“Right on time. I like a punctual man,” he said, then kissed me on the cheek.

I held up the bag of wine. “I brought some fruity wine.”

“Thank you! I love this winery. They run tours every weekend, but I’ve never gotten around to taking one. Come in, I just have to toss the salad and we’ll be ready.”

He held the door open for me. I stepped into a cute bungalow, cooled by the canopy of trees shading the house. The living room was small but nicely decorated, very masculine, with bold blues and browns. The walls were a soft tan, the carpeting nearly the same rich brown as Town’s eyes. An electric guitar and an acoustic, both on stands, sat in the corner.

“Nice place,” I said, following my host through the living room to a large kitchen where a pot bubbled on a shiny white stove. The appliances were all new, the walls old red brick like the exterior, and some wonderful meaty smoke rolled through a yellow screen door.

“Can you do me a huge favor? Pull the steaks off the grill while I toss the salad and take the green beans off the stove?” He handed me a platter and some tongs.

“My pleasure.” I hustled outside and over to the grill. Lifting the lid, I saw two fat steaks sizzling away. I took the two T-bones from the fire, turned the flames off, and walked to the round picnic table which was set for a romantic dinner for two. Red cloth table covering, flowers in a Mason jar, place settings and flatware, and an empty ice bucket. “Want me to just put them down on the table? Which looks great.”

“Thanks, and yeah,” he shouted back, coming out a minute later with a big bowl of leafy greens in one hand and a bowl of steaming beans in the other. “I know this is all kind of basic, but I had no idea what you liked.”

“Can’t go wrong with steak,” I said and smiled as he slid the bowls onto the table. He dropped the potholder beside his plate then waved at the redwood bench. “This is really nice. The table, the lawn, I’m kind of out in the open a bit.”

“Ah, but you have a lakeside view,” he said, sitting across from me and shaking out his white cloth napkin. “Sometimes I’d like a little sun. Place gets a crypt feel to it during rainy spells. And the bricks always need power-washing to remove the moss. Dig in.”

I smiled weakly, battling down the urge to lower my head and pray. As I said, my faith and me were not exactly on speaking terms.

“So, Lancaster Hart, I hope you’re not upset but I got you a gift.” He passed me the salad.

“Oh, well, I don’t have anything but the wine…”

“Shit, the wine. Which do you want with the meal, the peach or the cranberry?”

“Maybe something tarty?”

“Cranberry it is.” He popped up and jogged inside. His shorts and button-down shirt weren’t wrinkled. I felt like a slob. If my mama could have seen me looking so disreputable at someone’s dinner table she would have boxed my ears.

“Here we are!” He grinned at me as he wiggled through the screen door with wine, ice trays, and a little gift bag dangling from his pinkie finger. A soft wind rustled the leaves on the trees and played with a wind chime that hung from the corner of the bungalow. “I’m a terrible host. The last time I had my parents and sisters up I forgot dessert. They had to eat ice cream sandwiches.”

I chuckled at him. He was so friendly and full of life. Outgoing as well, but one would have to be to work in the world of politics.

“Tell me about being a mayoral aide,” I said, after he’d dumped cubes into the ice bucket, the icy squares making a racket as they tumbled into the container. “I’ve never met the mayor, well, no, that’s a lie,” I quickly corrected, then dug into my pocket for my jackknife when he glanced at me beseechingly, the bottle resting in his hand. “Here you are. I did meet him once, after a game. Tall man, big ears, infectious smile.”

“Look at you saving dinner,” he laughed, taking the jackknife, and pulling the corkscrew out. “And yes, that’s Ben. He’s newly elected, and so we’re hoping to make some big changes in this tiny conservative town.”

He tugged the cork free then poured us both a half a glass of candy-apple red wine. I took a small sip and the tart taste puckered my lips instantly.

“Good,” I coughed, anxious to try another sip after getting some beef into my mouth. “So what is it that you do for Ben, exactly?” Town sat and held out the tiny bag. I wrinkled my nose. “I feel terrible that I didn’t think to bring you a small token of my thanks for—”

“You brought wine, that’s enough. And trust me it’s not a big fancy gift. It was in my den, to be honest, and after you won…well…it seemed fitting.” He shook the tiny bag and I reluctantly took it and peeked inside. A smile lifted the corners of my mouth. I extracted a tiny broom, perhaps all of four inches long. “Because your team swept the Broncos. I might have listened on the radio as I tidied and cooked.”

