“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Ginger said as soon as she entered the front door. Travis excused himself to change out of his wet clothes, but Ginger barely noticed with the fresh distraction of fur and excitement.

“Oh my god, you got a dog?” she squealed and threw herself onto the ground to give Mr. Wigglesworth pets. “What’s your name, huh beautiful? I bet it’s something just as handsome as you, like Augustus or Harold.”

Travis sent a thanks heavenward that Ginger couldn’t see the disbelief on his face. Mr. Wigglesworth did not look like a Harold.

“It’s Mr. Wigglesworth. And help yourself if you’re thirsty,” he called over his shoulder.

“What’s with all the changes? New décor. New dog.” Ginger said, taking in the brightly painted kitchen cabinets. “Orange! I love it!”

“Dreamsicle,” Travis corrected before closing himself in his room and quickly putting on sweats and a t-shirt. He didn’t need to dress up for Ginger and they were the closest dry items in reach.

Ginger poured a glass of lemonade from the pitcher in the fridge, still talking to Mr. Wigglesworth like he was one of her children too, when Travis returned.

When Ginger first started her monthly visits, Travis would scour the house all day to ensure it was clean enough to eat off the bathroom floor. Soon enough, he realized that while he had to keep it respectable, Ginger was much more concerned with how he and his sister interacted, how he treated her, how he loved and looked after her, than whether or not he could find part-time work as a housekeeper.

“Caitlyn mentioned that she wanted to spruce up the place. And she found Mr. Wigglesworth on the side of the road. We tried to find his owners, but he looked pretty ragged. I couldn’t turn either one of them down,” he admitted, although that was certainly obvious. Ginger had seen his room before during the home inspections. She knew his taste in décor ran toward college dorm chic and not the fresh and sunny living room and kitchen that Caitlyn had created.

Ginger squealed again and ran her hand along the back of the sofa as she made her way to the couch. “I love the slipcover.”

“The what?”

“The fabric on the sofa,” Ginger said as she took her lemonade to the sofa in question and sat, giving the slipcover a pat. Mr. Wigglesworth took it as a sign, and jumped up, paws on the back of the sofa and tail wagging wildly. The fabric Caitlyn had picked out was a swirl of color in crazy patterns under his paws, but the colors were teal, peacock, and dreamsicle. The pattern also had a name, but Travis was just proud he had remembered the names of the colors. Caitlyn had also painted their coffee table, which had been previously a normal oak color, a bright sunshine yellow. Travis wasn’t sure about the colors, but they made him a little happier when he saw them, so he hoped it had the same effect on his sister.

“Right. Whitman showed Caitlyn how to sew it. I just cleaned out the old clutter and ran the garage sale. Caitlyn and Whitman did the rest.”

“Whitman?”

Ginger was from Child Welfare, which was based out of Copper Beach, although Slat Creek and other smaller towns were part of her territory. The new librarian might have been big news in Slat Creek, but Ginger had no clue.

As Travis told her about Whitman’s arrival at the end of the spring and his increasing involvement in their lives, whether through Caitlyn’s internship or his assistance with the garage sale and redecorating, Ginger’s sharp eyes softened.

“You like him.”

Travis couldn’t deny it, so he just shrugged.

“You really –”

“You sounded pretty urgent over the phone,” Travis interrupted. He was nervous enough over his developing feelings for Whitman. The last thing he needed was his sister’s caseworker teasing him, or worse, holding it against him, when he didn’t even have a clue himself what was going on. “What happened?”

“He has filed a paternity form with the county so he can be recognized as her father. He has also filed for full custody.”

“What?” Travis was suddenly glad he hadn’t eaten anything because it would be coming back up right now if he had. “How?”

“Don’t worry. You’re still her legal guardian. But I needed to let you know.”

“What do I need to do?”

“Nothing. Well, I take that back. You should warn her school and employer, so they can be on the lookout. Let them know that any man claiming to be her father is not allowed access to her or her records. At least for now.”

Travis swallowed but his mouth was coated with chalk, his throat dry and cracked. Mr. Wigglesworth licked his fingertips, and his hands dug into his soft fur of their own accord.

