Page 125 of I Think They Love You

Mikah grins up at him. It’s another thing Denz is processing.

When Braylon first arrived, Mikah hid behind Denz’s legs. He’s shy with unfamiliar faces. But Braylon just lowered himself to Mikah’s level for re-introductions. He complimented Mikah’s curly ’fro, then mentioned grilled cheeses for dinner. From there, he’s become Mikah’s new best friend.

As if he remembers that time Braylon hummed him back to sleep in Kenneth’s office.

“If you add too much cheese,” Braylon goes on, “it’s harder to do the magic flip.”

Mikah’s eyes balloon cartoonishly. “Whoa, a magic flip?”

“You bet.” Braylon relocates a slice of cheese from Mikah’s bread to Denz’s unfinished sandwich. “Even Uncle Denzie can’t do it.”

Denz fake scowls, poking Braylon’s side.

“You’re gonna teach me?” Mikah asks excitedly.

“Of course!”

Denz watches them, smiling to himself. His nephew helps Braylon remove more cheese. Braylon holds Mikah’s tiny hand while helping him climb down from the chair.

It’s the weirdest sensation. Like an emptiness in Denz’s belly suddenly being filled.

He never imagined this: Braylon in his apartment. Not the one in Athens where they shared a hamper and bathroom counter space and so many secrets between sateen sheets. Here, where Denz spent two hours cleaning every surface, collecting all of Jamie’s discarded work shirts and hiding his own sex toys before Braylon arrived.

Over the years, he’s done so well preventinganyonefrom getting this close to him again. Threading barbed wire around the heart he pieced back together with Scotch tape and goals and a career. But here’s tea-drinking, monochrome-wardrobe, bristly faced Braylon, and Denz wants him to stay.

He wants to live up to his dad’s expectations as CEO.

He wants both, and picturing that future is so easy, it’s like breathing.

While the bread browns, Braylon listens to Mikah’s ramblings aboutKiki’s Delivery Service,the movie they’re watching after. He asks silly questions. Laughs at Mikah’s suggestion to add whipped cream to their sandwiches.

And Denz is right there, elbow-to-elbow with Braylon as heteaches Mikah The Flip. The air’s thick with melted cheese and smoky bacon. Underneath, a quiet layer of orange and cardamom that Denz can’t seem to hate anymore.

Braylon holds the spatula out to him. “Your turn.”

“Me?”

“You forced me to lie to my boss about being sick so we could—”

“‘Forced’ is a strong word.”

“Uncle Denzie, lying’s bad!” Mikah shouts.

“I didn’t—” Denz huffs, glaring at Braylon. He turns to Mikah. “I told him topretend.”

“Momma says that’s lying.”

“Yeah, well,” Denz mumbles, “Momma’s good at that, so…”

“Denz,” Braylon says, admonishing, still holding up the spatula. “You’re quite capable of doing The Flip.”

Denz eyes the pan, then Braylon. “I haven’t—” He swallows. “Not since… with you. I’m gonna mess it up.”

He hates how pathetic he sounds.

But Braylon doesn’t approach him like a sad, broken Muppet with some seriously unresolved hang-ups. Instead, he presses his chest to Denz’s spine. He guides the spatula into his hand. Hooking his chin over Denz’s shoulder, he says, “Can’t hurt to give it another go, can it?”

Is Braylon talking about the grilled cheese or something else?

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