Chapter 25
Caleb
Sam wants to stay the night with Benji, but I know I need to have this conversation first.
“Hey, bud,” I say. “Let’s stop home first before you head to Benji’s so we can get some clothes. I also want to talk to you for a few minutes.”
He groans dramatically. “Why?”
“I just need to talk to you first, one-on-one. Won’t take long. Promise.”
He eyes me warily, clearly suspicious now. “Am I in trouble?”
“Nope,” I say, brushing off his shoulders from the snow. “Not at all.”
He shrugs and agrees, probably because he’s used to listening to me. But I know that won’t last forever. He’s eight now, and tonight, I’m going to ask him to make room for someone else in our life. Or three more someones, technically. I think he’ll be excited, but I’m unsure at the same time.
We pile back in the car, and Nash drops us off at our house.
“Thanks, Nash. I’ll text you when I’m done talking and hopefully heading back over.”
“Okay,” he says back. “And hey, Cay? You got this.”
It’s another moment I deeply wish I could lean forward and kiss him. Soon, I remind myself. That’s the point of this entire conversation I’m nervous as hell to have with my son.
Inside, Sam toes off his boots and hangs up his jacket, then plops onto the couch. He pulls the blanket off the back, and I turn on the gas fireplace in the center of the room before sitting on the other end of the couch.
He looks over at me. “What is it, Dad?”
I smile gently. “You know how we’ve been spending more time with Nash and the kids lately?”
“Yeah,” he says quickly. “It’s fun. I like Benji. And Emma’s funny.”
I nod. “They really like you too. And I think you’ve probably noticed that I like being around Nash.”
Sam blinks at me for a moment. “Like… as a friend?”
Here goes nothing.
“Well, more than that. Nash and I have been spending time together because we really like each other in the way some grown-ups do.”
He frowns slightly, like he’s thinking through something bigger than the words.
“Like you used to like Mom?” he asks without accusation, more so confusion.
“Yes. Your mom is great because she gave me you.” I say that because it’s true, and I never bad-mouth his mom in front of him. “But sometimes feelings change as you grow, and sometimes you learn new things about yourself too. And for me, that meant realizing I could like Nash.”
He looks down at his fingers in his lap, quiet for a second. “So you like boys and girls?”
“Yeah, I do,” I say. But even as I say it, there’s a flicker of doubt. Because lately, I’ve been wondering if I’m actually gay, not bi.
I haven’t said that part out loud yet. It’s just been one of those quiet thoughts hanging out in my mind.
With women, I think I tried so hard to make it feel right because that’s what I was supposed to want.
I thought that’s what I did want. But now, being with Nash has made everything feel different.
I’m not sure how to unravel years of assumptions and expectations.
Unsure how to tell what was genuine attraction versus emotional safety or pressure or performative closeness because I loved my ex, once upon a time, I really did.
I’m not ashamed of being bi, if that’s what I am, but I’ve started questioning if that’s the right label for me the more time I spend with Nash.
Everything with him just feels better. Still, I don’t want to make Sam attempt to sort something I haven’t even figured out myself.
It’s hard living in a world that clings to labels so much. It adds a layer of pressure, even if Nash has never asked me to define my sexuality.
So instead, I just smile.
“And,” I continue, “I like Nash a lot, and it’s important to me that you know how I feel about him because you’re the most important person in my life, and I want you to feel included.”
He nods slowly. “Okay… I guess that makes sense.” Then after a moment, he grins. “Does this mean more sleepovers with Benji?”
“Only if you’re comfortable. You’d still have your space, Sam. Nothing about us changes.”
He’s quiet again, then says, “I want more sleepovers. It’s like I’ll have a brother and a sister now! Right?”
“You can definitely see them more, yes,” I half-answer. “Thank you for being open.”
He nods. “Can we go now? We were gonna do two layers of pillows this time in the fort.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “Go get your stuff” barely leaves my mouth before Sam disappears down the hallway to pack a bag.
I sit on the couch for another second, the weight of the conversation slowly lifting off my chest. Our talk went exactly how I’d hoped it’d go, and while Sam will probably have more questions when he’s not so focused on going over there, he seemed okay with it, and that’s all that matters.
I grab my phone and text Nash.
Talked to Sam and it went well. He’s pumped about more sleepovers.
Nash:
I knew it’d go great. You still going to come over?
I glance toward the hallway, where I can hear Sam slamming his dresser drawers.
Yes, let me go get a bag packed. How did it go with Benji and Emma?
Nash:
They couldn’t be more excited either, baby.
I toss my phone onto the bed and grab my overnight bag from the closet, throwing in a change of clothes, a toothbrush, and a phone charger.
