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I groan with the realization of where Meg got that picture though. Saint texted it to me. And some of the other texts in that thread were decidedly not PG.
I thought I was so clever, looking up how to lock the app and deleting any naked photos before I lent her my phone. I obviously shouldn’t have been so sentimental about keeping my messages with Saint. Should have known I didn’t stand a chance at outsmarting a fourteen-year-old with electronics, considering the kid has grown up with that stuff.
“We look good together, don’t we?” Saint asks, looking as insecure about it as I sometimes feel.
“You always look good.” I shove his shoulder, barely budging him.
“Well, so do you.” Saint chuckles. He traces his fingers over the simple wooden frame carved with little scrollwork hearts. The distressed white paint matches the white sheets around Saint and me in the photo. It will look good next to his bed. The sort of thing a couple would decorate with.
“You don’t have to put it on display.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Saint sounds defensive as he hugs the frame tighter. Like it’s precious. LikeI’mprecious.
“Might give your other dates the wrong idea?” I try to play it off as a flippant joke.
Saint smirks at me with all his usual self-assured charm. “How many other dates do you think I have?”
I shrug. That’s something I pointedly don’t think about, let alone ask. “As many as you want. We aren’t exclusive.”
“Do you want to be?” Saint offers, as if that isn’t an off limits topic between us. Asking too much.
It catches me off guard, because I always assumed it wasn’t an option. “Um, not if it’s a deal breaker. I’ve already told you I have zero issues with you and Carl.”
“Right, I meant, do you want sexual exclusivity? Because I thought we were dancing around the whole boyfriend conversation in the kitchen. But if that’s not what you want…”
My heart beats faster, and there’s an edge of nerves to it, but mostly, yes. That’s what I want. “I want you to be my boyfriend in whatever way we need to define that term so it feels right for you. But only if you want that too. And I totally respect your QPR with Carl. I don’t expect things with him to change on your end. Unless he’d be cool with more nights like last night?”
“I think he would be? Unless Nick smartening up changes things for us.” Sadness flits across Saint’s face and I know that outcome would bother him more than he’s letting on. And I also know him well enough to be certain he’ll accept whatever scraps of affection Carl offers him and still be the best damn friend he can. It blows me away how much I care about this man. How huge his heart is. I don’t know what I’d do without all the little ways he shows his love.
“Oh, the cider! Come back to the kitchen and we can keep discussing this?” Saint suggests.
“Mm, cider.” I follow Saint. He sets the photo of us on his counter, displaying it proudly before pivoting to turn off the stove. “What more is there to discuss?”
“What do I call you?” Saint asks as he ladles out the finished cider to place a steaming mug in front of me. I inhale the fragrant steam, wrapping my fingers around the warm ceramic. It’s wild how something so simple can make me feel so loved. In the here and now with Saint, but also in my memories of Gran, before I grew up and realized that love can be fickle and finite.
I sip the cider. “Mm, so tasty.”
“Glad you like it.” Saint beams at me and takes a drink from his mug too. He sighs contentedly before turning off the stove.
I bite my lip, considering the options to answer his earlier question. We both drink more of the hot cider. Boyfriend isn’t quite right. The femme options make my stomach roil; they aren’t me at all. But either way, it’s trying to fit into a binary box that isn’t made for me. I reach for the next term that comes to mind, already knowing it isn’t quite right for us either. “I suppose zucchini is already taken?”
“Yeah.” He smiles, thinking of Carl. “And I mean, we aren’t really platonic. How about my partner?” Saint says it like he’s trying it on for size and I think I like it. “We could both go with that, if you’d like. Because if I’m going to get to know your kids now, that’s a long-term commitment. It feels bigger than boyfriends. I want you to be confident that I won’t flake on you or them.”
That promise means more than I can say; it’s yet another way he’s showing he knows my heart. I nod. “That works for me.”
“So, we’re partners then?”
“Yeah. I like that.” I lift my cider to him and we clink our mugs together.
“Partners. In that case, I’m going to put this picture of my partner and me in my room. Want to see how it looks from my bed?” He raises his eyebrow at me.
Damn that sexy smile of his still does things to me after more than a year of stolen moments in his bed. He makes my bits warm and tingly, and I want nothing more than to join him up in his room. I gulp another sip of the cider, not wanting to waste a drop of the delicious drink.
Saint reaches for the photo frame and something falls onto the counter as he picks it up.
“Oh, huh. There’s a note.” Saint plucks a folded square of paper from where it must have fallen out when he opened the little kickstand that holds the frame upright.
“What’s it say?” I ask, all but holding my breath. My kids wrote him a note and I almost dread hearing what they have to say about my love life.