“This is so thoughtful. Thank you.” I knew just where to put the tiny straw broom. Right on the empty mantle in my living room. “What did you think of the game?”

“Well, I didn’t understand much,” he admitted, while handing me the steak platter. “But the announcer was into it, and that made it fun to listen to.”

“We’ll have to get you to a game,” I said, forking the smaller steak, then frowning when Town shook his head to indicate I take the larger one. When I dropped the larger one to my plate he smiled that smile that made me woozy. “Lord, but your smile is pretty.”

The playful grin slipped a little. His gaze grew heated. “Yeah, yours too.” We sat there, meat platter between us, staring at each other until a fly buzzed past. A little embarrassed titter broke free from both of us. “Right, yeah, you asked what a mayoral aide does. Well,” he paused to pour some ranch dressing on his salad. “I’m basically an administrative assistant on steroids.” I chuckled and started cutting into my steak. Red juice flowed from the meat and my stomach rumbled in approval. “I collect information for Ben to use in discussions, committee meetings, and town halls with his constituents. There’s also lots of time spent typing, taking calls, setting up events and public appearances. Sometimes, I assist the aldermen or run to get Ben’s dry-cleaning if he forgets a speaking engagement. I make travel arrangements and handle daily correspondence and complaints from citizens. Those calls from citizens are always fun. Not.”

“So you sit on the right side of the king,” I tossed out, then forked a fat chunk of beef and popped it into my mouth. “Oh sweetness,” I sighed when the taste of heavily-peppered rare beef hit my tongue. “Mm, this here…is perfection,” I mumbled around the food in my mouth. My poor mother must’ve been aghast up there in heaven.

“I like seasonings,” he admitted as he chased a cherry tomato around in his salad bowl. Children’s laughter could be heard out on the street. “As for Ben being a king, he’d be the first to deny that claim. He’s the first democratic mayor in this town for over forty-five years.”

“You’re proud of that,” I said, after swallowing.

Town nodded, his chin still raised. “I am. We campaigned our asses off to get Ben into office. He won by a very narrow margin, young voters who had never voted before came out for him, progressives mostly. This town needed some new ideas, fresh thinking. Coming from a big city like Augusta, I bet you’re suffering culture shock living here and seeing how backward small towns can be at times.”

I pushed a bite of steak around, soaking up the rich juices as I contemplated how to reply. “While I did come here from Augusta, I was raised in a small town called Billows Ridge, population maybe a thousand, depending on if the Colton triplets were calling Billows Ridge home or if they were holing up in the next county with their uncle Burly, who sells meat out of the back of his truck. He claims it’s beef, but it’s pretty gamey for beef.” Town snickered a bit. “My father was an evangelical preacher, deeply devout, and I grew up on scripture, hellfire, and brimstone. My mother passed when I was eight from an aneurism. Since the day I told my father that I was gay, I have seen some righteous fury. He banned me from his life, his home, and the church that I’d grown up in. That was only two years ago.”

Town blinked at me, his tomato dangling from his fork. “Lancaster, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to sound as if—”

I lifted a hand and smiled at him with as much feeling as I could muster. “Town, please, don’t apologize. I’m in this odd place with religion at the moment. It was hard being cast out, yet it was freeing. My father and his congregation hate men like us, and there are days when I feel like weeping because I can finally be me, and then the next day I feel like weeping because I miss that support system the church provides.”

He reached over to take my hand in his, his eyes dewy with unshed tears. “I’m sorry for bringing up such a distressing topic.”

“No need to fret, truly. As I said, I’m walking a long path trying to find my own thoughts and feelings about the church now that I’m outside looking in.” He bit down on the inside of his mouth. I pushed up, leaned over the table, and put my lips to his. Ah yes, there was that feeling again. The blinding brilliance of finally coming home. Perhaps I didn’t need to look any farther for the glory than Town’s soft lips…

“You do kiss well,” he sighed a moment later. I sat down, inclined my head, and fought off a creeping blush.

