Crane coughed, and Zechariah smiled – as plainly and contentedly as he had professed his hope in being the most compelling answer to his letters. The relationship aspects of his relationships might have been a disaster, but the consummation? The consummation, he had done right.

So long as the stars aligned.

Crane stumbled over his sentence, unfinished. Better than not? Did Zechariah strike him as desperate? … He was, but not in that manner!

“Hardly,” he riposted, reaching for the vodka bottle. “Merely the world,” he clarified with a crinkle of his nose.

Perhaps he had been a demanding lover. It was his idea to whisk Simon off to York, after all. That they live together in a configuration that could make husbands and wives envious, and their neighbors blush. Once upon a time, legalities aside – he had wanted everyone to look at Simon and know he was his.

A lot had changed … but vodka and company brought some of it back. He finished it off. Tried not to think of Simon at the wine rack.

“Good thing we have Yom Kippur,” Zechariah said with a wave of his hand. “It is frowned upon to have sex before marriage or to fruitlessly self-indulge, but there are worse ways to spend one’s time. If it is your wish to … pay penance? however, I would hardly deny you that.”

He stood, initially steady …

“Would you like me to show you where this all transpired?”

And then the world swam, warm and pleasantly off-kilter. He set his hands on the table to keep himself steady.