#bv2019

* * *

The second time Jack saw Eric Bittle was a little over half a year later, right in the middle of training camp. Like before, it was a photograph. This time, though, it came via his news feed.

Samwell University Selects First Openly Gay NCAA Division I Team Captain

The photo was obviously a headshot from the team's site, but the brilliant smile and warm brown eyes were as lively as if it had been a candid shot.

Jack didn't get to the article itself for ten minutes.

When he did, it wasn't what he was expecting. It was as bland and banal and calculated as any item that came from a team's PR shop. Generic sounding quotes, no sign of anything resembling a controversial opinion (other than the fact that a gay player merely existing was controversial in and of itself), no personality, no depth.

There were only two startling revelations in the article, neither of which was more than a mention with no further explanation.

One was that Bittle came from Georgia. That was definitely unusual, and Jack wondered how someone who was not only short and gay but Southern ever managed to get into hockey in the first place.

The other was that Bittle's team knew he was gay before they had voted him captain and had voted him in unanimously - which was the only time that had ever happened in the history of the team.

Jack figured the article was only the opening salvo. There would be follow-up interviews, no doubt. You Can Play would be all over it, and so would Sports Illustrated and ESPN.

All that happened though, as training camp ended and pre-season began, was that several opinion pieces came out and Jack added more names to his list of which reporters could and could not be trusted.

(The one article that went viral did so for the wrong reasons: it was a passionate, pompous, and self-important screed about gay rights in international sports that might have had more impact and less unintentional hilarity if the author had not been operating under the assumption that Bittle was from Georgia-the-country and not Georgia-the-state.)

Also, Kent texted Jack.

did u see the news?

Jack didn't reply and didn't read the other texts that followed. But he did tell George he needed to talk with her. Alone.

"I'm still not planning on coming out," he informed her right out of the gate.

"This is about the Samwell thing, isn't it?"

He nodded. He wished she hadn't put it quite that way. If NCAA hockey had been an option for him, Samwell would have been his top choice.

In retrospect, going to the Q had been a mistake in more ways than one. Thank God the Falconers had been willing to take a chance on him after rehab.

"Jack, I'm glad you trusted me all those years ago, but it honestly doesn't matter to me one way or the other if you come out now, or later, or never."

"I just..." He kept his eyes focused on the corner of her desk. "There are" - he circled his hand - "rumors."

Rumors. Gossip. A few photos he wished he could wipe from existence. Fanfic.

"You know I don't care about that, Jack."

He nodded, eyes still cut down and away. By never denying the rumors about him and Kent, he'd confirmed them for her, and he didn't know what to do about that. At least she was willing to maintain the polite fiction that she had no idea who Jack had dated back in the Q.

"Just... If You Can Play comes around and wants me to do another clip..." He blinked away the stinging in his eyes and why was this rattling him so much? "I don't feel like I can say no."

But what would he say if he said 'yes?' He couldn't offer other queer athletes any kind of advice that wasn't about hockey. But just existing would say so much in and of itself...

"I'm not ready but I should be ready, shouldn't I? Especially now."

"Jack. There's no should about it."

"But somehow this kid can be brave enough to come out, while I - "

George held up a hand to cut him off. She shook her head sadly. "I don't think he had a choice. This," she said, pointing to a copy of the article on her monitor, "is a pre-emptive strike. From what Martin Hall tells me, Bittle was out to his classmates and before he was on anyone's radar as a top prospect. And apparently, his online presence wasn't at all discreet and he has a sizable following. Hall said Bittle decided it was better to get the story out on his own terms before someone put two and two together and made a call to Deadspin or worse."

Jack understood. It would only take one picture from 2009, one recollection from a team-mate, to get the story out of his hands or Kent's. He should think about getting ahead of things, but...

... he wasn't ready. He wasn't sure he ever would be.

* * *

The only reason Jack didn't see Bittle again until March was because he had his own hockey to focus on. Then finally, the annual nightmare of the trade deadline finally passed and speculation started churning about what might happen after the playoffs.

Free agent frenzy technically didn't start until July, but there was a lot of early buzz about the young men who would be coming out of the NCAA and where in the NHL they might go.

One of these young men was Eric Bittle. There was more talk about whether Bittle was too small for the NHL than whether he was too gay for the NHL, but Jack still avoided watching the video clips Tater kept trying to show him.

(He couldn't explain why he avoided watching them any more than he could explain why he only sometimes responded to Kent's texts, but he suspected it came from the same dark place in his mind.)

And then Samwell made it to the Frozen Four. Jack didn't watch, but he felt a thrill of vindication when he heard that the Wellies (and Bittle) won.

Maybe Bittle would sign with an NHL team or maybe he wouldn't, but the short, gay, Southern kid had scored the game-winning goal in the NCAA championships, and it felt like something in the world had shifted and wasn't going to shift back.

Jack was still mulling it over when he arrived at the practice facility that morning, and George had to shout at him twice to get his attention.

"Jack, can you come in here a moment?"

The request brought the usual spike of anxiety even though he knew nothing awful was likely to happen. He followed George into her office.

"I thought you would want to hear this from me before you heard it from anyone else."

Jack's breath froze halfway up his throat. He had no idea what his face must have looked like, but George patted the air in front of her as if the soothing motion would reach him. "It's okay, it's okay, it's nothing bad, but I didn't want you caught unprepared. Did you watch the NCAA finals yesterday?"

Jack shook his head. George didn't seem surprised, and he wondered what she'd put together about him when he started looking into online degrees.

"I want you to take a look at this." She turned her monitor so he could see it. A video clip played. In it, a small player with the number 15 on his back zipped between opposing players like a destroyer through a fleet of battleships.

The third time Jack saw Eric Bittle was the first time he actually saw him play hockey.

"Play it again," he rasped once the clip was done. This time, he watched while knowing what to watch for. The way Bittle read the ice. The way he sent the puck unerringly not to where his liney was but to where his liney would be. The way he was obviously reluctant to take a hit, but had turned that avoidance into a weapon, with one feint in particular sending one Denver player crashing into the boards and his teammate plowing into him a half-second later.

The soft hands. Eyes that were as full of determination as they were of fear.

"He might need a year in the AHL first - trust me, you'll plotz when you hear how much hockey he didn't play before college - but can you imagine having that on your line?"

He could. Very much so. "And you're telling me first because..."

She sighed. "Because you're my friend as much as you are one of my players, and I keep thinking about that first conversation we had about Bittle, and about what it would mean to come out. When or if you decide to be out is one hundred percent up to you. I know you're out to a few people on the team, but I wanted to make damned sure you know that if we sign Bittle, it does not mean I'm expecting anything from you except to play damned good hockey and live the best life you know how to live. Got it?"

Jack nodded, swallowing hard and blinking the brightness from his eyes.

"Good. And if we sign Bittle and that brings any attention back to you that you don't want, we'll deal with it, okay?"

"Okay." His attention went back to the monitor, which was frozen on the moment when Bittle was hoisted into the air by two D-men who were each half again as big as he was. His expression was caught somewhere between joy, indignation, surprise, and... sadness?

