“Here.” Mallory handed me a Styrofoam cup filled with coffee and cream.

“Thanks.”

He took his seat next to me as we looked around at the other people who were beginning to take their seats so the meeting could begin.

Like clockwork, Mallory and I attended the same bereavement meeting. We didn’t go to all of them, but we went to at least one a week since the first time. We hadn’t talked about it much but both agreed it was something we should do. I liked going, even if I hadn’t spoken at all yet and Mallory had spoken to the group three times. Listening to the stories of others, somehow, with Mallory by my side, felt almost like it was helping me in some way.

One of the women who was always in attendance began talking about the loss of her husband. Like most people, each week seemed to be a little easier on her. There were times where she looked a lot worse, with bags under her eyes and unshed tears, but usually as the weeks slid by, most people seemed to heal.

I wondered, briefly, if I could be included in that demographic.

It had been almost a week since Mallory’s date with Sarah, and neither of us had spoken about it or the conversation in his workshop again. With any luck, Mallory was too drunk to remember it. The moment I’d set foot outside that night, leaving him alone in the workshop, I’d regretted saying anything at all.

Tension didn’t even begin to describe the atmosphere around us. It was something I didn’t know how to deal with or even consider, and obviously, Mallory didn’t either.

The meeting that day dragged by slowly. Neither Mallory nor I spoke out in the group. When the meeting was nearing the end, the weight on my shoulders felt almost heavier than at the start.

We didn’t say anything else to each other. Almost each time we stayed behind so Mallory could help stack the chairs and put them away. And like usual, since I couldn’t lift anything because of my arm, I lingered against the front wall and waited for Mallory to finish.

I was trying my best not to stare a hole into Mallory’s back when someone approached me.

“Hey,” a voice said. The voice belonged to Henry, a guy around my age who I’d noticed a time or two before. We didn’t see him at the meeting each time we were there but often enough to be memorable.

He smiled at me, and it was the first time I’d really looked at him. His hair was matte black and thick, which only made his pale blue eyes stand out more. Henry had the kind of looks that made him more beautiful than handsome. I couldn’t tell if he was actually a few inches taller than me or if it only seemed like it because I leaned against the wall.

“Hey,” I said in reply. “Henry, right?”

His smile grew. “Yeah. And you’re Archer?”

I nodded. “I like your shirt.”

He glanced down at his T-shirt and then back up at me, grinning. It had a picture of a rainbow with a pot of gold at the end. It seemed silly and young, kind of like him. “You live around here?”

“No. Well, I’m living in Banff right now.”

“Yeah? My family owns half a cabin there. One of those things where they bought it with their friends so we take turns going out there. You in college?”

I made a gesture toward my arm. “Taking some time off right now.”

He winced sympathetically. “Shit, sorry. What happened?”

I toyed with the idea of lying to him. But for some reason, I couldn’t find the energy. “Turns out I’m a little too gay for some small-town idiots.”

“Oh. Oh. Fuck, that sucks.”

I shrugged my good arm. “Yeah, well.”

“Uh.” He reached behind his head and scratched the back of his neck. The shirt he wore rose a little with the movement. Like the sunset, red began coloring his skin from his neck all the way up to his cheeks. “I guess that solves that mystery. Honestly, I noticed you the first time you came in here. I’ve been kind of wondering about you ever since. Shitty place to try to pick someone up, I know, but what have I got to lose?”

I blinked at him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mallory standing there, off to the side, watching us. I had no idea how long he’d been listening but the whole scenario felt odd.

“Can I get your number?” Henry asked.

I looked at him. He was hot. His eyes were almost electric and his smile was sweet. I imagined bending him over a couch, smoothing my palm against his ass, and pressing into him. But the vision morphed into something different entirely. Something—someone—I couldn’t think about.

“Yeah,” I said, fishing my cell phone out of my pocket.

“Awesome.”

We exchanged numbers, and he said he’d text me sometime or call me if he was ever in Banff. Before turning to leave, he reached out and gripped the top of my shoulder, promising to see me next week at the meeting.

I turned to Mallory but he wasn’t looking anywhere near me. In silence, we left the building and climbed into the cab of the truck.

It was a whole forty minutes before Mallory finally said anything to me.

“Henry seems nice.”

“Yeah,” I offered.

“It’ll be good for you to hang out with someone your own age for a change.” His eyes remained fixed on the road.

“Can you stop that?” I snapped. I think it surprised us both because he glanced at me for a short moment.

“Stop what?” Mallory wasn’t this stupid. He was acting the part. And if he wanted to play dumb, I could play mean.

“You damn well know what, Mallory. You’re constantly throwing our age difference at me like a weapon, and I’m tired of it.”

“Whoa, Archer. What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re always reminding me of the years between us. I feel like you’re using it as an excuse to… I don’t know! Keep more between us than our ages.”

I watched as his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “Well, as much as you don’t want to acknowledge it, we are years apart. Seventeen, to be accurate.”

“So?”

“So, I was just saying that it’s good for you to spend time around people your own age.”

“Why? You think by being around people my own age I’ll magically forget about the things that keep me up at night?”

“I don’t know, Archer.”

“Do you think I’m a kid?”

