Michael sighed. “I crashed hard.” The blanket rustled, and Michael’s hand crept over Josh’s hip. “Sorry about last night.”
“Don’t be.” Josh shook his head, inching closer. The bed was warm and soft and cozy, and he didn’t want things to get awkward and uncomfortable. “Kaylee knew what to do, and you came back to me. That’s all that matters.”
Michael’s short laugh had an edge of desperation to it. “How are you so understanding?”
Josh shrugged, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach at the raw, unguarded love in Michael’s voice. “You explained enough after that first time. I figured you’ll tell me the rest whenever you’re ready.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out. He didn’t want Michael thinking he was being pressured. “I don’t mean—”
“Last night—” Michael raised his eyebrows, looking calmly at Josh, who nodded. Michael took a deep breath and said, “The call was from my father’s chief of staff. The picture. The one on your phone.”
“Oh shit,” Josh said, putting two and two together. A family-values governor, a gay son who wasn’t out, and the picture of that kiss on social media . . . Talk about a recipe for disaster.
Michael winced. “Yeah. He wanted, um . . . conversation that it was, um . . . computer-made. Faked.”
Conversation? Josh shook his head, saying, “But since it wasn’t, are you in trouble?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed, and his hand tightened on Josh’s hip. “I don’t care,” he said, the words loud and distinct and crystal clear. “I want you.”
Josh’s whole world lit up at that, and he squirmed to get an arm under Michael’s pillow for a proper full-body hug. “God, I love you,” he whispered.
Michael took a deep breath and said, slowly and carefully, “I won’t let anyone come between us.”
“Neither will I,” Josh promised. “And I don’t care who tries.”
“Did I really let Kaylee eat pizza bagels for dinner last night?” Michael asked guiltily over the sizzle of bacon, noting the too-alert way that Kaylee was staring into the kitchen. She only did that when she felt she deserved a better meal—one that involved actual meat.
“Yeah. You said she’d be fine for one night.” Josh started whisking a bowl of eggs, milk, and whatever else he put into the batter for French toast. “Should I have fed her something?”
“No, she’s fine. Dogs ate people-food long before anyone ever invented kibble.” Michael flipped the switch on the coffeepot and went to the fridge. “I’ll take care of her breakfast. Raw ground beef won’t bother you, will it?”
Josh smiled. “As long as it’s for Kaylee, not me, we’re all good.”
Sharing the kitchen with Josh was cozy, but not because the kitchen was small. No, it felt pleasantly domestic—something Michael would never get sick of feeling. Despite the close confines, they got three breakfasts prepared by the time the pot of coffee was finished brewing.
“What do you say we go over the business plan today?” Michael asked once they were all sitting down—or lying down, in Kaylee’s case—for breakfast.
Josh nodded, sipping at his coffee. “Okay. But you really should teach me what Kaylee eats, just in case. I mean, what if I want to surprise you both with breakfast in bed?”
Laughing, Michael nudged Josh’s foot under the table. “Then I’ll know the zombie apocalypse has started, because you’ll be awake without having to open the shop.”
Josh kicked playfully back. “Brunch, then. I can do brunch in bed.”
That was damned tempting, but Michael wanted to get the business plan finalized and out into the world already. He could help Josh realize his dream. What better way was there for Michael to show how much he loved Josh?
“We’ll go over it while we eat,” Michael suggested, getting up from the table.
“No, you—”
Michael was already heading for where his messenger bag hung by the front door. “Two seconds,” he called back as he took out his eyeglass case. Since that first night Michael brought Josh home, personal boundaries had blurred. Michael felt no guilt at going through Josh’s backpack to get the laptop.
“It’s done,” Josh said when Michael came back to the table, laptop and glasses in hand. “Lizzie’s already got it for a final check. I emailed it to her . . . yesterday? Two days ago?” He shrugged and shoved a forkful of French toast into his mouth.
“You should do a complete check, too. Weren’t you going to show it to your dad?” Michael opened the laptop and hit the power button. While it booted, he used his fork to point at Josh, adding, “And remind me to talk to you about computer security.”
