my parents are very sweet.”
Bartholomew nodded and went to run his fingers through his longish hair. Alex held his hands out in the universal gesture of “Stop! Don’t do that! We’ve just spent a half hour in the bathroom making sure it looks just like that musician you think is totally hot!”
Bartholomew’s hand dropped limply to his lap, and he rested his head on the kitchen table. “We could always stay home and bake,” he said. “Lachlan said this was sort of a family game night. They don’t need me. I could be making bread for the homeless shelter or—”
“Bartholomew?”
“Yes?”
“Do you have a spell that will get Lachlan here earlier?”
Bartholomew frowned. “No. What a horrible thing to ask! Fucking around with time when Dante and Cully are sort of still… drifting in nowhen. Do you have any idea of what would happen if we—”
Alex held up his hands again. “Wasn’t being literal, Barty. You’re driving me batshit. You’re going to be fine, you know that, right?”
Bartholomew looked at him over his crossed arms. “What if they don’t like me?”
Alex’s sharp face, which was so good at transmitting impatience or sarcasm, relaxed into the fondness of an older brother for a younger. “Impossible,” he said softly. “Lachlan adores you. If they’re good parents—and I realize you don’t have any experience with that sort—they’ll love you because he does.”
Bartholomew nodded and closed his eyes. “You know, if it wasn’t for the Dante and Cully thing—”
“I know.”
“That would have been a really good idea.”
Alex gave a small sigh and looked at the clock. “I know. Look, how about we eat some of those cookies you made? One each. You know I’m a sucker for them.”
Bartholomew lightened up. Nothing made him happier than someone enjoying his baking. These were lemon sugar iced, and he’d decorated them especially for Halloween. He really wanted someone to taste them before he gave them to Lachlan’s parents.
LACHLAN arrived about five minutes early, mostly because he knew Tolly would be fretful. When Tolly opened the door, Lachlan was surprised to hear Alex and Tolly laughing uproariously—that sort of emotional display was a little over-the-top for either of them, but he always enjoyed a good laugh.
“Tolly?” he said, kissing Bartholomew’s cheek. “What was so funny?”
Abruptly Bartholomew sobered, and he looked puzzled. “You know, I have no idea. Alex?”
Alex was looking just as baffled. “I’m not sure. It had something to do with something on the internet. A GIF or something.” He frowned. “Or a video? Definitely wasn’t politics.” He shook it off, looking happy and mellow, like someone would if they’d recently had a good laugh. “Either way, can’t remember now. But you guys have fun. Barty, you’re spending the night at Lachlan’s, right?”
Bartholomew nodded. “Unless you guys need me back for the morning ritual, or the night one or—”
Alex shook his head. “No. We’re almost to the point where one of us can do it. We just need to figure out the pattern of Dante and Cully appearing in their own house.” He sighed. “I miss movie nights, and you know how they just wander over when they’re trying to work and they get bored? I miss that.”
“We’ll get your friends back,” Lachlan said, hating to have been the one to break the good mood. Bartholomew and his friends seemed to need the laugh so bad. “Anyway, I’ll have him back Sunday night.”
Alex waved, and Lachlan escorted Bartholomew to his truck, giving him time to stow his knapsack and the charming gold-foil cookie tin in the extra cab before fastening his own belt.
“What’d you make for my folks?” Lachlan asked.
“Lemon iced sugar cookies,” Bartholomew said happily. “I was going to get fancy—do something like Samoas or mint chip or even rocky road, but I could cut out shapes with these, and that’s always fun.”
Lachlan chuckled. “Purple and orange icing for Halloween?”
“And witches’ hats and jack-o-lanterns and brooms,” Bartholomew said, giving that dreamy smile that told Lachlan making the cookies had put him at ease. Ease was good—they’d communicated mostly by phone this last week, and Bartholomew had gotten more and more keyed up as the time had gone on. If Lachlan hadn’t known for certain Bartholomew had been planning to bake for his parents, he would have postponed the whole meet-the-parents thing until Tolly was just a smidge less high-strung about it. Not that Lachlan could blame him, after meeting Tolly’s parents. Lachlan wouldn’t have had a full bowel movement in his entire life if he’d had to grow