Mark

It was hard to comprehend how a year could go by so quickly. It was even harder to stand in the kitchen of the apartment—our apartment—and consider all I had to do.

That’s one thing no one tells you about actually owning things. Renting a place. That you have a lot of little shit to worry about.

Not that I cared. It was good just to have a place. Anyway, most times, it wasn’t just me. I frowned and started to dig out paper towels and cleaner from under the kitchen sink. At least I had time. I knew what I had to do.

Somewhere in the middle of sweeping the kitchen, I heard an insistent buzz. “Damn,” I cursed, trying to step over a bag of trash and the pile of dirt by the counter. “Shit.”

It was my phone, of course. With the number that flashed on-screen and the title ‘work’ in bright letters. “Why today? How many people could be locking their keys inside their cars by accident?”

I ignored the page. Some other locksmith could come in. It probably wasn’t important, and I had a good reputation, anyway. One day wouldn’t hurt. Besides, I’d given fair warning of my day off.

Well, day off wasn’t exactly the right word for it. By the time I finished cleaning, my phone had buzzed two more times and I’d managed to collect three bruises in the rush to check it. I was a little grumpy and sweaty. My irritation faded quickly, though. I only had a few minutes to shower and I wasn’t going to pass up the chance.

It seemed like seconds after I showered and dressed that I heard the key in the lock. Despite my best intentions, I was suddenly nervous. Jesus, Mark. Calm down. You pulled off a mansion robbery and you’re nervous about this?

I was definitely nervous. It was easier to admit that, now. Being a little vulnerable wasn’t going to kill me. Not like I had imagined it would, before.

“Hey.” Clyde was the first in. He smiled, and I felt half of my anxiety evaporate. Funny how he seemed to do that—to just lift all the weight that sometimes felt like it rested just on my shoulders.

I smiled and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Hey.”

Clyde was devious. He had probably purposely told his mother to wait until he’d been inside a minute. She emerged just after him and I almost didn’t notice her, with only one small suitcase and a travel-worn expression.

When Marybeth saw me, I was just a little too distracted to immediately react. In the time that it took me to register that she was there—Clyde’s mother, finally—Marybeth spoke. “Boyfriend. This a good idea?”

My heart was about to sink. I could feel the warning. Before it could, Clyde finished crossing the room to meet me. He pulled me in the way he had a thousand times before, his hand just at my lower back. I felt like I had a tattoo outlined there, at this point.

It was probably embarrassing how easy it was for Clyde to make me forget everything when he kissed me. There I was, for the millionth time, losing track of my surroundings as he leaned in. Maybe years of being on the run and living with a gang had just given me a different sense of priorities. Each time we kissed, I blocked the world out and just enjoyed what I had.

Except then I remembered Marybeth and immediately smacked Clyde’s chest with the hand I had pinned between us. He backed away, smirking and clearly fighting laughter. I glared at him halfheartedly and desperately tried not to blush.

Clyde ruined my plan. Without missing a beat, he turned to his mother and said, “Well, flings and boyfriends are sometimes bad ideas.” I almost groaned at his cheeky response, but then Clyde’s expression changed, and he was suddenly serious. “I love him. That’s never a bad idea.”

Well, I might not blush, but I was dangerously close to becoming way too sappy for my taste. I blamed all the cleaning for the stinging sensation at my eyes. Can’t leave a man hanging, I told myself, and then I spoke up.

“I love you too,” I said, quieter than I’d meant to. I smiled a little and tried to ease the weight that bore down on us, because this wasn’t hard for just me. “But every time you forget to say fiancé, the wedding ring gets more expensive.”

“Oh, fiancée,” Marybeth echoed. The way she said it sounded so dramatic I thought maybe things would actually implode. Instead, she just grinned wickedly at winked at me. I wondered if she appreciated my joke. “That’s different, then.”

Clyde laughed, and I wasn’t far behind him. Different. I thought about my job as a locksmith and my ‘practical experience’. I thought about the money Clyde had put up to help his mom finally get out of prison.

“Different is right,” I said, grinning.

To be honest, I was pretty glad we were different—and things would be different from now on, too.