Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

June

It’s the baker’s smile that draws Jack in.

He’s walked by the café dozens of times, always more focused on Nora in the stroller than his surroundings. He doesn’t know what was different this morning; maybe he looked up at just the right time. But when he did, he found himself looking directly into warm brown eyes. They pulled Jack out of his own thoughts enough for him to connect the eyes to a face, and that’s when the man had smiled. It was a genuine smile, kind, aimed right at Jack. It’s probably not the first time in the past eight weeks that somebody has smiled at Jack, but it’s the first time he’s noticed.

Jack’s been clinging to that smile like a lifeline all day. 

In his darkest moments, when Nora is going on her third straight hour of crying, Jack wonders what he was thinking, deciding to raise an infant on his own even after Jen had made it clear she was done. The thought never gets much traction because even in those darkest moments, Jack knows it was no contest: If he had to choose between his daughter and his ex-fiancée, his daughter would win, every time.

His parents say it’s colic. “You had the worst colic,” his mother says with a fond smile, like it’s a pleasant memory. “You grew out of it.”

“Like father, like daughter,” his father chirps. 

His parents had the luxury of going back to Montreal after three weeks, before the colic really set in. They were sympathetic, of course, but insistent that Jack would never find his footing if they were there to hold his hand. “It’s like skating,” Papa said. “You have to let go of the boards eventually.”

Apparently, in this analogy his parents are the boards and Jack is Jack. He isn’t sure what Nora is supposed to be. The puck? The goal? He’s too tired to try to make sense of it.

Time doesn’t exist the way it did before Nora. It’s measured out in three-hour increments — the length of time it takes to feed her, change her diaper, play, read a story, nap, and feed her again. Sometimes this schedule is broken up by the excitement of a bath or a diaper blowout. Time simultaneously accelerates and stands still. There’s never enough of it when Jack is trying to catch a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, always too much of it from five to eight p.m. when Nora does nothing but cry.

When the crying gets bad and the walls feel like they’re beginning to close in around Jack, he puts her in the stroller and heads outside. Like so much of his life these days, he operates on autopilot, but he isn’t really surprised when he ends up outside the little café — the Bakehaus, according to the sign — he passes on their morning walks. This time, remembering the kind man who smiled at him this morning, he decides to go inside.

He struggles a little to hold the door open and maneuver the stroller through the doorway at the same time. He’s still getting used to this. Nora’s still wailing and Jack would apologize if there were any other customers inside to apologize to, but it looks like they’re the only ones here. He wheels the stroller up to the register and looks at the menu behind the counter without really seeing it.

“What can I get for you? I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

The voice somehow shakes Jack out of his own thoughts. The man from this morning is standing behind the counter, that same kind smile from this morning directed at him. “Oh. I … A black coffee, please.”

“Will you have a scone or muffin with that? Maybe a piece of coffee cake?” 

“Just coffee,” Jack says. “Thank you.”

“Refills are on the house.” The man grabs a paper cup from beside the register. By the time he hands Jack his coffee, something miraculous has happened: Nora’s wails have died down into exhausted whimpers and her eyelids are beginning to get heavy. 

Jack thanks the man again and takes a seat in a corner, hopeful Nora will sleep long enough for him sit for a few minutes and drink his coffee. He’s vaguely aware of the baker bustling about the café, wiping down tables and boxing up the few leftover pastries in the display case. But mostly he just allows himself to relax and enjoy the hot coffee and the soothing music playing in the café, the first thing he’s done for himself all day.

At ten-to-six, Jack gets up, throws his cup away, and carefully wheels the stroller back outside. He thanks the baker on his way out the door.

“Feel free to come back tomorrow,” he calls after Jack.

Jack thinks he probably will.

July 

For the past month, the man with the baby and the sad blue eyes has been stopping in for a cup of coffee an hour before closing. He always sits in an overstuffed chair in the corner and drinks his coffee while his baby sleeps next to him in the stroller. Sometimes he pulls a book out from the diaper bag he carries with him; other times he just stares straight ahead as if in a daze. He never asks for a refill, always respectfully gathers his things and leaves ten minutes before the shop officially closes. Eric desperately wants to ask him what his story is.

His curiosity gets the best of him one evening in July. Eric finishes all of his closing tasks early and takes a seat across from the man he thinks of as Sad Dad. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says, sliding a leftover slice of pie across the table. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m a good listener.”

Sad Dad startles at the sound of his voice. “Er, thanks.” He picks up the fork and turns it around in his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with it. Eric notices he’s not wearing a wedding ring.

“I can box it up for you, if you’d rather,” Eric says. “It’s on the house.”

“This is the only place she’ll sleep,” Sad Dad blurts out.

In the stroller, the baby stirs but doesn’t wake.

“I think it might be the music,” he adds. “But maybe not. I tried playing this music for her at home and she just screams.”

Eric gives Sad Dad his warmest smile. “Maybe it’s just the change of scenery.” He peers into the stroller and gets his first real look at the baby. She’s swaddled in a blue and yellow striped blanket. A bit of dark hair peeks out from under a matching blue hat. Every once in a while her lips twitch or her eyelids flutter. “Must be dreaming,” Eric says.

“She does that sometimes. I didn’t know babies did that.”

“When I was little my MooMaw used to have a dog that did that,” Eric says. “She always used to say he was dreaming about chasin’ squirrels. He was this lazy old basset hound who drooled and smelled something awful. I don’t know that I ever saw him chase his tail, let alone a squirrel.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wants to take it all back. “Not that I’m comparing your baby to a dog. Oh, lord.” He buries his face in his hands, mortified, but he thinks he hears … laughter?

He risks a glance up at Sad Dad and yes, he’s actually laughing. When he laughs, Eric notices, his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Well,” he finally says, “she does drool and can get kind of smelly. Do you think my baby might be part basset hound? That would explain a lot.”

Eric risks a smile back and feels his heart rate start to return to normal. “She’s much cuter than that old basset hound. What’s her name?”

“Nora. Short for Eleanor.” 

“It’s lovely.”

“She’s named after my maternal grandmother.”

“And you are?” It’s been a month; Eric would really like to stop thinking of him as Sad Dad.

“Jack.”

“I’m Eric.”

Jack just nods thoughtfully. Eric isn’t sure if he’s always been a man of few words, or if he’s just too tired to hold a conversation. He tries to draw him out anyway. “Are you and Nora new to the neighborhood?”

“Ah, kind of? I lived in Providence when I was younger. Work took me away, but I always planned to come back, when I retired. I still have friends here and it seemed as good a place as any to raise Nora. We’re living in my old apartment right now; it’s a few blocks away.”

That explains … Well, it actually doesn’t explain very much at all. Eric’s about to ask how a man his age — because Jack can’t be much older than his mid-thirties — is retired when Jack answers the unasked question. “I used to play hockey professionally. Retired this past season.” 

Something about that trips a switch in Eric’s head. “Wait. Are you …”

“Jack Zimmermann.” His smile is more of a grimace.

Eric tries to reconcile the haggard man in front of him with the vibrant young athlete he remembers watching win the Stanley Cup ten years ago. Jack Zimmermann had been a media darling that summer, for both carrying on his family legacy of winning the Stanley Cup and coming out as bisexual in a post-Cup interview later that week. Eric may or may not still have a Zimmermann jersey hanging up in his closet — he’d been a casual hockey fan at the time, but he wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to support the first out player in the NHL. Jack was traded to San Jose before Eric moved here, but now he remembers hearing something about his retirement. Eric hadn’t realized he’d be returning to Providence, though. 

Anyway, Jack’s former profession does explain the stroller. Eric doesn’t know a lot about baby gear, but he knows from overhearing the conversations of stay-at-home moms that the fancy model Nora’s currently sleeping in carries a hefty price tag of well over a thousand dollars. 

“Well, welcome back to the neighborhood, Jack. You and Nora are welcome here any time. Maybe next time you’ll actually eat the pie.”

Jack looks down at his untouched pie. “Maybe a to-go box?”

“I can do that.” Eric takes the plate and boxes the slice of pie up at the counter. “Don’t let it spoil your dinner,” he teases when he hands it to Jack.

“This will probably be dinner,” Jack confesses. “I haven’t been cooking very much.” He gestures at the baby. 

“There’s a good deli a little ways down the block,” Eric says. “Best pastrami sandwich in Providence. Martha makes a great potato salad, too.”

“Thanks,” Jack says, and this time, Eric thinks, the smile is real. “For the pie and the conversation. I can’t remember the last time I sat down and talked to an adult.”

“Come back tomorrow,” Eric promises, “and there’ll be more of both.”

August

At first, Jack thought it was a fluke.

Within minutes of stepping inside the bakery, Nora’s little body relaxes and her gasping wails recede into breathy little cries until she eventually falls asleep. It’s enough to afford Jack 30 minutes or so of peace before she starts back up again. His order is simple enough that the baker — Eric — starts preparing it as soon as Jack walks in.  

Jack remembers, vaguely, the dimly lit hipster coffee bar that used to operate in this space when he was playing with the Falconers. He stopped in once, after a morning run, and received a scornful look from the barista when he ordered a plain black coffee. The difference is night and day. The walls are now a bright shade of yellow and the metal stools and tall tables have been replaced with overstuffed couches and mismatched tables and chairs. The scuffed wood floor has been restored to a shiny finish. A bookshelf in the corner is a catchall for donated books, board games, and a small assortment of toddler toys. The music playing is always just the right mix of calm indie rock, oldies, and standards. It’s so homey and comfortable. No wonder Nora’s at peace here.

“Don’t fall asleep on me.”

Jack jerks awake. Eric gives him the smallest of smirks.

“She’s still up a few times a night,” Jack explains.

“Forgive me for sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong,” Eric says as he wipes down a nearby table, “but do you have any help?” 

“Ah. That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” Eric says. “I’m just closing up, and your girl is out like a light. You sure you want to risk waking her?”

He has a point. “Yeah. Okay.”

“You can come on back here with me while I box up the leftovers.” Jack gets up and glances uncertainly at the stroller. “Oh, come on,” Eric says. “Nobody’s gonna come in and kidnap her. Here, I’ll lock the door.” 

“Can you do that?”

Eric winks. “I don’t get too many customers in here at this hour, and if I do I can just say we closed early today. Perk of owning the place.”

“Have you been here long?” Jack asks.

“Long enough,” he says, setting a large white pasty box on the counter and beginning to fill it with unsold cookies and muffins. “Almost four years, to be exact.”

“You must do well.” Jack remembers reading some statistic about how the majority of small businesses fail within a year.

“Well enough,” Eric agrees. “I’d like to do a little better, get a few more big orders a month so I can afford to hire more help, someone to take the earliest shift so I can get a little extra sleep, but I don’t mind being here. I knew I’d be spending most of my time here, so I tried to make it as comfortable as possible.”

“I can tell,” Jack says. “I think that’s why Nora and I like it so much.”

Eric beams. “But you were going to tell me about yourself. Do you have anybody helping you out at home? A partner? Nanny? Babysitter?”