“Caitlyn turns eighteen in January. At that point, this whole thing becomes moot. He still has to prove he’s her father. And even that doesn’t remove her from your home. It just allows him to play ball. But here’s the thing. Those steps alone should take several months, and by the time he’s ready to go to court for custody, she’ll be close to if not already eighteen. And our recommendation is always what is best for the child.”

Travis levelled Ginger with a glare. “Which is me.”

“Which is you.” Ginger set her lemonade down on the coffee table and placed her hands squarely on her knees. “I’m not going to lie. This is going to be a pain in the ass for all of us, right at a time when we are trying so hard to get Caitlyn back on her feet. We’re going to fight this if necessary, but for now, nothing is going to change.”

“God, this is the last thing she needs,” Travis said, rubbing his forehead as if that could stop the headache forming behind his eyes.

“Then don’t tell her.”

Travis’s mouth dropped open before he snapped it shut.

“I’m serious,” Ginger continued. “She’s come so far this summer. You’ve done an amazing job. If you think this is going to set her back, don’t tell her yet. Maybe the paternity test that court is requiring before it will proceed with the custody case will come back negative. Maybe they won’t be able to get a court date until after her birthday. There are a dozen things that could happen, so why worry her until you absolutely have to?”

Travis sat forward on the couch, leaning his elbows against his knees and clasping his hands together behind his neck.

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.” Ginger laid a gentle hand on his shoulder for a second before turning the touch into a brief pat. “Think it over. Let me know what you decide.”

Ginger stood from the couch and returned her lemonade glass into the kitchen.

“Even though I didn’t see Caitlyn, I’m going to go ahead and mark this down as my monthly visit. The house looks great, Travis. I know it hasn’t been easy, but you’ll both get through this. I wouldn’t have fought so hard for you if I didn’t believe in you.”

It took a few minutes before Travis realized he and Mr. Wigglesworth were alone. He had been so withdrawn into his mind, reeling from the news, that he hadn’t heard Ginger leave. He glanced at the pug clock that Caitlyn had ordered online to replace the boring, old, gold clock that used to hang behind the sofa. Travis had three hours before Whitman would arrive with Caitlyn in tow. He had planned on needing those three hours to fix dinner and get the house in order to impress Whitman. Now, he just needed those hours to pull himself together.

Whitman smiled at the cheery new colors that had taken over Travis and Caitlyn’s house. Caitlyn was not a subtle girl, even if she herself did not realize it.

“I think we could find Miami Vice online somewhere, if you ever start to miss the old décor,” Whitman said as he made his way to the entrance of the kitchen where Travis was bending down to check on something in the oven. Whitman didn’t mind the view.

Travis turned, and Whitman took him in, from his bare feet poking out under frayed jean edges to the tight blue polo that accentuated his fit body to the warm but hesitant eyes. Everything about him screamed comfortable and soft, a far cry from the scratchy wool sweater vest, starched button-down and wool slacks Whitman had had to wear for a meeting with the mayor today.

“It looks really great, by the way,” Whitman added, in case his teasing had been taken the wrong way. “You did an amazing job.”

“It was all Caitlyn.” Travis nodded as she walked in and grabbed a soda from the fridge. “But then, you already knew that, since you helped with most of this.”

Caitlyn held another soda toward Whitman with a questioning look, so he smiled and took it from her.

“I only helped with researching how to do it and the sewing. I had no idea what her vision was or that it would come together so well.”

Caitlyn, unlike her brother, did blush, but she also allowed her pride to show. “I’m happy with how it turned out. And we have a mom shrine that I think she’d be very proud of. Come see.”

Whitman followed Caitlyn back into the living room and the corner across from the front door. A bright red shelf held different cookbooks on the bottom, then in the middle sat knick-knacks that ran the gamut from a tacky ceramic dog to a sad porcelain clown with a popped balloon.

“What was with your mom and clowns?” Whitman couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Caitlyn laughed. “Creepy right?”

Then on the top shelf, and hanging on the wall behind, were pictures of their family before they were torn apart. Happy pictures, from when they were kids, pictures of Christmases and Halloweens, and random everyday pictures where they were just goofing around and hanging out together.

“It’s a great mom shrine, but it needs a candle.”

Caitlyn gasped. “You are so right. I’ve got a running list. Come on.”

Whitman followed her back to the kitchen and watched as she added “candle” to the list on the magnetic notepad stuck to the fridge.