He looked more closely. There were lots of other people on the ice. Parents, siblings. The goalie was openly sobbing on an older woman's shoulder. One of the two D-men holding Bittle had a woman in a hijab smiling up at him. The other had a gaggle of redheads crowding in around him.

It took him a moment, but he finally registered what he wasn't seeing. He thought about the 'pre-emptive strike' article, and how there had been so little press and no interviews or profile pieces that he could recall.

Jack may have had any number of issues with his own parents over the years, but they had always, always, always been there for him.

And in many ways, they had been there for Kent as well, even during the dark times when he and Kent hadn't been talking at all.

"George?"

"Hm?"

"There's something I want to do, when you go meet with Bittle."

* * *

The first time Jack actually met Eric Bittle was at Samwell.

Maman and Papa would meet him at dinner, after Jack and George had finished talking business. Meanwhile, they were taking a nostalgia tour of campus.

"We're meeting Bittle at the hockey team's house," George explained. "I'm also hoping to talk to a couple of his teammates." She must have studied a map before they arrived because she set off like she knew exactly where she was going.

They crossed a quad that was bordered on one side by a pond. Jack wondered if it ever froze over hard enough to skate on. Knots of students were scattered on the grass, some studying, some napping. A lively pickup game of soccer ended abruptly when someone kicked the ball into the pond.

Jack could imagine himself in a place like this, but the imagining didn't hurt as much he expected.

Maybe it was because he had figured out somewhere along the line that not being able to play college hockey didn't mean he couldn't go to college one day.

Or maybe it was because something about this place, even though he had never been here before, felt like home.

George turned right just past the quad, but Jack missed it because he was watching the soccer players trying to retrieve their ball without getting in the pond.

And, of course, he plowed right into someone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

A slender (but still solid - Jack felt like he'd been checked) young man had landed on his ass. He had a phone in one hand, and a miraculously unspilled latte in the other.

The man tucked his phone into the back of some (very short) red shorts and reached out to take the hand Jack offered.

"I'm sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going - I've got this meeting I've got to get to and then I got a text so I thought..."

The honey-smooth drawl trailed off as the young man looked up to see who had knocked him over.

"Jack Zimmermann??"

Jack could feel the flush rise to his cheeks and was glad he couldn't see how red he must have been turning.

"Haha. Yeah. And you're Eric Bittle, eh?"

He was even cuter in person.

"Um..." Bittle seemed reluctant to let go of his hand. Jack could sympathize.

"Hello, Eric. I'm Georgia Martin - it's nice to finally meet you in person." George must have realized that Jack wasn't right behind her. "I hope you don't mind I brought company along. Did you still want to meet back at your house?"

"Oh! Yes!" Bittle reclaimed his hand, and headed off the same direction George had been going. "I made a pie for you - there should be enough for us all, even if Chowder - that's our goalie - comes home early."

George nodded in approval. If Chowder was Chris Chow, Jack knew she was hoping to speak with him, too.

"Pie, huh?" Jack asked.

Bittle nodded emphatically. "Yes, sir! I hope y'all like pecan pie," he said, pronouncing 'pecan' completely incorrectly.

Jack couldn't help teasing. "Bittle. You need to eat more protein if you're going to be in the NHL."

Bittle gasped in exaggerated shock. "You did not just say that to my face!"

"I said it to all of you," Jack deadpanned. "Not that there's a lot to say it to, eh?"

Bittle's eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Why do I get the idea that you're going to be a whole lot of trouble, Mr. Zimmermann?"

"If you want trouble, wait until you meet my parents. They're joining us for dinner tonight."

It wasn't often that he started this kind of back-and-forth with someone so quickly. But something about it didn't feel quick.

It felt like a long, slow burning fuse that was first lit back when Tater sent that ridiculous picture had finally reached its end.

Meanwhile, Bittle started rambling on about how he really should make a second pie if he was going to meet someone's parents.

Jack fought back a smile. Tater was going to be so pissed he wasn't invited along.

"Sorry I'm babbling on like this, but this is one of the most exciting things that has ever happened to me!"

"I know what you mean, um, I mean, I remember what it was like when George came and talked to me."

George was a few feet ahead of them, but he could hear her roll her eyes.

"I don't know if you ever heard the story of how I joined the Falconers, but... well, I was in a rough spot. And I knew I would be safe with them. That I would feel safe with them."

"I'd love to hear that story sometime," Bittle said gently, reaching out to touch Jack's arm, then jerking his hand away quickly.

"I'd love to tell it to you." He didn't quite reach out to Bittle, but it was easy enough to let the back of his hand knock against Bittle's as they walked along.

It would have been nice to do more, to promise more, or just say more, but he wasn't ready for that.

"I wasn't expecting to meet you today, but I'm sure glad I did." Bittle smiled let his hand brush tentatively against Jack's in return.

Some other time, Jack might have said out loud what he was thinking, that it felt like he knew Bittle, like he knew this place, knew what it was like to walk side by side with him. Like part of him already knew what it was like not to walk hand in hand, but half embracing as they walked back to Bittle's house.

---

There’s little good news at the hospital. Besides his concussion, Jack’s left elbow is broken, and while it isn’t a career-ending injury (they keep throwing that phrase around, they don’t know the panic it shoots through his chest every time), it’s going to keep him from playing the rest of this season. His right ankle is broken, too, just a hairline fracture. If he stays off of it, it should heal correctly in a matter of weeks.

“My son-in-law broke his ankle once and it wasn’t ever the same,” a nurse says, when she comes in to prop up Jack’s pillows and bring his lunch.

“Oh?” Jack tries to be polite, but anxiety spikes up inside of him, his ribs squeezing into a vice around his heart. If he can never play hockey again, then what? What else is there? Hello, I’d like to introduce you to the great Bad Bob Zimmermann, and his son Jack the photographer? He closes his eyes and breathes.

“I’m only scaring you a little so you’ll keep up with your PT once you heal,” the nurse says, patting his knee through the blanket. “My son-in-law is a lazy couch potato. You’ll be fine.”

“Wonderful, thank you,” Jack says, without opening his eyes.

“Here,” the nurse says, and lays a paperback book in his lap. “This got left for you. You ring if you need anything, okay?”

She goes and Jack decides he will not need anything at all until he gets out of here.  He forces himself to focus on the book in his lap instead of his pounding heart.

It’s a hand-bound cookbook. Slow-cooker recipes. Jack lays it in his lap and thumbs through with his good hand and a small envelope falls out of the page that reads “Slow Cooker Cherry Cobbler”.

The card inside the envelope is simple, plain white with red apples and blue flowers. It says “Get Well Soon”.

Jack,

I didn’t know your last name, so I hope this gets to you. I’ve hurt my wrist before, and I know how hard cooking for yourself can be with only one good hand. So here’s a book of recipes my family put together and passed out to all the kids. I contributed this one - I love cobbler. I wish we could have met under better circumstances. Feel better!

-Eric Bittle

Under the name, squished into the space like an afterthought or a greatly-debated addition, is a phone number, and the phrase: if you need anything at all.

---

Visitors come and go. A couple teammates, one with his family in tow. They’re nice, but Jack barely knows them. His manager calls, but she sounds grim, and Jack can’t help but wonder if she blames him for the accident. He doesn’t ask.

