“This is the twentieth item in a row you’re keeping,” I pointed out. “Compared to…” I glanced into the Donate and Toss bins and pretended to count on my fingers. “Zero items you’ve gotten rid of.”
“And what would you have me do?” Drew demanded, all dramatic outrage. “Toss the snowman Porter decorated with a pound of glitter because he knew his Uncle Drew would love it? Toss the sugar bowl you and I bought at that adorable little store in Winsome while we were on our first date? Toss the only pan big enough to hold the cheesy broccoli casserole I make our family every Thanksgiving?” He sniffed. “Youlovethat casserole, Marco.”
Drew’s green eyes—eyes that were the last thing I’d seen before falling asleep, five thousand nights running—glittered fiercely, his face flushed pink beneath hair that was a good bit thinner than it used to be, and when he folded his arms over his chest, the caftan pulled against his belly.
He remained the most beautiful man, inside and out, that I’d ever laid eyes on.
I nudged aside the box at my feet and leaned forward to tug on Drew’s hands. After a brief show of reluctance, he unclenched his arms and let me twine our fingers together.
“Drew, we said we wanted to spend the next couple of years traveling,” I reminded him gently. “To do that, we need to sell off my house and buy a smaller place and a travel trailer. That’s still what you want, right?”
His posture relaxed. “Yes.”
I nodded. “And you don’t want to keep your things in the basement here anymore? Because Webb said?—”
“No.” Drew shook his head. “He and Luke deserve to have their space.”
I nodded again, unsurprised. We’d gone over this repeatedly in the past few weeks. “Then I don’t see a way toaccomplish those things without giving up some of this ju—” I winced. “Some of theseitems.”
The narrow look my lover sent me suggested that he’d heard the word I hadn’t said. “I know you don’t understand this, but my stuff isn’tjunk, Marco. These are memories.Myprecious memories. My whole life, in boxes and bins. They’re who Iam.”
I opened my mouth, probably to put my foot in it, but I was saved by the click of the front door opening, followed by the sound of two men cackling as though they were trying to be quiet and failing.
“Shhhh,” Porter’s voice said, though he was laughing so hard it came out in staccato bursts. “I thought I was bad at subterfuge, but you’re way worse, Professor.”
Drew’s gaze met mine, and I rolled my eyes. Drew grinned.
“Hey! Unlike some, I never aspired to a life of crime,” Theo complained. “Now, hurry up and put the cock back in the kitchen before your brother and Luke get home and realize you stole it.”
“Borrowedit,” Porter corrected. “And now we’re returning it.”
“We? Oh, no. I’m here as your lookout, that’s all.”
“But baby, we’re a team?—”
“Not if you’re going down for Grand Theft Poultry, Sunday. This pretty face wasn’t meant for prison.”
Porter snorted. “But if I get locked up, you’ll wait for me, right, bab—oh.” Porter appeared in the kitchen doorway, spotted Drew and me, and stopped dead.
Theo, a pace behind, bumped into him. “I’mbad at subterfuge? You can’t just—?Oh.” Theo looked from me to Drew to something tucked under Porter’s arm. “Drew! Marco! Nice day, isn’t it?”
“Theo,” I said mildly. “Porter.”
Drew remained silent, folded his arms over his chest, andlookedat Porter, just as he had when Porter was a mischievous child.
“Gosh!” Porter smiled winningly. “Wow. This is… this is so great, seeing you both again. So soon. Here in Webb’s house. Where we didn’t expect to find you. We, ah…” He looked at Theo helplessly.
“We were on our way to the pond to meet Webb and Luke and Aiden,” Theo volunteered gamely. He gestured at his swim trunks and flip-flops. “But we stopped here to, um…” He nudged Porter’s hip.
“To drop something off,” Porter blurted. He set the thing he’d been carrying on the sideboard. “Anyway?—”
“Porter Sunday,” Drew began.
If I knew Drew—and I did—he’d been intending to tease Porter a little longer, just to see him squirm. But when Porter backed up a pace and Drew saw what he’d been carrying, his jaw and his eyes widened.
So did mine, for an entirely different reason.Fuck.
“It’s a rooster cookie jar,” Porter said unnecessarily. “Hawk bought it.”