“Perfect. Is that chicken and rice that I smell?” Caitlyn fixed Travis with excited and hopeful eyes, and he laughed.

“Yes, and I’ll confess, my Aunt Lucinda made the casserole.”

“You only confessed because I was totally going to rat you out.”

“Hey, I only mentioned the evening to her, and she offered. Was I going to tell her no? She’s the best cook.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t think you should deceive Mr. Todd, here. You don’t want him leaving tonight thinking you’re some fabulous cook, only to discover down the road that you can’t boil water.”

Whitman had to bite his lip to hide his laugh at Travis’s glare, and grumbled, “I can boil water.” He looked like he might throttle her at any second, and her response was to stick out her tongue.

“I don’t care who made it,” Whitman interjected, hoping to save a little family war from escalating. “It smells delicious.”

Travis offered him a tiny smile for the save, but Caitlyn glanced between the two and rolled her eyes.

“Call me when it’s ready,” she said as she stomped off to her room, followed by a still-too-loud “gross” whispered under her breath.

“Need any help?” Whitman asked, and Travis answered by shoving a stack of plates at him.

“Setting the table is supposed to be Caitlyn’s job, but I think I’d prefer the lack of running commentary.”

Whitman smiled and took the plates into the adjoining dining room. “She certainly doesn’t lack for words.”

Travis turned from the stove and rested against the counter, his back at the sink and his butt against the new glossy orange paint. “How is she doing at the library? I have a meeting with the school on Monday, and I’m sure they’re going to have a whole lot of opinions, but I’d really like to hear yours.”

Whitman froze behind the farthest chair and watched the range of emotions play against Travis’s face. Whitman’s heart ached for him, that he had to be parent, guardian, big brother, and disciplinarian to his little sister.

“She’s not used to the attention,” Whitman said quietly as he returned empty-handed from the dining room. Travis fixed that problem with a pile of silverware tucked inside a stack of napkins. “Soon, another kid is going to do something equally stupid and Caitlyn won’t be their main focus anymore. It’s like with Mrs. Leake. Once she shares a piece of gossip with me, she moves on. Rarely does she ever return to it again, because by then it’s old news. Caity is strong and smart, and hopefully being in the library is making it easier on her until she sees that this too shall pass.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve said it a million times already but thank you.”

Whitman nodded and returned his focus to the task filling his hands, until a barked laugh caught Travis’s attention again.

“Oktoberfest?” Whitman waved a pretzel and beer printed napkin.

“Yep. She found a German cookbook with spaetzle and strudel. I have no idea where she got the cheesy napkins from, but the food was out of this world.”

“Were there any of her dinners that didn’t turn out? Because I have to admit, they really do sound amazing.”

The oven timer went off and Travis shifted from his spot in the doorway, watching Whitman work, back to the kitchen.

“Yes,” he said loud enough to still be heard as he removed the dinner from the oven. “She found an old Jell-O cookbook that was all about incorporating Jell-O into every aspect of your meal. The whole dinner was just a variety of these crazy molded salads with all sorts of disgusting things added in – cheese, marshmallows, nuts, even one with onions and tiny meatballs. It was revolting.”

“Are you talking about the Jellpocalypse?” Caitlyn asked, making Whitman jump in surprise. He hadn’t heard her return, although she had probably heard the oven timer and was as hungry for dinner as he was.

“Yep.”

“Travis is right. It was disgusting. I can never eat Jell-O again.”

“I think it sounds amazing,” Whitman said with a laugh.

“Ugh, if Mom were here, she’d take that as a challenge,” Caitlyn groaned before her words sunk in and time stopped in the kitchen. Travis stood staring at the casserole dish and Caitlyn’s eyes lost focus, but Whitman did what his disposition programmed him to do.

“Well, then maybe I’ll take it up as a challenge in her place. I will make you like Jell-O again.”

Travis smiled at him, and Whitman pretended not to notice as he blinked several times in succession. Caitlyn couldn’t muster a smile but she did taunt back.

“Doubtful.”

“Let’s not ruin dinner,” Travis said, trying to get back in the spirit of things. “I worked so hard on it.”