His parents call. Jack can barely talk to them. He reassures them he’s fine, he’ll be fine, it’s just one season. Come October, he’ll be right as rain. And then he tells them the doctor has come to talk to him, and he needs to go. When he hangs up, he’s alone in the room, but for the cookbook on his bedside table.

The nurse comes back, and when she grins at him, Jack hears “it wasn’t ever the same” on repeat.

“I hear they’re letting you go,” she says, as she wraps the blood pressure cuff around his arm. “Do you have somebody to drive you home?”

“No,” Jack says. “I’ll think of something. Uber, or a taxi.”

“Don’t get a taxi,” the nurse warns. “Filthy things. You’ll be back here in no time with a staph infection. Find someone with a clean car who can drive you. Someone reliable.”

Jack is twenty-seven hundred miles away from every reliable person he knows.

The nurse goes again, and Jack can’t get a deep enough breath to be relieved that she’s gone.

On the bedside table is the cookbook. He gropes for it, and manages not to knock it to the floor. That phone number stares up at him from the card.

if you need anything at all.

Maybe it’s time to ask for help.

---

Is this Eric Bittle’s phone?

yes it is! who’s this?

This is Jack. You helped me out after I was in a car accident.

oh jack!! i’m so glad you texted! how are you doing?

Not terrible. Been better. Ha ha

i bet :(

I hate to impose but I was wondering if I could ask a favor. You’ve already done so much.

anything

gosh that sounded hasty!! i mean, i’ll help you however i can

I don’t have a way to get back to my apartment from the hospital, and none of my family lives nearby. You wouldn’t happen to be able to give me a lift, would you? I’ll pay for gas.

oh my goodness, of course i wouldn’t mind! i can be there in a jiffy, i don’t live far. two shakes

I appreciate it. I owe you.

My life haha

That was meant to be a joke.

you must be feeling better ;)

---

Jack meets Eric for the second time when he gets into his car. An orderly wheels him out to the curb in a chair, and she helps Eric get Jack into the front seat. They load his crutches into the back, and off they go.  

The silence as they drive is awkward. Jack only speaks to direct Eric to his apartment downtown, nerves buzzing under his skin. All he can think about is how empty it is there, and how many takeout containers will pile up until he can ask a neighbor to help him take out his trash, and how likely it is he’ll fall in the shower and never be found. He’s so preoccupied with his catastrophizing that he almost forgets to point out the turn for the parking lot. Looking out the window, Eric peers up at the highrise.

“You live on the ground floor, right?” he says. There’s the tiniest bit of hope in his voice.

“The fourteenth,” Jack says, dryly.

Eric helps him up to his apartment. They brave the elevator together, and the hall down to Jack’s two-bedroom. By the look on his face, it’s nicer than Eric expected. Inside, Jack collapses into a chair and chuckles, his voice full of exhaustion. “This isn’t how I planned to spend this season. Could you grab those scissors from the counter so I can cut this bracelet off?”

Eric brings them to him, but leans down to do it himself.  “This season of what?” he asks.

He reads the name Jack Zimmermann just as Jack says, “I play hockey.”

Eric straightens up and stares at him, and underneath the pallor and dark growth of stubble, there is a familiar set to his mouth and eyes that he somehow hadn’t seen up until this point.

“You’re Jack Zimmermann,” he says.

“Yes.”

“You play for the Las V-”

“I play for the Providence Falconers,” Jack says, too quickly.

For just a moment, silence stretches between them, worse than when they were in the car.

“I’m sorry,” Jack adds. “I interrupted you. It’s a sore subject. I was happy with the Aces, and then I got traded.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Eric says, and his smile is so genuine that Jack is immediately reassured. “I saw you on television. I should’ve remembered.”

That smile. Jack has never seen one quite like it, so soft and real. It tells him that Eric is legitimately pleased to be talking to Jack, to help him out. He knows who Jack is, has seen him on TV, and is asking nothing of him.

Jack asks, “Would you like to sit down?”

Eric sits down. They talk for a few minutes, about hockey (Eric played in high school, then college, but wasn’t professional material). Then a few minutes more, about baking (Eric owns a small shop about a mile from Jack’s apartment). Then a few minutes more, about family (Eric’s parents live in Georgia, he’s an only child, they’re proud of him). They talk for a few minutes, and then a few hours, and by the time Eric finally looks at his watch, the windows are dark.

“Oh lord, I didn’t realize the time,” Eric says, concern creasing his forehead between his eyebrows. “You’ve been in the hospital and here I am, keepin’ you up. I can go.”

“You’ve been keeping me company,” Jack says. Talking came so natural, he hadn’t wanted to speak up when he noticed the late hour. “And I appreciate it. It’s sort of lonely around here.”

“Well,” Eric says, considering, “in that case, why don’t I come back tomorrow?”

The connection is simple. Eric is easy to talk to, and Jack likes him. He likes the way Eric looks at him. He likes his smile.

“Yeah,” he says, “come back tomorrow.”

---

Eric comes back tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after. And all the next week.

Eleven days in, he asks Jack, “Am I botherin’ you? I hope I’m not intruding, I’m suddenly here all the time, and we hardly know each other.”

Jack, who is watching Eric use his oven to bake a maple sugar crusted apple pie, is thrown. He’s been eating three solid meals a day, is never in want of company, and hasn't been bored since his last day in the hospital. He feels like he’s heard Eric’s whole life story, and knows him better than he knows most of the Falconers. Jack is feeling better since he's been injured than he has since coming to Providence. He reassures Eric that he is not bothering him.

The pie is delicious. The maple sugar adds a depth of flavor Jack has never had in an apple pie before, though he admittedly hasn’t had many. The crust is flaky and the apples are tender and the lattice on the top is so perfect Jack would think it was machine-cut if he hadn’t watched Eric do it himself. With the fork in his mouth, it occurs to him that Eric (Bittle is what Jack calls him in his head, it's such an unusual name) is a professional baker.

“Don't you have a job?” he asks, and when that sounds like an accusation, he forces himself to finish chewing, swallow, and make another attempt in the time it takes for Eric's surprise to wear off. “I mean, you're here most of the day. You said you had a bakery-”

“I did,” Eric admits, sheepishly. “I mean, I do. I own the space, but I can't afford to keep the shop open. The day you had your accident, I was actually looking into selling the shop and movin’ back to Georgia. I just don't have the money to stay here if I'm not working.”

A hole opens up inside of Jack. It's so sudden and yawning that he nearly falls into it. It's been eleven days and this tiny baker who came to his aid is his only thing keeping him going. How did he not realize?

“So you need a job,” he says. His own voice sounds very far away.

Eric twirls his fork on the end of one tine, frowning. “Well, I mean, yes. Ideally, something in a kitchen. But the cost of living in Rhode Island is so high, my apartment doesn't even have heat and I-”

“So stay here.”

The words are out of his mouth before he thinks about the implications of what he's offering.

Eric's laugh is incredulous. “What?”

“I have two bedrooms.” Jack is speaking on autopilot. “Central heating and air. We get along perfectly. You spoke to my mother on the phone and I think she loves you. You like my kitchen - you've named my oven.”

Eric's sidelong glance towards the gleaming Franklin in the kitchen says everything.