“At least I do one part of this gay stuff well,” I mumbled, glancing up to give him a tender smile.

The meal moved on at a leisurely pace, neither of us broaching any talk of politics or religion. Dessert was fruit salad that we took, with our wine glasses, to a wrought-iron swing that hung from an A-frame sitting back by the tree line. The table was cleared, and the dishes washed and dried. Seemed Town was a tidy man. I liked that. I ran to being neat myself.

The sounds of the neighborhood slowly began to quieten as dusk painted the sky heather and watermelon, the clouds wispy and pleasing to the eye.

“This is good,” I said as I plucked a fat grape out of my bowl with my fingers. “Finding good fruit up here is rough. I spend a ridiculous amount of time squeezing and sniffing peaches when I shop.”

“Give it time. Summer’s just starting here.” He offered me a chunk of pineapple. I bit down softly on the tines of the fork and pulled with my teeth. Sweet pineapple juice coated my tongue. I chewed and swallowed, thinking to comment about how our famed Georgia peaches would have already been ripening for weeks if we were back in Billows Ridge, when he fed me another chunk of pineapple, this time using his long fingers to pluck the square out of the bowl.

“My hands are clean. We just did the dishes.”

“I recall,” I murmured, letting the fruit sit between my lips, hoping that he’d lean in and take it from me. He did, his thick lashes lowering as his mouth covered mine. He tongued the pineapple from me, giving my lips a lap before pulling back a little to chew and swallow. I leaned back in the swing, smiling, and plucked a cube of watermelon out of my bowl. That I put between my teeth as well then waggled an eyebrow. Town chortled, the laugh a gruff, raspy thing that made my balls tingle.

“I like this game,” he purred, then swept in to take the pink square. He pressed it to my lips with his tongue, smashing the small chunk. Juice coated my lips and chin that he then licked off, his tongue going down over my Adam’s apple to the small hollow of my neck.

“I like it too,” I whispered to the encroaching night as he began nipping at my throat. I pushed back, the chains holding the swing creaking, while he nibbled and sucked. Sticky fingers slid up over his shoulders to his closely cropped hair, my grip on his skull intensifying when his lips found mine again.

The next hour passed with us sharing fruit, kisses, and more about ourselves. He filled me in on his childhood in Pittsburgh, the eldest of three kids in an extremely liberal, agnostic, civic-minded household. When he spoke of his father and mother’s service to the community, and then of his grandfather who had participated in the Selma to Montgomery march of ’65, I could hear his pride. He came from a long line of people fighting for change. How I wished I’d spent my life battling the powers that be instead of kowtowing to society’s hateful dictates. I’d wasted so much time pretending. The cranberry wine tasted even more sour now that it was mixing with the bitter taste of self-recrimination.

“Did I say something to offend?” Town asked, lifting the nearly empty wine bottle and giving it a swirl before dumping the rest into our glasses.

“Nope, not at all. Remind me to never eat cantaloupe then wash it down with wine,” I covered, hoping to get myself out of that funk I fell into whenever I looked back on my cowardice. I made a face to emphasize how sour the combination was. Town chuckled softly and nestled into the puffy swing cushion, his side next to mine. We rocked, our toes dug into the soft green grass, our legs pushing back gently in perfect unison. “This is the most wonderful night that I’ve had in many a year.”

“It’s pretty special, I agree.” I got bold and draped my arm around his shoulder. I’d not cuddled on a swing with a person for ages. The last time had been with Betty several years ago at her mother’s house. “My fingers are so sticky,” he murmured.

Mine were too. “Who has the energy to get up and walk to the house to wash up?”

“Not me. I’d be content to sit here and rock with you for the rest of my life.” He stiffened under my arm, his shoulders tightening. “I didn’t mean…don’t take that the wrong way.”

“Wrong way?”

He sat up and regarded me, the moon painting the yard and his dark skin milky white. “Like I was pushing for something more.”

“Ah, well that’s sorely disappointing, because I was hoping for lots more. More dinners, more talking, more swinging, and lots more necking.” I reached up to touch his cheek. The rasp of his whiskers made me tremble with want. How long had I dreamed of feeling a man’s new beard under my fingertips? Too damn long.

