It's almost impossible to focus on my work the next day.

Part of that is because I can't stop thinking about last night. I keep having to shift in my chair and adjust myself periodically like I'm seventeen again. I know I could just take care of it—it's not like my clients will know—but it becomes a point of pride. I'm a grown-ass man; I should be able to control a boner.

But the memory of Jake's keening moans is only part of what's keeping me from being productive. Half of it, I'd say. The other half is the fact that I keep refreshing the fundraiser page every few minutes.

It's a vicious, inescapable pattern. I work on a presentation for a client, wiling away what seems like hours but is really only a few minutes before I check my phone. Another hundred dollars. That's amazing progress. Five minutes later, after managing to pull my attention back to that presentation, I refresh the page again. Okay, just ten dollars more. Not bad, but not as fast as I was hoping.

This is a trap. I know it is. I tell my clients this all the time. It only causes stress to watch the page so closely over the first couple of days. Better to take a look at it every few hours and draw conclusions based off averaged numbers, not the agonizing spikes and dips the live fundraiser takes.

The worst part of it is Jake's right there with me. It's a test day for three of his six classes, so he's got lots of free time. I can tell almost to the second when his classes change, when he gets them set up with their tests, and when he collects them. It's all told through the timestamps on his texts.

Jake - 10:17: Holy shit

Jake - 10:17: Over $300 since I left this morning

Those came in right after his second period class left.

Jake - 10:24: Who makes a $12 donation?

Jake - 10:24: Why not 10 or 15?

Jake - 10:25: Wow, I sound ungrateful don't I

Those came in a burst after he handed out the tests. We chatted for a good half hour before he had to collect them.

Jake - 11:22: This is crazy

Jake - 11:22: We might hit our goal today

Lunch. And as the hours speed by this afternoon, it's looking more and more certain. The goal we set was conservative: $10,000, with stretch goals for $15,000 and $20,000. I'd be surprised if we didn't hit the $15,000 mark before the week is up, honestly. The ad space I purchased and newsletters I sent out have worked wonders to drum up interest, and the project's spent some time on the front page of the site where people just browsing for something to back can easily find it.

We really did pull out all the stops, too. I didn't tell Jake, but I paid for someone to handle the graphic design and coding to make sure everything looked appealing. Presentation is a huge thing in these crowdfunding sites. The pictures are sharp and colorful, the video Jake shot is HD quality, and the whole thing speaks of a plan that's well-formed.

It's going to succeed. No question about it. But I'm still a little surprised when the campaign cruises past the $10k mark around three in the afternoon, not even twenty-four hours after launch.

My phone dings, a notification from the app letting me know the goal’s been reached. Seconds later, I get an excited text from Jake:

Jake: HOLY SHIT

Jake: WE DID IT

Jake: WE JUST HIT 10K

A grin tugs at my lips and I give up all pretense of working.

David: Congratulations! You deserve it, Jake

Jake: I don't even know what to say

There's a few minutes' pause before he texts me again. I guess he literally didn't know what to say.

Jake: Lol

Jake: Bio teacher next door came over to see what I was screaming about

David: What'd you say?

Jake: The truth

Jake: Everybody who's walked into the breakroom over the past month or so has heard me talking about this anyway

Jake: Shit

Jake: I can't believe it

Jake: Hey, do you have plans tonight?

My heart thumps when I read those words. I'd forgotten what it felt like to date somebody; the thrill of just being together. I never dated much growing up, so I feel like I'm really getting a chance to enjoy it with Jake.

David: What'd you have in mind?

Jake: They’ve already got Christmas lights downtown

Jake: This town gets a little nutty about the holidays

Jake: We could walk around, maybe get a bite to eat

Jake: Go back to my place for a little

Heat rushes through my body, lighting up every nerve-ending like the inside of an old pinball machine. There's nothing about that idea I don't like.

David: Let me talk to Riley

David: She should be home soon

As if on cue, I hear the key turn in the lock. Riley walks in and drops her backpack onto the couch, immediately heading into the kitchen to raid the fridge.