“I know it's sudden,” Jack continues, “and I may not be thinking straight. But if you move in and help me out a little while I recover, that will free up your expenses. It solves your problem. Doesn't it?”

“Yes, it does,” Eric concedes. He sounds flabbergasted, one hand delicately resting on his collarbone in shock. “But why? Why would you offer me all that?”

Jack wants to say, Because I like you. Because you brighten every room you're in. Because this place suddenly feels like home. Because you’re an angel.

Jack says, “Because you saved me.”

---

In February, Bob and Alicia Zimmermann fly down to Providence, Rhode Island to see their only son.

They've been married for thirty-one years, and it shows. When they pick up their rental car at the airport, they squabble over the keys, a quiet but furious struggle. In the car, Bob rests his hand on Alicia's knee, expressing his love and silently willing her not to drive so fast.

“Do you think we're intruding?” he asks. “It's Valentine's Day. We could have waited until tomorrow, he might have plans with someone.”

“He asked us to come today,” Alicia says, with a shrug. She passes a weaving SUV loaded with bicycles and pretends not to notice Bob's hand tighten on her knee until they've left the other vehicle behind. “I think he has something planned. You can't intrude on an invitation.”

The door of Jack’s apartment has a paper heart taped to it, “Come In” printed in Jack’s careful hand. Alicia says it looks like the valentines Jack used to bring home for her from school, only those usually had mama written on them. Bob kisses her, and then he opens the door.

The apartment is decorated, not just with paper hearts but with curtains on the windows and throw blankets on the sofa, with new pictures on the walls and a whole shelf full of framed photos on the entertainment center. It was nice, before, the first time they came to visit, but impersonal. Now there are little glimpses of life everywhere.

The biggest of these is Jack himself, sitting up in his armchair with his foot up. He welcomes them jovially, and when Bob hugs his son, he’s solid and warm and up close his smile is real.

“It’s good to see you,” Alicia says, when Bob gives her enough room to kiss Jack and comb her fingers through his hair. “You look good, even with the casts. What’s all this about?”

“Well,” Jack says, and looks past them. Bob and Alicia turn, and there’s a wide-eyed blonde man standing in the entry to the kitchen. His apron says “Kiss the Cook”.

“Hi,” he says, “we talked on the phone a coupla times. I’m Eric.”

Jack smiles, broad and genuine, and Eric smiles back.

Jack says, “I wanted to tell you in person. My boyfriend made us dinner.”

---

That night, Jack lays in bed and listens to the low sound of his parents talking in the second bedroom. Eric is curled up against his back, his soft cheek pressed against Jack’s shoulder blade. His breathing is even and deep, and Jack hates to disturb him, but his ankle is protesting. He shifts away so he can roll onto his back, and Eric mumbles, before snuggling up close again.

“You okay, honey?” Eric whispers, sleepily.  Jack tucks a kiss into his sleep-fluffed hair.

“Yeah, bud,” Jack whispers back.

“I’m here if you need anythin,” Eric yawns.

+++

Oats, asparagus, chicken breasts, toothpaste.  Jack read his list and knew he was forgetting something.  He had almost considered going to a different Whole Foods so he wouldn’t run into that guy again, but his therapist said maybe he was reading into the situation too much.  Jack couldn’t control other people’s rude behavior—only his reaction to it.  So he kept that in mind and kept his usual store and routine.  He reread his list when bam! The cart-on-cart smash pulled Jack out of his headspace.  

“I am so sorry!” A voice called out.

Jack was ready to throw in a very Canadian, “No, I’m sorry,” when he realized who it was.

“My god,” the man said, clearly mortified. “It’s you.”

Clara was with him again.

“It was an accident, really,” Jack said as he quickly began to reverse.

The man sighed and followed Jack.

“I was hoping I’d run into you again—and it turns out, I did, literally.”

“Oh?”

“I just wanted to apologize for my behavior the other day.  I was having a really bad day, trying not to take it out on anyone, and instead, I took it out on you.  I have no excuse.  My mama would tan my hide--”

The man was interrupted by Clara who babbled loudly and waved her arms in Jack’s direction, wanting to be carried.

“See?  Clara here has better manners than me as she’s being way friendlier.”

The two laughed and Jack finally spoke.

“It’s fine.  I know what it’s like to want to be left alone, believe me.”

“I’m Eric,” the man said as he extended his hand.

“Jack.”

“And this,” Eric smiled, “is Clara.  And she thanks you for returning her shoe last week, by the way.”

“It was me,” Jack blurted out.

“What was you?”

“It was me who ran over her shoe with my cart.”

Eric laughed.  “That’s okay.  I mean, at least you returned it to its rightful owner.”

“I’m sure your wife was glad you came back with both shoes, huh?”

The man look puzzled and then laughed.  

“My wife?  Bless your heart!  No, no wife.”

Jack realized how heteronormative he was being.  Shitty would have had a field day with him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

Eric quickly added, “No husband either for that matter.  Just me and Clara.  Right, sugar?”

Jack and Eric grinned at each other, then Eric peered into Jack’s shopping cart.

“Lots of fruits and veggies, I see.  Impressive.”

“I am a growing boy,” Jack said and playfully flexed his arms, surprised at his own chutzpah.

“Are you always this flirty?” Eric asked as he placed his hands on his hips.  “And in front of my child, too?”

Jack blushed and began to stammer.

“I’m just teasing you, Jack.  Clearly,” Eric said as he slowly raked his eyes down Jack’s body, “you eat very healthy.”

Jack let out a loud laugh. “Pot meet kettle?”

It was then Eric’s turn to blush as he covered his face and laughed.

“I’m sorry.  It’s just been a long time since I’ve even had… banter?”

Jack smiled and then he just went for it.  Why not?  He still found Eric incredibly attractive and it seemed like the feelings were mutual.

“Would you like to have some coffee with me?  We can go to a kid-friendly cafe. We can banter some more.  I’m a great banterer.”

Eric’s smile disappeared.  

“Oh… um, I would but I really don’t date right now.  Or at all. I--”

“That’s okay,” Jack said.  “No need to give me any explanations.  Really.”  

Jack tried to mask his disappointment, as Eric studied his face and smiled softly.  

“You really are very sweet, aren’t you?” Eric said. “Thank you.”

He then got up on his toes and planted a soft kiss on Jack’s cheek.

“Goodbye, Jack.”

Jack watched as Eric rolled his cart down and over to the next aisle, and it appeared that was the end of that.  

Jack thought maybe he’d change his Whole Foods after all.

+++

“I’m surprised you’ve never heard of him,” Alicia said.  

“I’m surprised you’d come all the way here just to see him,” Jack chirped.

“Clearly, I came to see you first and Bitty Bittle, second.”

“Really? His name is Bitty Bittle?” Jack asked as he poured Alicia a glass of wine.

“Nickname he’s had since college.  He’s my food and lifestyle guru—without any of that GOOP nonsense—and when I heard he was actually going to be signing his new book here I just had to come.  And now I get to visit my beautiful son.”

Jack laughed.  “Do you mean me or him?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said with a wink as Jack laughed.