“That’s nice to know. Most men are so distant and commitment shy. Not that I’m asking for any kind of commitment! Shit, I shouldn’t drink so much wine.”

I kissed him, and it was sweet and hot and binding. Yes, binding, at least for me. “I’m not sure how most gay men do this whole dating thing. Maybe it’s all catting around for them, getting that itch scratched, but for me, it’s never been about sex first. For me, it’s about feeling that connection to another person then the sex. Could be I’m just an old-fashioned fool.”

“Could be that you’re demi,” he sighed, his lips tempting me to taste them again. I had no clue what he was talking about, beyond a vague memory of hearing the term demi mentioned when my daughter had been talking about some show she’d watched where some character was rumored to be demisexual. I led his lips to mine, sticky fingers on his rough cheek, and we licked into each other’s mouths, the creak of the swing and the song of the crickets providing background music.

Cock harder than a locust post, I pulled from his mouth, winded and wanting, and looked at the moon. “I think I should go home before I besmirch your reputation.”

Town laughed long and hard. I liked the sound. A lot. “God yes, I’m such a paragon of virtue.”

“You have a good reputation in this town. I don’t want people to talk poorly about you.” I stood, back cracking, knees popping, and bit back an old man groan.

“It’s nice that you care, but I think I’m entitled to a dinner date on occasion.”

I took his hand in mine, and yes, his fingers were terribly tacky, and led him to the front walk. There by the front door and the soft yellow bulb, I lifted his hand to my lips and tasted his knuckles.

“Can I call you soon to make another date?” I asked as our eyes locked.

“Please yes, I mean if you want.” He was so wary. I wondered why that was so. Surely any man with eyes and a brain would be thrilled to have Townsend express an interest in dating more. “Sorry, I’m just…phew, okay, yes, please. Call me.”

“I will. Probably as soon as I wake up.” I dropped his hand.

“You want me to drive you home?”

“Nope, I’m good. I enjoy walking, it keeps me fit, clears my mind, and works out the passion in my blood.”

“I’m looking at a cold shower,” he admitted.

I had to snicker at us.

“I had a wonderful time. Lock up tight now.” I began making my exit, walking backwards, praying I’d not trip over a garden gnome and make a damn fool of myself. He lifted a hand, I did the same, and then I ambled off, casting looks back now and again, until he went inside and the yellow light turned off. I whistled all the way home.

I was having a bizarre dream when my phone woke me. It starred me and Townsend. We were standing at the open door of an airplane, parachutes strapped to our backs, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and flip flops with pink rubber flowers attached to the toe strap.

“If you want me you’ll have to jump,” Town had shouted to be heard over the roar of the propellers. He leaped out of the plane. I clung to the doorway, terrified of making the jump even when I saw his chute open down below. I smiled at the rainbow parachute snapping open, yet my flip flops were firmly glued to the floor of the plane.

“Can’t we just be kissing buddies for a spell?” I shouted at the clouds.

Rolling to find my phone on the end table, I felt oddly relieved to not have seen how that dream ended. Knowing my future behavior as well as I did, probably I flew on home, ditched the chute, and lived the life of a hermit.

“This important?” I asked, the question more a growl than a pleasant greeting.

“Sorry to call so early, Lan, but I thought you’d want to know that Hartford clinched last night, so we’re heading to Connecticut tomorrow for game one on the following day,” Louis Mall, our interim defensive coach yelled into my ear. Louis tended to yell a lot. He was deaf in one ear and couldn’t hear out of the other, to quote my ex-mother-in-law.

“Right, got it. I’ll be there by nine.” I squinted at the clock on the stand. It was five-thirty. Sweet Mary Magdalene. “What the hell are you doing up so early, Lou?”

“My gout is flaring up, miserable shit.”

“Sorry to hear that.” I rolled to my back as he filled me in on his foot and his gout and how it sucked to not have beer in his life anymore.

“You might better have asked me to give up my old lady. Would have been less painful.”

I snorted at him. We all knew he adored his wife. “Make sure you take the pills and stay off it. See you at work where you best be sitting with that foot up.”

