Chapter Thirty
Adam
Back to life as usual. Only things are a little different.
Emmet and I are spending more time together.
When I don’t have the kids, we’re spending nights together.
Sometimes at his house, sometimes at my apartment.
It all depends what we do and where we end up.
After having a strict routine for so long, I enjoy not knowing how my days may go.
I spend time with him at the bar, and help him make financial decisions. I may have only been a realtor, but I know a thing or two about running a business. I’ve seen enough of them over the years.
Surprisingly, after that night in California, there hasn’t been any sort of sex between us. There’s been kissing—so much kissing that I’ve nearly come in my pants, but it seems an unspoken rule that we’re waiting.
For what? I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it, and it doesn’t seem we need to. When it happens again, it’ll happen again. For now, this is how things are going, and that’s okay.
We don’t usually see each other on Thursdays or Fridays, but he comes by for lunch on Saturdays and dinner on Sundays. He helps me with the kids’ bedtime routine, making it much easier for me. It wasn’t even this easy when I was with Leslie, which says so much.
Before I know it, it’s just about Valentine’s Day, and I wonder if I should be planning something for us to do. Emmet isn’t much of a planner. He’s a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of guy. We’ve always been opposites in that sense, and funny enough, we’ve always made it work.
I should ask if he wants to do something for Valentine’s Day because he may have to work. Though we’ve spent a lot of time together, we haven’t done anything that tells people we’re together. We don’t go out to restaurants or other places. We stay at the bar, his place, or my place.
When we were younger, everything was hidden, secretive.
No one knew what was going on between us.
No one knew we liked each other or that we even liked guys.
It was never talked about. I know Emmet was not ashamed, and he would have told everyone in a heartbeat.
He kept quiet for me. I was the nervous one, the one who was worried about what people would think or people would say if they knew.
I was worried about being rejected and not accepted by everyone I knew, especially the only family I had left—my aunt and uncle who took me in after my parents died.
Thinking back, I can’t recall one instance of them making comments about that, but somewhere along the way I got the idea in my head that you could only ever be happy with a husband, wife, and child. That’s what happiness looked like to me. It’s all I knew.
I was so ignorant. So fucking ignorant that it makes me sick when I think about it now. But I’ve learned to accept that part about myself. I learned, and I grew, and now I know better.
Only… do I? Because something is still stopping me from going full-force into this relationship with Emmet, and I don’t know what it is.
I know relationships are so much more than titles or gender or what’s normal. It’s about happiness and acceptance and support.
Emmet makes me happy. He accepts me, and he certainly supports me.
My laptop dings, letting me know I’ve received an email, so I open it.
It’s another employer responding to my application profile, complimenting my resume and hoping to set up an interview.
I’ve gone to so many and declined each and every one of them. Nothing feels right.
I’d been blaming my schedule with the kids, telling myself that was why I wouldn’t take a position. But I’ve known for a while now, and I’m still not moving forward.
My cell rings and when I see it’s Emmet, I answer it with a smile.
“What are you up to?” he asks.
“Trying to figure out what to do with my life.”
He laughs. “Still can’t figure out what to do for work?”
“Nope. I got two more interview requests today.”
“Have you thought of just doing it yourself?”
“That’s so much work.” I groan.
“Is it though?”
“There are classes I have to take. Another exam. Register a business. Rent a space.”
“Okay, so maybe it’s easier to work for someone, but you haven’t found anything yet. Doing it yourself may take more time now, but it’ll give you more freedom later. You can make your own hours, and you’d make more money, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I guess I could look into it.”
“That’s a start.”
“Were you calling because you missed me?” I ask hopefully.
“Of course.” I hear the smile in his voice and it makes me smile too. God, this man…
“Do I get to see you today?” It’s Tuesday, so normally we see each other but I try not to assume.
“I fucking hope so,” he says eagerly. “I can go by after I leave the bar?”
I snap my laptop shut. “That’s too long. I’ll head over.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
We get off the phone, and I change out of my sweats and put on jeans and boots, then take the short walk to the bar.
It’s become a regular place to me now, and I can predict who will be in here on what day and at what time.
I’ve met more of the regulars’ friends. Someone named Tobias who is a professional date, which sounds like a mess, if you ask me, but he swears it’s great.
Then you have the newbies, Johnny and Greyson, who are in an open relationship and I’m pretty sure they’re dating Benton, who is one of the regulars.
Then of course, there’s Nathanial, Mario, and Luca, who are here just about every day, anyway.
I don’t know if all of this makes me a gossip or if I’m just at the bar too much these days. But if Emmet is here, I want to be here too.
I hop onto the stool that I normally sit at, the one at the end of the bar furthest away from the door. It seems always open for me and I wonder if that’s on purpose.
It’s the seat closest to the stage so I get a great view when Nathanial is up there, singing his heart away.
