Page 87 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
Parker hugs me closer. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, meaning it. “I’m good. Really good.”
He kisses my forehead. We don’t say anything else. We don’t need to.
Outside, cicadas sing their summer song. Inside, the house settles around us, its art and bright walls and accumulated love holding us safe, giving beautiful things room to grow.
Chapter
Twenty-One
PARKER
The Oxford Sausage Festival hits different when you’re stupid in love.
I’ve been coming to this thing since I was a kid, back when my parents’ marriage was held together by passive aggression and spite. It was always one of the highlights of the summer, but I’ve never noticed how the morning light turns the whole town square golden. How the smell of grilled meat, apple fritters, and magnolia blossoms combine to create an irresistible perfume, or the genuine warmth between neighbors calling out to each other as they flood the streets.
It’s nice, sharing this with Makena, seeing it through her eyes.
But then, everything is more fun with her around.
Her eyes go wide as we turn the corner, and the town square comes fully into view. “Holy shit, Parker. You didn’t tell me it would be this…”
“Insane?” I supply, as she takes in the chaos. There are food and merch booths everywhere, local bands warming up on the stages, and approximately seventeen thousand sausage-themed decorations bobbing in the breeze.
Most of them are inflatable.
“Magnificent,” she breathes, pointing to a twenty-foot inflatable bratwurst. “Reminds me of you.”
I laugh, she beams up at me, and my chest squeezes tight. It’s like my ribs are trying to lock my heart down before it leaps from my chest, but it’s too late. It’s already yeeted itself to the ground at her feet like a suicidal crab.
“Come on,” I say, taking her hand. “Let’s get you properly introduced to Oxford’s finest meats.”
“Pretty sure I already met that last night, but please do,” she murmurs, her commitment to making jokes about my cock proving we’re meant to be.
We dive into the crowd, her fingers laced tight with mine. The festival’s already in full swing. Old men man their grills in aprons that say things like “Grill Sergeant” and “Sausage King,” and Nana’s art friends hold court near the mimosa tent, already hard at work getting three sheets to the wind.
“Parker!” A familiar face in a tie-dyed muumuu waves from a table at the edge of the tent’s seating area. “Leo Parker, you gorgeous thing! Chaz said you were in town. Glad you’re here. Been too long, honey. And who’s this with you?”
“Hey, Miss Eugenia,” I call back, nodding Mack’s way. “This is Makena, my girlfriend.”
The word still feels new in my mouth.
New and electric and perfect.
Makena waves hello, and Miss Eugenia clutches her chest dramatically. “Lord. The two of you. It’s too much pretty at once. Welcome to Oxford, Makena. You two take good care of each other today, okay? Don’t let Chastity get you in any trouble.”
“Will do, Miss Eugenia,” I promise, as we walk on.
“Chastity?” Makena hisses. “Chaz is short for Chastity?”
I laugh. “Right? Talk about irony.”
“But kind of great, too,” she says as we move deeper into the festival. “It adds to the legend of Nana.”
We stop at the first booth—Big Jim’s Fried Pies—and I watch Makena’s face as she takes her first bite. Her eyes flutter closed, a moan escaping that threatens to make my cock twitch despite the public, family-friendly setting.
“Oh my god,” she breathes. “That’s obscene. What’s in this?”
