Chapter 6
In the first few months of dating, Caleb learned that holding Jamie’s hand was its own kind of language.
When Jamie was nervous—like anytime he ordered coffee when they were out—he squeezed. When flustered, Jamie’s palm grew warm and slightly damp. When Jamie was lost in thought, he simply held onto Caleb’s hand, gently tracing idle shapes along the soft skin of Caleb’s hand.
If Jamie appreciated something, he touched it.
Like the flower petals of the bouquets Caleb bought him. Or the cardboard sleeves of the coffee cups Caleb left with notes anytime he stayed over.
Jamie would trace the words with the tip of his finger, as if that would commit every single detail to memory.
The most expressive communication of Jamie’s hand language was excitement. When excited, Caleb got dragged. Like he had at the Christmas markets in London in December. Booth by booth, Jamie tugged Caleb, smiling the entire time, to every single piece of handmade art he could find.
Caleb had absolutely zero shame in being hauled around by his boyfriend. Anywhere Jamie wanted to go, Caleb would happily follow.
Because instead of things getting boring between them—like, admittedly, every relationship before this—Caleb found himself falling harder and harder for Jamie Collins.
Every sweet, nerdy little facet of him.
He loved learning new ways Jamie expressed his feelings. Like when he got tipsy, Jamie became particularly handsy.
One night, Jamie came home tipsy on rosé after being summoned out with Ellie and her friends for some kind of “girl emergency.” When he’d arrived back at Caleb’s place, he couldn’t get Caleb out of his clothes fast enough.
Caleb happily obliged.
He became obsessed with the way Jamie came apart beneath his hands, each time better than the last. Whether he got to fuck Jamie, finger him, or give him a lazy, morning blowjob—it didn’t matter what it was.
Caleb couldn’t think of anything more perfect than the tension of Jamie’s stomach as he orgasmed down Caleb’s throat, hands fisted tight in his hair, his bare chest shining with sweat.
Or the way Jamie’s confidence had begun to bloom, how he reached for what he wanted, how he asked, sometimes begged.
Jesus, it was fucking addictive.
The language of Jamie’s hands became Caleb’s main focus of study, and before long, he could read it almost as easily as spoken words.
Two hands meant Jamie was worried. Usually paired with sad eyes and a worried frown.
Caleb saw it a handful of times, but never as often as the January after his mother died.
To be honest, Caleb didn’t remember much about that time.
A blur, marked only by the fact that he almost always had both of Jamie’s hands on him.
Holding his hand, typing on his computer to make funeral plans, and clutching his arm to ask one last time if he needed Jamie to fly back to the States with him.
Ultimately, Caleb decided to go alone.
He’d promised Jamie a slow pace in their relationship, and Jamie still hadn’t come out to his own family. It wouldn’t be fair to force Jamie to come out to Caleb’s family when he wasn’t ready.
So at his mother’s service, Caleb imagined Jamie there instead.
Imagined him beside him. Holding his hand. Supporting him with little squeezes whenever the grief threatened to knock the air from his lungs.
When Caleb returned from Ohio, something between them had changed. Maybe grief had pulled Jamie closer, or maybe losing his mother had stripped away whatever reservations Caleb still carried about the future.
He didn’t know.
All he knew was that he was all in.
Jamie spent just about every night at Caleb’s flat, and each evening in his bed.
They learned everything about each other—the good, the bad, and the messy.
They supported each other through professional challenges and career growth, Caleb working his way to Head Athletic Trainer and Jamie being offered his own exhibit at the British Library.
Integrating themselves into each other’s lives, Caleb found himself becoming close friends with Ellie and Jamie’s entire family.
As winter turned to spring, Caleb couldn’t deny that he had fallen madly in love with the British man.
Jamie consumed most of his waking thoughts and—judging by the way he woke up hard as fuck every morning—most of his sleeping ones too.
He obsessed over what would make Jamie feel happy, comfortable, and most loved. As Caleb learned, he made them a habit. Chief among them: holding Jamie, whenever he got the chance.
Jamie was the most relaxed when in Caleb’s arms.
So, regardless of how sweaty it got, Caleb held him. Jamie’s body to his chest at night, and his hand during the day.
And when May rolled around and Jamie decided to come out to his family, Caleb drove them out to Jamie’s childhood home in Bucks and held his shaky hand through it.
“Where should we put the garbage can?” Caleb asked, holding the white bin up.
“The rubbish bin?”
Caleb smiled and shook his head. “God, you’re cute. Yes, the rubbish bin.”
“I don’t sound like that, you tosser!” Jamie tried to shove Caleb’s arm playfully, but moving boxes blocked his path.
Caleb snorted. “I’m not a tosser.”
Jamie stepped over the boxes and wrapped both arms around Caleb’s neck. They were both sweaty from carrying boxes in the London heat. Jamie’s heart pounded in his chest as Caleb placed both palms on his low back and pulled him in for a kiss.
The smell of Caleb’s aftershave and sweat surrounded him, making butterflies erupt in his stomach.
He couldn’t believe they were moving in together today. Just a year ago, Jamie couldn’t imagine telling his family he was gay. And now…?
“Caleb!” Jamie gasped as Caleb kissed down Jamie’s throat, hands roaming beneath his shirt. “Caleb! My mum and sister will be here in like…” His eyes darted to the microwave clock. “Five minutes.”
“Mmm,” Caleb grumbled into the skin of his neck. “We can be quick.”