“Yes, dear,” he replied and ended the call. I laid there for several minutes, listening to the sound of nature waking up. A robin calling out, the slow drone of a sleepy bee buzzing at the window screen, the rustle of that first breeze over the lake tickling the sheers on the window. With my eyes closed, my mind led me on a short walk that ended with memories of Townsend and our dinner. Was it too early to call him? Hauling ass up to Hartford sucked. I’d been hoping to spend another night—or five—getting to know Town, but now we’d be gone for at least five or six days. I loved hockey, but sometimes I sorely hated it. This crazy intense attraction to a person was new and slightly terrifying.

Was it always like this for two men? I had little knowledge of man-on-man romance. Sure, I knew the tab A went into slot B aspect, but the wooing part? Not a clue. Did a person woo a man differently than a woman? I’d only wooed one woman. Wooed and then wed. I lifted my phone from my chest, stared at the blurry screen, slapped the nightstand until I found my reading glasses, and did a fast internet search on what demi meant. I’d not heard about them adding a D to LGBTQIA, but I was sorely out of the gay community’s loop. Maybe they had. Could a man be gay and demi? Was that a thing? Gemi? Day? Lord above it all made my head spin. I’d just gotten myself out as gay, now I was maybe more than that? A combination perhaps? Talk about being lost…

I laid there reading about what being demisexual meant. Some of what the article said didn’t fit what I was going through at all. The website said that demi people felt no sexual attraction to other people until an emotional connection was formed. I wanted to be with Town big time. The article said that demi people only felt fleeting sexual attraction to strangers. Wrong again. I’d wanted Town the first time I’d seen him, and that want had not disappeared. So just when I thought I had it figured out, I read on to find that when some demi people “crush” on other people, it’s not only confusing, but mammoth because those feelings didn’t happen often. Which fit, because I could not recall ever “crushing” on a movie star as some people do. Then the piece said that demi people are sometimes called “prudes” or a “goody-goody” because they don’t have the normal amount of sex, whatever the normal amount of sex was.

Huh. Well, I was crushing on Town pretty hard, I could admit that. And I had been called a few of those names in high school and college. I’d assumed that the reason for my distance with girls was due to my religious upbringing and the fact that I was a repressed homosexual. Obviously, a gay man wouldn’t want to be with a different woman every night. Hell, he wouldn’t want to be with a woman at all. I’d dated one girl, Jeannie Newcomb, through high school. She was a member of my father’s church, so we never dared to go beyond holding hands. When I entered college, I met Bettina. It had been a slower sort of affection that I’d felt with Betty. She was lovely, and fun and tender, strong as nails but sweet. She accepted how slowly it had taken me to come around to her, to love her as a woman. We’d dated for close to two years before I’d expressed any kind of willingness for a deeper commitment and a sexual relationship that never really shot off any fireworks.

I moved from the article to a sports page, my mind even more twisted in confusion than it had been before I’d started. Maybe I could ask someone with more knowledge of such things. Like Dan. He was younger and seemed to be well versed about the gay community. Yes, I’d run it past Dan and see what he had to say. My phone rang again.

“Hello,” I answered, wondering who would be ringing me at this hour.

“Hey,” Town replied, and my heart did a somersault. “Did I wake you up? You sound groggy.”

“Nope, I was laying here thinking about you.” The pillow under my head suddenly felt softer, the sheets smoother, the sun peeking around the blind a little sunnier. Oh Lordy, I had it bad. And after only one date. This was a super crush.

“That’s nice to hear. I run every morning before work so I’m up early and…well, I know this sounds needy and pitiful as hell, but I wanted to hear that young Sam Elliott voice of yours before I left to run. Are you freaked out? Tell me the truth.”

“I am not freaked out. I’m tickled fourteen shades of pink to hear that you feel as stupid giddy about me as I feel about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah. I was lying here wondering if it was too early to ring you.”

I was also trying to figure out my sexuality but gave up because “Just liking guys who play guitar and kiss good” wasn’t listed in the demisexual post. I am officially outdated and letterless.