“None of the above,” Jack admits, and he almost feels embarrassed. He can afford help, he knows it, but something keeps stopping him from making a call or two. Maybe it’s his determination to prove to everyone that he can do this on his own.

“Have you considered it?”

“Considering it is one thing,” Jack says. “Finding the energy to actually find someone is kind of overwhelming.”

Eric nods. “That sounds about right. Not that I’d know, but that’s what my friends with kids all say. You know, Jack, you’re a good dad. Part of being a good parent is putting yourself first sometimes. If you want to leave her here for a bit to take some time for yourself — even if it’s just to take the time to find a sitter — I don’t mind. 

Eric is a virtual stranger, but there’s something so warm and caring about his demeanor that Jack can’t help but tell him everything. It’s months of conversations he hasn’t been able to have, or even really process, spilling out all at once. He tells him how Nora wasn’t planned, but very much wanted. By Jack, anyway. He’d thought Jen was on the same page — she seemed to be — but she’d confessed to having second thoughts a month before the due date. Not just about their engagement, but about the baby.

“I think,” Jack says, articulating a thought he hasn’t even shared with his parents, “I started to panic when I realized retiring would actually mean not playing hockey. I was 35 and up until then it had been my life. All of the guys I came up with had families. I always wanted what my parents have; it just never happened for me. And then Jen found out she was pregnant and it seemed perfect. The next logical step, you know?”

Eric nods but lets Jack continue.

“We’d been together long enough to know we didn’t know what we were going to do when I retired. I wanted to come back to Providence, she wanted to stay in California. The baby kind of accelerated those conversations. When I found out I was over the moon. I let my excitement blind me to her utter indifference. She finally told me she didn’t want to be married and she didn’t want a baby. So …” Jack gestures at the stroller. “Here we are. Sometimes I think I’m crazy for trying to do this.”

Eric stops his work and looks Jack in the eye. “I don’t think you’re crazy at all, Jack,” he says. “You made a difficult choice, but it was the right one for you. Anyone can see that little girl is your world.”

Jack thinks, again, about how these have been the hardest months of his life. The hardest, for sure, but also the best. 

“Anyway,” Eric continues, “I’m really glad you’re here.”

***

“How’s my little girl?” Bob asks over Skype. “Still a meatloaf?”

“A meatloaf, Papa?” Jack laughs in spite of himself. Nora is sitting on his lap, happily gnawing on a small plush bird. Life with an infant isn’t all bad, not when Nora’s happy and snuggly and content to sit with Jack and Skype with her grandparents.

“Well, she’s not mobile yet, is she? The only difference between a baby and a meatloaf is —”

“You can eat a meatloaf,” Alicia groans. She punches his arm affectionately. “He’s been telling that joke for years, to every one of our friends who has grandkids.”

“Well, uh, not mobile yet, so I guess still in the meatloaf stage,” Jack smiles. “Though she did attempt to roll over yesterday, so I think she may be working her way up to turtle.”

Bob and Alicia laugh and spend a few minutes talking baby talk at Nora, who stares back at them with wide blue eyes and drools a little.

“You look thin, honey,” Alicia chastises, turning her attention back toward Jack. “Are you eating?”

“Uh …” Jack actually can’t remember the last time he ate anything that could be properly described as a “meal.” For somebody who has spent his entire adult life intensely focused on his diet and nutrition, he’s done a poor job of paying attention to either these past two months. The thought of preparing a meal is a little overwhelming right now. Since running out of the stash of frozen meals his parents prepped for him, he’s been surviving on protein bars and shakes. They get delivered with his weekly diaper order. “I still haven’t figured out cooking with a baby,” he admits. 

“Are you wearing her?” Bob asks. “Your mother used to wear you around the house in a sling. You loved it. Might give you a little more freedom to get things done when she doesn’t want to be left alone.”

“I think I have one in a box somewhere,” Jack says. “Baby gift. I’ll look for it.” 

Bob nods his approval. “And are you seeing anybody?”

“Papa, I just ended an engagement and —” he gestures at Nora. “Dating isn’t at the top of my list right now.” The toy bird falls from Nora’s grasp and Jack shifts a bit to catch it before it hits the floor.

“I think he’s talking about a therapist, baby,” Alicia says.

“Oh.” Of course that’s what they’d be talking about. “I probably should be talking to somebody.”

“Jack.” Alicia doesn’t look disappointed, just concerned.

“I think,” Bob says carefully, “that it would be good for you to make some calls about that.”

“I will,” Jack promises. Maybe it’s because he’s a parent now, but his parents’ concern, which once would have seemed cloying, leaves him with a lump in his throat.

“We love you both,” Alicia says. “I’m going to be in New York next week doing some press for a guest spot I just filmed, but I’m going to start looking at flights to come see you soon. That all right?”

Jack nods because he’s too choked up to say much else. 

“Give my meatloaf a kiss for me!” Bob says. Alicia elbows him again and Jack huffs out a little laugh. He plants an exaggerated kiss on Nora’s cheek and takes her little hand in his so she can “wave” goodbye. 

“Eat something!” Alicia orders out before they sever the connection.

Things aren’t perfect, he thinks after he turns off the computer and sets Nora on her play mat. But they’re getting better. He makes a note in his phone to dig out the baby carrier and call the therapist he used to see when he was playing for the Falcs. It’s a start. 

September

Eric knows falling for Jack Zimmermann is a bad idea.

If they had met under different circumstances, maybe. Maybe Eric would have been bold enough to flirt with him when he ordered his (boring, predictable) black coffee and eventually work his way up to asking him out. If they had met under different circumstances, they might go home together after Eric gets off work and eat takeout on the couch while an old TV show plays at low volume on the TV. If they had met under different circumstances, Eric might have somebody to go home to after delivering wedding cakes to happy couples. He might have a plus-one for his friends’ dinner parties. He might have someone to laugh with him when the smoke alarm batteries go out in the middle of the night. 

But they didn’t meet under different circumstances and Jack is, objectively, a mess. He might have been a star on the ice and an expert at handling the media’s interest in his personal life, but right now the only thing he’s good at is taking care of his daughter. The boy can barely feed or dress himself. Eric is positive he must own a shirt that isn’t covered in hockey logos and unidentifiable baby-related stains, but he has yet to see it. The ever-present dark circles under his eyes aren’t doing him any favors, either.

It only makes Eric want to take care of him more, a fact his friend Larissa has definitely picked up on.

“You like him,” she says with a sly grin. Since meeting Jack last week, when she was in the shop to hang some of her original art, she’s been relentless in her insistence that Jack is the one.

“Of course I like him” Eric agrees. “He’s one of my best customers. I like all my regulars.”

Well, not all of his regulars. He could do without angry Mrs. Morrison, who always complains that the coffee is too hot or too cold, or that he doesn’t put quite as many blueberries in the muffins as the chain coffee house down the street. She keeps coming back, though, so Eric just bites his tongue when she complains about his muffins and smiles through it.

“Yeah, but you like him. Like, take-him-home-and-cook-him-his-favorite-meal-and-snuggle-on-the-couch-with-him like him.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous because his favorite meal is chicken tenders,” Eric protests. Which, okay, the fact that he knows Jack’s favorite food is maybe a little revealing. He’s used to knowing his regular customers’ favorite type of pie and regular coffee order, but in addition to Jack’s favorite food, Eric can tell you his favorite book, favorite movie, and the name of his childhood dog.

“That’s perfect,” Larissa laughs, “you won’t even have to cook something different for his kid.”

“It’s not an option,” he repeats. He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. “He’s just a friend.”

So he does what a friend would do. He always greets Jack and Nora with a smile when they stop in, provides a listening ear when he feels like talking. When Jack falls asleep with his book in his hands and Nora in the stroller beside him, he lets him rest. And when Nora starts to whimper one evening and Jack doesn’t immediately tend to her because he’s asleep on the couch, Eric doesn’t think anything of picking her up before her fussing wakes her father.

He balances her on one hip and takes her into the kitchen, where he points out all of the different appliances and ingredients and lets her hold a cylindrical container full of colored sugar crystals. “See, honey, this is the oven,” he says, and he only feels a little silly. “It gets hot and cooks all the pies and cookies.”

Nora babbles and shakes the sugar crystals.

“And this,” he says, “is the industrial mixer.”

After their fascinating kitchen tour, Eric quietly looks through the basket under Nora’s stroller until he finds the front carrier Jack occasionally wears. He has to adjust it to fit him, but Nora goes in easily enough and seems happy so he holds off on waking Jack. Instead, he sets to work prepping the batter for a cupcake order that’s going out first thing in the morning. When the cupcakes go in the oven, he grabs a towel and begins wiping down his workspace. There’s a Beatles song playing over the sound system, the one his MooMaw used to sing to him when he was little, and he sings along with it as he works.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Eric startles at Jack’s query, more embarrassed at being caught singing than about wearing his child. “You were sleeping like a baby. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

“How long have I been out?” Jack asks. He still has that sleep-drunk look, eyes a little glassy and hair a little mussed. 

Eric glances at the clock. “Maybe three hours? I hope you don’t mind —” he gestures to Nora “— she got fussy. We played for a bit and she’s been helping me bake ever since.”

“But you ... it’s ... You closed three hours ago.”

“And you were sound asleep, snoring away in that chair over there. I didn’t have the heart to wake you, Jack. When is the last time you slept like that?”

Jack doesn’t reply.

“I thought so. It’s fine,” Eric reassures him. “I’m doing cupcakes for a three-year-old’s birthday tomorrow. I was able to get a head start so I don’t have to come in so early tomorrow morning. Nora’s been real good; I think she’ll be a good little baker someday.”

“But didn’t you have plans tonight?” Jack tries again.

Eric laughs. “Not unless you consider eating leftover pizza in front of Hell’s Kitchen ‘plans.’”

Jack frowns a little at that. “I could at least buy you dinner. Or pay you for babysitting? You shouldn’t have to —”

“Jack. It’s all good. This is what friends do for each other. If you want to thank me, take these leftover cookies home. There’s not enough to take to the shelter and I’ll just end up throwing them out.” Eric gestures toward the bag on the counter.

There’s a little bit of maneuvering as Jack gently lifts Nora out of the carrier and and situates her in the stroller while Eric takes the carrier off and folds it back up. He holds the bag of cookies out to Jack. “Don’t forget these. Nora’s treat for helping me tonight.”

One side of Jack’s mouth quirks up. “Nora’s not eating solids yet.” 

“Then I guess she’ll just have to share with you, won’t she?”

“Well, if she’s planning to share …” Jack finally accepts the bag.

“I’ll get the door for you.” Eric unlocks the door and holds it open so Jack can steer the stroller through. 

Jack doesn’t make a move to leave, just rolls the stroller back and forth a little. “We’re going to story hour at the library tomorrow morning,” he tells Eric. “Maybe we can stop in for breakfast.” 

It’s been a long time since Eric has done this, but if he’s reading this correctly, Jack Zimmermann is lingering.

Or, he could just be exhausted and not quite sure how to exit with a stroller and a bag of cookies.

Either way, his poor heart really can’t take this right now. He takes the bag from Jack and places it in the basket under the stroller. “There. Now you can use both hands to steer. Have a good evening.”

