Page 28 of Under Locke & Key

I held his hand. I held his hand in front of his parents and probably made a complete fool of myself.

And I’ve fixated on it for days. It’s time to call in reinforcements because I am so far out of my depth and in over my head that I can barely breathe without thinking about his scent and how I’ve missed it.

All day Friday, and culminating in a moment of weakness where I woke up on Saturday, flushed and aching from a very vivid dream.

He was right there, so close his warmth seeped through all my clothing and my mind ran away with the image of us that close, that heat at its apex between us.

He opened the door, metaphorically and physically, and I’ve been locked in my apartment with nothing but want and conflict inside of me since.

I need you to be sure , he’d said and it stilled me.

Because as sure as I am that this thing, this arcing energy between us may be magnificent to explore, I am not sure that I’m ready.

Between looming job insecurity if giving in proves a mistake, and the fact that I haven’t been with anyone since Riley in any meaningful way despite all the Fridays at Public Service, it’s scary to let myself picture the possibility of Bryce.

So, despite the fact that I know what he’ll tell me— Or maybe because of it —I call ángel.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is thick with sleep and I should’ve thought about it before I called him at 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning after his Friday night shift.

“Nothing.” My voice breaks on the second syllable and he gives a big sigh as I hear him shift in bed.

“Rachel, I’m barely awake and in a bed that isn’t my own. What’s up?”

“ Oh . Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

I hear more rustling and then another low voice, mumbling.

“My friend is having a crisis. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to go.” ángel sounds further away, as if he’s turned his head away from the phone.

“It’s not a crisis, per se. I just—I might have held his hand last week, and there might have been a moment where he had me crowded against my front door.

I need you to talk me out of it. I need you to be the voice of reason right now because all my normal excuses for not giving in just aren’t cutting it anymore.

” I’m rambling, tripping over the words and as they leave my mouth I can tell how ridiculous I sound.

“Calm down. It’s going to be okay. No need to panic.” Confusion spreads through me at his reaction.

“I’m freaking out a little but I don’t think it counts as a panic?”

“Just let me grab my things. Hold on.” The sound does that thing where he gets quieter and I hear him whisper to his companion, “I’m sorry. It’s bad. I have to go but I’ll call you, okay?”

The stranger must agree because I hear ángel’s belt buckle jingle as he dresses himself, the phone likely pressed between his shoulder and ear.

“You are not using me as an excuse right now,” I grit it out but without much anger behind it. It’s not the first time we’ve rescued each other.

A door slams behind him and ángel gives a sigh of what I can only assume is relief.

“Impeccable timing, as always. Thanks for that. I fell asleep by accident. The shift was a total bear last night. Your fuckwit of an ex-boss was there. I served him out of a dirty glass.”

“While that’s very sweet of you, I don’t want you to get fired because you’re retaliating on my behalf.”

On my back, staring at the ceiling and the crown molding, and the stained glass Tiffany-esque light fixture above my bed, unlit in the early morning, I can’t fight the push and pull within me.

I want this. I want Bryce. Dulaney and escape rooms, and large hands covering my own. A solid body at my back that makes me feel like I’m safe, infallible and worthwhile just for who I am and not what I can achieve.

“Now, what’s going on with you and Brycey Boy?” The vocal quality changes.

“Are you in your car?”

“Yes?”

“Come over? I haven’t left the apartment in over a week, since I went to meet Bryce’s parents and I’m going a little stir crazy thinking about him all the time.”

He whistles, the sound sucked in between his lips. “You met his parents .”

“It’s not like that. He’s just mentioned me, I guess, and they were curious.” Don’t read too much into it. It might have been exactly that. I need to take it at face value because the alternative is too scary to contemplate.

“Rachel, when’s the last time you met your bosses’ parents? Hell, even a colleague’s parents?”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll grab some gear and meet you outside your place, just shoot me the address. Looks like there’s a Pride Parade downtown today.”

My breath shudders out of me, taking some of the tension with it.

“Thank you, thank you! How come you know about the parade?”

“I have my ways,” he says, his tone dropping into something teasing and mysterious.

“Be serious.”

