Page 41 of The New Place

“I’ll make you coffee in exchange for my freedom,” Abbot offers.

Ned just cuddles into him. He smells so good, and feels better, and how many mornings did Ned wake up here alone since Abbot flew out in December?

“One more minute and then I’ll get up,” Ned says, still clutching him close.

“Despite all available evidence to the contrary.”

Ned presses a kiss to sleep-warm skin. “Or we could stay right here.”

“Baxter’s awake.”

“Baxter could use the rest,” Ned says as if the dog doesn’t sleep all damn day.

Baxter could also go sleep downstairs, instead of insisting that if he’s going to be banished from the bed, he gets to sleep on the floor right next to them. He picks his head up and whines a high, long note, then heaves himself to his feet to scratch at the door.

“I’ll take him out,” Abbot says.

Ned lets out a whine of his own when Abbot pushes the covers back, letting cold air in. “I can do it,” Ned mumbles, steeling himself to swing his feet to the floor.

“I want to go get the paper anyway.” Abbot’s actually awake in the mornings, so by the time Ned is vertical, Abbot’s already dressed and herding Baxter downstairs.

Ned pulls his clothes on and yanks the covers up in some semblance of a nicely made bed. Abbot will come back up here at some point and really make the bed, leaving Ned’s childhood comforter stretched neatly over the mattress, the pillows set against the headboard, his phone charger coiled on the nightstand. Ned tries now, yawning into his shoulder, but he can’t ever get the sheets just right, not like Abbot does.

The coffee’s burbling as he makes his way downstairs. He waits next to the pot as it brews, letting his eyes close for a long moment. He ought to do grading today, even though it’s Saturday. If he finishes, it’ll leave tomorrow for working on that paper he needs to write. Not that he particularly wants to do either project, with Abbot here and a weekend with Peggy.

Maybe he can relax for a bit. Let himself ignore the grind of life as he works toward tenure, and while he’s at it, the low smolder of anxiety over everything Steve said about Adams.

Yes. It’s Saturday. He hasn’t really spent time with Abbot in ages, their one night in Portland aside. They deserve to enjoy themselves, and have fun with Peggy too, so instead of reaching for his laptop, he grabs a mixing bowl and the carton of eggs from the fridge. Do they have pancake mix? They have flour and baking soda, and Abbot and Peggy aren’t the only ones around here who can stir ingredients together.

He has bacon in the oven and the butter melting in the microwave when Dad comes downstairs, yawning into the mug of coffee Ned passes him. “Morning,” Ned says. “Hungry?”

“What’s all this?”

“Do you and Mom have plans today?” Ned asks. “We should do something fun. Oh, the maple syrup, I was going to heat it up too. And scramble some eggs. Want eggs?”

“You know what this needs?” Dad reaches for a cutting board and knife. “Avocado.”

“Does it?”

“Of course it does.”

The door opens with a sharp gust of cold. Baxter jogs in with snowflakes clinging to his coat and heads straight to his water bowl.

“Morning Henry, Mr. Baxter,” Dad says.

“Good morning,” Abbot says as he sheds his jacket. “What’re you making?”

“Pancakes,” Ned says. “Thought we’d enjoy the morning.” Abbot looks good, his cheeks flushed from the cold, the shadow of stubble on his jaw. Come here, Ned beckons with the spatula.

But Abbot is always Abbot, neatly hanging his coat before he comes over, then taking time to fold the newspaper under his arm before finally meeting Ned in a kiss. “Have you checked your email?” Abbot asks when he pulls back. “It smells good.”

“No, I haven’t. We’re doing pancakes, eggs, and apparently avocado. Let me put the kettle on for you.”

“And bacon,” Dad says. “Do they make pescatarian bacon?”

“Not that I know of,” Abbot says. “Ned, where’s your phone?”

“Somewhere.”