Page 33 of Familiar Things New

“I’m fine,” Andrew replied, his face beginning to burn. “I should have seen it coming, though. Not the hitching post, specifically, but me falling during the course of our walk.”

Edwin reached out his hand. Andrew hesitated for a second before taking it. Edwin pulled, helping Andrew to his feet. Once Andrew righted himself, he looked down at his and Edwin’s still-joined hands, and his stomach tumbled. Both of them let go at the same time.

And Andrew noticed that Edwin was blushing now, too.

Lowering his head, Andrew mumbled a soft, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Edwin said, his voice sweet and oh-so-lovely.

“I’m just . . . I’m very clumsy. In all respects. I hope my invitation before wasn’t too . . . forward,” Andrew said. “Because I really enjoy spending time with you. And, earlier, I thought that you might have maybe implied that you liked spending time with me, too, and so I thought that perhaps you’d like us to keep spending time together and—”

“I would like that,” Edwin confirmed. “I like . . . being with you, too, Andrew.” He paused and rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. “And I’d like it if we saw each other again. After the storm is over. If you’d like to show me more about photography, I’d be interested in learning about it.”

Hope once again fluttered in Andrew’s chest, the fire of like in his heart immediately rekindled.

“Really?”

Edwin nodded, and a small smile crept across his face. Smiling back, Andrew inhaled a shuddering breath, the possibility that perhaps he hadn’t been imagining Edwin’s interest in him nearly overwhelming as the cold air burned his lungs.

“Wow, uhm, well, the holidays are coming up, so maybe . . . maybe in January?”

“January sounds . . . good,” Edwin said, the last word coming out through an exhale.

Andrew swallowed, and he huffed a light laugh. “January, then.”

“Yes.” Edwin’s smile broadened. “January.”

Andrew and Edwin continued to smile at each other for a while as the snow fell around them. Finally, Edwin lifted his chin, nodding in the direction of both their homes.

“We ought to finish our walk,” he said. “We’re close to home now.”

Andrew nodded in agreement. When he took a step forward, though, he immediately stumbled. Edwin’s hand shot out, and he caught Andrew’s sleeve.

Chuckling, Edwin said, “I feel like maybe I should keep holding onto you.”

Andrew’s breath caught, and he froze, his hopeful heart stuttering, as Edwin’s idea hung in the frigid air between them. Andrew huffed another light laugh, this one imbued with unease. Edwin looked over, and his laughter died, his playful smile faltering, the moment they locked eyes. Andrew’s smile fell away, too.

One long second passed.

“Should I do that?” Edwin whispered. “Should I . . . keep holding onto you?”

For a moment, Andrew was too overwhelmed—too scared and excited and shocked and many, many other things—to speak. But then Edwin began to pull away, and the movement somehow helped Andrew find his words.

“I’d like that,” Andrew blurted out before Edwin could let go completely.

Andrew’s response rang in the silence as the snow continued to fall.

And then, the men resumed their walk, with Edwin still holding onto Andrew’s sleeve.

***

It was the eighth of January, and Andrew was rereading the letter he had received from Edwin shortly after Christmas, his leg bouncing continuously while he sat on the edge of his bed.

Dear Andrew,

I hope this letter finds you in the best of spirits, and I pray you had a joyous Christmas. I had a lovely holiday with my family. I was relieved, as were my mother and Agnes, when the weather finally warmed, melting much of the snow.

Both Agnes and my mother went caroling on Christmas Day. I stayed home, which is likely not very surprising. I kept myself occupied, though, by reading the newspaper and writing a letter to William. I thought of you.