His Baby Boy novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Thirty-One Years

Bernie and Agnes tease them both, Malcolm walks Perrin to the harbor, Perrin tells him about Biscuit and is called a good boy, and Desmond Kerr steps out of the dark.

"Thirty-one years," Bernie said, "and I have never once made a boy cry on a Tuesday."

She was flour to the elbows, and she pointed a rolling pin at Perrin across the kitchen.

"I didn't cry," Perrin said.

"You cried in the walk-in again. I heard the compressor stop."

"It stopped because you left the door open," Perrin said.

"It stopped because you were leaning on it, sweetheart."

Agnes came through the swinging door with a tray of clean cups.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she was smiling.

"We knew," she said. "The both of us. About a year ago, I'd say."

"Knew what?"

"Honey," Agnes said. "He drinks decaf. At nine at night. Because he'd rather sit in your section than sleep."

Bernie pressed her floury hands to her heart.

"The big sad man at the little table," she sang. "Every night for a year."

"I'm going to quit," Perrin said.

"You are not," said Agnes, and she kissed his forehead on her way past.

His phone buzzed in his pocket for the ninth time that afternoon.

Malcolm had been texting all day, every time at a decent interval, and always a question.

May I bring dinner tonight? May I walk you home after? Would you like the green scarf, since you left your coat?

Perrin had said yes, yes, and not today to the scarf.

Malcolm had written back: Understood.

It was ridiculous how much he liked that.

At nine, the bell over the door chimed and the corner table filled up the way it always did, with a gray coat and a stack of reports.

Perrin carried over the decaf.

His hands were steady, which he took as a good sign.

"You got my text about the scarf," he said.

"I did." Malcolm looked up. "I brought grilled cheese from the diner on Fore Street, though. Is that a violation?"

"You asked first."

"I did."

"Then it's a sandwich," Perrin said, and Malcolm's mouth moved at one corner.

At close, Bernie and Agnes made a show of leaving through the back, banging every door on the way.

Malcolm helped him stack the chairs.

He was terrible at it.

He lifted them one at a time, with a frown.

"Do you want to walk?" he said, when the lights were off. "The harbor, I mean. Not home. Home is next."

The harbor was ten minutes away, black and glittering, with the ferry lit up at the dock.

They walked with a foot of cold air between them until Malcolm held out his hand, palm up, and waited.

Perrin put his own in it.

His hand disappeared.

Malcolm's fingers closed around the whole of it and tucked it into his coat pocket.

"I should tell you something," Perrin said at the rail.

"Anything."

"It's not just the name." He kept his eyes on the water. "I don't only like it when you say it. Sometimes I get small."

Malcolm went quiet and let him go on.

"When I'm tired, or when someone's been awful to me. I want soft socks. I want to color. I want somebody to tell me it's bedtime." Perrin's voice thinned. "I have an otter. His name's Biscuit. My gran sewed his ear back on."

He braced for a laugh.

It did not come.

"Is that what happened at close last night?" Malcolm asked. "With the man and the latte?"

"A little."

"Then thank you for telling me." Malcolm turned and took both of Perrin's hands. "I would like to meet Biscuit. When you're ready, and not before."

Perrin's eyes were wet.

"You're not going to say it's weird?"

"I'm going to say you're a good boy," Malcolm said, "for telling me the truth when you were scared."

Perrin made a noise and folded forward until his forehead hit Malcolm's chest.

A hand came up and cupped the back of his head.

"There it is," Malcolm said softly. "Let it come."

They stood like that until the ferry horn went.

Then Malcolm walked him to the side street where his car was parked and put Perrin's back against the passenger door.

"May I?" he said.

"You can ask me like that every time," Perrin said into his collar, "and I'll say yes every time."

Malcolm kissed him.

It was slower than the first, and warmer, and it tasted of coffee and a little of the sea.

Perrin's heels came up off the pavement.

He curled his fingers around the lapels of that gray coat and held on, and he thought, quite clearly, I am never going to let go of this.

The bell on the café door was two blocks away.

He did not hear it.

"Excuse me," said a soft voice from the end of the street. "I do hope I'm not interrupting."

Malcolm lifted his head.

A man in a pale cashmere coat stood under the streetlight with his hands folded.

He was in his late fifties, silver-haired, and smiling.

"Desmond," Malcolm said, very evenly.

"I came by the café," said Desmond Kerr. "They told me you'd walked down with the barista."

He looked at Perrin.

"So this is him," he said.

← Chapter 2 · All chapters · Chapter 4 →

Want to keep talking to characters like these? Chat with AI romance characters: AI Boyfriend · AI Girlfriend · Dark Romance · Fantasy Romance · BL (Boys’ Love) · Billionaire Boyfriend · Mafia Boyfriend · Possessive Boyfriend · Hockey Boyfriend · Older Boyfriend · K-Drama Boyfriend · Anime Boyfriend · Vampire Boyfriend · Werewolf Boyfriend · Demon Boyfriend · Fae Romance · GL (Girls’ Love) · Anime Girlfriend · Goth & Alt Girlfriend · Gamer Girlfriend · Tsundere Girlfriend · Fantasy Girlfriend