13
Wyatt
The pregnancy was progressing, as certainly as the sun rose and set. Wyatt sighed as he keyed in the latest orders, his limbs heavy. The fatigue had begun in the last few days; he was tired every time he woke, and he’d been struggling not to fall asleep before he returned home.
All things considered, this pregnancy was a lot easier than his previous—he wasn’t working two jobs a day now, and he had a warm bed to sleep in at night.
When the kitchen bell tinkled, Wyatt picked up the order, serving it up to Raph and Hazel’s table. Hazel was back at the braids again. Raph craned his neck, his nostrils flaring.
“Want the smaller bowl?” Wyatt teased, setting Hazel’s half-filled bowl in front of him.
Hazel leaned over the table. “Is that mine? Or does Uncle Raph not like the seaweed, too?”
Ten minutes ago, Wyatt had promised him the house special. Raph had nodded, barely glancing at the menu. And Wyatt hadn’t known if Raph wasn’t interested in the noodles, or if he trusted that the food would be good, no matter what he had.
“No seaweed in both these bowls,” Wyatt said, sliding Hazel’s bowl in front of her. Then he set Raph’s noodles down, watching as Raph took in the sprinkle of chopped green onion, the slices of slow-cooked pork, the hard-boiled egg cut in half. “Unless you developed an appetite for seaweed while you were gone.”
Raph glanced up at him, his eyes unreadable. “You remembered?”
“Of course I do. How can I forget?”
They’d shared afternoons at the mansion, where Mom would bring home bags of expiring food from the grocery store. Wyatt had torn into the packets of crispy roasted seaweed, salty, paper-thin layers that would stick to his tongue. Raph had never liked them. He’d nibbled on the crackers instead, offering to share, but Wyatt had never been a cracker fan.
We’re two halves of a whole, he’d told Raph. You eat the food I don’t like, and I eat the food you don’t like.
Until Wyatt made noodles with broth, and Raph had asked for a second serving, then a third. The same noodles that Wyatt now sold at the drive-in.
Wyatt blinked away those memories, watching as Raph grabbed a pair of chopsticks. Hazel was already slurping down her noodles.
“Hazel’s faster than you,” he said, chuckling. “Are you losing to her?”
Raph grinned. “Nah. I want to savor your food.”
And maybe that sounded dirty, with the way Raph’s tongue flicked over his lips.
“I skipped dinner at Mom and Dad’s,” Raph said. “Wasn’t keen on staying there with Grandma.”
Wyatt grimaced. Grandma was always a sore subject; there wasn’t any way he could talk about her and smile. “Well, you’ve found yourself some good company.”
He wanted to run his fingers through Raph’s unruly black hair. Instead, Wyatt kept his hands to himself, watching as Raph folded a thin slice of braised pork into his mouth, his eyelids fluttering shut. “Mm.”
Wyatt knew the taste of that pork—the mellow salt of the soy sauce, the sweet hint of mirin, the fragrance of ginger and garlic, simmered for hours until the flavors married. “Like it?”
“Gods, yeah,” Raph groaned, and maybe Wyatt shouldn’t be watching him eat, because it sounded like sex.
Raph pushed another slice of pork into his mouth, chewing, his throat working, his lips glistening with broth. Wyatt gulped. This was why he hadn’t fed Raph any of the drive-in’s regular food. Because he’d known Raph would love it, and appreciate it, and maybe Wyatt was enjoying the way he ate far too much.
“I’ll be back later,” Wyatt said, so he had an excuse not to look at Raph.
“I’ll check in with you before I bring Hazel home,” Raph said, meeting his eyes. Wyatt’s heart skipped a beat.
Maybe he was falling in love with Raph. He shouldn’t.
If they’d only been bondmates, tied together by a baby, it wouldn’t have felt quite as wrong. But Wyatt had just watched Raph with Hazel, tying uneven, unpracticed braids into her hair.
Raph would pick up a new skill for Wyatt’s daughter, just because she asked. If that wasn’t generous of him, Wyatt didn’t know what it was. And his heart answered with an intense flutter. Was this a different sort of love?
He busied himself with the rest of the tables, taking some of the load off his other servers. Time dragged.
It was only when Raph came up to him, Hazel by his side, her backpack on her shoulders, that the crawling minutes began to fly again. Wyatt left a table of newly-settled patrons, meeting them by the glass doors.
“I’ll pick up my violin after I’ve dropped Hazel off,” Raph said, hands in his pockets.
Wyatt’s breath caught. “It’s a two-hour trip to and from Highton.”
“Not like I’ve got anything else to do.”
Wyatt’s breath caught. Raph would grab his violin and play again, just because Wyatt asked. And maybe he really did love this man, whatever sort of love that was. “Oh,” he said. “I’ll look forward to that.”
“Try not to miss us too much,” Hazel said, nudging Raph with her elbow. She grinned; Wyatt realized he hadn’t been looking at her at all. Shame on him as a dad.
“You’re getting sassy on me, aren’t you?” he said, pulling her into a hug. “Night, hon. See you in the morning.”
“I’m always sassy.” Hazel’s arms tightened around him, small but firm. “Night, Dad. Love you.”
“See you later,” Raph said. His gaze dropped to Wyatt’s lips, then drifted back to his eyes. Wyatt wished they weren’t in the middle of a crowded diner, so he could lean into Raph, breathe his scent off his skin.
“See you,” he said instead.
Hazel led the way out. Raph glanced at Wyatt a last time. Despite his weariness, Wyatt’s body hummed. He wanted to be home with his family, with
