Page 57 of Our Radiant Embers

It had started simply enough—I’d asked him what I should wear to our two interviews the next day. Which was when he’d decided to review the contents of my wardrobe.

The room was too small for both of us. In addition to his London flat, Adam probably had a whole wing to himself at Harrington Manor, equipped with a free-standing bathtub, gold appliques, and marble pillars or some such. Meanwhile, my bedroom was barely big enough to fit a double bed, a tiny desk, and an old wooden wardrobe that I’d owned since the age of sixteen.

And now Adam was pulling out every shirt, jumper, and T-shirt it contained. His running commentary while sorting my clothes into piles ranged from “nope” to “absolutely not” to “maybe.”

“You know…” I stretched out my legs, leaning back against the headboard of my bed. “This might be the gayest thing you’ve ever done. It’s like an episode of Queer Eye for the Queer Guy.”

He tossed me a haughty look. “This would be a lot easier if your style didn’t veer between two extremes, namely lumberjack and dancing queen.” To illustrate, he waved a black, glittery mesh top at me.

Huh. I hadn’t worn that in years.

“Eh, it was a phase.” I waved a dismissive hand. “I’d say I’m sorry, but it would be a lie.”

With a shake of his head, Adam placed it on the ‘absolutely not’ pile. It was the largest by far. He pulled another sleeveless top out of my wardrobe, this one a tad less revealing, and inspected it with a frown before he glanced at me. “Can I ask you something?”

I shot him an exaggerated smirk. “Yes, my eyelashes are real.”

He chuckled, placing the top on the ‘nope’ pile. “Is that an actual question someone asked you?”

“Yep. Pretty sure she was doing some window shopping. Alas”—I moved the top over to the ‘maybe’ section—“wrong aisle.”

“That’s too bad.” Adam moved the top back to its previous place. “No, what I meant…When did you know? That you’re gay.”

Ah. I drew a knee up against my chest and wrapped my arms around it. “Are you asking when I knew or when I accepted it?”

“Both, I guess.”

I paused to study Adam for a moment—the practised confidence in his posture was at odds with the uncertain tilt to his mouth. “Around twelve when I kind of knew,” I told him. “Took another two years before I really admitted it to myself.”

“I was six.”

“Six?”

“Yeah.” A faint smile sat in the corners of Adam’s eyes. “Cassandra and I watched The Princess Bride and we both crushed on Westley.”

“Westley?” I repeated blankly.

Adam’s smile grew. “Don’t judge.”

“Oh, I’m judging.” I shifted into a cross-legged seat, elbows on my knees, and watched him with open glee. “Honestly. Mini you crushed on a farm boy who’s basically a Renaissance fair runaway? Whose most memorable line is ‘As you wish’?”

“Well.” The mattress dipped when Adam sat down on the edge of the bed, facing me. “More the pirate version of him, actually.”

“Sword play, huh?”

“I was an innocent six-year-old, Liam. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“But I like it here.”

Adam chuckled softly, then sobered and glanced away. “Anyway. My mum said I shouldn’t tell my dad because as far as he’s concerned, little boys should have crushes on princesses, not pirates. So, you know. She meant well, but that was that.”

I took in the line of Adam’s profile, hesitating for just a second before I reached out to squeeze his elbow. “I’m sorry. Guess it wasn’t easy, after that, to admit even just to yourself that you’re gay.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t.” Adam exhaled on a long, slow breath. “Took me until I was sixteen. Cassandra and I kissed, mostly because she was trying to prove that I wasn’t attracted to her. Let’s just say she won that round.”

“No spark?” I asked gently.

“None whatsoever.” He glanced at my hand on his arm, then up at my face, his eyes shadowed. “I wanted her to be wrong so badly, you know? But she wasn’t. It was just…weird. Nothing like, say, the first time we kissed. At that pub.”

---