Page 69 of Sparks Fly

His expression softened. “Yeah.”

“She wants this. I know she does. But she can’t tell her friends about us. She can’t let me into that part of her life.” I looked down at the sandwich in my hand. “I’m not mad at her. I just want her to feel like she can be herself everywhere, not only when she’s alone with me.”

“And you want to be part of her life,” Benji said.

“Yeah.” I let out a quiet breath. “Not hidden away in some separate corner of it forever.”

Benji studied me for a second. “You really like her.”

I huffed a laugh. “Yeah. I really do.”

“Then give her a little time.”

“I am. I’m not trying to rush her.” I set the sandwich down. “I’m okay with the way things are. I just want her to be happy, and I can’t help feeling like she isn’t when she’s in that world. Like she has to split herself in half.”

Benji went quiet, his gaze dropping to his coffee.

“I get that,” he said after a moment. “Wanting all the pieces of yourself to finally feel like they belong together.”

Something in his voice made me look at him more closely. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve just been thinking about my transition. Where I’m at.”

I nodded slowly. “You want to talk about it?”

“Maybe.” He stared down into his cup. “I’ve had top surgery. I’ve been on T for years. Most days, I feel good. Like this body is mine.” He paused. “But I’ve been thinking about bottom surgery. Not because I hate what I have. I just wonder if I’d feel more whole.”

I didn’t rush him or fill the silence.

“That’s a big thing to sit with,” I said finally. “But wanting to feel aligned makes sense. There’s no wrong reason to ask that question.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m not sure yet. Just thinking.”

I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Whatever you decide, I’ve got you.”

His smile softened. “Thanks.”

We sat there a moment with the shop buzzing quietly around us, the space feeling full even in the silence. It never really felt empty with Benji around.

I nodded toward the railing. “Help me finish this before lunch?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, already pulling on his gloves.

We worked side by side with our torches humming in tandem. Rebuilding the angles so the curves flowed just right wasn’t fast work, but I liked that part of it.

The care it took. Patience. Underneath it all, steady as a pulse, the thought of Addison stayed with me.

Later I’d text her. For now, this was enough.

* * *

When I got home that evening, I showered, changed, and headed downstairs to the bookstore.

Once a month, Hollis and Soren hosted a Monday night meetup with wine, charcuterie, and enough appetizers to count as dinner. There was no agenda. Just a bunch of queer people talking about books, catching up, and existing together without having to explain themselves.

By the time I walked in, the shop was already filling up. They had pushed the display tables aside to make room for mismatched chairs, and music played softly beneath the conversations. Bottles of wine sat open beside trays of cheese, crackers, fruit, and tiny pastries Hollis had probably spent all afternoon making.

“There she is,” Soren called from behind the counter.