“Phew. Well, I feel better then,” he laughed nervously. “I’m really not sure how to handle this thing between us. You’re…huh. Well, it’s…I feel like you and I are…”

“I feel the same,” I confessed, his heartfelt and awkward attempts to put into words what we both seemed to be feeling grabbed my heart. “Funny how you can meet someone and know right off it’s either really bad or really good.”

“Tell me. The last man I dated was really bad. Like, incredibly really bad! Cold and unable to even talk about any emotions, let alone his.” Town sighed. “Who wants to talk about bad exes first thing in the morning? Not me. So, tell me what’s on your agenda while I force down some of this rotten tasting energy drink slop.”

“Well, looks like we’re on the way to Hartford bright and early tomorrow. Any chance we can grab a bite somewhere tonight before I go?” My dick stirred under the soft, cool sheets. It took all I had not to grab it and start stroking it into a full erection while talking to my very own blues god.

“Damn, I wish we could. Ben and I are going to Utica for a New York Conference of Mayors budgeting workshop for two days. This is our first, and while it’s exciting, I’m sure it’s going to be excruciatingly tedious as we…”

I kind of drifted for a second, smiling at his eagerness, because it was just how I felt. There was a fervent burning to see and touch him again. Spend more time with him, laugh and eat with him. Maybe go for a swim in the lake, kiss a little, dry off, kiss some more, eat, kiss again. Listen to him sing and play guitar while I sat on the sofa knitting. I really wanted to learn how to knit. Then I could make people ugly sweaters for Christmas. My ex-mother-in-law would get the first one, and I’d laugh myself sick when she held it up and one sleeve was longer than the other and the head hole wasn’t big enough for a grapefruit.

“…giving lengthy speeches about their tax bases.”

“Taxes, yeah, damn boring stuff,” I hurried to say, to hide my wandering mind.

“Boring but necessary. When will you be home from Connecticut? Maybe we can do something this weekend? Oh! How about a winery tour? We both seem to love Randy Rooster’s line of fruit wine. They’re over in Hector, so only about two and half hours from here. We could make a day of it if you want. Or am I being pushy?”

“I would sincerely love that. Let me check the schedule, if the league even has it finalized yet, and get back to you to make sure of the date. Town, I just wanted you to know that I’m fully aroused right now just hearing you speak to me.”

He barked out a laugh. “That’s good to hear.”

“Hell fire,” I mumbled when what I’d said dawned on me. “No, I mean, well see, I’d been reading this article about demisexual folk. And that got me to thinking about when I was with my wife, and how lackluster our sex life was.” I ran my hand over my cock and shuddered wantonly. “But this erection proves that our love life isn’t lackluster.”

“Lancaster, honey, we don’t have a love life yet,” he reminded me with light humor.

“Yes, well I know we don’t but see, when I was with her it took me longer to become aroused. But with you, soon as I hear your voice my body gets all kinds of interested.” Did that sound as stupid to him as it did to me now? “I’m not sure I should have told you that. My mouth runs like a goose when I’m talking with you.”

“Nope, you definitely should have. I’m standing here in my running shorts with a raging hard-on wondering how the hell I’m supposed to run past old lady McKinney’s place with this big old boner.”

We both laughed at ourselves. “I wish I could see you tonight, but a wine tour sounds marvelous,” I said, kicking off the covers to admire my hard dick. I’d have to do something about that in the shower. A soft beeping came over the phone.

“Shit, that’s my alarm. I better get moving if I want to get a run in. So, I’ll be in touch soon.”

“Yes, please do. Make sure you go the other way around. Don’t want to shock your dear old neighbor out of her wits.”

That amused him to no end. “She’d probably swat me with her shopping bag. Okay, I’m off. This was nice, talking to you so early. Safe journeys. Talk to you soon.”

“Same. And yes, we’ll talk real soon.”

I hung up, tossed the phone to the bed, and hurried into the shower. With a soapy hand and a very active imagination, I yanked off in record time. Thrusting into my hand so hard I nearly threw out my back as I pictured Town plowing me like a new alfalfa field. As I toweled off, I snickered at my epiphany earlier. I liked to think I was an intelligent man, hell I graduated college with a 3.8 GPA, so I wasn’t a complete mule’s ass. Only when it came to my dick and Townsend Harris did I slip into a stupid-as-stupid-can-be mindset.

