“Just thank you…for being you,” she said. “The world is a better, more interesting place with you in it.”
He smiled as he dropped a kiss on top of her head.
“And the world is certainly a wilder, more beautiful place with you in it, little one.”
“Really?”
“Quite.”
“Say something else nice about me. I’m fishing for compliments, if you haven’t noticed.”
“I did notice,” he said as he rolled over quickly, pinning Nora onto her back. “Fishing for compliments is against the rules. Continue and I’ll have to punish you.”
“I don’t remember that rule, sir.”
“I’ve just made it up.”
Laughing, Nora raised her head and graced Søren’s lips with a kiss.
She pulled back and batted her eyelashes at him.
“Tell me more about my eyes.”
“Your eyes are…” he began before suddenly stopping and sliding out of bed.
“What? My eyes are what?”
Søren started to get dressed.
“I’ll tell you after my meeting.” He bent over and kissed her quick as he buttoned his shirt.
“Meeting?” Nora scrambled into a sitting position. “What meeting? I thought you said the search committee had decided on Father Peterson. No more meetings.”
Søren slipped his Roman collar into place.
“They did. Thank God. This meeting isn’t with any committee. I promised Suzanne one more long talk.”
Nora narrowed her eyes.
“This reporter bitch is getting on my last damn nerve. Why can’t she leave you alone?”
“She’s not the enemy. Especially now that she no longer thinks I am the enemy.”
“Well, if we’ve got her fooled that much,” Nora began. Søren shot her a vicious look that nearly set her giggling. “Then why’s she still hanging around?”
“She has a few final questions for me. After all I’ve put her through this summer, I feel she deserves some answers.”
Søren headed to the door. Nora had a sudden thought and bolted upright in bed.
“Søren? Wait a sec. Let me go talk to her.”
* * *
“Mick? You okay?” Griffin laid his hand on Michael’s knee and squeezed.
Michael shook his head.
“No.”
The hand on his knee moved to Michael’s face.
“Look at me,” Griffin said in almost a whisper. Michael reluctantly turned his head to meet Griffin’s eyes. “I’ve got this. I won’t let anything bad happen.”
Something in Griffin’s tone made Michael almost believe it.
“Okay.”
Griffin smiled.
“Good. Let’s get this over with. I want to f**k you before dinner.”
With a playful swat on Michael’s knee, Griffin exited the car and came around to Michael’s side. With extreme reluctance, Michael opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Griffin held out his hand. Michael stared at it. They’d never been out in public before. In bed they’d held hands…and every other body part. But here? On his street? In his house? In front of his parents?
“We’re in this together, Mick. I love you.”
Michael started at the words. They seemed to come echoing from deep inside a canyon. Or the canyon was inside him and the words filled it and him and finally muted the voice inside him that warned he’d never be loved for who and what he was.
Without further hesitation, Michael took Griffin’s hand as they walked up to the house. Michael opened the door without knocking and he and Griffin stepped inside.
He heard voices in the kitchen. Quiet, angry voices.
“They’re fighting,” Michael whispered. “They’re always fighting.”
“They’re divorced,” Griffin whispered back. “What do they have to fight about?”
Michael swallowed.
“Me.”
They stepped into the kitchen and both Michael’s mom and dad immediately stopped talking. He mother’s face was a mask of shock. His father’s face wore an expression of confusion that quickly turned to fury at the sight of Michael’s hand in Griffin’s.
“Michael…” his father began.
“I’m Griffin Fiske, your son’s boyfriend,” Griffin said, smiling hugely at Michael’s parents. “Nice to meet you both.”
“No. No way,” Michael’s father said. “No way in hell is this happening. Michael, what are you—”
He rushed forward and Michael braced himself. But Griffin stepped between them and raised his chin.
“I guess you didn’t hear me,” Griffin repeated. “I’m Griffin Fiske. I’m your son’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you.”
This time he said the words without smiling and with the subtle hint of a threat in this voice. Michael had always thought of his father as the big bad dad—taller than him, more muscular—but compared to Griffin, he seemed slight and short.
“Who the hell are you?” his father demanded.
Griffin smiled dangerously while Michael eased out from behind Griffin and tried to get closer to his mother, who was still standing in stunned silence.
“I feel like I’m repeating myself. Mick, am I repeating myself?” Griffin asked.
“Mom, Dad.” Michael tried speaking up. “Griffin and I—”