I walked in the door with an armload of groceries, only to smell something delicious wafting from the kitchen. When I walked in there, I found Fred sitting at the counter laughing while a ginger twink who I’d never seen before bounced around the kitchen.

“Oh, good. You finally made it home, Kyle. It’s a shame that you wasted your time and money by stopping at the store. Huh, I probably should’ve called or texted, I suppose. Henri and I just got done stocking the pantry. Did I forget to tell you that I was taking today off to get our new roomie settled in? Oh, well. I suppose you can see if there’s room for whatever you have there. I could’ve sworn that I told you Henri was moving in today and would be taking over the cooking.”

Fred was his most charming self, the version of him that I hadn’t seen since our early days together. Henri turned and slowly gave me the once-over before pasting a fake smile on his face.

“You must be Kyle; Fred has been telling me about you. He said you’ve taken a cooking class or two, right?” He shot me an ingratiating smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“A class or two? I would certainly hope so. I have my associate degree in culinary arts from the CIA here in San Antonio. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? The Culinary Institute of America?” I spoke stiffly as I carried my bags over and began unpacking the groceries I’d purchased.

I was determined not to let either of them see how irritated I was. No, Fred had definitely not told me that he’d be taking today off. I would have remembered such a historic event because Fred never took days off. Heck, he’d even volunteered to work extra shifts during the holidays.

“So tell me about yourself, Kyle. How old are you? I’m trying to figure out whether you or Fred are the oldest.” Henri gave a light giggle and kept talking before he gave me a chance to answer. “Fred says that you work at a gym? Sorry, but I have to ask. What’s a guy with a degree from the CIA doing working in a dead-end job like that? How much does that even pay anyway? Do you get any benefits?”

“Wow, that’s a lot of questions,” I commented as I tried to find room for my produce in an already overfilled crisper. I wasn’t about to tell him how much I made an hour or discuss my employment history at all, for that matter. “How about we just get to know each other slowly?”

“Ignore my cranky boo, Henri. He doesn’t like to talk about his almost-career as a chef. And for the record, I’m the oldest one here,” Fred said proudly as he puffed out his chest while Henri giggled his admiration.

When I was finished unloading my groceries, I started to get Fred a beer when he stopped me. “I hope you’re not opening the freezer to grab one of my glasses. Henri already set me up. I’m telling you, Kyle, a man could get spoiled with an omega like this in the house.”

Closing the freezer, I pasted a smile on my face and went to join Fred at the counter. I paused on my way there and glanced over at the stove where Henri was stirring a béchamel sauce.

“Would you like a hand with the meal preparation? Even if you’re cooking, I’m sure that you could use a sous chef.”

Henri glanced over his shoulder and gave another tittering giggle. “Oh, goodness no. I’ve got this well in hand. No offense, but I’ve studied at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. I doubt you can manage to work at my skill level.”

I walked over to the bar stool at the counter and took a seat. As I settled down on it, the old wood creaked and Henri looked over with a concerned expression.

“Gracious, that thing isn’t going to break under you, is it? I’d sure hate to see you get hurt. But then, I suppose that you were smart enough to look at the weight limits before you purchased the set. Don’t mind me, I’m just a worrier.”

Fred chuckled. “These stools predate Kyle’s residency here. I suppose I should probably consider the load capacity of our furnishings. I’d never thought of that before.”

I slid off the stool and headed out of the room. Fuck it, I did not need this kind of shit. Fred called after me. “Don’t get your feelings hurt, boo. Henri was just concerned, he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No, of course not,” Henri echoed with yet another annoying giggle. “Please don’t leave on my account.”

Shaking my head, I glanced back with a polite smile. “No, you guys aren’t running me off and my feelings aren’t hurt. I just realized that if I’m not cooking tonight, I actually have time to slip in a shower before dinner.”

After a full week of Henri and his heavy, creamy, buttery-ass French cooking, I knew that my diet was screwed. I caught Fred one morning as he got out of the shower. When we were alone in our room was the only time that I could talk to him without Henri hovering. It seemed like that guy was always around.

“How long is Henri staying here? You never said.” I stood in the doorway, watching as Fred crossed to the mirror and examined his jaw as if deciding whether or not to shave.

“No, I didn’t say, did I? Somehow, I didn’t think it mattered since I’m the one who owns the house. For the record, he’ll be here as long as I want him to be.” Fred didn’t sound upset as he answered me matter-of-factly. “Why do you ask? Surely you don’t have a problem with sweet Henri. That boy wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

I shrugged. “No, I’m sure that Henri is perfectly fine. It’s just the heavy French cooking that he prefers that’s bothering me. I’m working with a personal trainer and would like to eat a little healthier.”

Fred rolled his eyes. “Sorry, boo. I’m pretty sure that ship sailed long ago. Just enjoy the grub and be glad that you’re not the one cooking it.”

“I’m not ungrateful, Fred. I’m just wondering if he’d be offended if I suggested adding steamed vegetables or boneless, skinless chicken breasts occasionally. Red sauces instead of white, things like that.”

“Just because you’ve gone off half-cocked and decided to go on some fad diet that you’ll give up next week doesn’t mean that Henri and I should pay the price. Eat what you’re served and be thankful. If you want to cut calories, do it on your own time.”

I shook my head in frustration. “I’m not on a fad diet. I’m just trying to increase my proteins and fiber intake and cut back on carbs. Heavy, cream-based sauces don’t help with that. You know what? Never mind. I’ll just cook my own meals separately.”

Fred pouted playfully and spoke in a childish voice. “Is somebody jealous? Is he gonna take his ball and go home?” His voice hardened in the next moment. “You’ll not be a rude ass and cook separately. You’ll eat what Henri sets in front of you and you’ll say thank you very fucking much. I don’t need your petty jealousy, are we clear?”

“I’m not jealous, Fred. I’m just trying to find a work-around that suits all of us. I would think that as my boyfriend, you’d be on my side.” I was feeling more than a little hurt that he was being so protective of Henri and dismissive of my needs.

Fred glanced over with a frown as he picked up his razor. “I am on your side, boo. But you don’t understand what Henri’s been through. His father kicked him out in the cold and he has nobody who gives a shit. He needs us, and I’m just trying to make him feel needed.”

Guilt smacked into me, and I wondered for a moment if I was just being petty because maybe I was a little bit jealous. I didn’t think I was, but maybe on some deeper level? Who knows, but I’d also been alone in the world before Fred, and I understood how Henri must feel. I glanced at Fred before I turned away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize what he was going through. I’ll do my part to make sure he feels welcome here while he’s our guest.”

Fred smiled at me in the mirror as he coated his cheek with shaving cream. “That’s all I ask, boo. And don’t think of him as our guest. Think of him as part of our little family.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about that one, so I just smiled and turned away without saying anything else.