We had a light skate that morning, more of a rally round the coach and be bolstered, then go skate and shoot pucks kind of skate. Which was fine. The team was tired, exhilarated, but tired. We all were. Hockey seasons are monstrously long. Everyone was exhausted, bruised, and many had gimps. Ice and acetaminophen were our best friends come June. I was in my office, going over the first of many game tapes we’d start feeding the team, when I heard Kalinski. My sight flew from our defensive pairs to Vic and Dan walking by, leaving for the day.

“Dan, could I talk to you for a minute?” I called. He jogged backward, smiling, and waved his husband on.

Victor peeked around the doorframe after Dan was in. “You’re not thinking of jacking my man up with that sweet tea shit of yours, then getting your cool funk on, are you? If so, I want to join, or at least watch.”

“Sorry, no jacking or getting any cool funk on will be happening. Just a few questions about the tax base on properties and if I should—”

“Yeah, boring. I’ll be outside signing boobs.” Off Vic went.

“So, taxes?” Dan asked, hands on the back of my lone chair, arms softly locked.

“Yeah, not really, I just didn’t want his uniquely flavored commentary.” I pushed my reading glasses on top of my head. “Close the door.”

Dan eyed me curiously but reached back to push the door shut.

“I have a delicate question,” I started, rubbing my right thigh as Dan stared at me with big, inquisitive blue eyes. “Right. Well, I seem to have this funny condition. I am very sure that I am gay, but Town said I sounded demi, which confused the shit out of me since I’d only heard the term in passing. I looked it up and I do have some signs of being demisexual, but then again I don’t, which leads me to wonder if I’m in some sort of other new and fabulous category that hasn’t been officially added to the letters yet.”

“Letters?”

“The LGBT letters.”

“Ah, okay.” He smiled at me as if he were talking to a twelve-year-old. I rather felt like one. I rubbed my thigh a little harder. “Well, here’s the thing. First off, don’t take anything written on the internet to heart. People get paid to write crap articles for clickbait sites and they don’t know shit. Secondly, labels aren’t that important. There are like a thousand different shades of sexuality. There’s no rule that you have to be only one thing. You can be a mix of things, or you can be one thing or you can be no things.”

“Sure, I knew that. I was just curious. So, a person can be semi-demi?”

He laughed at that. “Coach, you can be whatever your heart says you are.”

Okay, well that made sense. “You’re very pleasant to talk to. Tell me again how the hell you ever ended up with a rustled-up rattler like Victor.”

“We balance each other.”

I could see that, sort of, in a way. Not really, but we all loved who we loved. That was the grand thing about equality. “Well, thanks for the clarification. I’ll avoid the internet for any other questions and just come to you.”

“Excellent idea.” He exited a moment later, leaving the door open and my mind a great deal lighter. I’d no sooner said goodbye to Dan when an incoming Skype call pinged at me. I opened the app up on my laptop and quickly accepted the video call from my daughter. I was doubly pleased to see Chaz sitting beside Charity. They appeared rather cross, though.

“Daddy,” Charity opened with. “Charles and I are really mad at you.”

I glanced from one round face to the other. Packed boxes were stacked up behind the twins. Ah yes, they were leaving their dorms today and heading back home for the summer. “What did I do this time?”

“You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell us about him?” Charity scolded. Chaz scowled.

“Okay, first off, he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve had one date.” I held up a single digit. “Your mother wasn’t supposed to run around telling everyone.”

Betty and her fiancé, James, popped up from behind the stack of boxes. My ex looked guilty as sin. “Lancaster, she told me too, as soon as she hung up,” James confessed. Betty swatted his beefy biceps. “Well you did,” the towering black man yelped. I liked James Haynes. He was an ex-Georgia bulldog d-man who’d gone on to start his own highly successful sports advertising agency in Augusta. Betty had worked for Haynes Sports Enterprises for over ten years, and she and James had started dating after our divorce. She’d sworn to me that they’d not done anything but become close friends while we’d been married. I’d believed her wholeheartedly, and even if she had been fiddling around, how could I hold that against her? She was a beautiful, passionate woman married to a man who had to force himself to make love to her every six months or so. She had needs, needs that I sure as hell hadn’t been meeting.

