Page 54 of A Hard Fit

They didn’t have sex that night, but Finn held Rory close enough to feel their heart beating. Rory fell asleep quickly, and Finn wondered late into the night what would have happened if he had answered the phone.

* * * *

Rory went to join their parents again on Friday—they were going for lunch and giving the out-of-town family a tour of the plant. Finn had to admit he was curious to see what it was like, but was still not going to touch Rory’s extended family with a one-hundred-foot bundle of rebar.

After the tour, Rory went back to their apartment. “I need to catch up on sleep and laundry and water my plants,” they explained that morning. “Plus, my friends have been pestering me for a hangout, and—”

“It’s okay,” Finn had said, leaning down to kiss away the babbling. “Go. See your friends. We’ll have the day together tomorrow.”

Finn was not expecting Rory back that night, but there they were at midnight, crawling into bed next to him. Finn fucked them long and slow, their sighs and whimpers mingling into the sweetest song he’d ever heard.

* * * *

“Are these your dishtowels?” Finn asked, hands wet and brow furrowed at the mustard yellow cloth hanging from the oven handle that he had never seen before.

Rory kissed his cheek on the way by. “No, they’re yours.”

“Mine? I already have dishtowels.”

“I know, but these ones match. There’s dishcloths, too.”

Finn now noticed the same-colored cloth draped over the sink faucet. “Match?”

“Yeah, they all match now.” Rory pulled Grandma’s gravy boat out of the cabinet. “This pattern is gorgeous.”

Finn dried his hands on the new linen and picked up the potato peeler, processing. “But I liked the ones I had.”

“I noticed that most of them were getting pretty worn, and I saw this great deal online last week when I was finishing up my Christmas shopping.”

Finn’s head was spinning. “Finishingyour Christmas shopping? And…you bought me dish towels?”

“Not as your gift, silly! I just thought you’d like the color. They go with the rest of the kitchen… Why, are you not finished your Christmas shopping?”

“Haven’t even started.”

“You haven’t started? It’s after Thanksgiving!”

“It’s still November!”

“Doesn’t it stress you out not having it even started?”

“This conversation stresses me out,” Finn muttered, attacking the potato with the peeler.

Rory, who had gone to stare thoughtfully at the dining room table, didn’t appear to hear. “What do you think about napkin swans?”

* * * *

“The table looks beautiful,” Finn said, admiring Rory’s setup. The gold-trimmed china shimmered in the candlelight, and the napkin swans were immaculate.

“The gravy is way too thin,” Rory fretted from the stove, madly stirring with a fork. “Will you pass me the cornstarch, please?”

“It looks delicious to me,” Finn said, going over to stand behind Rory.

“It’s not—it’s like water.”

Finn pulled Rory in for a kiss, as instructed by the ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron he had convinced Rory to put on. “Even if it is, it will be fine.”

“I just want you to have the perfect Thanksgiving.” They sighed.

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