31. Vincent

THIRTY-ONE

"At your service. Corrine is checking on Sweetums. I'm all yours."

"Thank you, Corrine," I say as Kent leans in to kiss his favorite spot on my neck. His lips land on the sensitive skin right above my collarbone, and his scruff scratches in all the right ways, dispatching goosebumps over my entire body. Heading into a go-live weekend should have me riddled with anxiety, but Kent's here with takeout. Kissing my neck.

Kent does a little bow in my doorway while holding plastic takeout bags with the familiar Purple Giraffe logo, a duffel, and a large gift bag.

"My favorite."

"Wait, the food or the guy?" he asks, heading for the kitchen island.

"Both."

Sometimes, the expected can be a salve for the soul.

"What's this?" I ask, lifting the sparkly present and attempting to gauge its contents. The shiny blue bag dwarfs the plastic takeout ones, but its contents seem relatively light.

"A gift."

"For me?"

"Yes, smoothie," he says, kissing my nose, "for you. For later." He puts the bag on the floor next to the island. "So, we're really just going to go about our weekend like something huge isn't happening?" Kent unpacks the containers of food from the bag.

"I mean, sort of." I place plates on the island, making their familiar clang as ceramic hits granite. "If there are any errors, we'll know." I shake my phone. "Geoff's monitoring his end, and any data errors route to me."

"Are you hungry?" he asks, pulling a stack of napkins from the dedicated drawer. My heart melts because he remembers where they are. That I need them.

"Yes, but first," I say, nuzzling into his chest, the warmth of his breath on my head, "I'd love a Mr. Lester appetizer."

"Oh, would you?"

I nod, and my hand moves to his pants.

"Vincent, I'm actually a little uneasy. About the go-live."

A tiny knot forms in my stomach, and I sigh. If Kent's nerves are cockblocking me, I need to do my best to soothe him.

"It's going to be fine. I promise."

"I hope so." Kent's fingers tug at his beard, pulling and twisting. "But after. Once you're done. I have less than three months with Hopscotch to show the board …"

"If they don't already know how amazing you and every human in that building is, what are they doing serving on the board?"

"That's an excellent question."

With a heavy sigh, Kent drops his shoulders. "Distract me," he says. My hand tugs at his waistband. "With food and LEGOs."

"LEGO."

"Excuse me?" he asks.

"LEGO, no s necessary. Per an official statement from the company. There are LEGO bricks, pieces, parts, but never LEGOs with an s."

"You're a nerd, you know that?"

"I do." My head lands on his shoulder, the softness of his fleece comforting.

"Distract me with LEGO."

"Deal. Let's eat first," I say.

"Once we know it's all working, you can be my good boy."

"Yes, sir." I wrap my arms around Kent's waist, my hands caressing his sides, as our foreheads touch and something magical conjures between us. There's a closeness—a sweetness. More than simply physical, somehow, we're becoming an us. Breathing him in, my body fills with a sense of warmth and comfort. I never thought this would happen to me.

With full bellies, cleared dishes, and washed hands and faces, we head to the dining-room table.

"Now, for your present." Kent fetches the gift bag and hands it to me with a flourish. "To celebrate the go-live."

"We shouldn't celebrate until Monday. When it's all over."

"Okay, then I'll just keep this until Monday." He grabs the white corded handle.

"No, no," I protest, pulling the bag away. "Now. Let's celebrate now."

Kent laughs and grabs me instead of his gift. He scatters kisses over my neck, crawling up to my cheek and landing on my nose. He sighs softly and whispers, "My handsome boy."

Sitting in one of the gray cloth-covered chairs around the table, I remove the tissue paper and spy a large black box. The logo on the bottom instantly clues me in. LEGO. My lips part, but only a small gasp escapes.

"It's The Louvre. For Paris," he says. "You don't have it yet. At least I didn't see it. I can return it. I kept the receipt."

For a moment, I'm unsure what to say. My parents and I agreed to stop exchanging presents years ago, and I honestly can't remember the last time I received a gift. And this is LEGO. From Kent. I hug the box to my chest and squeeze it tightly. "I love it. Yeah, LEGO definitely is my love language."

"And I adore that about you." He kisses my neck from behind. "Were you planning to include it?"

"For sure. I hadn't decided whether to build it from scratch or with the kit."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kent says, pulling his hands behind his back. "I didn't mean to …"

"No. You helped me decide."

I stand and wrap my arms around him, and when he exhales, and his body melts into mine, a lightness overtakes me. This kind, caring man, eager to please, unearths my heart. And with his head resting on my shoulder, I softly say, "You know. Things seem to be better lately."

