Page 44 of Their Pup to Tame

“I only saw them once,” Aspen said. “But I agree with the phenomenal part.”

“They are easily my answer to your question,” Phoenix said.

“For me, it would be Grayson’s Disciples,” Aspen said, a serene look on his face as he swirled one of the shrimps in the butter. “They only played in Vermont and Maine, but it was worth the trip to lay out under the stars and listen to them blend the blues with a bit of grunge. Sometimes the grass was tall enough that you couldn’t see the people lying a few feet away unless you sat up. It would wave when the wind blew through it, almost like it was dancing. I hated when they shut that venue down. They were the last band I saw there, now that I think about it.”

“I didn’t realize they’d closed until I went online looking for tickets one night,” I said. “The last show I saw there was Cinderella’s Slipper. Honey Dust and Bad Monkeys opened for them.”

“That’s the one you offered me a ticket to and I had to turn you down because they’d added extra performances to the show I was performing in,” Aspen reminded me.

“That’s right,” I said. “Dorian had a buddy who wanted to go, so we wound up giving him the third ticket. You’d have loved it, though.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?”

I reached over and rubbed his arm, just to be a smartass. “Rub, rub, rub.”

“If you didn’t have three more courses to unveil, I’d give you other things to rub,” Aspen grumbled, swatting at my hand.

“What was the show?” Phoenix asked. “The one you were performing in?”

“Serenity and Nightmares,” I answered before Aspen could and watched his eyes widen.

“You remember?”

“I do,” I replied. “I was bummed when you couldn’t join us.”

“So was I,” Aspen admitted.

Time melted. It was nice to kick back between courses, since there was never a shortage of topics we hadn’t hit on before. I felt like we learned new things about one another as we moved from the appetizers to the beef course. Six pinwheels of thinly sliced, marinated beef, all with different fillings, from goat cheese to swiss with mushrooms. Each marinade had been different too, but it had been a blast putting the flavor profiles together and assembling everything. Watching the pure pleasure on their faces while they enjoyed them was as thoroughly enjoyable as the conversation.

Eventually, all good things must come to an end. We finished with cold lobster rolls and cherry-cream-cheese tarts drizzled with a lemon glaze it had taken two tries to get right. I’d nailed it, though. They both told me so after they wiped the crumbs from their lips. We carried empty plates and platters into the kitchen once we finally levered ourselves out of our seats. Aspen told the smart speaker to play his blues playlist, the low tones providing a backdrop for the clatter of silverware as we washed the dishes, since everything needed to be done by hand.

I’d cleaned the kitchen while I’d cooked, so the only things left were what we used during the meal and the serving platters and bowls. Aspen put everything away after I washed it and Phoenix dried, the three of us working together to wipe down the counters after we were through.

“Is it really after nine?” Phoenix asked, drawing my attention to the clock on the stove. “Holy shit, it didn’t feel like we sat there that long.”

“No, it didn’t,” Aspen said, slipping an arm around him and swaying to the melody. “I’d have sat there longer if we hadn’t run out of food.”

“If I’d eaten another bite, the chair might have crumbled underneath me,” Phoenix groaned, arms draped over Aspen’s shoulders, Aspen’s arms around his waist.

They weren’t dancing so much as rocking together, occasionally shuffling their feet as they turned in a slow circle.

Tsking, Aspen muttered against Phoenix’s shirt. “The chairs are oak. Two of you could sit in it without so much as a creak.”

“Well, two of me certainly got out of it,” Phoenix said. “And I don’t mind one bit. The whole evening felt different, special. I think it was the vibe more than anything. When we eat at the coffee table or in the kitchen, we’re almost always doing other things. Yeah, we talk, but it wasn’t the same kind of conversation.”

“We should make it a Sunday tradition,” Aspen said.

“I’d like that,” Phoenix said. “And I’d like to answer the question you asked earlier.”

“Which…” Aspen began before his voice trailed off.

He stopped moving too, and we both stood frozen, waiting for Phoenix to answer, since I already knew what my response was.

“Hell yeah,” Phoenix said.

“That goes double for me,” I declared and got in on the hug-dancing that was taking place, the three of us clinging and swaying in the middle of the kitchen.

“And now we get to plan a celebration dinner for next Sunday,” Aspen said. “We’ll have to come up with a theme, of course.”