“You, too,” Jack says. The smiles he and Nora both give him as they walk out will be the end of him, Eric thinks.

October

“Jack, you can’t just skip her first Halloween.”  Jack has never seen Eric look as disappointed in him as he does right now, having heard Jack doesn’t have plans to buy Nora a Halloween costume.

“She’s a baby. Do babies celebrate Halloween? She can’t even walk.”

“Honey, this is the best time to celebrate Halloween. Haven’t you seen all the cute costumes? Anything you can think of.” Eric takes the seat across from Jack and pulls out his phone. “Look,” he says, setting the phone on the table, “she can be a chicken. Or a pea pod. Captain America, Jack; she can be Captain America.”

“I’m Canadian.”

“You.” Eric gives him a light kick under the table. “On Halloween, all the businesses on the street have a little block party and hand out treats to the kids. The Mexican restaurant has half price margaritas and appetizer specials all evening, and the ice cream shop gives out free scoops to the kids. Not that Nora can have ice cream, obviously, but it’s a good time to come out and meet some other parents. I’ll be giving out my special pumpkin cookies.”

It’s not something an introvert like Jack is usually drawn to, but it does sound like it could be fun. He’s been making an effort to be more social for Nora’s benefit. They’ve made some new friends at the library’s story hour, but it would probably be good to come out and meet some of their neighbors.

And anyway, Eric will be there.

With his father’s help, Jack devises a costume and keeps it under wraps until Halloween, expertly deflecting whenever Eric asks him about it. “But you do have something planned,” he says a few days before Halloween, “right? You’re not just going to dress her up in her Falconers onesie and call her a hockey player.”

“It’s a surprise,” Jack says, “but I promise it’s not hockey-related.”

On Halloween, Jack gets the two of them ready an hour before the block party is scheduled to begin. He’s learned, by now, that getting out of the house takes at least twice as long as it should. When Nora is finally dressed in the costume Bob lovingly made and shipped from Montreal, he puts her in the front carrier and heads out.

Eric’s closed the bakery early but is stationed outside, handing frosted pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies out to the costumed kids. His eyes widen when Jack and Nora approach. “Jack Zimmermann, you did not dress your baby as a burrito!”

Jack shrugs and accepts the cookie Eric’s handed to him. “My dad has this weird thing about giving her food nicknames,” he explains. “Meatloaf, burrito. He was pretty excited about getting to make this for her.”

Eric steps closer and gives Nora a little kiss on the forehead. “Sounds like your grandpa and I would get along just fine, wouldn’t we, Sugar Pie?”

“Ha ha. Yeah, I think you and my parents would get along really well, actually.” Jack is suddenly aware he’s standing very close to Eric, and that a line of children has formed behind him. He takes a step backward, bumping into a tiny Darth Vader. “Er, sorry,” he apologizes to the kid’s parents, a couple dressed in impressively realistic Han Solo and Princess Leia costumes. Eric smirks and reaches around Jack to give the family cookies.

“I’m just gonna check the rest of this out,” Jack says, feeling a bit silly for thinking Eric would be available to hang out with them when he’s working.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Eric says with a smile.

Jack and Nora wander the street, which has been closed off to traffic. Some of the businesses have set up carnival games in the street, and the patio of the Mexican restaurant is full of parents taking advantage of the margarita and appetizer specials. Jack plays a ring toss game and wins a giant chocolate bar, which he gives to a couple of kids in Harry Potter costumes. He gets stopped several times by neighbors who want to take pictures with the “burrito baby,” only a few of whom recognize him as a former Falconer. By the time he’s made it up and down both sides of the block and collected treats he is absolutely not giving to a 6-month-old, Eric has just handed out his last cookie.

“Every year, I make more cookies,” he laments, “and every year, I run out before the night is over.”

“Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’re giving them out to the parents, too,” Jack teases.

“Could be,” Eric replies. “I just can’t help it. All these parents got off work early to come out here with their kids, they deserve a little treat, too.”

“What about you?” Jack asks. “Can I buy you a drink?” He glances toward the Mexican restaurant, which is not quite as busy as it was earlier. From here, he can hear Halloween-themed music coming from the patio.

“Oh, I —”

“You’re the reason we came out here tonight,” Jack says, “and I’d feel really weird sitting there by myself with just a baby for company.”

“Well then, I’d love that.” They slowly make their way down the street, stopping to point out costumed dogs and Halloween-themed window displays to Nora, who takes it all in with wide eyes. 

“I’m kind of a lightweight these days,” Jack admits when their margaritas arrive. The three of them are settled around the last available table on the patio, a small table for two that barely accommodates the high chair, where Nora is happily gumming a saltine their waiter brought. Jack figures it will buy him enough time to have one drink and something to eat.

“Well, I won’t judge you,” Eric says. “One of these is usually my limit too. I still have to drive home.”

“Do you live far?” Jack asks, because in all these months he’s never thought to ask Eric if he lives in the neighborhood.

“Not too far,” he says, “but far enough that I don’t want to walk to work at 4:30 in the morning.”

“That’s fair,” Jack says. Next to him, Nora bangs a spoon on her tray.

“She’s changing,” Eric observes. “She’s, like, a real baby now.”

Jack chuckles, because he's obviously very aware that Nora's a baby, but he knows what he means. His parents made the same observation just a few days ago. Her dark hair is still thin, but it doesn’t stick straight up anymore, and her cheeks have filled out. Her eyes, a deep blue at birth, have lightened to the same shade as Jack’s. What’s most surprising to Jack, though, is the way she’s able to focus on everything around her, like she’s trying to make sense of her world. He would swear that she prefers her caterpillar book over her bear book, and she definitely recognizes people or animals she knows. Jack, obviously, but she always brightens considerably when she sees their mail woman or the neighbor’s cat or, well, Eric.

Eric, who has picked up his own spoon and clinking it against Nora’s in some sort of miniature sword fight. It’s too cute for words, and before Jack realizes what he’s doing, he’s got his phone out.

“Oh, lord,” Eric says, when he turns his attention back toward Jack. “Tell me you didn’t get that on video.”

Jack just smiles and scoops some salsa up with a chip. 

By the end of the night, having downed his margarita and consumed half an order of nachos — without any interruptions from Nora — Jack is feeling relaxed and content. He’d be happy to sit here all night listening to Eric tell stories about his customers and growing up in Georgia and some sort of long-running family jam feud. But when Nora finally begins to get restless — long after their plates have been cleared — Eric glances at the time on his phone and Jack remembers he has to be at work early. 

“We should go,” Jack says, even though it’s the last thing he wants to do right now. Holiday festivities aside, this has been the most normal night he’s had in a while and he’s suddenly not eager to go back to his apartment alone. Well, not alone, but once he puts the baby to bed he’ll be alone. 

“I should go too,” Eric says, and Jack thinks he might sound a little regretful too. “It’s getting close to my bedtime, and I’m betting it’s definitely past this one’s bedtime.”

“Pretty close, yeah. It’s been a big night for her. She got to see seven dogs.” Eric giggles a little at that, and Jack decides he likes the sound of it.

“I’d offer you a ride home,” Eric says as they say their goodbyes outside the restaurant, “but no car seat.”

“Ah, it’s probably good for us to walk,” Jack says. “It’s only a few blocks.” 

“Well, thanks for having dinner with me, anyway,” Eric says. He reaches out and gives Nora’s hand a little squeeze before they part.

“We could do this again next week,” Jack says before he can stop himself.

It takes Eric a second to respond. “Yeah,” he says, giving Jack a funny little smile. “Let’s do that.”

Chapter Text

November 

Eric would recognize the older couple as Jack Zimmermann’s parents even if Bob Zimmermann weren’t wearing Nora in a carrier strapped to his chest. With the exception of his eyes, which are his mother’s, Jack is a younger version of his father. The family resemblance is striking.

“Welcome to Bakehaus,” he greets them with his most welcoming smile, hoping they can’t tell he’s a little starstruck. “What can I get for you?”

“Are you Eric Bittle?” Bob Zimmermann asks. 

“That’s me. I won’t pretend I don’t know who you are, ‘cause Nora’s one of my best customers. Please tell me the reason Jack isn’t here with you is because he’s sleeping in.”

Alicia’s face goes soft at that. “Poor baby hasn’t had a full night’s rest in months. We sent him to a hotel last night and told him not to come back until he’s slept for at least 12 hours.”

“Jack speaks highly of your place,” Bob says. “Figured we should come check it out while we’re in town. What’s your specialty?”

“Well,” Eric begins, “don’t ask Jack, because he only ever orders a coffee —” Bob and Alicia exchange a look and laugh “— but I’m partial to the apricot and strawberry toaster tarts. The chocolate croissants tend to be a real crowd pleaser, though. We also have some seasonal pumpkin scones. Those’ll be gone before noon, so if you want one you should get one now.”

“We’ll take all of those,” Bob says. “And two coffees.”

“And that fruit tart.” Alicia points to a strawberry and kiwi-topped tart in the center of the display case. Eric wants to laugh. Clearly, Jack didn’t get his self-control from his parents.

“Do you want all of those packaged to go?”

“We’ll take the tart to go,” Alicia says. “I think we’ll sit for a bit and enjoy the rest before we head back to Jack’s place.”

When the line dies down and Eric gets a free moment, he heads over to the Zimmermanns’ table. Their pastries are arranged on a plate between them. Alicia has Nora on her lap and is in the middle of feeding her a piece of pumpkin scone when Eric approaches. She looks up at him guiltily. “Please don’t tell Jack,” she says. “He only just started her on solids. I think she’s supposed to go through all the vegetables first before she tries scones.”

Eric laughs. “Pretty sure, yeah. Don’t worry.” He mimes zipping his lips. “She’s rolled around all over this floor, I’m sure it’s not the worst thing she’s put in her mouth. Is it, honey?” He squats down to look Nora in the eye and she holds her little arms out and lunges toward him, startling Alicia.

“All right, I’ve gotcha, little one.” Eric expertly catches Nora and stands up, balancing her on his hip. “Don’t think I’m gonna sneak you extra bites when your papa isn’t looking just because your grandma does it,” he tells her. “Not enough protein in there for a growing baby.” 

A low laugh escapes Bob. “No wonder Jack likes you.” A look passes between him and his wife and Eric feels like he’s missing out on a private joke.

“Well,” he says lightly. “I like Jack a lot, but I think I’m his only friend by default. I get the feeling he doesn’t get out very much. The zoo doesn’t count.”

“Oh, does your papa take you to the zoo?” Alicia asks Nora. 

“Ah, I think he mentioned going to see the lights. They do it around the holidays? I haven’t been myself, but it’s popular with the parents around here.”

“We should go tonight,” Bob says.

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Alicia agrees. “What time do you close?”

“Me?” Eric looks around, as if Alicia Zimmermann could be talking to anybody else.

“You’ll come with us, won’t you? Unless you already have plans, I didn’t even think to ask—”

“I—” Normally Eric would say no. Even though he and Jack have been hanging out a lot lately, grabbing a quick dinner together most Friday nights, he doesn’t want to interrupt their family time. But he likes Bob and Alicia, and they’re both looking at him with such affection, so he accepts before he can come up with a good excuse not to.