Alicia had flown in that morning from Montreal to spend the weekend with Jack.  Jack enjoyed the quiet summer weeks of the off-season.  It gave him time to savor moments like these.  He grilled some fish on the balcony as he caught up with maman.

“And papa didn’t want to come out with you?”

“He’s off doing god-knows-what in Toronto with Wayne and Mario.  Some sort of goofy reunion.”

“Haha.  I bet he misses you.”

“Probably,” Alicia said with a smirk.  “So Bitty films his show here, he’s lived here since college, and you have no idea who he is?”

Jack shrugged again.

“Busy,” he offered.

“Well, guess you’ll meet him at the book signing tomorrow.  He’s so fascinating. He’s been baking since he was a little boy, had a popular vlog in college, started his own bakery, it took off like crazy, he wrote a cookbook, was offered a show. And he’s so sweet!”

“You’re such a cook bunny,” Jack chuckled.

“Hush!  And then, he was dating that actor from that Law & Order spin-off and they were going to get married and have a baby but the guy broke it off.”  Alicia shook a fist. “Said he didn’t want to be a father or some nonsense.  Can you believe it?  I wanted to beat that guy senseless.  I bet he was secretly dating some twink he met on Grindr.”

“Twink?  Really, maman?” Jack laughed. “And how do you know about Grindr?”

 “Poor Bitty got his heart broken and hasn’t dated since,” Alicia said sadly.

“More wine?”

Alicia grinned.  “Mmm, yes! You have me so spoiled.”

Jack smiled at his mother who continued to sing Bitty Bittle’s praises.

The next morning, Jack and Alicia drove to Barnes and Noble, and Alicia bounced happily as they waited in line.  A few people approached her for an autograph and a couple selfies, some said hello to Jack, but like Alicia, the crowd was there for Bitty.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring other stuff for him to sign,” Jack said.

“I want him to sign the new book. I heard there’s a whole section on piecaken.”

“Piecaken?  What’s piecaken?  Do I want to know?”

The line moved forward and Jack and Alicia chatted idly until Jack heard the voice.  His voice.

“And who do I make this out to, honey?”

“Elizabeth, please.”

“Sure thing, Elizabeth.”

Jack peered over everyone’s head in front of him and just about died when he saw it was Eric—his Eric—sitting at a table at the end of the line signing his book.  He was Bitty Bittle.

“Câlisse,” Jack muttered.

“What is it?”

“I--I know him.”  He pulled down his snapback and felt his shoulders begin to rise with tension.

“You know him?  How?” Alicia asked.

Jack’s face flushed and then Alicia squeaked.

“Jacky!” she staged whispered with glee.  “No!”

“His name is Eric.  I ran into him at Whole Foods,” Jack whispered back. “Twice.”

Alicia gripped Jack’s arm.

“Did you two sleep together‽”

“Maman!”

“Well?”

“Yes, we totally threw down right there in aisle 12 by the olive bar.”

“I wish!” Alicia shot back.

“Merde!” Jack said.  “He’s going to think I’m following him or something. I asked him out and he said no. He said he doesn’t date or whatever.”

“I told you that!  It’s that moronic Chad’s fault!  I should have him kicked out of SAG.”

The line kept moving forward and the look on Alicia’s face was priceless.  

“Well, we’re almost up there, so you better think of what you’re going to say.”

“Hi, welcome.  And who do I make this out--” Eric said then stopped when he realized it was Jack, and then completely froze when he saw Alicia.

“Bitty, I’m Alicia--”

“Oh my god, you’re Alicia Zimmermann,” Eric said as he held his hand to his mouth. “It’s really you.”

“And this is my son, Jack, who had no idea who you were so he’s not stalking you. He just came to keep me company.”

Jack covered his face and groaned as Eric laughed.  He looked at Jack and smiled.

“Euh, hi.”

“Hi.”

Alicia beamed and then cleared her throat.

“Oh, uh, sorry.  Who do I make this out to?” Eric asked Alicia.

“‘To my new best friend, Alicia,’” she replied.

“Nice,” Eric said as he smiled.  He then looked at Jack, “Are you buying a book, too?”

“Sure,” Jack said, and then, hell, why not?  “And maybe some coffee... for you?”

Eric stared at Jack with an eyebrow raised.  He took a book from the stack, wrote something in it and gave the book to Jack.

“Thank you so much for stopping by.  Alicia, I love you and I hope you enjoy the book.”

Alicia smiled and waved as Jack took the book and pulled her away.

Once they were hidden from view, he opened it.

401-555-1595 xo

“Get out!” Alicia yelled.  

They both walked up the registers with smiles on their faces.

+++

Jack pulled up to Eric’s house right at 5:00 p.m. He closed his eyes took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he counted from one to ten.  The two had been texting each other for the last few weeks.  With Jack’s preseason schedule and Bitty finishing up a small book tour, they finally found time to get together.

He rang the doorbell and saw movement inside Eric’s windows.  Eric poked his head out from behind the curtain, and the two caught each other’s glance as Jack waved.

“Well, aren’t you Mister Punctual?” Eric said with a grin when he opened the door.

“Canadian,” Jack said as an explanation.  “Hi, Eric.  It’s good to see you again.”

“Come in, please.  My sitter should be here in a little bit, and then we can get going.”

Jack entered the house and loved how homey and lived-in it felt.  

“Excuse the mess,” Eric said as he moved some wooden blocks into a basket.

Clara, who sat on the floor, crawled toward Jack.

“Hello, hi,” Jack said softly as sat down cross-legged near her. Clara climbed right into his lap and he brushed her hair out of her face.

“Just make yourself right at home, I guess!” Bitty laughed as he watched Clara lean back and begin to suck her thumb.

“She likes me,” Jack beamed.

“She’s a good judge of character,” Bitty replied. He smiled at Jack and said, “I’m glad you finally texted when you did.”

“I never thought I’d get the chance to,” Jack said simply.  “I’m glad you gave me the opportunity.”

“Jack,” Eric began, then paused.  He gripped a wooden block then continued, “Before we go, I feel like I should be honest with you…”

“Eric--”

“You can call me Bitty.”

“Bitty, there’s no pressure here, okay?  I just want to get to know you.  That’s all. It’s just an early dinner.”

Bitty looked relieved.  

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

+++

The two went to one of Jack’s favorite places right near the water.  It was small, very low key and at that time of day, fairly empty.

They learned about one another, and much to Jack’s delight Bitty confessed that he had no idea who Jack was or what he did.

“I’m sure your mom probably told you about me,” Bitty said as he looked out the window.  A family of ducks swam in the river.

“Some.”

“It’s hard for me to go out… on dates, I mean.  What happened was so humiliating.  My love life, splattered in the tabloids like it’s oh so entertaining.  And I’m not trying to talk about my ex here, I promise, I just wanted you to know why I said no the first time you asked me out.”

“Why did you say yes the second time?”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your mom,” he said cheekily.

Jack grinned.

Bitty sighed.  “And when it all happened, when I found out Chad didn’t want to be a father, our surrogate was already in her second trimester.”

“I’m so sorry, Bitty.”

“It all worked out for the best.  I wanted Clara. I wanted her and loved her before I even met her. She was my daughter with or without Chad in the picture.  I got the better end of the bargain, frankly.”