Josh frowned. “Wha’ abou’ ih?” he mumbled, still chewing. It should’ve been offensive to someone who’d been raised with perfect table manners, but Michael found it endearing.
Hiding a grin, Michael asked, “You lock your phone, right?” Josh nodded, curls bouncing on his forehead. “So, you should lock your computer too.”
Josh swallowed and shrugged. “Nobody ever gets near it, except in the office. Besides, it’s . . . I don’t know, ten years old or something. Nobody would want to steal it.”
“Probably closer to four or five years, but still.” Michael kicked at Josh’s shin, socks skidding over sweats. “You have business data on it.”
“Okay— Ah,” Josh interrupted when Michael reached for the touchpad. “You eat. I’ll open the file. You haven’t touched your food. Do you want me to think you hate my cooking?”
Michael rolled his eyes and obediently poked at his food with his fork. “Like there’s a chance in hell of that.”
Over the click of keys, Josh said, “Jews don’t believe in hell. Just unappreciated cooking.”
When in Rome . . . Michael took a big bite of French toast and mumbled, “I luff youh ’ooging.”
Josh beamed at him, apparently understanding. “The secret is the challah bread.” He snorted and went back to tapping the touchpad. “Texas toast, my ass. Fresh challah. It’s all in the egg you put in the dough.” He spun the laptop to face Michael, then turned his attention back to his plate.
Michael could only push bad manners so far. He swallowed before asking, “Aren’t you going to read it?”
Josh’s answer—“We can skim it together.”—sounded casual, but he’d gone tense, eyes a bit too wide.
What am I missing? Trying not to frown, Michael said, “I’ve read it already, about a hundred times. I won’t catch nearly as many mistakes as you will. Fresh eyes and all.”
Instead of answering, Josh lowered his fork and looked down. “Michael . . .”
“What is it?” Michael asked gently. Had he pushed the business plan too hard? Josh hadn’t wanted to look it over. Maybe he’d changed his mind about expanding Bagel End at all.
Josh’s inhale sounded hesitant. Hitched. He glanced up just long enough to meet Michael’s eyes, then turned to stare in the direction of the laptop. “I, uh . . .” He shook his head. “I have . . . trouble reading.”
“Huh?” Michael blurted before snapping his mouth shut. Josh wasn’t illiterate. Michael had seen him scribble orders at Bagel End—and he’d read orders other employees had written. He’d chalked daily specials onto the sandwich board outside. He read menus—
No, he didn’t. At the riverside grill in Portsmouth, Josh had let Michael order. Everywhere else they went, he knew what he wanted to order before they’d even walked in the doors. Michael had never seen him with a book, a magazine, a newspaper . . . Even his phone was used for games. And while he did text, he was slow. Hell, he probably depended heavily on autocorrect, just like Michael did.
Josh’s face had gone red, and he looked like he was trying to master the secret of invisibility. Michael reached across the table to touch his hand. “And I can’t write. Not really.”
Josh looked up, startled. This time, he was the one who asked, “Huh? But you wrote . . .” He gestured at the laptop.
Michael shook his head. “I copied templates. Aphasia, rem
ember? The words are up here”—he tapped the side of his head—“but they don’t always get out the right way, in speaking or writing.”
For a couple of precious seconds, Michael thought he’d eased Josh’s fears. But then Josh slumped, face going pinched. “Yeah, but you made it into a great college. I didn’t even graduate high school.”
“And you have a thriving business that you’re looking at expanding.” Michael got his fingers around Josh’s hand and squeezed. “I’m living in my parents’ barn.”
Josh coughed out a laugh and gave Michael a flat glare, though the curve of his lips hinted at a smile. “Your parents’ remodeled luxury vacation loft that happens to be in a historical barn, you mean.”
“Still.” Michael wanted to see more of that smile, so he smiled encouragingly and said, “Moo.”
It worked, thank God. Josh burst out laughing, mouth open wide. “You’re crazy, you know that?” he gasped out, rubbing his free hand across his eyes.
“Well, yeah,” Michael said smugly, basking in Josh’s restored humor. “But I guess you’re the same kind of crazy, since you spent, what, an hour with me while I had a brain-reboot on the floor last night.”