“We’ll stop by and pick you up at six-thirty,” Alicia says as they’re leaving. “Don’t eat dinner, we’ll get something afterward.”

If Eric didn’t have a new line of customers to focus on, he might read more into the Zimmermanns’ invitation. But there are two women arguing over who deserves the last chocolate croissant and a toddler has just spilled milk all over the floor, so he doesn’t dwell on why Jack’s parents invited him to the zoo.

He has just enough time to close up and change into the spare clothes he keeps in the back before the Zimmermanns arrive at six-thirty. Jack, wearing jeans and a sweater Eric hasn’t seen before, does look well-rested, and he’s smiling more than usual. Bob, Alicia, and even Nora are dressed similarly. He realizes these camera-ready Zimmermanns, in their matching sweaters and knit beanies (even Nora has one), are probably some truer version of Jack than the one he’s been exposed to all these months.

He’s just about to chirp them for their coordinating outfits when Bob pulls something out of the diaper bag he’s carrying. “For you,” he says, handing something soft to Eric. It’s a maroon beanie, just like the ones they’re wearing.

“My husband picked up knitting a few years back,” Alicia says. “Don’t be surprised when he asks you your team’s colors.”

“We all got scarves for Christmas last year,” Jack explains. Eric thanks Bob and puts the hat on as they walk to Jack’s SUV parked out front.

“So,” Alicia says brightly once everyone is in the car. “I thought we’d tour the zoo and then check out that new burger restaurant that opened by Jack’s place.”

“The one that makes the gourmet sliders?” Eric asks. “I’ve heard good things about it. You been yet, Jack?”

“I didn’t even know a new place opened,” Jack says.

“My son has been living off of protein shakes. Alicia and I have been making some more freezer meals for him, since he apparently can’t even be bothered to get takeout.”

“You know you can order groceries online,” Eric says. “You can even order prepared meals, if you’re having trouble cooking for yourself.” 

“That’s what I keep telling him!” Alicia exclaims. “Thank you, Eric. Maybe if he won’t listen to his mother, he’ll listen to you.”

“Bah!” Nora yells from her car seat.

“You too?” Jack groans, and everyone laughs. In the illumination from the streetlights, Eric can see the hint of a smile on his face.

***

Most of the animals are inside their enclosures due to the weather and the late hour, but it’s the brightly lit displays in the walkways and the gardens surrounding the exhibits that really catch Nora’s eye. Bob takes a picture of Jack and Nora standing next to a multi-colored peacock, and another in front of a polar bear lit by hundreds of soft white lights. 

“The polar bear was always Jacky’s favorite,” Alicia says.

“He wanted to give it a hug. Remember that, Jack? When he was three,” Bob tells Eric, “he noticed most of the mammal exhibits at the zoo had more than one animal, but there was only one polar bear. Every time we went, he cried about how lonely it was.”

“Try explaining to a headstrong three-year-old,” Alicia says with a laugh, “why he can’t climb into the polar bear enclosure to give him a hug.”

“Mama,” Jack protests, clearly embarrassed. 

“That’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Eric says. 

“I think they have one of these stories for every occasion.”

“You were a cute kid,” Bob says. “Don’t worry, soon enough you’ll begin collecting these stories about Nora. And the circle of life will go on.” 

They meander their way through the exhibits, enjoying the hot chocolate they purchased and pausing occasionally for more photo ops, until Jack begins to fret that it’s getting cold, and late. 

“Didn’t think a Canadian boy like you would have a problem with this weather,” Eric chirps. 

“Ah.” Jack seems a little embarrassed. “She’s still not used to the weather yet. And she’s finally getting up just once a night. I’m trying to keep her on that schedule.”

“I get it,” Eric teases. “You turn into a pumpkin if you’re out too late these days.”

“It’s true,” Bob says. “He fell asleep in the middle of a conversation last night.”

“We were all falling asleep. Nobody cares about your garden as much as you do, dear.”

“See if I share my tomatoes with you next summer,” Bob threatens. “Do you garden, Eric? I just got my seed catalog so I’m starting to think about spring planting.”

“I’d love to have a vegetable garden,” Eric tells him. “I don’t have enough space to grow much more than a few pots of basil and mint myself, but sometimes I swap a couple of jars of my peach preserves for a basket of the Wilsons’ — they own the laundromat I go to — tomatoes. Come back this summer and I’ll make my salsa for you.” 

“Do you boil or roast your tomatoes?” 

“See what you started?” Alicia asks with a laugh. She and Jack walk on ahead to the car with Nora while Eric and Bob discuss the finer points of salsa making. By the time they arrive at the restaurant, Eric has heard all about Bob’s hobbies, which also include yoga and wine-making.

“I thought he’d be bored when he retired,” Alicia tells Eric, “but he just keeps finding new interests. I just had to stop him from buying a pipe organ.”

“Where would you put that?” Jack wonders.

“I really think I could have taught myself to play,” Bob insists.

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should, dear,” Alicia says, patting him on the arm. 

Over the course of the evening, Eric notices Jack pretends to be embarrassed by his parents but also seems to revel in their chirps and stories. The whole family is affectionate in a way that’s different from Eric’s own. He and his parents have always been close, but this naked, casual affection isn’t their currency. The Zimmermanns are constantly touching, teasing, finishing each others’ stories. It’s nice.

“Your parents are nice people,” he tells Jack when he drops him back off at the bakery, where he left his car. “Thank you for including me tonight.”

“Ha ha. I think they really wanted proof I’ve actually made friends here. You played right into their hands. I hope you know you’re never getting rid of them. You’ll be on their holiday card list forever.”

“Your dad already follows me on Instagram and Twitter. Look,” Eric says, showing Jack the notification that’s just lit up his phone, “he just sent me a direct message about the seed catalog he subscribes to.”

Jack huffs out a little laugh. “Forever.” But his smile is wide. 

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Eric says. 

“No,” Jack replies. “It doesn’t.”

December 

Jack spends the first part of December researching international flights with an infant before he realizes a Christmas trip to Montreal isn’t going to happen. Applying for Nora’s passport is just one the many things he hasn’t been able to find the time to do in the cloud of new-parenthood. His parents are only too happy to fly out to Providence — again — and Jack thinks it’s as much to check up on him as it is to see their granddaughter.

The Zimmermanns spend Christmas Eve at home, playing holiday music and reading Christmas-themed books to Nora. Jack enjoys the cozy feel of the evening, the way his mother affectionately pulls his father into a silly waltz as they prepare appetizers and sing along to traditional Christmas songs with made-up lyrics. It simultaneously warms his heart and makes it ache, a little, because he doesn’t have anybody of his own to share these moments with.

Nora watches from her high chair, a tray full of puffs going mostly ignored as she observes her grandparents’ kitchen shenanigans. “What’s my muffin getting from Santa this year?” Bob asks, dancing up to her. “A pony?” 

“Ha. More like … some teething biscuits and some board books. Bath toys and a stacking puzzle. A few new sleepers.”

“Very practical. But not as fun as a pony.”

“No, Papa.” He doesn’t think his parents would actually buy Nora a pony, but still.

“A puppy?” 

“What’s wrong with just a few packages to open? I’m trying not to spoil her.”

“You’re trying not to spoil her. As her grandparents, we’re obligated to spoil her.”

“She’s just along for the ride this year anyway; next year will be more fun,” Alicia assures Jack. 

He actually thinks Nora’s pretty fun right now. She can get around using an army crawl and pull herself up to a standing position. She’s been showing off the move for her grandparents all night, grinning each time they applaud her feat. Her newfound mobility does mean he has to watch her like a hawk around their small Christmas tree, but she’s also happy to sit on Jack’s lap and gaze as the colored lights and ornaments.

Jack’s phone buzzes with a text from Eric a little before five: Merry Christmas, Jack! Hope you’re having a wonderful holiday with your parents. I have a little something for Nora, will you be around the day after tomorrow?

Jack replies without really thinking about it: Can you stop by tonight? We have something for you. And I know my parents would love to say hello.

Eric doesn’t respond immediately. Jack pours himself a glass of eggnog and puts a few banana slices on Nora’s tray. Finally, his phone buzzes again. I’m heading over to the airport to pick up my parents. I can stop by for a few minutes.

“Eric’s coming over,” he tells his parents. “Can you grab the package with his name on it from under the tree?” He lifts Nora out of her highchair and carries her to the sink so he can wash her hands. “So sticky,” he says. “When are you going to learn to use a fork, kid?”

By the time Jack’s gotten Nora cleaned up and changed her diaper, Eric’s arrived and been hugged by both of his parents, who have kept up an Instagram-based friendship with him since meeting last month. 

“Hey, you,” he says when Jack and Nora return. He hands a small package to Jack. “This is for Nora.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Neither did you,” Eric says, glancing at the coffee table where Alicia’s set his present. “And of course I did. Couldn’t forget her first Christmas.”

“This is actually her first present,” Jack says, sitting on the ground with the baby. “Our family has a tradition of opening one gift on Christmas Eve and saving the rest for Christmas morning.”

“That’s nice. My family always spreads the holiday out. Back in Georgia we usually spend Christmas Eve with the Bittle side of the family, and we open presents there. My parents and I always open our gifts to each other on Christmas morning, then there’s always another big to-do with the Phelps side in the afternoon.”

“But you said your parents will be here this year?” Jack knows Eric is close to his parents — he talks to his mother once a week and calls his father, a high school football coach, after every game. But from what he understands, they don’t visit very often.

“I know they love it when I go home for the holidays, but I just can’t swing going back for a week in July, Thanksgiving, and at Christmas, which is what they’d like me to do. This is a busy time for me at work and I can’t afford to miss the big holiday orders. My gift to them this year was tickets to come out here instead”

“That’s a wonderful gesture,” Alicia says. “I’m sure they appreciate it.”

“They like to complain about the weather,” Eric says with a little laugh, “but I think they secretly like getting away from the family drama. I sure don’t mind skipping it. I can only answer questions about why I haven’t given my parents grandbabies so many times, but all of my cousins are married with kids so I get all the nosy personal questions now.”

“Big families can be challenging,” Alicia agrees. 

“But this is a personal question-free zone,” Bob interjects. “We’re here to eat, drink, and open gifts. So pull up a seat, if you have time, and stay for a few.”

Eric decides he has ten more minutes to spare, so they make quick work of exchanging gifts. Jack isn’t really surprised when Alicia also pulls out a gift for Eric — a handmade scarf in Falconers blue and yellow, and a vintage edition of Betty Crocker’s New Picture Cook Book. “Some of the recipes are a little corny,” Alicia says, “but the illustrations are wonderful.”

“No, this is absolutely wonderful, thank you,” Eric says, paging through the book. “So many of these old recipes call for canned fruit and cream cheese,” he marvels. “Which is a reflection of the times, really. Nowadays it’s frowned upon to cook with processed foods, but back then it was revolutionary.” He looks at Jack. “You’re not the only history buff, Mr. Zimmermann. I know you know I wrote my thesis on American baking trends and traditions.”