I pause when I get to my dresser, eyes lingering on the framed photo of Sam and me at the lake last summer.
He’s holding a fish, and I’m squinting into the sun behind him, proud as hell.
I can almost imagine a new photo of the five of us in that exact spot with even bigger smiles and so much more love.
“Hey, buddy?” I call down the hall as I zip my bag. “You ready?”
“Yes!”
By the time we’re in the car, I’m aware I should give Sam the heads-up that I’ll be staying too.
“Hey,” I say, glancing over as I back out of the driveway. “Just so you know, I’m planning to hang out with Nash tonight. I might sleep over there too.”
He looks up from where he’s fiddling with the zipper on his coat. “Oh. Cool. So like… a double sleepover?”
I smile. “Pretty much.”
“Okay,” he says with a shrug. “Can we have cinnamon rolls in the morning?”
“Yeah, I’m sure we can make that happen.” I laugh.
As we pull up to Nash’s place, the porch lights cast a soft golden glow over the snow-covered steps. Twinkling lights wrap around the railing and line his roof, and a wreath hangs on the front door, framed by a few simple fake Christmas trees on both sides. It’s cozy, festive, and homey.
The second we park, Sam’s already unbuckling. He grabs his backpack and bolts up the steps, full of energy, and knocks on the door.
Nash opens the door, already smiling. “Hey, you made it.”
“Hi! Yep!” Sam says, barging right in and kicking off his shoes.
“We did,” I chuckle at Sam’s enthusiasm as he runs toward Benji and Emma in the living room.
Nash leans in slightly, voice low enough that only I can hear. “You okay?”
I nod, more than okay. “Yes, and even better now.”
“Mmm, me too.” He brushes his hand lightly against mine in that small, just-us way. “Come on in.”
“So”—I grin, unzipping my coat—“Sam’s fine with me staying tonight, but I did promise him cinnamon rolls in the morning to seal the deal. What are the chances you’ve got some in the fridge?”
“Approximately zero.” Nash laughs, and so do I.
“No big deal,” I say, setting my bag near the bench by the door. “I was planning to order some to be delivered tonight or in the morning anyway.”
“Or”—Nash holds up a finger—“we could make them from scratch. Or at least attempt. I’ve got tons of baking stuff in the kitchen, and it could be a lot of fun.”
We walk toward the kitchen together while the kids play in the living room. Warmth seeps into my chest as I’m finally stepping into the version of my life I didn’t even know I was waiting for. I’ve never once had the impulse to make cinnamon rolls from scratch, but suddenly, nothing sounds better.
I look around his kitchen. It’s clean but lived-in with a couple of scribbled grocery reminders stuck to the fridge and the kids’ hand-drawn art. He’s got wood cabinets and granite countertops.
“Okay, Chef Nash,” I tease, bringing my eyes back to him. “What do we need to make these cinnamon rolls?”
“No idea.” He laughs. “That’s what the internet is for.”
I’m grinning from ear to ear because doing this with him makes everything feel lighter and better. Almost like home is something we’re building together in real time.
While he pulls up a recipe, I stand here admiring him until he starts listing ingredients and telling me where to find them.
“Before we get started, let me get the resident playlist curator.” Nash smirks, calling for Emma.
“Yeah, Dad?” she asks with rosy cheeks.
“Will you put on a Christmas playlist for us to make these cinnamon rolls for you guys?”
“Yes!” she shouts, telling Alexa to play her favorite station.
“Now we can begin,” Nash declares, and Emma runs back into the living room.
We start by warming the milk and butter on the stove, and Nash dips his pinky into the pot. “Warm, but not boiling hot,” he declares. “Good enough, I suppose.”
I nod. “If it’s good for you, it’s good for me.”
He whisks in the yeast while I mix the dry ingredients, then we combine them all into the mixer bowl, and the dough starts to come together slowly.
By the time we roll out the dough, we’re both covered in flour, and I don’t think I’d ever volunteer to make cinnamon rolls from scratch again… well, unless Nash wanted to.
Once they’re ready to sit in the fridge overnight, we clean up the absolute explosion we’ve left behind with dishes in the sink, flour on the floor, and sugar on the top of the stove.
Nash wipes his hands on a towel and looks over at me like he’s about to say something serious. Instead, he just says, “That was fun.”
“You’re fun,” I say before I can stop myself, and when he looks over at me, his eyes are soft. He steps closer, hands resting lightly on my waist, like he’s not sure if he should lean in yet.
“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he declares.
“Okay,” I whisper.
And he does.
It’s sweet, unhurried, and tastes like cinnamon.
It’s my new favorite flavor.