Josh caught his breath slowly, and though his smile faded a couple of notches, it was still there for Michael to enjoy. “Because you explained it to me, sort of. Plus”—he leaned over to look at Kaylee, who’d cleaned her food dish to a shiny polish and was now sprawled out beside Michael’s chair—“I figured I’d follow her lead. But reading . . . That’s something everyone can do.”
“Not everyone,” Michael said, hoping to cut this off before Josh could get too upset about it. “I had a few guys in Basic who had to take reading classes just so they could pass the ASVAB.”
“The what?”
“Sorry. It’s the military entrance test. It tells you what your MO—” Stop with the acronyms, Baldwin. Sheepishly, Michael said, “What your occupational specialty should be.”
Josh shook his head. “Classes won’t help. I just . . . can’t read. I was in remedial classes, I had tutors, all that. It just never . . . clicked.”
Michael had heard the horror stories of illiterate students getting pushed through crowded inner-city schools, but he couldn’t imagine that happening here, in Hartsbridge. “You can read texts, though, right? And—”
With a frustrated exhale, Josh pulled his hand free and grabbed his coffee cup. “Look, it’s not—” He shoved his chair back and went for the coffeepot, saying nothing until he’d poured himself a refill. “I can read, sort of. It just . . . It takes forever. Texts are fine. I mean, they’re usually short and easy to figure out, but a whole wall of text . . .”
Months in the hospital and outpatient treatment had taught Michael not to pry into someone else’s disabilities. But this was a conversation, not an interrogation, and Josh hadn’t shut it down. Not yet, anyway.
“Is it dyslexia?” Michael asked gently, careful to keep even a hint of judgment out of his tone.
To his surprise, Josh shrugged. “Don’t know. A couple of teachers said something about testing, but . . . it wasn’t a good time for it. I had enough fucking doctors in my life, with my mom. And then there just wasn’t a point. I didn’t need reading to show me how to make Goldberg-style bagels. I’d been doing that since I could stand on a step stool and reach the prep counter.” He sat back down, then stood up again, saying, “Shit. Did you want a refill?”
“Boyfriend, not waiter, remember?” Michael waved Josh back into his seat. “Last week, when I went up to the VA in Manchester, half of why I was such a damn wreck was because of the paperwork. It got to a point where the words didn’t make sense, only I couldn’t even get my own words out to ask for help.”
Josh pushed his mug out of the way so he could take Michael’s hand in both of his own. “Is it dyslexia for you? I mean, along with the aphasia?”
Michael shrugged. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know a damn thing about dyslexia. At first, maybe? Nothing made sense for . . . for forever after I got out of the coma. I talked in nonsense, I couldn’t read an eye-test chart, nothing. It came back, but slowly, and it might not ever come back all the way.”
With a wry smile, Josh said, “Too bad there aren’t . . . What would they be called? Reading-eye dogs?”
Michael laughed and nudged at Kaylee, who rolled onto her side, demanding belly rubs. He obliged with his toes, since he didn’t want to let go of Josh’s hands. “Yeah, but the library might be able to help.”
Josh blinked. “The library?”
“Remember their—” Michael winced. “You probably didn’t see their wish list, huh? They had a whole write-up of what they wanted to do if they reached each donation milestone. One of the things on the list was an adult literacy program.”
“No.” Josh shook his head and tried to pull free, but Michael held on more tightly. “I know these people—”
“Not like a class,” Michael said reassuringly. “One-on-one lessons. Private and confidential.”
“But . . . Michael, look,” he said slowly. “I’ve never told anyone. I mean, my dad knows I had trouble in school, but not that it’s still a problem.”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
Josh huffed, looking down at his plate. “It’s a small town, babe. Give it a week, and everyone will know we’re sleeping together.”
Quietly laughing, Michael said, “I’m pretty sure they’ve guessed that already. Two straight weeks of us going out to restaurants? The laptop didn’t fool anyone.”
Josh relaxed, slouching as much as he could without letting go. “Just be glad my dad’s still in Brooklyn. He’d be throwing us a pre-engagement party. The whole ‘Jews are pessimists’ stereotype is a myth for him, at least outside the business. He’s the king of wishful thinking when it comes to love.”