“So, you are dating someone then?” Chaz asked, his amber eyes narrowed.

“One date.” I paused. “And then another one this weekend.”

All four goons hooted in glee. The glowers on my children’s faces disappeared, and huge smiles replaced them.

“Okay, y’all just settle down. I’m fixin’ to take this slow,” I told the dancing foursome.

“You take everything slow, Daddy,” Charity teased. “As soon as I get moved back in at home, I’m coming up to meet him.”

“Oh yeah, me too! I want to meet him before I go to Scotland,” Chaz piped up.

“We’ve not actually agreed to Scotland yet,” Betty reminded him as she piled boxes into James’ strong arms. “There are contingencies that have to be met by you that I’ve yet to get a firm yes on.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know, but calling home twice a day is a little much. I’m twenty years old,” the boy argued. I guess I needed to stop thinking of him as a boy, he was a man now.

“Maybe we can get your mama to back off to only one call home a day,” I interjected into the brewing fight, happy to have the conversation off me and Townsend. Betty gave me the stink eye and loaded a toaster oven onto the pile in James’ arms. Poor bastard. Moving two kids that weren’t even his out of their dorms and smiling the whole while. James was a good man. He’d make Betty deliriously happy. Hell, he already did.

“Maybe your father can tell us more about his new beau,” Betty countered. Damn, that woman was far too quick.

Both my kids gave me that sad puppy look. I nearly buckled. “Look, how about you two fly up here to see me before Charles hares off to Scotland—”

“Mama hasn’t given her blessing yet,” Betty said, walking behind the kids with an arm filled with dresses on hangers. Chaz rolled his eyes.

“After your mama gives her blessing then. Come up and spend some time with me. Maybe you can meet Townsend.” I knew the temptation would be too much for them.

“I want to meet him too,” Betty shouted off-camera.

“Me too!” James yelled.

Now it was time for me to roll my eyes. “Might as well bring Marigold along,” I muttered.

“Mama would love a nice trip north,” Betty said, appearing between the kids and smiling like the devil at me.

“She’d sooner cut off her feet then have them touch northern soil,” I quickly replied.

“True, but we can’t leave her home alone. She gets into stuff.”

“Yeah, like jail,” Charity sighed.

“That was one time,” Betty quickly corrected. “And the charges were trumped-up. Like my eighty-two-year-old mother could harm a six-foot three-inch-tall police officer.”

“Mama, she ran her buggy into him, repeatedly, while calling him a—I can’t say it or Granny will wash my mouth out with her lye soap, but she called Officer Maple several bad things.”

“Well, she was younger then,” Betty rushed off.

“Mama, this was last year!” Charity laughed. Ah, Marigold Alexander. That woman was a livewire to say the least. “She was eighty-one. This is why Grandma isn’t allowed to canvas door-to-door for Governor Paling anymore. Now they make her sit at a desk and fill out postcards that they mail to like-minded Republicans asking for support.”

“Now, now, Charity Grace, don’t take that tone,” Betty chastised our daughter. “We’re talking about your grandmother.”

“Yes, ma’am,” my little girl murmured. Her amber eyes were lit with a righteous fire, though. Ah, my girl was going to be a hellion, just like her mother and grandmother.

“For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places,” I softly said.

Charity smiled sweetly. “I’ll keep wrestling, Daddy, don’t you worry,” she assured me.

“Dad, will you please talk to Mom?” Chaz pleaded.

“Yes, we’ll talk. Now go help them move before you get in trouble. Hey! You all let me know when you’re coming up. I’ll have to tidy up and lay in some food.”

“We will, Daddy. And we want to meet Townsend. Make it happen! Kisses!” Charity blew me a smooch and ended the call. I leaned back, a smile as wide as the Mississippi on my face. It had been far too long since I’d seen my children. Easter was the last time, and I’d flown down to them just for an overnight visit and an early Easter dinner, as we’d had games to play. Hockey cared little for fathers who were missing their children. Or the men they were dating, sadly.