“Eh, you’ve maybe mentioned it once or twice,” Jack says with a smile. Their shared interest in American history is actually one of the things Jack enjoys the most about his friendship with Eric. 

“What do you think,” Eric asks, still turning pages, “should I put ‘Singed Angel Wings’ on my menu? Or, wait, here’s a cake that calls for covering the top with crushed peanut brittle.”

“There’s your protein,” Jack says. Over on the couch, he can hear his father’s low chuckle.

“Well, now I know what I’m making you for your birthday. Do you prefer crushed pineapple filling or dried coconut?”

“Mmm, both sound delicious,” Jack says, playing along. “Probably doesn’t compare to your fruit tart, though.”

Eric sets the book aside and hefts Jack’s gift into his lap. “What’s this?” he asks. 

Jack hides a smile and waits for him to unwrap the set of three Pyrex mixing bowls he found in an antique store. The bright yellow and orange bowls, with their sunflower pattern, reminded him of Eric. “To go along with the vintage theme,” he tells Eric, who is holding the smallest bowl up and admiring it. “I know you said your kitchen at home is small and you don’t have a lot of space but —”

“I love them. My MooMaw has a set like this. Different pattern, but I’ve always wanted a set of my own. Thank you, Jack.” Eric sets the bowls down next to him and turns to Nora. “And now, Miss Nora, it’s your turn.” 

The unwrapping process, a completely new experience for Nora, is a little slow going. Jack grabs his camera from where it's sitting on the table to document the whole process. She’s more interested in grabbing errant pieces of wrapping paper than discovering what’s hiding inside. When the last shreds have been removed Eric pulls out a floppy stuffed rabbit with beanbag feet and velvety ears, and gently sets it in her lap. “I had a similar rabbit when I was little,” he explains. “Still do. Every baby needs a stuffed rabbit.”

“She doesn’t have a favorite stuffed animal yet,” Jack tells him. He snaps a quick picture of Nora holding the rabbit and sitting in Eric's lap. “I think this one may be a winner.” 

Eric looks pleased by this. “He needs a name. You let me know what you decide the next time you see me.”

“Day after tomorrow?” Jack asks, hopeful. “We can stop by for breakfast before I take my parents back to the airport.”

“Speaking of,” Eric says, getting to his feet, but not before planting a kiss on the top of Nora’s head. “My parents aren’t the best travelers. If I’m late picking them up they’ll worry.”

“We understand,” Alicia says, getting up to give Eric a hug. Bob follows suit. “You have a wonderful holiday with your family.”

“You, too,” Eric calls as Jack walks him to the door. “And you too, Jack. Thanks for letting me crash your family’s celebration tonight.”

For split second, Jack considers inviting Eric and his parents to come back and spend the rest of the evening with them but no, that would be selfish. Eric doesn’t see his parents as often as he sees his, and they probably just want to rest and enjoy their holiday without the stress of spending it with strangers. So Jack settles for a friendly hug and a “Merry Christmas” and “Drive safe, the roads might be icy.” When he locks the door behind Eric, he turns to find his parents and even his daughter staring at him. “What?” 

Bob shakes his head. Alicia tries, unsuccessfully, to stifle a laugh that comes out as a peculiar high-pitched wheeze.

“You’re weird,” he says, crossing back to the living room and scooping Nora up in his arms. “Your grandparents are weirdos,” he tells her. In response, she tries to shove a scrap of wrapping paper in his mouth. 

January 

“She’s starting to look more like you,” Eric says on a quiet Saturday afternoon. “She definitely has your eyes.”

“Oh, no.” Jack deadpans.

“If you haven’t noticed, that’s a compliment. She’s an adorable baby.”

“I wasn’t,” Jack confesses.

Eric raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“You know how some babies are cute?”

“All babies are cute,” Eric corrects.

Jack shakes his head. “My parents tried to keep me out of the press, but when I was three my mother was asked to do a Mother’s Day shoot for some magazine. The idea was that the women would pose with their real kids. Her publicist wanted to hire a child model to stand in for me.”

“Oh, Jack.”

“She fired her. Got half of her clients to leave with her. And hasn’t done an interview with that magazine since. There’s a reason my dad says she’s a hell-raiser.”

“Alicia Zimmermann, Hollywood Hell-Raiser. Sounds like it could be the title of a trashy Lifetime biopic.”

Jack smiles. “I’ll float that one by her.”

“I’d watch it, by the way,” Eric says in an exaggerated whisper. “I watch all of ‘em.”

“I used to watch them too,” Jack confesses.

“You?” Eric searches his face for a sign that he’s teasing. It’s always hard to tell with Jack.

“She actually did a few of those Lifetime movies, back in the late ‘90s. I’d occasionally run across one late at night when I was on the road and I’d leave it on while I fell asleep. It was comforting. Almost like she was right there, telling me a bedtime story.”

“Ah, yes, that comforting bedtime story about a woman whose twin sister buries her alive and steals her identity so she can marry the heir to a shipping fortune.” 

Now it’s Jack turn to look surprised. “What?” Eric says with a laugh. “My mama and I must’ve watched that one 20 times. ‘I promise you,’” he says in an imitation of the British accent Alicia’s evil twin character had used, ‘“you’re done walking all over me.’”

“‘Pretty soon,’” Jack finishes with him, “‘I’ll be walking all over you.’”

Eric giggles at that. “Terrible Lifetime movies aside, what do you enjoy watching?”

Jack glances at Nora, who’s turning a wooden apple around in her hands. “Lately, just Parks and Rec reruns. It’s easy to watch an episode or two before bed. And you know I like historical documentaries, but it's been a little while since I've made a dent in my watch list. I always kind of figured I might go to school and study history when I retired.”

“You still can,” Eric says. “Maybe when Nora’s a little older? My mama went back to school when I was a toddler.”

Jack nods thoughtfully. “I’ve already started looking at classes I can take online now, to get some prerequisites out of the way. I can take a class or two a semester, maybe get a sitter to come in a few days a week so I can study. It’s getting easier to think about things like that now.”

“I think that sounds great, Jack.” It hasn’t escaped Eric’s notice that Jack seems to be in a much better place than he was six months ago. His eyes seem brighter, his cheeks aren’t quite as hollow. He does, in fact, own more than one shirt, and he seems to have abandoned his baggy jeans in favor of a particular pair that clings to his perfect ass in all the right places. It’s a little unsettling. Eric already found Jack obscenely attractive when he was sleep deprived and barely taking care of himself. Now that he’s dealing with full octane Jack, he’s a goner. 

That Jack is talking about doing something for himself is yet more proof he's in a good place. That doesn't do anything to help his crush.

“— and there are schools, too,” Jack’s saying, and Eric realizes he’s zoned out for a minute. “I could do an online degree, or go to one of the local universities. By the time I’m ready, Nora will be able to go to preschool a few days a week.”

“Well, you better do something when she’s in school, mister. Otherwise I might just put you to work here,” Eric threatens.

“Ha ha. That wouldn’t be so bad though,” Jack says. The way he’s spinning his coffee cup around in his hands, the intense way he’s focusing on it, is similar to the way Nora’s spinning her apple. And that’s just one more thing that make Eric’s heart melt.

“I was just chirping you, Jack. You shouldn’t come work for me, I’d be a terrible boss. Here I am talking to you when I should be working on the order that’s going out tomorrow morning.” Mini tarts. He has to make two dozen mini tarts for a corporate retreat. Why is he sitting here talking to Jack? He knows exactly why.

“Oh!” For some reason, Jack looks embarrassed. “We’ll go. We shouldn’t … this is your job. I forget that, sometimes.” He stands up and begins gathering his things, picks Nora up and does a bouncy little dance with her when she begins to fuss at the sudden change in activity. “And you wouldn’t be a terrible boss. I’m happy to do anything you want me to. Say the word and I'm yours.”

Eric’s not sure what to do with that information because while Jack may just be stating facts — he’s always been more than willing to put on another pot of coffee or help Eric clean the tables before closing — it also brings up other possibilities they will probably never discuss. Jack seems to be at a loss too, because he turns very red and puts Nora in the stroller a little less gently than usual. “I mean,” he flounders.

“I know what you mean, Jack,” Eric says softly, because he refuses to think about what else he could have meant. 

February 

Jack’s parents fly out again in early February, with the purpose of talking to him about what their future looks like. “We’re getting older,” Alicia says, “and it’s not very practical to keep flying back and forth. We’re thinking of selling the house in Montreal and looking for something smaller here.”

Jack thinks about what that means. It means the house he grew up in will no longer be his home base, even though he hasn’t called it home for almost 20 years. It means no more Christmas Eve skates on the backyard rink. It means he and Bob won’t ever get around to fixing up his old tree house for Nora. 

It also means his parents will be closer. They won’t have to fly out every month or so; even though they can afford it, he knows it’s neither practical nor convenient. It means he’ll be nearby if, god forbid, something should happen to one of them. It means having them here for all of Nora’s milestones. 

“We’ll keep the vacation home,” Alicia reassures him. “There will always be a place for you and Nora in Canada. It’s just that so much of your life is here now. And we don’t want to miss it.”

“But we also respect your space,” Bob is quick to reassure him. “We aren’t asking to move in with you or be more involved than you want us to be. We both have a lot of commitments that aren’t going to go away. We’ll just be closer.”

Jack nods. He’s seen more of his parents this past year than he has since he was 18. It’s nice. Not just nice, but helpful. He’s not sure what he would have done without them. “We can call some real estate agents,” he finally suggests. “You should ask Eric to look at places with you. He’s always talking about how small his place is, and how he wishes he had a real kitchen. He’d probably get a kick out of helping you decide.” He misses the look that passes between his parents.

Later, when Alicia is on a walk with Nora, Jack finds Bob in the kitchen. He’s standing at the sink washing bottles, looking for all the world like he’s done this every day of his life. He has, almost. Bob wasn’t around for much of Jack’s early childhood, but once he retired he took on most of the household responsibilities, claiming he’d always wanted to be “Alicia Zimmerman’s trophy husband.”

“So,” he says, setting a bottle down on the drying mat and picking up another. “Eric.”

Jack pulls a clean towel out of a drawer, begins drying the bottles in front of him, and waits for Bob to collect his thoughts. “Eric.” 

“He makes good pie.”

“The best,” Jack agrees. 

“He’s good with Nora.” Bob hands Jack another bottle. 

“She loves him.”

“Do you?”

In the deepest, most secret part of Jack’s heart, he knows he does. He knows if he names it, if he lets himself think about it, he’ll never stop. His mind will play out all the possible outcomes of telling Eric how he feels, and not all of them are good, so he doesn’t let himself think about it at all.

“You know, Jack, you mother and I have only ever wanted you to be happy. When you were 20 and hooking up with Kent Parson, we didn’t say anything.”

“You knew about that?”

“You weren’t exactly subtle. Why else would you spend so much time in Vegas every summer?” Bob winks. “You were a kid. At least you didn’t have a different puck bunny in every city.” He abruptly sets a bottle down. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Jesus, Papa. Of course not.” Jack begins to put the bottles he’s dried in the cabinet, if only to have something to focus on.

