15
Later was eleven that night.
Marcel appeared at his door in cargo shorts and a faded vintage t-shirt Leo hadn’t seen before—some defunct band from the early nineties, the print cracked and soft-looking. His hair was damp at the edges, like he’d just showered. There was no phone in his hand. No tablet under his arm. His pockets, as far as Leo could tell, were empty.
Leo leaned against the doorframe and took him in from the top of his head down to his bare ankles and back up again.
“I was wondering when I was going to see you off-duty.”
Marcel smiled. The real smile.
“I heard you had a private hot tub.”
Leo hadn’t so much as dipped his toe into it. The only thing he’d wanted out of this week. He’d been too busy accidentally becoming part of a wedding, accidentally becoming part of a family, and accidentally falling for the man standing in his doorway.
“Are you going to invite me in?”
Leo stood aside and waved his arm.
Marcel stepped inside.
The hot tub was perfect.