Page 24 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“Yes,” I stuck my tongue out at him. “Your money, units of measurement and volume and weight, customs—”

“You are such a nerd.”

I blushed, though I knew he was merely teasing.

“I know,” I said.

He sighed. “It’s so fucking sexy.”

My blush deepened, but Other Enzo forced me to stretch under the table with my foot to run it along his calf.

“So?” Peter asked, smiling as my foot trailed along his leg. “What other American things are on the agenda for your second day?”

I shrugged. “I am here for two weeks.”

“It’s not long enough.”

“The grocery stores stay open very late, yes?” I asked.

“Some all night.” Peter nodded.

“Then,” I set my fork alongside my empty plate, “I know what I want to do.”

“Okay,” Peter reached down to rub my foot with his hand. “What is it?”

“I want to go back to bed,” I said. “I want to study my new favorite subject.”

“You horny little—”

“And we can go to the store later?” I asked. “Please?”

“You know,” Peter didn’t answer my question immediately, which frustrated me in the most wonderful way, but he brought my foot to his lap and massaged it gently as he stared into my eyes, “I thought having a young man in my bed would make me feel old. You don’t make me feel old, Enzo.”

“You make me feel…many things,” I said with a grin. “That feels wonderful.”

“We can go back to bed,” Peter said. “But I want to sit here for just a little bit longer and just enjoy having you with me. I’ve waited a long time to sit across this kitchen table from you.”

“Oh?”

“Every morning,” Peter said, “I’d think about our night in Montreal, and our emails and texts and phone calls and letters. And all I could think as I ate meals right here was how I wished you were sitting across from me.”

I had no words to respond to Peter.

“I saved all of your letters,” he said, his hands still massaging my foot absentmindedly. “Sometimes I reread all of them.”

“I saved your letters, too.”

“How often do you reread them?”

“I will not answer that,” I said.

Peter laughed. “Understood.”

“I often think of the same things,” I said. “Sharing a meal with you again. Especially in your kitchen. Or mine.”

“And then we go to your bed or mine and you act like a raging pervert?” he asked.

“Again, I feel that you enjoy that.” I flexed and kicked at him gently with the foot he was holding.