You never know what kind of music you’re going to get in this place, if any at all.
It’s whatever everyone feels like that day—or what Nathanial feels like since he seems to be unofficially in charge of it.
I’ve been here when they’ve line danced, sang awful karaoke, and there have even been nights when I thought I walked into a night club.
One time, someone brought in a sub-woofer that worked so well I thought the ceiling was going to come down.
For the first time, I was wondering what the top of this building is used for because if people live their, they must really hate their lives.
The Butterfly is not your typical bar, that’s for sure. I still can’t believe Emmet bought this place. Of all the bars in the world for him to buy, it was this one. Here, in the city I moved to, right down the street from where I live.
“Hey,” Emmet says when he walks out from the back room.
“Hey,” I respond. “So, let me ask you something.”
“Sure.” He starts to make my drink, something he always does when I get here. He stopped letting me pay, but I always leave a big tip for Pete anyway.
“Did you know I was living here?”
“In Seattle?”he asks, grabbing the soda gun and glancing at me. I nod. “Yeah, why?”
My heart beats a little faster as I anticipate asking the next question. But I need to know.
“Is that why you moved here?”
He pauses, head still downcast on the drink he’s making, but his eyes flick to me.
“Probably something we should talk about another time,” he says, then slides the glass over.
I think that’s a yes. He knew I was here.
“Did you come here for me?” I ask.
Emmet holds my gaze, seeming to think something over before simply admitting, “Yes.”
My eyes widen, my heart doing a flip.
He moved to Seattle for me? That’s… I don’t know. A lot to take in.
“Can we talk about this later, please?” he asks.
I reach for my drink, shaking out of the shock. “Okay.”
He disappears into the back room while I sip my drink, and I wonder if I shouldn’t have asked that. Is he ashamed? He shouldn’t be. Is he worried that I’ll hate him now? I don’t.
I can’t quite explain how I feel but it isn’t angry. I’m surprised, yes. Mostly, I think I’m flattered and… hopeful.
This doesn’t feel weird, it just feels very Emmet. It’s exactly the sort of romantic thing that he would do.
I’ve spent the last couple of years trying to figure my life out. The end of my relationship with Leslie wasn’t great, but I’ve been working on getting my life together ever since.
What has he been doing? All these years we’ve been apart, what has he been doing with his time?
He couldn’t possibly have been thinking about me all this time, right? He couldn’t possibly have had me on his mind for all these years?
That’s crazy.
Right?
“You ready to go?” I look up, and there’s Emmet, somehow looking better than he did five minutes ago. Not in the way he’s more attractive, like he fixed his hair, but… something else. It’s like I’m seeing him differently now, in a new light.
“I thought you’d be longer,” I say.
“I’m getting a headache. We can stay if you want.”
“Nope, it’s okay.”
I finish my drink and pull a twenty from my wallet, that I put on the bar, sliding it to the end.
“Night, Bar Daddy!” Nathanial calls out, and I laugh as we walk through the door.
I don’t understand what’s happening.
Why I feel like this… about a guy.
It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. Ever since my parents died, everything’s been foggy—like my whole life’s been stuck in this weird in-between place. I barely remember what day it is most of the time, but somehow, my body always remembers Emmet.
When he walks into a room, I feel like I’m waking up. My nerves go electric, my heart kicks into overdrive, and for a second—just one second—everything is clear.
And then it’s not.
Because nothing about this is clear. Nothing about it makes any damn sense.
When I was told I had an aunt I would move in with, I was devastated.
I didn’t want to leave Emmet or his family—or the other kids.
They were all so understanding and kind.
But I thought if I wasn’t around Emmet, the feelings would fade.
But they haven’t. They’ve only gotten worse.
I can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t stop calling him, or finding reasons to see him, to touch him.
He makes me feel good. Too good. It’s like… addictive.
And it’s terrifying.
I’ve never looked at a guy like this before, not ever. And I’ve never questioned who I was. But I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to be this intense, this consuming.
I wish my parents were still alive. I want to believe they’d understand, that they’d listen and say something that makes this make sense. But I keep replaying the conversations we had—the dreams they had for me. The family vacations with a future daughter-in-law. The grandkids.
Were those just filler words? Could “wife” have just been the default? Could they have meant “spouse”? Could I swap it out for “husband” and still make it all fit?
My phone vibrates on the bench beside me. I don’t have to pick it up to know it’s him.
Walking over now.
I scan the park—the field, the trees, the playground. But all I see is Emmet. All I ever see is Emmet. Even from across the park, when he’s as small as an ant, I know it’s him. I feel him, even from here.
No one’s telling me I have to stop seeing him, but I can’t help but worry that I’m being consumed by an unhealthy obsession.
It’s too much.
And yet, not enough, all at the same time.