“Because I joined a stupid neighborhood group when you moved so I could make sure everything was okay. Sue me. You go get yourself showered and dressed the fuck up. If we’re doing Pride, we’re doing it right.

I’ll see you in like ninety minutes. Be ready.

” ángel doesn’t wait for my response before hanging up, and I text him my address.

Relief and giddiness at breaking my routine, and hopefully getting Bryce off my mind, spurs me out of bed.

By the time ángel arrives, decked out in tight jean shorts, rainbow chaps, and some kind of rainbow fringed denim vest with no shirt underneath, I’m ready.

Clearly we should have discussed better beforehand because we have two very different vibes going on right now.

He’s even gone and used Overtone to turn his bleached hair Barbie pink.

ángel takes in my loosely curled hair, spilling over my shoulders, and my pink, purple, and dark blue bi flag colored sundress I had made a couple of years ago but haven’t had the chance to wear.

“ Nice .”

“You too. Though I’m not sure if Dulaney is ready.” My smirk has him giving me a cheeky grin in response.

“This old thing? Just something I had laying around.” He holds his elbow out for me to take, like a courtly gentleman, not a half-naked take on a cowboy.

The June sun bakes down on us, kissing the tops of my shoulders and my nose as we walk toward the park.

Downtown teems with people in various colorful shades and levels of risque clothing.

ángel doesn’t stand out as much as I teased.

As we approach, music increases in volume, a heart pounding pop song blaring from a stage and walkway.

Stalls are set up all along the riverwalk, selling clothing and jewelry, refreshment stations, and even a booth to register to vote with a local representative campaigning.

I’m handed one of those silicone wristbands at the arched balloon entrance to the park, like the LiveStrong ones I remember from when I was a kid, only this one is marked with Dulaney Pride.

We peruse the little stalls and ángel talks me into the kitschiest Maryland crab earrings done up in the bi flag colors instead of the Maryland yellow, black, red and white.

“Blue crabs are a whole culture here, even though Dulaney isn’t on the Bay.

Between crabs, Old Bay seasoning, and the Maryland flag, repping any of those is practically a personality trait that screams ‘I’m from Maryland.

’ I’ve never seen anything like it,” I say as we walk past the third seller stocking some kind of state-themed merch.

“State ‘Pride’, in more than one way. It’s sweet, kind of, how much they care.

What would it be like to feel so strongly about something so inconsequential?

” ángel muses and I turn toward him to argue, to defend this community and the people who have been nothing but kind and caring to me—to tell him that it can’t be inconsequential if it means something to them—when I collide with a solid body and my breath is knocked from my lungs.

I grunt out an oof, and strong hands wrap around the tops of my arms to keep me from toppling backward.

Staring into a strong chest, covered (mostly) by a rainbow tank top that looks a hair too small.

A smattering of light brown chest hair peeks out at the top and I follow the freckles up the muscled arms holding me, over his brawny shoulders, and up some more.

It’s a functional strength. Grounded. It’s the kind of body people swooned over before superheroes bodies became something vaguely scary.

Solid without being “cut” and dehydrated to death.

“ Bryce ,” I breathe.

He blinks once, twice, behind those glasses and I’ve never given much thought to how hot glasses could be until this man.

“Rachel.” It’s deep in a way that makes me shiver despite the summer sun, and the smile he gives me is boyish, only adding to the flush in my cheeks.

“Didn’t think I’d be running into you today.” I try to reorient myself but he hasn’t let go and my heart is a drumline marching through my chest.

“Literally,” ángel murmurs beside me and Bryce’s gaze travels over to my friend.

The soft expression hardens into something neutral and I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else there.

Does Bryce only look at me that way? Or is it ángel specifically that has his attitude changing?

Bryce looks between me and ángel before swallowing hard.

Is he . . . jealous ? No. That’s ridiculous. It can’t be, but . . .

“Nice to see you again,” Bryce says, his hands sliding down my arms before he steps back and I feel strangely bereft at the loss of contact.

“Same,” Logan says and I peek around Bryce to see him standing there with what can only be called a cheeky grin on his face.

“And who is your other friend?” ángel asks Logan.

“Kate, ángel.” Logan points between them. “ángel, Kate.”