Jack smiled and placed his hand on Bitty’s.

“Do you want some dessert?” he asked.

“Not from here. God, no!”

Jack laughed. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“Let’s go back to my place for coffee and pie.  Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They returned to Bitty’s just as Clara was about ready to be put to bed.  Bitty paid the sitter and got Clara into her pajamas.

“Do you mind if I read to her for a bit?” Bitty asked as he returned from her bedroom.  “It’s our night time tradition.”

Clara clung to Bitty and yawned.

“Not at all.  I can get the coffee going, if you show me where the stuff is.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

Bitty sat in a comfy looking armchair in the living room and settled in with Clara and a copy of Goodnight, Moon.

Jack watched them from the kitchen and filled the coffee filter.

“In the great green room,” Bitty began, “there was a telephone and a red balloon…”

Jack smiled as he heard Bitty continue.  Twenty minutes later, Jack and Bitty sat at the kitchen table drinking their coffee and sharing a slice of pecan praline pie.

“You like?” Bitty asked.

“God, so good,” Jack said as he took another forkful.

“I can get you your own slice, you know,” Bitty chuckled.

“No, because then I’d eat it all.”

“That’s kinda the point of pie, Jack,” Bitty giggled.

There was one last chunk and they began to fork-wrestle for it.  Jack’s tines got stuck with Bitty’s as their forks tried to stab at the last piece.

They laughed and Bitty huffed out, “No fair!  You’re so much bigger than me.”

“You’re still strong,” Jack cried out.  

Jack forked the last piece and fed it to Bitty.  Bitty smiled as he chewed, and they locked eyes.  Jack leaned in closer, and Bitty gave the tiniest nod of consent.

Jack kissed Bitty—tender and sweet—and Bitty, in turn, melted into it.  They kissed for a few moments until Bitty pulled away and jumped out of his seat.

“Jack, I can’t okay?” Bitty said as he walked to the counter and turned away from Jack.

When it came to romance, Jack was generally clueless.  He was clueless when it came to his feelings, clueless when it came to the feelings of others—but this, this thing with Bitty felt real.  It felt good and right.  Jack could tell Bitty liked him, and he sure as hell liked Bitty.  Immensely.  Kissing him was like coming home to a place he’d never known but it felt so natural and true.

“Look,” Bitty said as he gripped the counter, “my life… it’s, it’s complicated.”

“Is that right?” Jack said as he took a step closer.

Bitty turned toward Jack.  

“Yeah, like you would not believe. And I have Clara to think of.  She’s only ten-months-old Jack.  She comes first!  And then there’s the show, my cookbook…”

“I know,” Jack said as he smiled and inched closer.

“It--it wouldn’t be fair to you, you know?  You travel.  I travel.  We’d hardly see each other.  I’m just so, so busy,” Bitty whispered.

“Yep, so terrible, I’m sure,” Jack chirped softly as he stood in front of Bitty and brushed his hair off his forehead.

“Yes.  Exactly,” Bitty squeaked out.

“So then I should just go,” Jack said and leaned down to cup Bitty’s face.

“Uh-huh,” Bitty said as his eyes fluttered shut.

Jack pressed a soft kiss onto Bitty’s lips and added a quick swipe of his tongue.

“W-what was I sayin’?” Bitty asked as his lips parted from Jack’s.

“Some horseshit about being too busy,” Jack murmured.

“Oh, right,” Bitty said as he wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck and leaned in for another kiss.

The next morning, Clara played peek-a-boo with Jack (who happily wore last night’s clothing) at the kitchen table while Bitty whistled and flipped another pancake.  Bitty smiled and gave Jack a happy wink.  

If this was the start of love, they’d both gladly take it.  

+++

Cheerios, a flat of strawberries, dark chocolate, gouda, butter.  Jack checked the list and knew he was forgetting something.  He stuffed it back into his pocket and turned around.

“Candles?” He called out.

“Yes, lord!  I almost forgot. Thank you, sweetpea.  You can’t have a birthday cake without candles,” Bitty replied from the end of the aisle and tossed them as he blew a kiss.

Clara laughed and clutched Jack’s arm as he carried her on his hip.

“What do you think, Clara?  A number two candle, or two candles?” Jack asked and held out a candle with a bear on it.

She looked at the candles thoughtfully and looked up at Jack said, “Pie, Papa.”

“Right. That’s what I thought you’d say,” Jack said and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go tell daddy we’re ready.”

“Okay, we got everything.  You and papa ready to go home and celebrate turning two?” Bitty asked and pushed the shopping cart toward Jack and Clara.

“Yep!” Jack said as he bounced Clara up and down.

“What time are your parents getting in?” Bitty asked.

“One.”

“Then we better get going,” Bitty said and pulled Jack in for a quick kiss.

MAYBE

Jack startled when he heard a knock on his door. It was Valentine’s Day, and though the team had just pulled off a great win, he knew most of the guys had gone out immediately afterward.

“Just a sec,” he called, sliding out of bed and padding to the door. Through the crack in the opening, he saw Bittle standing outside. “Hey, Bittle,” he said, opening it further.

“Oh, hey, Jack,” Bittle said, as if he was surprised to see Jack standing there. “I just, uh, wanted to apologize again, about everything that happened earlier with Shitty and the sign. And, uh —” he handed a small package to Jack — “you got some mail. It was on the kitchen counter.”

Jack took the package and smiled when he spotted the return address and Canadian postage. “It’s from my parents,” he said, sliding his thumb under the tape and prying it open. As he expected, the package contained a small box of candy conversation hearts. “Want one?” he asked, shaking a few into his own hand. He popped one — it said “Luv U” — into his mouth.

“Jack Zimmermann,” Bittle said, clearly delighted by something, “did your parents send you Valentine’s candy?”

“It’s tradition.” Maman had given him a box every year since second grade, when he’d come home crying about getting a similar box from a girl.

“I haven’t had those in years.”

“I kind of like them.” Jack chose a white one and handed it to Bittle. The white ones were the best.

“‘Tweet me.’ Very funny.”

“It’s perfect.” Jack couldn’t help the smile he felt splitting his face. More and more, lately, he found himself smiling in Bittle’s company. Though for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why Bittle was here with him tonight, instead of out with everyone else. “Why aren’t you out with the guys?”

Bittle made a face. “It’s Valentine’s Day. Rans and Holster took March and April out for half-price beers and karaoke. Shitty and Lardo went to an anti-Valentine’s Day Valentine’s Day party with some of her friends. And Chowder and Cait, well, it’s their first Valentine’s Day together. I didn’t want to be the third wheel. Plus, I have some reading to finish up.”

“Do you want to be out tonight?” Jack wasn’t sure why he was asking, or why he cared. Because Bittle was his friend, he supposed. “If we hadn’t had a game tonight, is there anybody — ?”

“There’s nobody,” Bittle said quickly.

Something about that didn’t sit well with Jack. Bittle was cute, and funny, and would probably be a good boyfriend. It didn’t seem right that he didn’t have anybody to celebrate with. Then again, maybe Bittle didn’t want to date. Jack could relate. Since officially breaking things off with Camilla, he hadn’t been that interested in dating either. He had too many other important things to think about.

