Page 148 of The Gaybor War

I stare at them. Then at him. "You get me so deeply. You’re a real keeper, Carter Reed." I hold up the shorts. "These barely qualify as fabric."

He shrugs. "It’s more of a gift for me than you."

The workout gear is followed, but not topped, by ‌gift certificates to the car wash, an oil change, and Starbucks—as if he wasn’t already funding my lemon berry sparkler habit.

My gifts to him are stacked neatly, of course. A package of boxer briefs. In colors. Not navy. Not gray. Not black. Actual scandalous colors. He pulls them out one by one, blinking as if he’s witnessing a crime.

"Are these… coral?"

"Salmon," I correct.

"Is that teal?"

"Yes."

He looks at me, aghast. "You’re colorizing my wardrobe like a wanton slut."

"Someone has to. You dress like a haunted accountant."

He snorts, shaking his head, but he’s smiling. "You’re lucky I like you."

"I know."

There’s one gift left.

Small but simple. I pass him the box. Carter opens it and stills. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is my spare house key.

He looks up slowly. "Benji…"

"I know what you’re thinking." I keep my voice light to diffuse the heavy implication of the moment. "Access. Sneaking in. Ambush flirting. Shower sabotage."

His lips twitch. "I was thinking about slipping into your house while you’re showering, yes."

I step closer and close my fingers around his hand, stilling him.

"No," I say softly. "Not that."

He meets my eyes with confusion.

"I want you to already be here. I want to come home and find you reorganizing my cabinets and judging my life choices. I want you hogging my sink, stealing my socks, and complaining about my throw pillows."

His throat works. I know this man so well; I can tell he’s touched but thinking he’ll never ever steal my socks.

"I want you to move in."

For a moment, he just stares at me. Then he exhales a long breath.

"I already keep a toothbrush here. It felt inefficient not to."

I laugh through the tightness in my chest and pull him into me, forehead resting against his.

"Good," I whisper. "Because I’m terrible at sharing closet space, but for you, I’ll gladly donate all my has-beens."

He kisses me back, sliding his tongue so deep I have to stand on my tiptoes to hold on.

Outside, colored lights twinkle obnoxiously. Snow falls softly. The world feels smaller and safer than it ever has before. And ‌when I begin to hum along with the 1984 Band Aid Relief Christmas album, knowing every word by heart, Carter squeezes me tighter and reminds me he loves me with his kiss… Or maybe he’s just trying to silence me.

Epilogue