“Not that quick!” Jamie barked out a laugh, pressing both palms against Caleb’s shoulders. He was conscious to avoid the scars he knew were beneath Caleb’s shirt.
Seeing them always made his heart sink, now that he knew what they were from.
Caleb flashed a cocky grin, his brown eyes flicking down to Jamie’s tented trousers, and back up. “But you’re too hard to resist,” he pouted.
“Well, try.”
Caleb smiled and adjusted his denims with the heel of his palm before returning to the moving boxes to unpack. He began pulling framed photos from a box—one of Jamie and Ellie back in grade school, a photo of Caleb and his sister, and a few Jamie hadn’t seen before.
“When did we get this?” Jamie asked, moving in behind Caleb to look over his shoulder.
Caleb held a large photograph of the two of them last spring at one of the Chelsea women’s weddings.
It was the first public event the two of them attended as a real, official couple.
Jamie remembered being deadly nervous that his brothers would see photos of him online. How silly, now that he looked back.
Caleb held it up to the wall, looking for a spot to place it.
“Sally framed this one for me.” They both looked down at the photo.
Picture-Jamie was all dressed up, laughing at the camera with a big, goofy grin.
Beside him, Caleb wasn’t laughing at all.
Just staring at Jamie’s face with pure adoration.
Jamie wrapped his arms around Caleb’s middle. “Remember what you asked me that day?”
Caleb chuckled. “I asked if you wanted to be my roomie. And you said—”
“I said, ‘That is not how to ask a man to move in with you!’”
“Well, you said yes, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did.”
Jamie’s cheeks heated thinking back to that night. The way Caleb pulled him onto the dance floor, under the string lights, and made him sway. Jamie had mustered up the courage to ask, “Do you think we’ll have a wedding like this one day?”
He remembered it vividly, like it was yesterday. Caleb’s brown eyes twinkling as he leaned in. “Say the word, and I’ll marry you today, J.”
The words still made his cheeks heat.
Now, back in their new flat, Jamie squeezed Caleb tighter, letting his cheek fall to his warm back. He smelled so good.
“I can’t wait to live with you. Even if you’re a tosser.”
The muscles of Caleb’s back worked as he chuckled. He hung the photo on the wall and picked up another. A photo of Jamie and Ellie in front of the Eiffel Tower, on their first big trip as a couple.
His stomach dropped.
Caleb must have sensed Jamie’s shift in mood. “Did it go okay? Packing up and saying bye to Ellie.”
“Yeah.”
It had. But it still felt weird. Ellie had been his comfort zone for so long, and now she would be all alone out in Islington…
“Is she coming for Game Night this weekend?” Caleb asked.
“Yeah. Uh, I think so.”
“Awesome. Sally and Ang are coming, too.”
“And Jean-Baptiste.”
“Ugh,” Caleb groaned, head falling back onto Jamie’s shoulder. “Why does the French guy have to do everything with us?”
Jamie pinched Caleb’s side for being a jealous little twat. “Because he’s my friend.”
A knock at the door pulled them apart, and Caleb went to get it, grumbling to himself about snooty coworkers. Jamie rolled his eyes as Caleb opened the door and greeted his family.
“Maggie. Pippa. It’s so good to—oof.”
Jamie looked over to see his mum engulfing Caleb in a big hug, the bangles on her wrists jingling as she squeezed the life out of him. He could smell the essential oils on her from here.
Pippa rushed over to Jamie, her blonde hair flowing behind her. She hugged him.
“Happy Moving Day!”
“Thanks,” Jamie said, hugging her back. “You conveniently came right after we finished carrying boxes up all the stairs.”
“You moved from Caleb’s flat one floor down, J…”
“Hey! I had boxes back at my place with Ellie, too.”
Pippa waved her hand dismissively. “You’re fine. We’re here now.”
When he turned, he saw his mum speaking low to Caleb, gently cupping his cheeks. He caught the tail end of her sentence.
“... part of our family, you do know that, yeah?”
Caleb’s throat bobbed as he nodded.
Over the past year, Jamie learned that Caleb’s relationship with his own family was… complex. His dad sounded rough around the edges, along with his sister, Bri. The only family member Caleb talked to regularly was his sister, Tay, in California.
Jamie hoped to meet her in the near future.
After they unpacked most of the boxes, his mum pulled out a smudge stick and saged the apartment. The smoke would probably set off the smoke alarm—something he warned her about, twice—so Jamie took the opportunity to pull Caleb out onto their balcony.
“What’s wrong?” Caleb asked, concern creeping into his voice as Jamie stared out over the streets of Soho. “Everything okay, sweetheart?”
Jamie watched a group of cyclists weave through traffic below. His gaze drifted to an older man carrying a bundle of flowers down the pavement, whistling softly to himself.
With a deep breath, he looked back at Caleb.
A line of sweat traced its way from Caleb’s temple to his neck. They’d been at it for hours and could probably both use a shower, yet Caleb looked completely content. His cheeks were flushed, a smile lingering on his face as sunlight caught in his honey-brown eyes.
The sight made something tighten in Jamie’s chest.
“Thank you.”
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Caleb stilled. “For what?”
“You’ve changed everything for me, Caleb.” Jamie swallowed. “I don’t think I say thank you enough.”
Caleb’s smile softened.
For a moment, his gaze flicked between Jamie’s eyes and his lips. Then he reached up and tucked one of Jamie’s damp curls behind his ear.
“I’d do anything for you, J,” he said quietly.
His thumb brushed Jamie’s cheek.
“Anything.”