“Christ, no!” At least he sounded adamant about that. “Sometimes I forget we’re not the same age.”

“Good, because it doesn’t matter.”

“If our positions were reversed, you’d be singing a different tune.”

“You have a fixation on your age.”

“No, I have a fixation on yours!” Mallory yelled.

That stopped us both immediately. The temperature in the cab of the truck dropped to below freezing.

As we were pulling up to the road leading up to the house, the sound of a cell phone chimed through the small cab. We both glanced down at the space between us on the seat, unsure of whose phone it was.

My cell phone screen glowed. It was easy to make out Henry’s name on the display, along with the text message.

Mallory parked the truck in the driveway, climbed out, and slammed the door closed before making his way up to the house, leaving me behind.

---

I stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

As soon we’d set foot inside the house, I’d climbed upstairs, showered, thrown on some clothes, and crawled into bed. I was exhausted but my body and mind were wired.

Downstairs I could hear music.

Downstairs I could hear Mallory pacing.

If I went downstairs now, I’d make a fool of myself. I’d confess to things I had no business confessing to. I’d tear my heart out of my chest and leave it on the table in hopes of Mallory picking it up.

It was stupid. I should’ve stayed in bed and pretended to sleep.

But I couldn’t, not knowing a person like Mallory existed in the world.

So, I pushed the blankets off and went downstairs.

---

He stood in front of the fireplace, hands on the mantle, looking down at the flames twirling and spinning like prima ballerinas auditioning for the part of a lifetime. The living room was warm from the fire and soft from the gentle music playing on the old record player Mallory kept in the corner of the room. Outside, all the light, even the stars, had left us, leaving nothing but a black backdrop to the hot glow of the room around us.

Without a word, I walked to the couch and sat down. I knew Mallory heard me come down the stairs and into the living room, but still he didn’t turn toward me.

His profile was sharp and stern, like the jagged, harsh lines of a mountain from the distance. His lips were pulled downward, his expression as cold as snow. As the orange colors pressed against the outside of his cheeks, his nose, his chin, I wondered if I’d ever feel this way about anyone else in my life or if this was it for me.

Mallory sighed and closed his eyes.

“My wife loved this song,” he said quietly.

It was something I recognized but didn’t remember the name of. An old classic: sweet, but mostly sad, like the man’s voice that sang it. “My parents did too. I think they had this record. I remember listening to them play it.”

After a few moments, Mallory asked, “Do you want to talk about this?”

To which I honestly replied, “No.”

He chuckled softly. “No. Neither do I.”

I watched as he pushed away from the mantle. First, he went to sit on the couch across from me but obviously thought better of it. He picked up the pillows, straightened them, and set them back down. He went to the mantle and fiddled with the picture frames. He went to the bookshelves and began rearranging them.

Eventually, when some of the tension seemed to have left his shoulders, he stopped right in the center of the room, facing me.

He held out his hand and said, “Come here.”

People fall into each other in different ways. Some people fall together in laughter, surrounded by energy and joy. Some fall into each other in passion, unable to keep their skin from touching.

But Mallory and I fell into each other slowly, gently, tentatively, like almost everything we did. We were quiet and fluid.

I stood and took his hand. It was larger and rougher than my own. He pulled me toward him, taking my wrist and putting it on his shoulder. One thick arm went around my waist while the palm of his other hand rested on my shoulder.

And then as we stood there, almost touching, Mallory pulled me closer still.

“Dance with me,” he whispered into my ear. The warmth of his breath pressed against the side of my neck, causing me to shiver.

Mallory didn’t lead and neither did I. But we did dance together, swaying side to side, back and forth, with my head barely resting on his shoulder and his cheek pressed into my hair.

We danced until the needle on the record player began to skip and the melody of the song became ragged.

He turned away from me to pull the needle from the vinyl. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t come back and he’d turn and leave me standing there in the middle of the living room, heart split in two.

But he didn’t.

The music stopped and there was nothing but silence and the crackling of the fire.

So, when Mallory came back to me and wrapped both his arms around my waist, pulling me to him, the universe was swept away.

Our eyes locked and he inched toward me slowly but surely. His nose brushed against mine. His hair tickled my forehead. And then when I closed my eyes, he pressed his lips against mine.

That too was slow. Painfully slow. It was sweet and tentative like a first kiss between two people who had no clue what they were doing.

He moved his hand to my arm, then up to my shoulder, my neck, and then to my jaw. His thumb brushed against the bottom of my lip as he kissed it.

I groaned and he deepened the kiss, pressing a little harder, running his tongue against the seam of my mouth.

When Mallory pulled back and our eyes met once more, I wanted to say something stupid to him, something I meant entirely and could never—would never—take back.

“Archer,” he whispered softly.

This wasn’t something either of us could take back. This was strange and unfamiliar and made the world feel right again.

“What are we doing, Archer?” Mallory asked.

Falling in love, I thought.

But instead I said, “Kissing.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “It would take a stronger man than me not to kiss you at least once. I had to know.”

“And do you know now?”

Briefly, Mallory glanced away from me and then back, but this time he wore a shy smile. “Not sure. Might have to try again.”

So he did. Again, for long minutes that weren’t nearly long enough, Mallory kissed me.