Page 23 of Keep

Hank studied Chad’s profile as they walked—the straight line of his nose, the way his hair caught the last of the light.

First Kiss.

He wondered if Chad realized how perfectly that title captured what was happening between them. Not a literal first kiss—they’d done that Tuesday, over the bar. But the first time Hank had let himself be truly seen. The first time he’d wanted something this badly without shame.

When they reached the car, Hank unlocked it and opened the passenger door.

Chad paused. “You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Opening doors for me.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No.” Chad’s voice went soft. “No one’s ever done that before.”

Hank thought about all the ways Chad may have been hurt by men who should have treated him better.

“Then they were fools,” Hank said quietly.

Chad held his gaze for a long moment, something unreadable passing across his face. Then he got into the car.

Hank closed the door and circled to the driver’s side, catching his reflection in the windshield. He looked happy. His face was flushed, his hair was mussed, and he was smiling like he’d forgotten how to stop.

He got in and started the car.

“So,” Chad said. “Where are we eating?”

“Place called Ted’s Bulletin. Near the Capitol. Have you been?”

“No. I’ve heard it’s good, though.”

“Upscale diner food. Good milkshakes.” Hank pulled out into traffic. “A friend suggested it.”

“A co-worker you told about me?”

“I had to tell someone. I was bursting.”

Chad laughed. “What did you say?”

“That I met someone. That he’s an art student. That he’s—” Hank hesitated, then decided to say it anyway. “That he’s beautiful and talented and makes me feel things I’d given up on ever feeling.”

Chad was quiet for a moment. Then his hand found Hank’s thigh, warm and steady.

“That’s really sweet, Hank.”

“It’s the truth.”

They drove through the evening streets, the monuments lighting up against the darkening sky. Chad’s hand stayed on Hank’s thigh, his thumb moving in absent circles that made it difficult to concentrate on the road.

“I need to tell you something,” Hank said as they approached the restaurant. “About my work.”

“Okay.”

“It’s—I should have told you before. I meant to, but then you kissed me, and then there was tonight, and I kept finding reasons to put it off⁠—”

“Hank.” Chad’s voice was patient. “Whatever it is, we can talk about it over dinner. Okay? Let’s eat, have a good time, and you can tell me whatever you need to tell me.”