Since my "office" right now basically consists of the kitchen table, it's the perfect place to meet with her.

"Hey, kid. How was school?"

She shrugs, pulling out a couple slices of leftover pizza. "It was school."

All this progress we've made, and I still haven't managed to crack this particular teen code. Maybe that's just not a task achievable by mortal man.

“Hey, did the ranch get funded? Mr. Morrison told me you launched it last night."

"Just a few minutes ago, yeah," I say with a smile. Noticing my darling daughter is just planning on holding one slice in her left hand while she chows down on the slice in her right, I add, "I'm not sure if you've heard of this miraculous invention called the plate? It holds your food so you don't have to, and keeps your sausages from falling on the floor."

Her lips twitch, but she does grab a plate, plopping her cold pieces of pizza on it. "That's awesome, though. Julie'll be stoked."

"We were planning on celebrating. Night on the town, that sort of thing. If it's cool with you."

"Yeah, sure. I've got a paper due tomorrow anyway."

That's fortunate. But worrisome.

"And you've written how much of it already…?"

"Um…"

That's what I thought. I just laugh, and turn my attention back to my laptop. With the project funded, maybe I can finally get some work done.

"I'll leave money for takeout. If you get Chinese, please for the love of all that is holy, make sure you use the garbage disposal to toss anything you don't save."

I don't ever want to repeat the Great Broccoli Standoff of Two Weeks Ago.

"Leave no broccoli alive. Got it," she says through a mouthful of pizza. "I'm gonna tell Julie about the ranch."

"And then work on your paper?" I ask, batting my eyelashes.

"And then work on my paper." She heads for the stairs, stopping on the landing to add, "Don't put out unless he buys you dinner."

A blush rises in my cheeks and I mutter something like, "Thanks for the tip." I love my daughter more than anything in this world, but sometimes she's way too much like me for my liking.

* * *

Jake comes to pick me up around seven. I check in with Riley before I leave. She's typing something on her laptop, one of her Spotify playlists blaring through her headphones. Jury's still out on whether she's actually working on her paper or not, but for once I'm not feeling the need to helicopter parent. I trust her to get it done.

And I trust her skills at begging for an extension if she doesn't. That's all a father can ask, really.

I head out to Jake's truck and greet him with a kiss, feeling for all the world like I'm back in high school. His shy smile tells me he's thinking the same thing, and I reach for his hand, covering it with my own.

"I had to check the donations," he says as we pull onto the main highway. "I told Trav not to give anything, but I wasn't sure he'd listen."

"He still has a ton of money from the NFL, doesn't he?"

I have no idea what running backs make. It has to be something crazy, though, and since Travis doesn't drive a Ferrari around town, I don't think he has any insane spending habits.

"Yeah, but they're supposed to be using it for other stuff. Weddings aren’t cheap, and Shane’s going to start racing soon."

It makes sense. But this isn't the first time Jake's turned down help. Having heard about his relationship with his brother, I can't help but wonder if there's something else going on.

But that's not my business, and I'm not going to ruin a celebration by bringing it up. Instead I ask, "Did he donate?"

"If he did, it was anonymous. I'll bug him about it tomorrow."

We listen to the radio for the rest of the short drive into town. Glen Springs is pretty compact, so most of the shops and restaurants are on old Main Street, and the rest are on new Main Street. Jake turns onto old, and immediately I can see strings of lights climbing up poles, draped along the facades of buildings, and arranged over windows.

It's all pretty standard, until I get a look at the town square up ahead.

"You weren't kidding," I murmur into the brightness.

Even from here, I can see what must be thousands of lights. White, colored, blinking, in all shapes and sizes. They're all over the square, but the centerpiece is a giant tree that actually has holiday scenes lit up within its branches.

Jake parks, and I'm in awe as we walk over there. It's even more stunning up close, where I can see more clearly that the images on the tree are of Santa and his sleigh. Reindeer shimmer on a projection against the town hall building, and there's a huge nativity scene right outside the courthouse.