Michael had to swallow to get rid of the sudden lump in his throat. “Is that something you want? Marriage, I mean?”
Josh’s cheeks went red again, and his hands twitched. “Um. Yeah,” he said, licking his lips. “I mean, I know there’s this whole ‘marriage is for breeders’ thing—”
“Ugh. Don’t,” Michael interrupted more sharply than he’d intended. “My sister’s het. At least, I think she is.”
“No, no. It’s not—” Josh blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t feel that way. But for years, I thought that being bi meant I only had a fifty-fifty shot at a wedding—a real wedding, with family and a chuppah and a cheesy band playing bad cover songs. And now . . .”
Michael grinned. “A cheesy band playing bad cover songs? Count me in.”
Josh’s mouth fell open, and he blinked a couple of times. “You . . . Huh?”
Heart pounding, Michael said, “We shouldn’t take things too fast.” But he’d gone the opposite route before, and it hadn’t been good for him. Josh was different, about as far from a one-night stand as possible. Michael couldn’t resist playfully adding, “Unless you want to be pre-engaged.”
Josh pulled a hand free to muffle his laugh. “I dunno,” he choked out, eyes sparkling. “Bubbe might come back from the dead if she finds out I’m pre-engaged to a goy.”
“Especially a gay one?”
Josh waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, you’re cute. She’d just pinch your cheeks and talk you into converting.”
Michael had never given any thought to converting—in his family, religion was just another means to grab political power—but for Josh, he’d consider it. Assuming their relationship actually stayed strong, once Josh really got to know him. “How’s this: if zombie-Bubbe shows up, I promise I’ll be the first one calling an emergency rabbi.”
Josh’s smile turned sweet. “That’s one-eight hundred-oy vey ist mir.” He slid his hands free and picked up his fork, using it to point at Michael. “Now eat. And maybe help me get through this business plan?”
“Anything you want, babe,” Michael agreed.
Pre-engaged. Josh couldn’t stop laughing at that. Hell,
he was on the verge of singing—a perfectly legitimate shower activity—but he didn’t want to scare Michael off, even though Michael wasn’t sharing the shower this morning. They’d learned the hard way that a shared shower meant a subsequent hour-long visit to the bed upstairs, followed by another shower and an embarrassed “Sorry I’m late” when Josh stumbled into Bagel End with wet hair and a dopey grin at the tail end of the lunch hour.
But that thought—pre-engaged!—was enough to keep Josh company while he rinsed off the soap without an extra pair of hands to help. Michael must have meant it as a joke. If not, then yes, things were moving a little fast, but Josh was absolutely certain that they were moving in the right direction. Michael had opened up about his PTSD, Josh had admitted to his reading problem, and Josh had stripped naked in front of Michael and hadn’t been mocked for his belly. Even Michael’s gentle suggestion about the adult literacy thing had been supportive, not like some exes’ hints that Josh get himself a gym membership. In Josh’s experience, nothing said “I don’t love you as you are” like an unasked-for fitness center guest pass.
He did see exercise in his future, though, and not just the horizontal kind. Michael’s suggestion of going up to the mountains sounded wonderful, if aerobically exhausting. The walking trails on the north side of the island were a perfect start and a great way to be alone in a small town. Just Josh, Michael, Kaylee, and Mother Nature.
He got out of the shower and wrapped up in a couple of ridiculously thick, fluffy towels. The vent had done its job, keeping the mirror clean, so he flicked it off—
And froze when, the instant the white noise cut off, he heard an unfamiliar voice shout, “— raise you to be a faggot!”
What the hell?
Josh hesitated long enough to pull on jeans, only because he was not going to get into a brawl in a towel. While he’d never taken a martial arts course in his life, discovering his bisexuality meant he’d gotten into his share of high school scuffles before dropping out. And for Michael, he wouldn’t hold back.
Josh threw open the bathroom door and rushed out, shaking the wet hair out of his eyes so he could see into the living room, where Michael was in a stand-off with a tall, hard-faced man Josh immediately recognized from TV commercials.
Change of Address Page 24
