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“He wants to go through the doorway next. Hence the bridge book.”

“Did you build things at his age?”

“Russ and I built a bike ramp out of an old door. We took it off the back of the garage. Dad didn’t notice for a month.” He looked at me. “You?”

“I made a ski lift for my action figures out of Mom’s clothesline. It worked.”

He pulled the quilt over us. “It’s after midnight,” he said. “You’ve got the bakery in the morning, and I’ve got the airport.”

I wanted to stay. The bed was warm and Trier was warm. Leaving meant driving across town to a dark condo so I could get up early.

“I should get dressed,” I said.

“You should.”

I sat up into the cooler air and found my shirt beyond the bench.

One sock was missing. Trier pulled on sweatpants, knelt, and fished it from under the bed, gray with a red stripe, covered in orange hair.

“I’d brush that off before the bakery.”

He stood close while I tied my shoes.

At the door, Trier held my coat for me, then turned me around by the lapels and kissed me.

“Do you have the bakery’s address?”

“Milwaukee Avenue.”

He kissed me a second time, slower. His hand slid inside my coat and settled at my waist. “The traffic should be light that early.”

He didn’t reach for the doorknob. He just stood there in his sweatpants with his hand on my waist.

I could have asked to stay. I said goodnight instead.

***

The bakery opened at five on Christmas Eve, and the line was already out the door in the dark. Snow had fallen after two, a thin layer that squeaked underfoot. A woman ahead of me wore a camel coat over moose-print pajama pants. Inside, the windows had fogged over, and the air smelled of butter and yeast. Three women called numbers in Polish, then English.

The one at the register checked Felix’s number and looked at me. “You’re not Felix. He said you’d be handsome and confused.” She tied the four boxes together. “You’re only one of those.”

I put the boxes on the passenger seat. On the way to Felix’s, I opened my mouth and started to tell Trier what she’d said, and got as far as his name.

At Felix’s curb I typed it instead:

Mark: Bakery verdict: handsome or confused. Not both. She wouldn’t say which.

Felix opened his door in a lobster apron, wooden spoon in hand, every burner going behind him. He poured coffee into a travel mug I recognized as mine, then untied the top box and bit one of the kolaczki in half.

“You’re eating already?” I asked.

“Checking the order. It’s correct.”

At ten, my phone buzzed.

Trier: Landed. Josh has already explained the bridge plan. There’s a diagram. And handsome—definitely handsome.

Chapter thirteen