“Did Lucinda bring dessert too?” Caitlyn asked, moving to the dining room and sitting down, waiting for dinner to be brought to her. It was in those moments when she acted like a typical teenager that Whitman enjoyed the triumph as if he had spoiled her rotten himself. If it had been any other teenager, he probably would have been annoyed at their oblivious, wait-on-me attitude. But it was so rare to see Caitlyn slip back into the mindset of a teenager instead of a world-weary survivor, that he couldn’t begrudge her anything. From the resigned shake of Travis’s head, he knew he wasn't the only one.

“Of course. I hope you like carrot cake,” Travis said to Whitman.

“No brownies?” Caitlyn whined.

“Yes, she brought a brownie for you. But a whole carrot cake for the rest of us.”

“Wow,” Whitman said as Travis set the dish of chicken and rice on the table. “I haven’t been spoiled like this in a very long time.”

Caitlyn perked up and Whitman wished he could eat his words. “And why’s that?”

Travis reached for Whitman’s plate and began to serve up dinner onto fancy rose patterned plates that probably perfectly matched the old dining room, but now seemed a little out of place with the pale teal walls and the orange kitchen cabinets visible in the background. A white ball of fur followed his every move.

“My last boyfriend was more of a dine out, see everyone and be seen kind of guy. Not really the home-cooked meal kind of guy.”

“What happened?” Caitlyn asked while serving herself instead of waiting for Travis.

“Caitlyn,” Travis said, trying to convey a warning in his voice but just sounding embarrassed instead, which Whitman found entirely too cute. Besides, he realized he hadn’t thought of James in months. Hadn’t been tempted to cyber-stalk him or even tossed out a “what if” he hadn’t moved. He was pretty sure that was due to the two people sitting in front of him right now.

“What? I’d pester you with questions too, only I know you’ve never had a boyfriend.”

Travis’s mouth hung open, and as his eyes searched the room, Whitman could only imagine he was looking for something to murder Caitlyn with. She merely dug a fork into the flavored rice and snapped her mouth around it with a smug grin.

“His name was James,” Whitman said to put Travis out of his misery. “As I said, he liked to be seen, which was fine when he was showing off my wine pairing skills. But when he also wanted a skinny little twink to show off on the dance floor, things got more complicated.”

“What an ass,” Caitlyn said, and Travis probably wanted to agree with her but had a mouthful of food.

“No. We just weren’t compatible. Sometimes you don’t realize it at first, because people try to pretend to be something they’re not in early dates,” Whitman said, then reflected for a moment, cutting into his chicken but not yet taking a bite. “Then again, I don’t think he was intentionally pretending. I think he just had so many facets he hadn’t really found his balance yet. Maybe if I met James ten years from now, we’d be a perfect match. But I doubt it.”

“Well I can’t imagine dating anyone right now. They’re all such jerks.”

“Good,” Travis said, and clarified “about the dating part,” when Caitlyn gave him a look.

Whitman finally got to sample the dinner and immediately moaned his satisfaction. He took several more bites, quickly catching up with the others.

“I don’t know,” he said, sipping on his warm soda from earlier between bites. “I’ve seen some pretty non-jerky guys come into the library. Sometimes people can surprise you.”

Travis levelled his glare at Whitman this time. “Nope. They’re all jerks. Every single one of them.”

Whitman let roll a laugh that overtook the whole table. He wondered briefly if this was what their old family dinners were like – heavy on the teasing and good food, easy on the tension that pervaded most of their interactions that Whitman had witnessed. He couldn’t blame Caitlyn for hating the new dynamic, but he knew Travis was trying as hard as he could. It was an impossible situation, and Whitman for some reason, had decided that he wanted to be right in the middle of it.

Caitlyn scarfed the rest of her dinner and grabbed the brownie before bolting to her room, Mr. Wigglesworth in tow.

“Make sure you do your homework,” Travis called after her.

“I did it at the library,” was heard just before a slam.

Whitman helped clear the dishes since Caitlyn couldn’t be bothered. Although at this point he wasn’t sure if she was doing it on purpose to give them time alone or if it was because she was a teenager. Either way, he wasn’t going to argue.

He and Travis had ordered food and eaten it here before, but this was the first time since his move that he’d felt like a part of a family. Not just dinner with friends or dinner with co-workers. This was family dinner, and it filled up holes he hadn’t even realized he’d had since his move. Whatever the future held for him and Travis, and Whitman certainly knew what he’d like for that to be, he’d always be grateful to Travis for this evening and for giving him a place other than just the library where he belonged, even if it was just for a night.

