The fourth crane was sand-brown. I’m running out of compliments, okay. I’m not good at this.
Dale bit down a smile.
The fifth crane was pale pink, and Greg had written I think you’ll make a really great dad on it. Dale’s heart squeezed. After all that he’d worried about being good enough... Greg had known, somehow, that Dale needed to hear that. His eyes prickled. Dale blinked his tears away, calling out, “You just made me cry, Greg. I hope you know that!”
Somewhere in the apartment, Greg laughed. “Need me to come get you?”
Something eased in Dale’s chest. Greg really was at home. And he’d meant for Dale to follow the cranes alone, if he’d left the note under his pillow. “No,” Dale called back. “I’ll tell you if I need dire assistance.”
“What do you mean, ‘dire assistance’?”
Dale laughed. He followed the cranes out of their bedroom, sniffing at the burnt, lush aroma of coffee. He’d been having hot chocolate lately, and the scent of coffee made his heart leap. This was a special occasion, then. Enough for a hundred paper cranes to twirl in their apartment, and an exception to the no-coffee rule.
Dale followed the paper cranes into the kitchen. The birds were colorful, ranging from emeralds to cream to ocean-blue, one crane landing on the coffee machine.
Coffee first, Greg had written on its wings. But no more than half a cup!
Greg had brewed the Colombian beans, too. He’d laid out Dale’s mug, a tiny pitcher of cream, and a jar of sugar. Next to it all, Dale found the sugar spoon that he’d left behind, back when he’d packed his things from his office and dropped his sugar jar.
He picked up the spoon, marveling at the glint of light on its crosshatched handle. It was one of the first things he’d bought himself, back when Charles had annulled their marriage. He’d bought it to remind himself that he was worthy, that he had the freedom to decide things for himself.
To think Greg had salvaged it... Dale swallowed. There were a couple of scratches on the back of the spoon, but the spoon was intact, in his hands, and Dale would tell Greg its story later.
For now, he fixed himself sweet, milky coffee, cradled the mug, and sought out the next crane.
I love waking up with you, Greg had written on a parchment-brown bird. Then, on bright orange wings, When you smile at me, it’s like standing close to a warm fire.
I want to grow old with you, another crane said.
Maybe we’ll take dancing lessons, and we’ll dance until our son’s thirty.
Then he’ll be embarrassed by his dads, but I kind of like that thought.
But you’ll never be old to me.
Dale laughed, following the winding trail into the living room, where the cranes dipped toward the coffee table. There was a large photo album on the middle of the table. The first picture was of them the day after June’s wedding, when Dale had texted her, and she’d invited them back to the mansion for more photos.
The second picture was the oldest, from when Dale had laid the rabbit onesie on his chest, and Greg had snapped that picture of him. A flattened crane next to that picture read, This is still my favorite pic of you.
The photos after that came from the various selfies they’d taken together, when Greg had snapped pictures of Dale, or when Dale had taken pictures of him. Dale had returned to the lab once, and June had set a camera on a tripod, taking a timed picture of the entire lab group. That photo was in the album, too, and Dale lingered on the white lab walls, the memories from when he’d shied away from Greg in school.
Three of the album’s pages were filled. The rest had been left blank. Another crane said, For the future, and Dale’s throat tightened. Greg believed, then. And that meant so much more than the pictures did.
He followed the cranes through the apartment, smiling when they landed on a pile of baby clothes—cat-shaped mittens and booties—and a crane that read, I don’t really care if our baby is alpha or beta or omega. I want him to be happy.
The next crane said, Or if he’s really a she, or a they. Fine with me.
Dale grinned. The cranes led down the hallway to the bathroom, where the door was ajar. No cranes led away from there.
He pushed the door open, unsure what to expect.
Inside, Greg leaned against the counter, dressed in boxers. His eyes flickered over Dale’s chest, brightening when he recognized the shirt.
But instead of Greg’s shirt, Dale’s attention had snagged on the crane in Greg’s hands. It was the largest crane of all, its wings spanning Greg’s palms, watercolor leaves speckling its wings. This crane had no words, only two silver rings slung around its neck. Dale’s breath punched out of his chest.
Then he smiled so wide it felt as though his face was going to split. “The bathroom, Greg? Really?”
Greg laughed. “To be honest, this is my second favorite room in the apartment. Bedroom’s my favorite.” He nodded at the mosaic tiles around the bathtub, the stone pebbles on a shelf. “It’s like being in a totally different place when I step in here.”
Dale followed his gaze, looking at the wooden sailboat on a shelf, the indigo oyster shells by their toothbrush holder. Next to the mirror, there was a watercolor painting of a ship at sea, signed Felix Henry in one corner. That was new.
“I haven’t looked closely at the bathroom in years,” Dale said. It felt like he’d taken this for granted, all the decorations he’d once painstakingly collected for this room. “The painting and the oyster shells are new. I love them. But I’m also confused—is there a reason you added to the bathroom before you proposed?”
Greg laughed. “I just wanted to surprise you. But if you wanted a... more romantic reason, I guess you could say it’s for a new