“Well,” Jack said, choosing another heart and dropping it into Bittle’s open palm. “Maybe next year.”

Bittle looked at the message in his hand and smiled a little wistfully. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”

MARRY ME

Bitty was in the kitchen — no big surprise there — when Jack got home from his game. “What are these?” he asked, picking up a cupcake. A little candy heart sat atop a perfect swirl of pink frosting.

“They’re for my kids after practice tomorrow,” Bitty said. He placed a green heart on top of another cupcake. “If I have any leftovers I’ll save ‘em for you, but no sneaking any tonight.”

Jack chuckled “Is your strategy to get them all sugared up before practice? I guess it worked for you with those pumpkin lattes.”

Bitty bumped Jack with his hip and went back to his candy placement. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Zimmermann, that these are for after the game.”

“Lucky kids.” They were lucky to have Bitty as a coach, and not just because his cupcakes were, in Jack’s opinion, the best he’d ever tasted. Bitty hadn’t been sure, at first, when the manager of the peewee hockey league affiliated with the Falcs had approached him about coaching a team, but it turned out he was a natural. Not that Jack had ever doubted him. Jack had seen him lead SMH to a Frozen Four championship as captain, and he was Thirdy’s daughter’s favorite babysitter. As Jack had expected, Bitty had taken to coaching like a duck to water. His kids won some and they lost some, but he’d seen how much they’d grown in the short time Bitty had been working with them.

“And lucky me,” Jack added, leaning down to give Bitty a kiss on the cheek. “I get their leftovers.”

“If there are leftovers,” Bitty said, laughing. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

*

The next evening, when Jack let himself in after practice, he could hear the shower running. Which meant Bitty was home.  And  — he glanced at the kitchen counter — there was one cupcake sitting on a red and pink paper plate. He picked it up and did a double take when he glimpsed the message on the pink heart sitting atop the cake.

“Marry me.”

It couldn’t be what it implied, right? It was just a coincidence, the last cupcake left after all of Bittle’s kids had been served. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that. It certainly wasn’t — probably wasn’t, anyway — intended to be taken at face value.

They’d talked about marriage, of course, but Jack had always, in the back of his mind, thought he’d be the one to do it. It was all planned; he had the ring and he was going to it when they went to Madison in July.

“Honey?” Jack wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing in the middle of their kitchen, staring at the cupcake, but it must have been longer than he thought because Bitty was standing in front of him, towel wrapped around his waist. “You’re home early,” he said, eyes darting to Jack’s hands. “You’re not supposed to ... I was gonna ...” Bitty, for once, was at a loss for words.

“Bits, is this —” Jack held the cupcake out for Bitty to inspect. “I mean …” He shrugged. He was at a loss for words, too.

“I had it all planned!” Bitty blurted out. “You were supposed to get home later, and I was gonna be dressed and have some music playing ...”

“I think you look pretty good right now,” Jack said, sidestepping the fact that Bitty had almost-but-not-quite just proposed.

“Oh, you.” Bitty took the cupcake from Jack —” I was going to get down on one knee,  like this —“ he dropped to one knee and looked up at Jack, cupcake held toward him.

Jack laughed. “You’re so far away,” he chirped.

“Jack Zimmermann, are you calling me short right as I’m about to propose?” Bitty asked as he stood, one hand at his waist to prevent the towel from slipping off. He still hadn’t actually proposed, but Jack’s chirp had accomplished what he wanted, which was to bring Bitty close enough to gather in his arms.

“Yes,” he murmured.

Bitty swatted at his chest. “I haven’t asked you anything yet!”

”If you ask me, I’ll say yes.”

“Marry me.”

“Yes.”

BE TRUE

“Oh, honey,” Bitty gasped as Emily twirled in the living room. Her skirt flared out around her and sparkled as the spun. Jack was surprised their daughter had chosen such a feminine dress to wear to the Valentine’s Day dance — he was surprised she wanted to go at all, actually — but the striped knee socks and red Chuck Taylors gave it her own personal touch. Bitty had sighed when she’d insisted on wearing the shoes, but he’d later confessed to Jack that it was just fine if she wanted to wait a few years before buying her first pair of high heels.

“You just aren’t ready for her to be taller than you,” Jack had chirped.

“I’m not ready for her to not be our little girl,” Bitty had countered. Jack understood. He wasn’t ready, either.

“You look beautiful,” Jack said as Emily came to a stop and her skirt settled around her. “Let me take a picture before you leave.”

“Papa,” Emily whined, “Henry is going to be here any minute.”

“He can wait,” Bitty said. “Or, better yet, he can come in and take a picture with you. This is your first big dance, you’re not leaving this house without pictures.”

Jack captured Emily’s eye roll on camera. He also managed to get one of her smiling, and one of her with Bitty, who, Jack could tell, was trying not to cry. Then he set the timer and joined them for one last picture.

“Now can I go?”

“Hold on just a minute,” Jack said, reaching into his pocket. Maman still sent him a box of candy hearts every year, and though Bitty (and now Emily) still claimed they were inedible, Jack found them oddly comforting. He pulled out the heart he’d saved for Emily.

Predictably, she rolled her eyes as Jack pressed it into her hand. As a little girl, she’d loved reading each one with Jack and laughing at some of the more old fashioned or puzzling words and phrases, but now she pretended to be above such things. “Be true?” she read.

“Just, ah, you’re going to your first real dance with a boy, and I wanted to remind you that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Jack said. This whole speech had sounded better in his head. “If you don’t want to dance, you don’t have to. And obviously, if you don’t want to kiss or —”

“Oh my god, Papa!” Emily yelled, pressing her hands to her ears. “I’m not going to have sex with him. I’m only fifteen.”

“I think what Papa is trying to remind you of,” Bitty interrupted, “is that you shouldn’t let anybody pressure you into doing things that make you uncomfortable. Tonight or ever.”

“Be true to yourself,” Jack finished.

Emily rolled her eyes again. Now that she was a teenager, she did that a lot. “I know, you guys. You’ve literally been telling me this since I was a baby. Can I go now?”

“We’ll walk you out,” Bitty said, putting an arm around her shoulder and guiding her out the door. Jack followed. They watched together as she ran to meet Henry, who got out of his mother’s van to meet her. The couple obligingly posed for one more photo, and Henry even shook their hands and thanked them for allowing him to take Emily to the dance.

“I like him,” Jack said as they walked back to the house together.

“She’s growing up.”

“Too fast,” Jack agreed. It seemed like just yesterday she’d been cautiously toddling between them on this same front porch. Now she was going on dates. Too soon, she would be going away to college, and then she might be coming home to tell them she was engaged. Which reminded Jack …

“You know what today is,” he said, hip checking Bittle.

“Of course I do. Speaking of, I did save a cupcake for you.” Bitty hadn’t coached since Emily had been in peewees, but he made cupcakes for his staff every Valentine’s Day. He always saved a few for their family to enjoy after dinner, which would be short one person tonight.

“We can have them when Em gets home.”

“Or,” Bitty said, raising an eyebrow, “we can have ours now. Why should she have all the fun? We’re old, not dead.”

