Page 60 of Every November

“Please.”

“Such nice manners even when I’m not about to fuck you. You really are a good boy, huh?”

He turns in my arms before getting out of bed so we’re face to face. “Only the best for you.”

My eyes trail down to his lips and he licks them, so I lean forward, capturing his mouth with mine. It’s passionate and perfect because it’s him.

“Come on, let’s shower,” I suggest again when we break apart. It’d be too easy to get lost in him once more, but first, I need to see what he eats for breakfast.

I lead him into the bathroom and wash him in the steaming shower, giving detailed attention to his body.

By the time we’re dressed in boxers and t-shirts, I steer him toward the kitchen and my nerves are back. I hope he doesn’t think it’s weird I bought him so many options instead of just asking him what he liked.

“So, what do you like for breakfast?” I open the fridge like I’m casually checking what I have. “I have cereal, eggs, bacon, sausage, bread. We could even make pancakes, if you want.”

“Marcus.” He comes up behind me and looks into the fridge. “Do you always have this much food in your fridge or did you buy the whole grocery store for me?”

It’s too much. I knew it’d be too much. I should’ve just asked him, so instead of answering, I shrug. “We’ve never done breakfast before.”

The teasing in his expression softens into something warmer, brighter. “This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me, for the record. Eggs and bacon are perfect, though. Might as well have a side of toast, too.”

“Noted.” I reach into the fridge to pull out his preferred breakfast choice.

“For next time,” he adds, and every time he mentions the future, I let myself believe it a little more. “So, what do you want to do today?”

“We could go to the record store I told you about, if you’d like.”

“With the Paul guy who picks out records for you?” He perks up at that. “Yes, I want to meet him and see what he has picked out for you.”

“He’s probably going to think you’re my boyfriend or something. I’ve never gone with anyone before.” The word is out of my mouth before I realize what I said.

“Would that be the worst thing?”

I want to say no, but wanting something and being able to have it are not the same. I still don’t know how to have him when we have so much distance between us. So I just flip the bacon and pretend I’m concentrating hard on not getting burnt by the grease.

“What else is on the list?” he asks, hopping up onto the counter to watch me cook, feet swinging.

“There’s a bar with decent live music on Thursdays, but it’s not Thursday, so that’s out. And there’s the Bean, if you want to be a tourist.”

“I absolutely want to be a tourist.”

I pop the bread in the toaster, then pull the bacon from the pan and crack the eggs, unable to hide the small smile pulling at my mouth. “Alright then. Bean first, then the record store, then I know a place that does the best deep dish in the city.”

“Let’s do it.”

We sit beside each other talking while we eat and eventually put additional layers on before heading to the Bean, which is exactly as crowded as I’d expected. I’ve lived here for years and never once gone to the Bean on purpose. There are tourists everywhere angling for the same reflection shot or taking selfies. Evan doesn’t care though, he drags me into the middle of it, holding his phone up for a picture with both of us distorted and warped in the metal.

It’s our first photo together and he breaks into a grin when he looks at it. I lean over his shoulder to look. Both of us are stretched in the reflection, arms wrapped around each other, smiling like idiots. It’s my new favorite photo.

“Send that to me?” I ask, wanting proof of this day.

“Already did,” he assures me.

By the time we make it to the record store, my fingers are numb and Evan’s cheeks are pink from the cold. Paul looks up from behind the counter the second the bell over the door rings.

“Marcus! Hey, good to see you.” He’s the same as always, in his sweater with salt and pepper hair, and his eyes cut to Evan. “And you brought a friend this time, hello. I’m Paul.”

“Evan,” he greets, sticking his hand out. “I’ve heard a lot about your recommendations.”