“Please tell your aunt for me that dinner was delicious,” Whitman said, and followed Travis’s example of scraping food into the trashcan under the sink before placing it behind his in the dishwasher.

Travis, who had been washing off the silverware, turned with wet hands held in front of them. “I will.” His shy glances at Whitman were broken by panicked looks around the kitchen as water dripped onto the floor. Whitman snagged a dish towel from the counter behind Travis, probably the one place he hadn’t frantically checked, and wrapped Travis’s hands in the towel, cradling them in his own through the lemony yellow cloth.

The redecorating had been Caitlyn crying out to be happy, but Travis wasn’t so obvious. Whitman stepped forward until their hands were sandwiched between their bodies. He watched Travis’s expression change from shy and awkward to heated and needy. Whitman could help with that. He wanted to see Travis happy, too.

He leaned forward slowly, so that Travis could back away, but instead Travis’s eyes stayed glued to Whitman’s lips as he licked his own unconsciously. When their lips finally touched, Travis’s still damp from his tongue, Whitman melted into him. His hands slid from the towel, which was forgotten and fell to the floor, to Travis’s waist.

Travis’s kisses in return were more tentative, but still demanding, and Whitman wanted to make him stop thinking for once. The man was always thinking, but Whitman knew he needed so much more.

Whitman’s hands carded through Travis’s hair, rubbing at his scalp with stubs of his fingernails. He grabbed a handful of hair and firmly tugged Travis’s head back, making his eyes roll back and his mouth fall open, an animalistic moan tumbling out from his lips.

“Yes,” Whitman growled, and claimed his mouth again. His right hand stayed in Travis’s hair while his left curled underneath his sleeve, at the warm skin tight around his biceps.

The feeling of skin on skin seemed to jolt something in Travis, and his own hands, which had clutched at the sides of Whitman’s sweater, now clawed at his clothes, trying to get underneath.

Whitman knew it had to have been a while for Travis. He had been stuck in his home, feeling like it was his duty to monitor his sister’s every move for months. And before that, he had been forced to deal with his mother’s death. But he hadn’t expected him to respond like a drowning man gasping for air. He hadn’t thought Travis would be so hungry for him.

Whitman’s shirt finally came untucked from his pants and Travis got his hands underneath both the sweater and the shirt. His fingers were calloused and rough and sent shudders of want through Whitman. Whitman finally broke the kiss long enough to help Travis peel the sweater from his body while his fingers danced over buttons, leaving his chest and stomach bare for Travis.

Travis moaned again and slid to his knees on patterned linoleum that looked out of place with Caitlyn’s redecorating. Any thoughts of paint colors flew out of his head as soon as Travis began to rub his face along Whitman’s stomach, like he was trying to scent him. Whitman had as much hair on his torso as he had on his head – a small patch in the center of his chest and a faint trail below his belly button. The rest was pale, smooth, and soft.

“Oh God,” he groaned when Travis’s tongue dipped inside his belly button. His hands returned to Travis’s hair and tightened. “Take me to your room.”

Travis’s movements stuttered, and his breath came out fast and cold against Whitman’s abdomen.

“I- I can’t,” he said and Whitman let go of Travis’s hair as the man pushed himself off his knees and back to standing. “I’m sorry. Not with Caitlyn here. The walls.”

Whitman reached out a hand to cradle Travis’s cheek, so good and right that he brought the other one up to mirror it, claiming Travis’s face completely within the cup of his palms.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who should apologize for getting so carried away,” Whitman said, his eyes wanting to comfort as much as his hands. “But one day soon, Travis Butler, I’m going to take out you on a proper date.”

“A date, huh?” Travis tried to smirk but he was too relaxed from the tiny ministrations of Whitman’s hands, caressing the planes of his face. “Is that what they call it these days?”

“Mmm, don’t get me wrong. I’m going to eat you up.” One of Whitman’s hands slid down Travis’s arm to capture his hand. He brought it up to his lips and nipped at the tips of each of Travis’s fingers, one by one. If Travis’s pupils weren’t already blown wide, Whitman would have thought that simple act had short-circuited his brain.

“Oh-okay,” Travis stuttered, and Whitman imagined himself a little bit like a wolf as he took one final bite.