Jack followed Bitty into the kitchen, confused, until he saw the two cupcakes Bitty had arranged on the kitchen table. He had clearly used a different candy heart supplier than Maman, Jack realized, as he read the messages atop each cupcake: “Cute Butt” and “Let’s Get Busy.”

“Bits,” Jack said, forgetting all about high school dances and cupcakes and everything that was not his husband. When he pressed him up against the counter and kissed him, it felt exactly like it had in their Providence kitchen so many years ago.

“Maybe let’s not get busy right here,” Bitty said. “I love you, but the last time we did this in the kitchen my back hurt for a week.”

Jack didn’t want to stop, but Bitty had a point. He scooped him up and threw him over his shoulder instead, because he could still do that, if he didn’t have to walk far. And their bedroom wasn’t that far away from the kitchen.

“Don’t you dare drop me on the bed,” Bitty warned through laughter, “or I’ll divorce you.”

“Good thing they don’t make a candy heart that says that.” Jack dropped Bitty on the bed and fell down next to him. “Be mine?”

***

Jack couldn’t pinpoint the moment in which his feeling for Bitty bloomed.  Was it Bitty’s graduation?  His own graduation? Maybe, when Bits took that hip check his freshman year?  That didn’t seem quite right.  Hell, who knows?  Maybe it went all the way back to the first moment they met.  

Bitty has always had a way of sparking a lot of emotions in Jack, all at once.  It’s kind of overwhelming to be honest.  But probably one of them was a seed for love.

Either way, Jack kicked himself for being oblivious to the fact that he was clearly infatuated with Bittle for far longer than he realized.  

Obliviousness made it easy to reason away his utter delight when Bits announced that he had taken a job at Brown.  It’s nice to have a close friend move into the neighborhood.  

And when Bittle had trouble finding reasonable accommodations, then, it was easy to justify an earlier move into a bigger house in a quieter neighborhood.  Once he earned his C, he figured he was going to stay in RI for at least five years anyway, and it’s nice to have someplace to stretch out in and call home.

The house was more than big enough for him and a roommate.  It came with four bedrooms, a couple of bathrooms, an attached garage and a large backyard that was essentially a barren dust bowl with weeds and dead bushes.

“Oh wow!  Jack, look at all this space back here!” Bitty had exclaimed as soon as he walked out the side door that previous fall.   “You can build a deck for company and barbeques.  I am picturing the most perfect garden!  You could have fruit trees and vegetables.  There’s room for a couple of rain barrels and even some flowers.”  

“Big plans on my yard?  I didn’t figure you as a gardener.”

Bitty batted his eyes, “I am a man of many talents.  Though even I can admit, gardening is not one of them.  I have a black thumb.  But I always appreciate the fruits of labor.”

Jack could imagine that.  Bits using fresh herbs in his garden, canning tomatoes and making salsa for friends, sharing his love of cooking with anyone who walked into his kitchen.

He tucked the thought away in the back of his mind.

***

The thought popped back up again sometime the following March, when the ground was still half frozen and nothing was growing yet.  

Spare time was sparse, but he always found a few minutes to pop into the library, return the stack of Bittle’s books that sat by the front doorway past their return date, and pick up a few books for himself for the road.

The front display was a riot of colorful paper flowers with a sign, “It’s never too early to start thinking about your garden.”  Underneath, a selected assortment of gardening how-to books beckoned.  

Jack grabbed a copy of “Kitchen Gardening for Beginners”.  

The next week, he grabbed “The Backyard Gardener” and bought a few heirloom seed packets from the internet.

Jack never could do anything half-assed.

***

“Jack?  Why is there a pile of lumber in the backyard?” Bittle asked one morning, looking rumpled in Jack’s old Samwell t-shirt.  The shirt had gotten mixed up in Bittle’s laundry when he first moved in, but Jack didn’t mind him keeping it.  It looked better on him anyway.

“Thinking of building a few garden boxes.  It’ll give me something to do over the summer.  Got to do something with that yard, eh?”

Bitty smiled into his coffee mug.  “Just let me know how I can help.”

Bittle wasn’t kidding when he said he had a black thumb.  Only a few of the seedlings that Jack started in the cold start of spring had survived Bitty’s enthusiastic overwatering, but that wasn’t a bad thing, he joked.  “No, you were weeding out the strongest seedlings.”

Bitty still looked skeptical, but Jack was amused.  And he diligently planted before dawn to get them started in ground before hopping on the road for a playoff game.

***

Jack drove Bits to the airport late in May.  “I don’t want to go to Madison.”

Jack also didn’t want Bits to go to Madison, but he couldn’t voice it as clearly.  

“You’re doing a good thing.  Your moomaw needs you.”

“She’s the only reason I’m going.”  Bitty pouted as he sunk down into his carseat.  “Broke her arm in Zumba.  How in the world did she manage that?”

Jack shrugged, “I would have bet money that the jam feud came to blows.”

“That only happened once, and it was when someone outside the family insulted both the Phelps and Bittles.”  

“I’m going to miss you, bud.”  Jack mumbled to his steering wheel just as Bitty jumped out.

“Me too, Jack.”

***

Shitty had always said that Jack needed a hobby.  

Gardening is a great hobby.  And carpentry.  And landscaping.  

He had the time on his hands.

And he missed Bittle fiercely.  

***

8 weeks without Bitty dancing in the kitchen, laying on his sofa, chirping him while they inhabited each other’s space went by as slow as Jack imagined, but it went by.

“Wow.” Bittle said again and Jack could feel his pulse quicken as he rushed to explain.

“I had some time on my hands.  Dad was excited to help build the deck, so that was a fun project.  Mom had some ideas about flowers.  And you said how you liked cooking with fresh herbs and veggies.  So I made sure to grow some stuff that I knew you would like.  No more having to buy cherry tomatoes, huh.”

Jack knew he was rambling and forced himself to breathe.  

“It’s just like I imagined it.  Jack.  Wow.”  And suddenly Bitty’s face crumpled and he rushed to turn away, his voice false and bright.

“Well, I guess I’ll just go whip up something from this garden.  How about a salad?”

Jack caught his arm before Bitty could run into the house.  “You don’t like it?”

Bitty huffed a laugh and wiped at his eyes, “Jack, I love it.  Whoever snatches you up is going to love it.  You made a house for a family.  It’s perfect.”

Jack knew that he was oblivious most of the time.  He’s relieved to know that he isn’t the only one.  It makes it easy to take the first step.

“Bud.  I made this for you.”

Bitty hiccuped a bit and looked back over at the yard, wide eyed and wild. “No.”

Jack started to smile, “Yes.  I missed you so much.  And everytime I thought about it, I came out here and puttered around.  This is for you.”

Bitty walked to the middle of the yard and slowly took in the backyard all over again, from the pair of apples trees in the far corner, the raised square foot garden bed of vegetables, the barrels for potatoes, the trellises for beans and vines, the flower beds filled with roses and lavender, the herb window boxes, and rain barrels.  There were frames for beehives set up in the far back.  Jack had even included tables and chairs for sitting on the deck with the beams raised for a pergola.  

Bitty outstretched his hand and Jack rushed to take it.  “This is for me.” he stated.

“Yes.”

“Good.” And Bitty pulled Jack in and kissed him gently on the lips.