Chapter 1: Marcus“You want me to what?” Marcus’s boyfriend, one hand clutching a skillet, stared at him. Nate’s expression suggested that Marcus had asked him for something unspeakable, rather than the perfectly reasonable request that he serve as a judge on a festive holiday cooking show; Marcus considered this reaction.
He’d probably missed something. Not being the best at emotion.
“Me,” Nate said. “I mean, me. Not you. Me.” His eyes were very wide and very green, his freckles were bright as cinnamon sugar, and he clung to the skillet as if in self-defense.
The morning, calm as the week before fireworks, opened up in blue and gold and gauzy summer clouds. Their house was quiet, and tidy because Marcus liked tidy, and domestic. Eggs, in theory going into the skillet, gazed up from the