“And when you asked Jen to marry you, we were happy for you. Kent, Jen, all the people you dated in between, we didn’t care who they were as long as they made you happy. But none of lasted because none of them were right for you.”

“Do you think Eric is right for me?”

“I think Eric is perfect for you.”

“What if I screw it up again?” Jack notices his hands are shaking. He grips the counter, reminds himself to breathe and focus on his father's words.

“Who’s to say you’ve screwed anything up? You and Jen? It didn’t work out. Jack, nobody is accusing you of screwing up. You have a beautiful daughter. You want to go back and talk about your other relationships? You and Kent were just a couple of scared kids who didn’t know what the hell you were doing. You and Jen wanted different things. Stop being so hard on yourself and let yourself be happy. Do you want a relationship with Eric?”

It’s not that Jack doesn’t want. Now that he’s come out of the fog he was in for the first several months of Nora’s life, he wants a lot. He wants to share a home-cooked meal with somebody who doesn’t mind that bunny pasta and steamed broccoli is the fanciest thing he cooks these days. He wants to have a conversation with an actual adult while eating that pasta, someone who will ask him about his day and tell him about theirs. He wants to share his bed with somebody, discover each others’ bodies and how to pleasure each other in ways he hasn’t thought about in far too long. He wants to wake up with that somebody, preferably after five a.m. Jack wants.

He wants to be with somebody, someday. Maybe even someday soon. But it’s not fair to assume a potential partner would want to be in a relationship with somebody whose first priority will always be his child. After all, his last partner — his daughter’s biological mother, no less — hadn’t. How can he bring another parental figure into his daughter’s life, knowing they might leave the same way?

Eric won’t, says the voice in his head he’s been trying so hard to ignore.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to do,” Bob says. “I just thought you should know I’ve seen the way you look at each other, and I’ve heard the way you talk about him, and it would be a shame if you keep talking yourself out of it.”

***

He talks about it with his therapist. “How will I know when I’m ready to date?” he asks.

Amy turns the question back on him: “Do you feel like you’re ready to date?”

Jack shrugs. Most of his past relationships have been long-term, with long periods in between. He's never been interested in casual dating, and he’s even less interested in it now. He knows himself: If he starts something with Eric — assuming Eric wants to start something — it’s not going to be a casual thing.

“It’s something only you can decide for yourself,” Amy says. “In addition to all the things you’d normally consider before beginning a new romantic relationship, you obviously have to consider how it will affect your daughter. That may mean holding off on dating entirely. It may mean choosing not to be with somebody you otherwise might have been compatible with. It may not affect your choice of partner at all; I know people who keep their dating life separate from their family life. What’s important is that, when you do choose to date, it’s something you choose to do for yourself, not because you feel pressure from friends and family, or because you’re looking for another person to share the parenting load.

“Whatever you decide about dating,” she adds, “it’s ultimately a good thing for your child to see you taking care of yourself. Part of that is cultivating healthy relationships — whether they’re with friends or a romantic partner.”

Jack takes her words to heart. It seems like years ago, but it’s only been a few weeks since his old teammates Marty and Thirdy reiterated to Jack that if he needs anything, he should call. He wonders if “anything” extends to babysitting.

“Please,” Gabby St. Martin begs when Jack calls. “Marty needs his baby fix. He keeps suggesting we have another, like that door didn’t close years ago. Bring her over any time.”

So he drops her off on a Friday afternoon and spends way too much time explaining to Marty and Thirdy — their wives are going to ladies’ night at a wine bar — how to prepare her bottle and where the extra diapers are. He pulls a yellow tube out of a pocket of the diaper bag. “You need to put this rash cream on before you diaper her back up. And when you’re burping her, make sure you use a cloth. I keep forgetting.” What is his life, Jack wonders, that his biggest concerns are rash cream and burp cloths?

Thirdy gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Relax, kiddo. We’ve both done this before. You go enjoy yourself for a few hours.”

“Take a shower and put on some clean clothes,” Marty suggests.

Jack glances at the formula stain on his shoulder and thinks that might be a good idea.

When he returns to the apartment, he feels like a teenager whose parents have gone away for the weekend and left him in charge of the house. I can do whatever I want, he thinks.

It turns out whatever he wants is more mundane than turning up the music and raiding the liquor cabinet. He changes into his running clothes and runs a few slow miles around the neighborhood while trying not to compare his fitness level now to where it was a year ago. He has a jogging stroller, currently gathering dust in the hallway, but first Nora was too little, then it was too cold. He really should start using it. After a shower at home, he paces the living room and tidies up before picking up his book and settling down to read for a bit. At ten-to-six, he grabs his jacket and heads over to Bakehaus. 

Eric is just locking up when Jack arrives. “You missing something?” he asks when he notices Jack’s alone. He peers around Jack with exaggeratedly wide eyes, as if he expects Nora to be hiding behind him.

“I got a sitter.”

Eric’s smile is warm. “Good for you. I know that’s a big step. I’m proud of you.”

“My therapist thought it might be a good idea for both of us. My old teammates are watching her; they have kids of their own so I think it’ll be fine. She’ll be fine, right?”

“Jack, of course she’ll be fine. Like you said, they’ve done this before. And they’ve got your number if anything goes wrong.” He shakes his head. “You ever wonder how our parents did it without smart phones and Google? Lord, sometimes I think technology is just making us worse.”

“Ha ha. Probably. Marty’s already sent two updates. Do you still want to get dinner?” They’d discussed, earlier in the week, going to a Thai restaurant down the street.

“I have a better idea. You up for meeting some new people tonight?” 

This is exactly what Amy wants him to do, Jack reminds himself. He’s supposed to be meeting people, making friends. He meets Eric’s eye, and he seems to get his unspoken question.

“It’s up to you, Jack,” Eric says, holding his gaze. “This is your night. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by springing my friends on you.”

That decides it. “Well, you’ve already met my parents, right? It’s only fair.”

“I’ll just see where they are.” He begins to tap at his phone and receives a text back almost immediately. “So there’s this bar not too far from my apartment,” he says, still looking at his phone. “I know that’s not your scene, but how about we meet them for a drink and then go back to my place and order pizza?”

Shitty (that really is his name, Eric assures him) and Larissa — who is sometimes called Lardo, apparently — are old friends of Eric’s from college. It was their move to Providence, Jack knows, that prompted Eric to follow. They’ve been in a long-term, on-again-off-again relationship for more than a decade, Eric tells him as he drives them to the bar. “Don’t mention marriage,” he cautions, “unless you want to hear a two-hour rant from Shitty about outdated patriarchal institutions.”

They’re nice. Shitty immediately slings an arm around Jack’s shoulder and presses a beer into his hand and asks about “that beautiful baby girl of yours Bitty keeps telling me about.” 

Jack catches Eric’s eye. “Bitty?” he mouths. Eric looks like he’s biting back laughter. Jack resolves to get the story out of him later.

Most people Jack meets are interested in talking about hockey — his career, his father’s career, his future with the sport now that he’s retired. It’s refreshing to meet people who are interested in things other than his celebrity, and who have no connection to the hockey world. Shitty’s an immigration lawyer and Larissa, it turns out, is a high school art teacher whose own abstract paintings grace the walls of Bakehaus. He wonders if she’d be interested in painting a mural in Nora’s room.

“Shyeah, absolutely,” she says when he asks. “I’ll have a lot of time when school lets out for the summer.”

After the one drink Eric promised them, they head back to Eric’s apartment. He gives Jack the tour while they’re waiting on Shitty and Larissa to arrive with the pizza. It’s as warm and inviting as Bakehouse, but it’s somehow more Eric. One of Larissa’s paintings — all swirling blues and yellows crowding out the gray at the edges — hangs over the fireplace. It reminds him of the sky after a storm. A collage of framed photos is arranged on the wall behind the couch. He spots Shitty and Larissa in a few of them, and an older couple who must be Eric’s parents in another. 

The well-kept kitchen is small but functional, with basic no-frills appliances, but a bright red stand mixer atop one of the counters is also all Eric. So are the rabbit salt and pepper shakers, a Georgia-shaped wood cutting board hanging on the wall, and the bright red clock above the sink.

“It’s small,” Eric says as he pulls some plates out of a cabinet, “but I don’t spend very much time here anyway.”

“I like it,” Jack says, sincerely. He takes the plates from Eric, who reaches into the fridge and pulls out four bottles of water. “So,” he says, finally able to ask the question that’s been on the tip of his tongue all night. “Bitty?” He follows Eric back into the living room and takes a seat next to him on the loveseat. 

“Old college nickname. Bittle … Bitty. I hung out with Shitty and his friends on the hockey team, it was only a matter of time before I got a nickname of my own.”

“Like … Itty Bitty?” Eric has made self-deprecating comments about his size before, but seems to have a sense of humor about it. It's certainly not something that's ever bothered Jack, who has historically been attracted to small blonds.

“Don’t you start,” Eric warns through his laughter. “Just know that everyone back home still calls me ‘Dicky’ so Bitty was a refreshing change. How’d you escape hockey without a nickname anyway?”

“Nothing ever stuck. My dad’s Bad Bob. That’s a lot to live up to. When I was little I used to introduce myself to people as ‘Just Jack.’ Everyone thought it was hilarious, but I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

Eric pats Jack on the hand. “One of these days, someone’ll find something that sticks.”

Shitty and Larissa arrive with the pizzas a few minutes later and settle themselves on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, opposite Jack and Eric. Eric pulls out Cards Against Humanity and Ticket to Ride, but the games never get going. They spend too much time telling stories about their college days — more for Jack’s benefit than their own — and asking Jack about himself. His phone gets passed around so they can see Nora’s progression from squalling newborn to round-cheeked 10-month-old.

“Almost makes me want one of my own,” Shitty jokes.

“I’m out,” Larissa says, deadpan.

“Almost.”

“Wait’ll you meet with her,” Eric says. “If you don’t change your mind, y’all’ll at least be begging to babysit. She’s the sweetest baby I’ve ever met.”

“Aw, and Bits knows babies. Used to babysit one of our professor’s kids for extra money.”

In the back of his mind, Jack thinks, maybe. 

Chapter Text

March 

Eric tries hard to be positive, but the truth is that winter, with its dark days, tends to wear on him. It’s dark when he gets to work and dark when he leaves and no matter how long he lives here and how much he loves it, he’ll never be completely used to the cold. By March, he’s over it. Someday, he thinks, when he can afford to hire an assistant manager, he’ll take a vacation in January or February. Hawaii would be nice, he thinks. Or maybe the Caribbean. Somewhere he can park himself under a beach umbrella with a mixed drink and a good book and a handsome man by his side.

In this particular fantasy, the handsome man in the lounge chair next to him looks a lot like Jack Zimmermann. It’s a harmless fantasy, and thinking about it makes his day a little brighter. He tries not to blush too hard when Jack walks in with his daughter and orders coffee and a savory scone.

“You looked a little flushed there, bud,” Jack says, concern etched onto his face. “You coming down with something?”