"Things?"

Holding Kent. Here. I'm amazed at how relaxed I am. I've grown so accustomed to being tight, compressed, restless. Kent somehow has become the ultimate distraction. It's like I'm floating on a cloud. Even when I'm not with him, the power of his affection lingers. The urge to tell him more, connect more, prods me.

"Me."

We stand in my living room, overlooking LEGO Paris, clinging to each other. "Because of you." I lean my forehead on his. "You don't try to fix me."

Kent sees me. All of me. He understands me. For once in my life, I don't shatter into a million pieces.

Kent brushes his nose on mine. His sweet breath blankets my face and he whispers, "Because you're not broken."

My mouth falls on his. His beard, needing a trim, tickles my lips, but the urge to have him near overrides the sensation. And breathing him in this way, the nerves on my face relent and settle. Kent feels like home.

"Now," I say, "Paris awaits."

Moving to the clearest end of the table, I open Kent's gift, carefully pulling out the plastic bags and placing each one on the table. Finally, the thick book of directions appears, and I hand them to Kent.

"I'm thinking you're a directions guy," I say.

"Oh really," Kent says, thumbing through the fat pamphlet. "Well, I'll have you know …" He juts his chin out and says, "I am totally a directions guy. Especially when I have no idea what I'm doing. Which is most of the time."

"I'll empty the first few bags." I pinch and pull the first one. "They're numbered, and each number corresponds to the instructions."

"You realize there's no text." Kent holds the book up, showing me the first set of directions. "Only pictures. How am I supposed to tell you what to do?"

"Ah, this is where your excellent verbal skills come into play." I smile brightly at him and dump the bag's contents into a small white bowl. The bricks clink as they hit the ceramic glaze, and the familiar sound prompts a contented sigh. "LEGO markets around the world. Look how many pages that book has already. Now imagine it in dozens of languages."

Kent nods as he flips the pages.

"And children who aren't reading yet are some of the biggest consumers. So"—I point to an image—"pictures tell the story."

"Okay, well, let's see …" Kent tilts his head slightly. "I guess you take a …"

"What's the element?" I ask. "Which kind of piece? A brick? Plate?"

Kent rubs his face, and the booklet falls from his hands, hitting the table and falling to the floor.

"Oh, babe," I say. "You need a LEGO lesson."

"Be gentle with me," he says. "My brain is sharp as a tack, but my fingers don't always cooperate."

"Kent, your fingers are fucking amazing." I take his hand in mine, massaging the tips.

"Now, this is a brick." I place a piece in his palm. "It's the basic building block of LEGO. They come in all different sizes and colors. This one is cream and is a two-by-four. There are two rows, and each has four studs."

"Who are you calling a stud?" he asks, curling his fingers around the brick and my hand.

"No, the brick's studs." I lean over, and he kisses my neck. "These," I say, pulling back and pointing to the bumps on the top of the brick, "are called studs."

Kent's brow furrows, and he nods.

"This is a plate." I grab a black one from a bowl. "It's identical to the brick, only it's flat, and the brick is thick."

"Thick, got it." He thumbs the brick.

Tilting my head, I say, "I thought you weren't in the mood."

"I wasn't, but your enthusiasm is getting me all worked up." Kent dots my nose with a kiss.

"This is a tile," I say, handing him one. "No studs."

"Well, that's no fun."

"They're decorative finishing pieces."

He chuckles, puts the pieces back in the bowl, and gathers me up in his arms.

"You are something else," he says. "You know that."

My heartbeat ramps up, and the warmth from Kent's embrace envelops me. Sharing this with him is a big deal. He's interested. Curious. Patient.

"There are plates, baseplates, jumper plates, even cheese graters," I say, "but let's go slow."

Pulling back, Kent's fingers find my chin and pull my focus. His pupils study my face, and a tender smile pokes through his beard.

"I love you, Vincent."

Tears prickle my eyes. Even before the words left his mouth, I felt it. From him. For him. How do you define something you've never felt? You experience it, and then someone presents you with the vocabulary. Kent's helped me grasp the true meaning of the word, and maybe, just maybe, even with all my imperfections, he actually means it.

If I could peer inside my torso, I imagine my heart glows with a soft, pulsating light. Radiating a warmth, an energy. I'm rarely comfortable in my own skin. I'm unsure of almost everything. But with Kent, I'm grounded. Safe. Cherished. Open.

I lean into Kent. My lips brush his and I pull back and meet his gaze. "I love you, too."