Page 67 of Checking Out the Librarian

“I won’t lie to you.”

A tiny leaf unfurled inside Jonathan’s chest, like something poking through the pavement cracks by the library, fragile and too easily uprooted, and yet potentially vigorous. He didn’t know plants any better than hearts, but he wanted to believe it would grow. “Then we’ll be fine. Or fine-ish. Something.”

“What if we went to bed? Would that be fine, fine-ish, or only something?”

Connor laughed at Jonathan’s glare.

They brushed their teeth and made it to bed, with Jonathan pressed to Connor’s broad back in the role of big spoon, before he surprised himself again by returning to the quite-a-bit previous conversation. “You never said why you haven’t dated.”

Perhaps going to watch Connor do a sports thing and then sharing his own trauma curricula vitae had opened the door that led to other risk-taking of the emotional variety. Maybe his former therapist would send him a coffee shop gift card if he told her.

Under Jonathan’s palm, Connor’s chest rose and fell. He sensed that Connor was thinking, but not yet finished with speaking. “I’ve been trying. Since college.”

Connor had graduated at the beginning of the pandemic, so that was one lost year. Even Jonathan knew that four more without a relationship was a long time for someone who was trying. He squeezed Connor tighter.

“I think maybe…”

Jonathan waited, letting his hand press on Connor’s chest. This felt easier without eye contact, but Connor didn’t continue. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe I’m a lot?” His voice was much smaller than the oft-demonstrated capacity of his lungs could produce.

Connor had said things like that about himself more than once, and it made Jonathan more than a little bit stabby that someone, or possibly more than one someone, had hurt this big, beautiful man. It should never happen. “You mean, you’re so good at everything you try that disgruntled losers get intimidated and run away? I can see that.”

“You know what I mean.” Connor flattened his bigger hand over the one Jonathan had nestled between his pecs, squeezing him to his chest like a security blanket.

The irregular movements of Connor’s awkward, ragged breathing transmitted to Jonathan through his fingertips, so he pressed more tightly to Connor’s back and let his lips find the space behind Connor’s ear.

“I refuse to agree with what you think you mean, but I do think you are a lot. A lot of wonderful.”

They were so close he could hear the tiny sound when Connor swallowed. “I’m an annoying morning person.”

Jonathan wanted names and maybe addresses for whoever had made Connor feel like this. “You bring me coffee. I don’t care what the hell else you do when you’re awake before me.”

He scooted away and tugged Connor into position flat on his back because he was bendy, but not bendy enough to kiss Connor’s face from the little spoon position, and this seemed to be a good time for lips.

“I’ve been told I don’t shut up,” Connor whispered.

“You are guilty of that right now, yes.” Jonathan lowered himself close enough that they could have touched if they duck-lipped. “Confession. I’ve been told the same. Or rather, that if I couldn’t say something nice, I shouldn’t say anything at all, which felt very much like a shut up at that moment, believe me.” Their lips drew even closer. “And yet, you listen to me.”

And then they were too close to speak.

16

EATER OF HIS MUFFINS

Jonathan quit counting after the third time he woke at Connor’s house. It was inevitable.

After all, there was a dog, and now there was a Jonathan toothbrush on the counter and Jonathan pajamas folded on the dresser.

Last night they’d slept with their fingers brushing across the duvet.

This morning, Connor made fried egg sandwiches on sourdough, topped with a high melting point European cheese and spicy sauteed greens from his garden. Jonathan was exceedingly relaxed and well-fed, and thus able to refrain from fixating on the fact that Connor had a garden that provided edible greens, like a real grown up.

Jonathan had brought clothes, which meant he could stay longer with this stupid anteater coffee mug and go directly to work. If he didn’t love his job so much, he wasn’t sure he could leave. He had bills, there was that.

He should get up from this chair and put his plate in the dishwasher at some point. Soon.

“I’m investigating my crawl space today.”