Starting from Zero (Starting from 1)

I bit the inside of my cheek and nodded like an idiot. I couldn’t find the words I needed. They were right there on the tip of my tongue, but they wouldn’t come. Even if they did, I wasn’t sure I could speak around the lump in my throat. After a long moment, I took a deep breath and gave it my best shot.

“I love you,” I whispered. “I love you. I love you. I love your beautiful smile, the sound of your laughter. I love that crinkle you get between your eyes when you’re concentrating. I love your sense of humor and fuck, I love that whirling brain of yours. As crazy as it sounds, I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you. Forty-four years. It’s a long time. But I bet I’ve got another forty-four to go.…And I don’t want to spend a minute more without you. That’s my truth, and you’re my beginning and my end.”

Justin held my face in his hands before sealing his lips over mine in a passionate kiss that spoke volumes. He pulled back slightly and rested his forehead on mine.

“Fuck, you say pretty things.” He wiped at a tear on his cheek and glanced up at the sky before beaming a radiant grin at me. “You know, I had a plan tonight too. I was gonna do a kickass show and then show up out of the blue at my boyfriend’s house and serenade him with the song we wrote. I want him to know he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

I nodded. “You should definitely tell him.”

Justin bit his bottom lip and grinned. “I love you. I want to be your story. I want to be your love song. And I want you to be mine.”

“Yes. Starting now.”

We kissed under the stars like we were the only two people left on the planet. The city lights, the traffic noise, and the conversations of passersby faded to a dull static. Time didn’t matter; the past had no place here. This was true music. The silence in between the notes marked the beginning of our love story, starting from zero.

Epilogue

“Where words fail, music speaks.”—Hans Christian Andersen

Justin

Baking was supposed to be fun. Sugar, chocolate, and butter were magical ingredients, so anyone who could read directions should be able to make a damn cake. The state of our kitchen suggested that might not be the case. Five mixing bowls, a KitchenAid appliance that was supposedly ideal for the task, and a variety of ingredients littered the island. And a mixture of flour, salt, and something sticky was all over the hardwood floors…and me. I studied the recipe again before glancing at the puppy sleeping in his crate in the living area.

If Chester woke up, I’d have a legit excuse to leave this mess and order dessert like I should have in the first place. I tossed the wooden spoon into the bowl. Nothing. I picked up a measuring spoon and “accidentally” dropped it on the counter. He snored and let out an adorable whimper, but he still didn’t wake up.

“Hi baby, what—” Gray stopped in his tracks and opened his mouth in a comical O before shaking his head in bewilderment. He massaged the back of his neck and tried again. “What are you doing?”

“Making a cake for the party,” I announced proudly.

Gray craned his neck to check on our sleeping baby before circling the island with his hands on his hips. “And how’s that going?”

“Not well,” I admitted.

“Let me be the judge.” He stuck his finger in the metal bowl and then tasted the cake batter and shuddered theatrically. I threw my head back and laughed at his antics, which of course woke the dog.

“I’ll get him,” I volunteered.

Gray raced me to the crate and opened the latch for our ten-week-old French bulldog, Chester. “Hey there, little fella. You should see the mess Daddy made while you were sleeping. Come here. Come to Papa.”

“I can’t decide if that’s really cute or if we’re turning into weirdo dog owners,” I deadpanned before crouching beside Gray. I put my arm around my boyfriend and chuckled at the silly “baby” noises he made.

Gray kissed my nose. “What time is everyone coming?”

“Two o’clock. So…I’ve got three hours to either remake the cake or order one. What’s your vote?”

“Order,” he replied immediately. “What made you decide to bake anyway? That’s not like you.”

“I don’t know. I’m feeling very homey, though. I think it’s Chester’s fault. Isn’t it, little cutie patootie cookie cake?”

Gray rolled his eyes and snickered before ushering Chester outside to do his business. I watched my boys with a goofy grin. There was something crazy sexy about my big tattooed hunk taking care of a pint-sized pup. Some days I couldn’t believe this was my life.