That only makes Eric flush harder. He’s had crushes on unavailable men before, but this one just won’t quit. Darn Jack Zimmermann for being so kind, and attentive, and always in his bakery. 

“I’m fine. Just a little warm because I just took a batch of croissants out of the oven,” he covers. “You’re such a dad, Mr. Zimmermann, I swear.”

Jack’s still looking at him a little suspiciously. “Are you sure? You work so hard, I worry you’re going to burn yourself out. When’s the last time you took a vacation?”

“It’s been way too long,” Eric admits. “I’m thinking of a cruise next winter.” 

“Yeah?”

Now that he’s said it, he realizes that’s exactly what he wants to do. “Well, I only just started planning it. But it sure does sound nice. You ever been on a cruise?”

He lets Jack tell him about a cruise his parents took him on when he was seven, and the one he took with an ex-boyfriend the summer after he came out. He tries to pay attention and laugh in the right places, but he’s still unusually warm and his head feels a little spinny. He firmly tells himself to get these feelings under control, before they become too obvious and he ruins the best friendship he’s ever had.

*

Jack Zimmermann might be prophetic, because the next morning Eric wakes with a headache and a raging sore throat. When he sits up his body immediately tells him that’s a very bad idea and he falls back onto his pillow, defeated. Apparently, it wasn’t just proximity to Jack that was making him light-headed last night. He sends a quick text to Charlotte, the culinary school student who’s been interning with him this semester, and asks her if she’d be willing to pick up the key on her way in. They won’t be fully stocked when she opens, but she can make a few batches of muffins and sell coffee and the day-old bagels. He leaves the key under his doormat and goes back to bed.

He awakes at nine-thirty to the buzzing of his phone. When he looks at it, he’s unsettled to see five missed calls from Jack.

“Jack?” he rasps.

“Eric! Is everything okay? Nora and I stopped by on our way to the library and Charlotte said you’re sick.”

“I’m fine, just not feeling too well.”

“I thought you looked like you were coming down with something,” Jack says. “When I said you need a vacation, this isn’t what I meant.”

“If I close my eyes I can pretend I’m in Tahiti. Or Alaska. I’m having a hard time warming up.”

Eric can’t see Jack, but he’s sure he’s frowning. In the background, he can hear Nora begin to fuss. “I’m sorry, I need to change her before story time. And you should sleep …”

He must fall asleep before Jack hangs up because he can’t remember how their conversation ends. He wakes again at noon to an insistent banging on his door. He’s trying to psych himself up for the long trek into the next room when a text comes through: I’m knocking on your door. I know you aren’t feeling well but can you let me in? If he weren’t feeling so miserable he’d respond with a chirp about how he knows it’s Jack knocking on his door, but instead he hauls himself out of bed and shuffles to the front door, opening it just a crack. He can see a sliver of Jack’s shoulder. Nora’s attached to his back in the new carrier his parents gave him for Christmas.

“I don’t want you to get sick,” he whispers through the crack in the doorway.

“I brought some things for you. If you’re really worried about getting us sick, I’ll leave them by the door and you can get them after we leave.”

“Oh.”

“That sound good?”

“That's good.”

“I’m going to check on you again if I don’t hear from you by five,” Jack warns before they leave.

Eric sets the box on the coffee table and pulls out the items one by one. There’s a Tupperware container of chicken soup, a bag of plain Goldfish crackers, two bottles of blue Gatorade, and a bottle of Advil. There’s also a large, worn Providence Falconers hoodie. He’s not in the mood to eat right now, so he pads over to the kitchen and puts the soup in the fridge. When he returns to the living room he pulls the hoodie on over his clothes. It’s too big, which means it’s perfect for burrowing in on the loveseat because he doesn’t have the energy to get back to his bed. He opens one of the Gatorade bottles and drinks half, swallowing a few of the pain killers down with his last sip. He sets the alarm on his phone to alert him when it’s time for a second dose, pulls the quilt he keeps on the back of the loveseat around him, and sleeps again.

Jack Zimmermann does not do things by half. If Eric didn’t know this after months of friendship, he certainly does now. Just as he threatened, he checks in at five on the dot.

I’m outside your building. Can I come up?

Eric slowly types out his reply. Will it matter if I say no?

He gets his answer a minute later, when Jack knocks on his door.

“I’m trying to conserve my energy, Mr. Zimmermann,” he whispers when he opens the door. “Wait. Where’s Nora?”

“You look like hell,” Jack observes, moving past Eric into the small apartment. “Marty and his wife have Nora; you don’t need to worry about getting her sick.” He gently steers Eric back to his blanket nest on the couch and helps him sit down. “You’re really warm,” he says, pressing a hand to Eric’s forehead. “When is the last time you took Advil?” He hands Eric a bottle of Gatorade and a couple of pills. “Take these. And drink some more of that. You need to stay hydrated.”

“I’m not an invalid, Jack," he protests, but there's barely a fight in it. It’s kind of nice to be taken care of.

“If you could see yourself right now, you’d disagree. Have you eaten anything today?”

“I had some of the crackers you brought a couple hours ago.” He hadn’t been able to taste them, really, and it hurt his throat to swallow, so he’d given up after a few handfuls.

“You need protein. Is the soup in the fridge?” Jack asks, already headed toward the kitchen.

Eric murmurs something that can generally be interpreted as “yes.”

“This is my mom’s recipe,” Jack calls back to him, already opening kitchen cabinets. “My dad’s usually the cook in the family, but she always made this for me when I wasn’t feeling well. You should know the only reason she gave up the recipe is because I told her it was for you.”

That’s … interesting, but it hurts Eric’s head to think about what Jack might mean by that, or what it might have meant to Alicia.

“See if you can eat this,” Jack says when he returns with a mug of hot soup. He hands it to him and sits down next to him on the loveseat. 

For a minute, Eric just holds the mug in his sleeve-covered hands and allows the heat to seep through. Maybe this will finally warm him up. “Am I going to have to make airplane noises?” Jack chirps.

“Stop it,” Eric mutters, finally bringing the spoon to his mouth. He manages to eat half it, which seems to please Jack, who takes the leftovers back into the kitchen before rejoining Eric on the couch.

“You’re very good at this,” Eric says, temporarily alert thanks to the soup and the dose of Advil that’s beginning to take the edge off of his various aches and pains. “Nora will be very lucky to have you when she does get her first cold. Which she won’t get from me. Because I’m sending you home before I can infect you.” 

“Nah.” Jack settles deeper into the loveseat, putting his arms around Eric and pulling him closer so he can lean into him. “Marty said he’d keep her until eight.”

“I’ll be fine, Jack. I’m just gonna go back to sleep anyway. Nora needs you.”

“You need me more, tonight. I’m allowed to do this. My therapist said so.”

“Do what?” Eric asks, confused. 

“It’s okay to put myself, or other people who are important to me, ahead of Nora sometimes,” Jack explains, like he’s reciting a speech he’s memorized. “It’s good for her to learn that other people’s needs are important, too.” His voice grows softer, less rehearsed: “And you’re important to both of us, Bits. You’re always taking care of us. Let me do this.”

“Well, you’re both important to me.” Eric allows himself to completely relax against Jack and closes his eyes. He just listens while Jack tells him he finally registered for the online statistics class he’s been wanting to take, and ordered the books he’ll need. He tells him about the new friend Nora made at the park, and her favorite toy this week. About the family barbecue some of his former Falconers teammates are planning for Memorial Day weekend, and how he hopes Eric will go with him as his guest. Half of what Jack is saying doesn’t make sense, but he’s said so many things today that don’t make sense, and Eric is too achy and tired to try to unravel it all right now. He knows he shouldn’t enjoy being this close to Jack, but he’s sick and miserable, and Jack is so warm and solid, so he allows himself this one small indulgence. 

Jack continues to talk about anything and everything — Eric thinks he even gives him a rundown of the best hockey face-offs of all time — while he drifts in and out of sleep. When Jack pulls out his phone to check the time, Eric knows the fantasy is about to come to an end. Jack is going to go home, to his family, and he’s going to be here alone. “I hate to leave you,” Jack tells him. “But I don’t think Marty and Gabby are really prepared to have Nora all night.”

“No, it’s okay. You didn’t have to come over at all. Thank you.”

“Are you feeling any better? You should probably stay home tomorrow, take another day to rest.”

“Yeah.” He’s already checked in with Charlotte, who agreed to go in when Eric usually arrives to get everything started. He really needs to look into his financials to see if he can hire her to be his assistant manager when she graduates.

“Do you want me to drive you to the doctor tomorrow? If you’re still running a fever, you should go. You might have the flu. Or strep.”

“Don’t you worry about me,” Eric says. “I’m already worried you’re going to come down with whatever I have. If I’m not feeling better by tomorrow afternoon I’ll go to urgent care,” he promises.

Before Jack leaves, he sets a glass of water, the crackers, and the television remote control on the coffee table within Eric’s reach. “Is there anything else you need?”

Before Eric can reply, Jack sits down next to him again and surprises him with a hug. It’s not the first time they’ve said goodbye this way, but it’s the first time Jack has seemed reluctant to let go. He rests his head on top of Eric’s for just a moment before pulling away. “Get better,” he orders. “Nora misses you.”

If Eric suddenly feels warm, it isn’t just because of his fever. He manages a small smile. “I really do feel better. Ish. I feel better-ish.”

“Well, as long as you feel better-ish.” Jack smirks. “I’m still checking up on you tomorrow morning. Be ready.” He actually winks at Eric.

Eric tries to laugh, but it hurts and comes out as a wheeze. “Get your big butt out of here and home to your kid, Mr. Zimmermann. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

When Jack has finally left, Eric puts The Great British Bakeoff on and lets the series run until he falls asleep, surrounded by Jack’s scent and the memory of how his arms felt around him. That, as much as the soup and the medicine, makes him feel a little better.

April  

On Nora’s first birthday, Jack and Nora walk into Bakehaus with his parents for what he thinks is an afternoon birthday treat, only to find Eric has closed early to host a private party. It’s a surprise Eric and his parents have been planning for months, apparently. They’ve invited some of Jack’s neighbors, the Robinsons and St. Martins, Shitty and Larissa, and even some of the other bakery regulars who have watched Nora grow this past year. 

“Are you surprised?” Bob asks, punching him on the arm. “Eric said you wouldn’t suspect a thing.”

He hadn’t. A simple party with a few gifts and the “smash cake” Eric had talked him into letting him bake was the most he’d expected this afternoon. Now, Eric is setting the cake in front of Nora in her high chair, Alicia is carefully lighting the single candle, and Shitty is leading everyone in an off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Nora doesn’t understand the song but lately she’s been babbling nonsense words whenever she hears music, and her sweet vocalizations make everyone laugh. There’s a collective gasp when she reaches for the candle, but Jack quickly steps in to blow it out.

Eric hands cupcakes out to the guests while Nora puzzles out what to do with the cake. “I think you need to help her out, honey,” Alicia whispers to Jack. He gingerly breaks a piece off and puts it in his mouth. “Yum. You try,”  he says, holding it out to her.

