Page 132 of Symphony of Salvation

I quirked a brow.

“The baklava is homemade,” Jersey added.

“The cake was too,” Koa spat.

“Cake?” I asked.

“He tried a cake thing first, but—”

“Tried? The effort isn’t the issue, Jersey. The cake was sensational.” Koa chopped with more vigor. “Rather, it would have been sensational, but my lovely partner got into it, and there was nothing left but crumbs, so I had to start again. I didn’t have enough ingredients to remake the cake, so you get baklava and a late supper since it put me behind.”

Jersey at least had the grace to look ashamed. “I didn’t know it was meant for dinner. It was delicious.”

“You’ve said. Wine?” Koa asked, wiping his hands on a towel.

August perked up. “That would be lovely.”

“In the fridge. Niles, would you be so kind? I’m busy.”

I found glasses and retrieved a bottle of Zinfandel. “This one?”

“Yes.” Koa gestured to the bottle with a tip of his head. “It’s Lebanese as well, both rich in aroma and flavor. Let me know what you think.”

As appreciative of good wine as Koa, August accepted the challenge, examining the color and aerating it before taking a minimal sip and sloshing it around his mouth. He turned thoughtful, and Koa paused dinner preparation to study my partner as he awaited the verdict.

“Oh boy,” Jersey and I said at the same time.

“This could get ugly.” Jersey took the words out of my mouth.

I feared August and Koa’s fervent love for wine might cause disagreements. They shared a passion and bullheadedness I was only then coming to realize.

August licked residual wine from his lips before speaking. “Finding an appropriate accompanying wine for Lebanese food can be challenging. The cuisine tends to utilize several particular spices that are hard to match, but I find selecting one with a similar structure of flavors helps.” He sipped again, examined the meal Koa prepared, and nodded approvingly. “Excellent choice. I couldn’t have done better.”

“Oh, thank god,” I muttered, knees almost buckling. “I was afraid you might bring the fires of hell down upon us.”

Seemingly pleased with August’s assessment, Koa shifted his gaze to me, brows meeting in the middle. Before he could open his mouth, I held up a finger. “Yes, I know. There is no god, and the only hell that exists is in your classroom during the winter semester when you teach existentialism.”

Koa guffawed.

Jersey snorted beer out his nose and went into a coughing fit to try to cover it up.

August quirked a brow with a smile.

I sipped my wine and smirked. “You’re right,” I said to August. “Thisisgood wine.”

Koa pointed at August. “He’s your problem now.”

“Isn’t he delightful?” August wrapped an arm around me and drew me against his side, pecking a kiss on my temple. I warmed at the contact, leaning against him and taking comfort in his scent and solidity.

Koa’s animosity shifted to a look of contentment. “He is. Welcome to the family, August. I haven’t seen Niles this happy in a long time.”

Koa returned to meal prep, and Jersey joined him, offering to help.

I took August’s hand and led him into the large den so we wouldn’t be in the way. August took in the high bookshelves before zeroing in on the piano in the corner. “Does Koa play?”

“Yes, but his love for music is complicated. Tainted, in a way. It’s a long story. Music requires you to emotionally invest in yourself. One must be willing to risk exposure, be vulnerable, and display one’s true heart to the audience. Koa’s never been able to do that. He’s… emotionally compromised, and I say that kindly. It’s not his fault. But how can you properly translate the meaning behind what the composer has written if you’re afraid to bear your soul?”

August released my hand and approached the piano, lifting the fallboard. He tinkled a few keys before shifting and meeting my gaze. A thoughtful expression glimmered in his dark eyes. “You believe that?”

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