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“He told me he’s proposing to Austin this weekend.”
My eyebrows rose, almost as quickly as my dick had. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh?” Elijah’s head snapped to a questioning angle. “What do you know that I don’t? Oh no, is he going to get his heart broken? If anyone on this earth deserves a happy ending, it’s him.”
And you.
“No,” I said, shaking my hands in the air. “Nothing like that. It’s just Austin is also planning on proposing. He was going to do it a few weeks ago, but Charlie got sick.”
“Wow, dueling proposals. The gay agenda truly has gone too far.” Elijah’s deadpan voice pulled a laugh from me, quickly jumping to him. “Ugh, those two are going to make the cutest fucking husbands.”
“I agree.” I swirled my glass by the stem, watching the pink waves it caused. “How ’bout you? Ever see yourself married one day?”
Elijah seemed a little caught off guard by that. I was about to jump in with my own spiel about marriage, but Elijah found his words. “I think so. Yeah, I do. I haven’t really said it out loud—weird, huh? I guess when you’re straight, it’s kind of this ingrained assumption: marriage, kids, white picket fence, a closet full of Disney souvenir hats with the cartoon mouse ears. But after being kicked out of my house for being gay, I dunno, marriage just felt… so far. Like a fantasy, the same kind of fantasy I’d serve on drag nights.”
That hit me right in the chest. A bullet straight through the heart. “Fuck, Eli. I’m sorry. I hate thinking of your parents pushing you out like that. There’s nothing—nothing—worth losing your child for, especially not because they love the same gender. What the fuck kind of bullshit is that?” I was getting heated. My blood pressure spiked so that I could hear the drumming in my ears. “Parents are supposed to be there for their kids, through thick and thin. No matter what. You were just a kid…” I felt it before I realized what was happening. A tear streaked down my cheek, the passion inside me bubbling up like an overflowing pot left on the burning hot stove.
“It’s okay,” Elijah said, reaching across the table. His hand came to rest on mine. “I mean, it’s not okay okay—it’s something I really wish no child ever has to go through. But for me, personally, I’m doing okay. Being without a home taught me some tough lessons, and recently—I’ve actually been thinking a lot about this lately—it’s made me want to work to help kids caught up in that situation or prevent it from happening entirely.” His green eyes caught a light that didn’t seem to come from the candles flickering on the table or the sheet of stars twinkling above us.
“Anything you need, any way I can help, you let me know.” I started to put myself back together again, buoyed by the optimism clear in Elijah’s smile. Getting him to smile—beam—wasn’t an easy feat, so I drank this one up almost as quick as I drank my rosé.
“Thanks, Ry,” Elijah said, taking his hand back and leaving me feeling a pull toward the opposite end of the table. Like an invisible rope had been tied on our wrists and grew taut with even the slightest bit of distance. “I think I’m going to start a charity drag show. The second my case is closed and the stalker’s gone, I’m going to organize the absolute biggest fucking, most cunty, wig-snatching, gag-worthy drag show Blue Creek’s ever seen.”
“Holy shit, I already can’t wait.”
“Then get to work, bitch.” Elijah’s face cracked with laughter. “Kidding, obvs.”
“But not really,” I said, laughing harder than I had in a while.
“I am! I am,” he said, hand on the back of his neck, the sound of his laugh filling me with joy. “I completely trust in you. I know my case is in good hands. And it doesn’t hurt to know that those hands extend past the case, too.” He smirked, his full lips turning up the temperature in my core. Underneath the table, his leg found mine, intertwining at the ankle, resting gently against me.
“You are,” I said, “in good hands. I’ve got you.”
He didn’t say anything, just smiled, giving me exactly what I wanted.
Him. Elijah. Only him.
“How about your family? I haven’t gotten the rundown. I want all the piping hot tea.” He rested an arm casually on the back of his chair. His nails were painted an eye-catching shade of jade, bringing out the green in his eyes even more. He wore a billowy button-up maroon shirt with black-and-white stars perfectly patterned across it, looking like a high-fashion model and blowing my GAP polo shirt out of the couture waters.
“There isn’t a whole lot of tea,” I said. “I was born and raised here in Blue Creek. My parents are both immigrants, from Colombia. They both came to Blue Creek after a cousin had told them about how welcoming the town was. Had me three years after moving here.”
