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“Thanks,” he says appreciatively. “That was your mom?”
“My grandma, actually. But I call her Maman,” I explain.
“Is that French?”
“It is.” I bring the muffins into the kitchen, and Kipp follows. “My birth mom was from Saudi Arabia, but my dad was French Canadian. I grew up in Canada speaking both French and English.”
From Kipp’s expression, I can tell he caught the was portion of that explanation in regards to my parents. He doesn’t ask, though. “I didn’t know that,” he says, taking a seat on a chair in front of the island. His bag falls lightly to the floor with a thump.
“Frankly, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I say, which is true. But I regret the words immediately when Kipp’s face pinches. It wasn’t meant to be a criticism. “What’s going on, Kipp? You mentioned a favor?”
Barely a beat passes before he starts speaking, his words tripping over themselves. “I lost my apartment, my parents found out we’re married, my coworkers know, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Teddy. I’m going to disappoint everyone. How the fuck do I get myself into these situations?”
“Hey,” I say gently, rounding the counter to reach him. I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging his gaze up to mine. “Breathe.”
He does, expelling a big breath, eyes wide and looking so lost that I feel it like a physical thing. A tug inside my chest, urging me to do something. To make it better.
“Good,” I say slowly, that hook digging deeper when Kipp’s eyes lose some of their tension. “Another.”
He blows out another breath in time with mine.
“Okay,” I say, massaging his scalp for a moment before I force myself to let go. “One thing at a time. You lost your apartment?”
He nods as I take a seat beside him. “I was living with this guy, Brodie, to save on the cost of rent, you know? But he saw our wedding pictures and was so excited because he assumed I’d be moving out, and he wants his boyfriend to move in. And I couldn’t say no.”
Couldn’t or wouldn’t?
“Where does that leave you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Kipp offers a weak grin.
“You’ll stay here,” I confirm. “What’s next?”
“Really?” he asks, perking up, but then he rushes on. “Okay, my family. That’s…complicated.”
“How so?”
“Do you want a muffin?” he asks, stretching across the counter to snag one of the baskets. His t-shirt rides up with the movement, and memories from last night assault my brain. The feel of that skin under my fingertips. The way Kipp couldn’t stop rubbing himself on me like a cat in heat. There’s something else, too, but it flits away too quickly for me to grab hold of. “Blueberry or chocolate chip?”
“I don’t need a muffin, Kipp.”
“Here,” he plows on, handing over a blueberry muffin and righting his shirt as he sits back down. “I tried one on the way here. They’re good.”
I raise a brow, doing my best not to be charmed by this man. And failing spectacularly. “You’re avoiding the subject.”
He huffs in a way that has my blood running hot. Christ, if he were truly mine…
“They don’t approve of my lifestyle,” Kipp answers, dousing me in cold water.
“Being queer?”
“Gay, in my case. But yes,” he says. “They’re very…traditional.”
“So what did they say about you marrying a man?” I ask, not taking Kipp’s bait as he nudges the muffin closer to me. “Kipp,” I warn.
“I don’t know,” he huffs out, dragging a hand through his hair. It musses the dark brown strands, which usually sit so neatly styled atop his head. Right now, they’re falling every which way. “I haven’t talked to them yet. I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell them.”
“What do you want to tell them?”