"Beautiful, huh?" Jake asks, reaching for my hand.

I wrap my fingers around his, still taking in the sights. "Yeah. I'll have to take Riley to see this. She'll love it."

We move through the town square turned park turned holiday display and I'm just struck by how much work probably went into these displays. It's barely dipped into November, and already they're out here for people to enjoy.

"Mr. Morrison."

A deep voice draws me out of my thoughts and I turn to see a stocky, bearded man I don't recognize. Jake apparently does, though, because he smiles and greets the man in turn.

"Mr. and Mrs. Peterson. It's good to see you!"

Julie's parents. Conservatively dressed, with scowls pulled into fake smiles. They're exactly like Jake described them.

Despite the smile, I can feel the tension in Jake's body. When Mr. Peterson's eyes cut down to our joined hands, my fingers tighten reflexively around Jake's. The man's look of barely disguised judgment doesn't go unnoticed, but I stand my ground. I'm not going to apologize for holding another man's hand in public. It's ridiculous.

"This is David," Jake says.

Okay, he didn't introduce me as his boyfriend. No big deal. I don't really like the term 'boyfriend' anyway. It doesn't seem all that appropriate for a man who's nearing forty.

But the Judgersons are judging away regardless, and so I try to break the ice a little.

"Your daughter's been a huge help tutoring mine," I say, then realize Jake didn’t give my last name. "I'm Riley's dad. Riley Frazier?”

Something unsettling flickers behind Mrs. Peterson's eyes, but she just smiles. "We're always glad when our daughter can be a good influence for other youths."

Well, that makes it sound like my kid's hanging out by the tracks shooting heroin between her toes. Not sure how I feel about that.

"We won't keep you," Jake says in obvious effort to move them along. "It was nice to see you again James, Eleanor."

"And you, Jacob." Mrs. Peterson looks to me, that fake smile her most prominent feature. "It was nice meeting you, David."

"Likewise," I lie, my hand still clinging to Jake's.

When they finally leave, I let out a breath. "You said Julie's parents were strict. You didn't mention they were carved out of solid ice."

Jake laughs. Nervously. Then he withdraws his hand from mine and rubs at the back of his neck with it, looking after the Petersons. He's obviously flustered, and I try to search for something reassuring.

"Hey. It doesn't matter what they think, right?"

"Yeah," Jake says, distracted. He looks back to me finally and tries for a smile. It doesn't quite get there. "No, yeah. I just…"

Now my own nerves are tangling together like yards of discarded Christmas lights.

"I wish you hadn't just… announced that you were Riley's dad."

"Oh," I say, my shock clear in that one syllable.

"They complain enough as it is. Lessons they don't like, school traditions they don't want Julie following. Seeing the two of us together…"

I bristle a little at that, the cheery music playing all around us the worst possible soundtrack for this moment.

"We're not breaking any laws," I tell him, my jaw setting.

"Technically, no, but the administration doesn't exactly like it when teachers get involved with their kids' parents. Even if they don't complain, I don't want them to make things worse for Julie. They haven't been shy about their thoughts on homosexuality, and having mine confirmed… it's not going to go over well."

Some of that righteous indignation fades, and I deflate like a week-old balloon. I'm blowing things out of proportion. Jake's being the reasonable one here. No reason to make waves if we don't have to.

But since when did holding hands in public cause this big of a ripple?

Jake reaches for my hand, and the warmth of contact puts me a little more at ease. So does the genuine smile he gives me when he sees me relax.

"Come on. I don't want them ruining our night. We're supposed to be celebrating."

Right. I'd almost forgotten in the midst of that very uncomfortable encounter.

"Riley did say I have to make you buy me dinner before I put out," I joke.

That gets a laugh from Jake, and the mood is sufficiently lightened. We enjoy ourselves all through the rest of our impromptu tour, then at dinner, and even back at his place later.

But throughout it all, I have to push down the nagging feeling that things are about to change.