– Epilogue –

I braced my hand against the filmsy fiberglass shower stall as the memory of that day poured of me yet again. The dumbfounded look on his face. The way his body had slapped into the mud just before mine. The sodden socks clinging to him as his toes dug for purchase in the slippery bank. 

As the last few drops squeezed from me and swirled into the town sewer system, my elbowed clipped the conditioner bottle, which clattered loudly to the shower floor and shattered the last vestiges of my reverie. 

The smell of coffee and bacon was wafting down the hall as I padded from the bathroom and ran a towel through my hair. 

“Good morning, Klaus,” I said, pausing at his bowl on the sideboard. He flitted indifferently, the stringy train of his fins arrayed behind him like a blackened skeletal wedding dress. I smiled and dropped a pinch of dried bloodworms onto the surface of the water. 

“What was the racket in the bathroom?” Grant asked as he deposited the last glistening strip of bacon from the skillet onto a bed of paper towels.  I perched on a kitchen stool and took in his casual Saturday attire—fitted shorts and a long sleeve t. While I wasn’t a huge fan of his pale tan Hey Dude Wallys, I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed how loosely they fit him. His foot lazily emerged from one as he patted the breakfast meat, mopping up the excess grease. His crew socks were a sexy two-tone, black on the top of his foot and front of his leg, and red running down the back, like a runner carpet plunging out of sight as it rounded the heel.  He was teasing me. 

“Conditioner bottle,” I replied, reaching for a pitcher of orange juice and a glass. 

“I see.” He turned from the stove and flashed a playful look that told me he knew all too well what had transpired when said bottle fell.  “Table,” he indicated with a nod as he brought the platter of bacon from behind the island. He had set two places, and between them was a heap of steaming scrambled eggs, a tower of golden toast, and a full French press. 

I grinned at him as I slid from the stool and padded over. “How did I come to deserve this?” 

Grant snapped a cloth napkin open and draped it over his lap. “There’s a distinct possibility that you’ve done nothing to deserve this,” he said pouring coffee into our mugs. “Yet,” he added with a wink.  He leaned back in his chair and I felt a socked foot wedge between my legs, drawing my bathrobe tight over my thighs. I stopped scraping butter over my toast and looked up at him. 

“All in good time. We have somewhere to be this morning.” 

He groaned, and pulled his foot back. “How did we get roped into attending a fundraiser for urban rain gardens?” he whined, and popped a blackened end of bacon into his mouth. 

“Because she’s your cousin. And she hasn’t asked you to do anything for her since you paraded her around work as your fake wife all those months ago.”  I forked eggs onto my plate. 

That he had staged the photo with Patti on his office desk—albeit initially as a joke—had been one thing. But having her accompany him to a Meckley function as his spouse had definitely crossed a line. I supposed people had done weirder things to stay firmly closeted, however, and so I hadn’t felt the need to belabor it.  Besides, his penance had come in the form of all the explaining he had had to do to as he came out to colleagues in more recent weeks—especially after we declared our relationship to HR. 

Grant was chewing thoughtfully. “Fun when we get home?” he said after a minute. 

“I’m not sure,” I replied, feigning a doubtful tone. His eyesbrows shot up. 

“Why not?” 

I smiled through a mouthful of eggs and waggled my eyebrows in a lame attempt to look devilish. 

“Roger, why not?” he repeated impatiently. 

“Are you wearing those socks to the fundraiser?” I asked slyly. 

He glanced down at his feet, then looked back at me quizzically. “Was planning to, why?”

“I don’t think we’ll have to wait until we get home to have some fun.”  I looked at him pointedly. “The fundraiser is at Reservoir Park.”  

A slow grin cracked across his face. He selected a piece of meat from the platter and popped it in my waiting mouth. Its saltiness spread on my tongue.