. “These are from your apartment.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. But you needed them and I wanted to share and there is no taking them back. I already filled their spots.”

He wasn’t supposed to lie, but this was in a higher service, so he absolved himself.

“No space at my place. No backsies.”

“No backsies, huh?” The edge of Connor’s lips twisted. Before Jonathan could decode that expression, because it was almost mysterious rather than Connor’s usual candidly gratuitous, open smile, he’d grabbed Ribby’s collar. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

They whisked upstairs, a relief because those slow, deep words had operated at a level that made him tremble, and Connor knew Jonathan didn’t like to be watched by a dog, not while doing that.

He heard Connor put Ribby in the bedroom, shut the door, and then clomp down the stairs like he was trying to stretch a hit for an extra base.

Yes, Jonathan remembered the terms he’d learned this summer. Most. Or at least several, but Connor would remind him.

Then the baseball thoughts, indeed all the thoughts, stopped when Connor hustled him against the door, Connor thrust his thigh between Jonathan’s legs, Connor groaned against his neck. Everything in the moment was all Connor.

“Touch me. I need you to touch me. You give me your fancy things but the only thing I need is you.”

“I love you.” Jonathan breathed the words into Connor’s ear before he kissed him, because this was the most important part, more vital than lips or hands or skin. “I love you.”

He’d try his damnedest to replace what had happened in this hallway with a better memory, a sweeter memory, a memory of pretty blue and white things and scented candles and his love. And Jonathan was a competitive asshole who played dirty with mirrors and kisses and really good sex, and he’d take odds that Connor wouldn’t remember if his middle name was David or Duke before they were done here.

That was his goal and he played to win.

Connor shuddered, his lips repeating words against Jonathan’s lips, Connor’s hand stroking messages up and down Jonathan’s back. They were the same words.

I love you.

I love you.

43

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