Nora still looks a little unsure. “Oh, for God’s sake,” Bob groans. “Show her the real way.” He guides her hand to the top of the cake and helps her smash it, as the name implied she should. It takes a few more tries — playing with it seems to be more fun — but she finally, tentatively, brings a cake-covered hand to her mouth. 

While Nora slowly eats her cake, Jack sits beside her and opens her presents. Michael and Howard, the two septuagenarians who play chess here every Saturday, give her a handmade chess set. Shitty and Larissa give her a set of finger paints. The Robinson and St. Martin families both give her books their own kids enjoyed. Eric’s parents, who haven’t met Nora but have heard stories, are kind enough to send a onesie decorated with peaches.

Jack is touched by the thoughtful gifts from all of these people who weren’t part of his life even a year ago, yet have become his village. But it’s his parents’ present that brings tears to his eyes: a set of plans for the treehouse they want to build in their new backyard. It has everything, from a reading nook to a “bedroom” for Nora’s dolls and stuffed animals. 

“It’s going to have a working kitchen, with electricity and a little oven,” Bob adds, pointing out the room on the blueprints. That part was Eric’s idea.”

Eric’s present — matching aprons for Jack and Nora — suddenly makes more sense. Jack isn’t sure how wise it is to give a one-year-old access to a working oven, but they look so pleased with themselves he can’t find it in himself to say anything. He can always unplug it when it’s not in use, he guesses.

“It’s too much,” he tells his mother later, truly grateful for all his parents have done for them. “You already moved here for us.”

“Don’t you know by now, honey, that we’d do anything for you?” Alicia asks.

Jack glances across the room at Eric, who’s holding Nora on one hip and laughing with his father. Nora is patting his cheek with a frosting-covered hand because Bob gave her a cupcake when he thought Jack wasn’t looking. Eric’s taking it all in stride. When Nora notices Jack, she squeals and tries to wiggle out of his arms. “Okay, Sugar Pie, I get it. You want your papa.” He laughs and hands her off to Jack. She buries her face in his chest, getting frosting all over his sleeve. 

Yeah, he thinks he gets it.

“Why don’t you stay here and help Eric?” Bob suggests when the last guests have departed. “We’ll take her back to our place for the night.” 

“Say ‘bye bye’ to Papa,” Alicia says, joining them with Nora. “We’re going to take her to the park and put her down at our place. You can pick her up later tonight. Or tomorrow.”

His parents’ message could not be more clear.

For all of Jack’s gifts on the ice, he was terrified of swimming as a kid. Summer after summer of swim lessons did nothing to improve his coordination or alleviate his fear of the deep water. There had been one particularly awful teacher who had “taught” safety skills by pushing her students off the side of the pool into the deep end. That’s how he feels now: like he’s just been pushed into the deep end of the pool with nothing but himself to rely on to swim to safety.

Let yourself be happy. Bob’s words from so many months ago echo in Jack’s head. He’s been working his way toward this, in fits and starts, for the better part of a year. 

“Bits?” he calls, turning the corner into the kitchen. “Do you have a minute?” Internally, he kicks himself for sounding so formal.

“I’m glad you haven’t left yet,” Eric says when Jack finds him in the kitchen. I have something for you.” He pulls a pastry box from the counter and presents it to Jack. 

“What’s this?” Jacks asks, lifting the lid and peering inside. It’s a small cake decorated with a replica of Jack’s Falconers jersey, but instead of "Zimmermann" above the number ‘1’ it says “Papa.”

“It’s to celebrate you,” Eric says. “My mama always says that parents don’t get enough credit on their babies’ birthdays. They’re the ones who do all the hard work and the kid gets a party? I thought you deserved a little something today, too. One year. That’s a big deal.”

“It’s …” Jack leans against the counter and huffs out a laugh. “Jesus. A year. I remember taking her home that first day and wondering if we’d make it through the night. I've kept a baby alive for a year.”

“Not just alive, but happy and healthy too,” Eric notes. 

“So I have to do this for 17 more?”

“That’s generally the way it works,” Eric says, a smile playing on his lips.

“I was a terror at seventeen.”

“Seventeen’s a long way away. Just take it one year at a time.” Eric crosses the kitchen so they’re standing a little closer. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

Jack knows what Eric could mean, and he knows what he wants him to mean. He’s starting to think they want the same thing. Let yourself be happy. Before he can talk himself out of it, he pulls Eric in toward him and kisses him. 

When they part Eric’s staring back at him, eyes wide. Jack’s brain reaches for words, certain he’s gotten this wrong and needs to apologize, but his fear is alleviated when Eric pulls him down again for a longer, deeper kiss.

When they finally come up for air, Jack’s heart is racing. He either really needs to start running again or accept that this is the effect kissing Eric Bittle is always going to have on him.

“Do you want to get dinner?” he asks, vaguely aware he should have done this before his kissed Eric.

“You know I love a good Zimmermann family dinner,” Eric says. 

“It would be just me,” Jack clarifies. “My parents are with Nora. It’s probably going to be a long time before I get another kid-free evening. Please spend it with me.”

“So … a date? I don’t want you to rush into something you’re not ready for. I like you too much to be —”

“It won’t be like that,” Jack interrupts. He’s doing this all wrong, if Eric thinks the only thing he wants from him is to fool around like a couple of teenagers in his kitchen. The last thing he wants is for Eric to have doubts. If they’re going to do this, they’re going to do it. “I like you too much. My dad and I had a conversation a few months ago, about how I doubt myself and miss chances I should have taken. I don’t want to miss anything with you. And I understand if you don’t want to take a chance on me — on us.”

“Oh, honey. I took a chance on the two of you the first time you walked in here. And I’ve wanted … ” 

“Wanted?” 

“I’ve been wanting, but I haven’t allowed myself to think that this could ever be anything more because you were going through so much.”

“I can’t promise that’s all going to change right away. Ask my parents; they’ll tell you I’m always going through something.”

Eric just shakes his head. “Jack Zimmermann, I would love to have dinner with you. Let me finish closing up; you wanna help me pack these leftovers up?”

They work in comfortable silence as Jack boxes up extra cupcakes from the party while Eric tidies up. “I wish you’d’ve given me some warning,” he says when he returns to Jack’s side. “I could've showered and changed into something nicer.” 

“Well,” Jack says, poking at a smudge of frosting on Eric’s collar, “maybe we can skip the first date where we try to impress each other and do something a little more casual.”

Eric grins. “We can make sandwiches at my place and have dessert. See anything you like?” he asks, gesturing to the few unsold baked goods on the counter.

“You,” Jack blurts out. He’s moving too fast, he thinks, but Eric is the one talking about going back to his place. He has to know what he’s doing.

“Well.” Eric’s cheeks turn pink before Jack’s eyes. 

“But, uh, the cake you made me looks pretty great.”

“I have some vanilla ice cream in my freezer,” Eric says. “That sounds perfect.”

Eric turns out the lights and locks up and they walk up the street to his car. “What time do your parents expect you back?” he asks.

“Are you asking what my curfew is?” Jack chuckles. “My parents made it very clear they’re keeping Nora for the night. I think they’ll be disappointed if I pick her up before morning.”

“Well, then,” Eric hums.

“But,” Jack says, “we don’t have to move too quickly. I don’t mind just being with you tonight. It’s been a really long time since I’ve done anything like this.”

Eric smirks. “Mr. Zimmermann, are you saying you don’t want to take advantage of an empty house? I was kind of hoping that was on the menu.”

“Euh…” He knew he was going to screw this up. “I’m saying that I’m not going anywhere. So if you want to ease into things …”

Eric stops in the middle of the sidewalk and turns toward him. “Look at me. I think we’ve been easing into this for longer than we both know. I always want to be with you, in every way. So let’s just go home and see where the night takes us.” He grabs Jack’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Home. He likes the way that sounds when Eric says it. Jack squeezes back and lets Eric lead the way to the car. This is Jack, letting himself be happy.

A little over a year later

A children’s concert in the park isn’t what Jack would have considered an epic Friday night date even a year ago, but a lot can change in a year. As he unfolds the blanket he’s brought and spreads it out over the spot he’s chosen, he keeps a close eye on his daughter, who is humming quietly to herself and picking flowers out of a nearby patch of clover. She’s a toddler now, too big to be called a baby, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being amazed by this tiny person, who holds his heart in her hands. 

Nora turned two last month, an occasion they marked with a big party attended by family and friends she made in the rec center playgroup Jack takes her to each Wednesday morning. Jack thinks it’s normal for parents to mark each birthday as a sort of milestone, but Nora’s birthday holds special significance because each one marks another year he’s been able to do this.

Not that he’s been doing it alone. Asking Eric to be part of their lives as more than a friend hadn’t changed a lot, not really. What’s changed, in the year since he confessed his feelings to him, is that Jack and Nora don’t have to go to Bakehaus to steal an hour or two with him each evening. Their dinners together aren’t limited to once a week not-dates. Eric moved in six months ago, and while nothing is official, it’s as official as it gets for now. They’re looking for a house in the same neighborhood Marty and Thirdy raised their kids in, and after that they’ll start talking wedding dates and adoption.

“Papa!” Nora calls, running up to Jack. “For you.” 

Jack accepts the slightly mangled flower she offers. “Thank you, sweetheart. It’s beautiful.”

Nora beams and shows him an identical flower she’s grasping in her other hand. “For Daddy.”

“Daddy will love it,” Jack says. 

“Daddy here?” Nora asks.

“Daddy will be here soon,” Jack promises. Eric still has to close up the shop, so Jack got a head start by packing dinner, getting Nora ready, and arriving at the park early enough to secure a prime spot on the grass. He guesses Nora will either lose interest in the concert or fall asleep before the night is over, but now that she’s two, and sings everywhere she goes, they’ve been trying out events like this.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” Nora sings to herself as she plops down on the blanket and begins rooting through the backpack Jack brought. “Read?” she asks, pulling out a book and crawling into his lap.

Jack takes the book — Hondo and Fabian — and begins to read aloud. Nora rests her head against his chest and pats his leg as he reads. He’s on a second read-through when he spots Eric striding toward them, a white bakery bag in hand.

Nora sees him too. “Daddy!” she cries, bolting out of Jack’s lap and flying toward Eric. He picks her up and carries her the rest of the way back to the blanket and Jack. 

“Couldn’t get her to wear the romper my mom sent?” Eric asks, taking a seat next to Jack.

Jack shakes his head. “She insisted on that,” he says, indicating the pink leotard she wears to her tumbling class and a pair of soft red shorts decorated with sharks — Jack thinks they’re actually pajama bottoms — that came in a bag of hand-me-downs from Eric’s friend Chris’ kids.

“She’s worn that three days in a row,” Eric says with a little laugh. “We should probably wash it tonight.”

“I wasn’t in the mood to fight it,” Jack says. “Pick your battles, and all.” Now that Nora is two, they’ve found they have to pick a lot of their battles.

“At least she comes by her fashion sense honestly,” Eric chirps. 

“Daddy! For you!” Nora hands Eric the flower she picked earlier in the evening. 

“It’s beautiful, Sugar Pie. Thank you.” Eric tucks the slightly smashed flower behind his ear, which elicits a giggle from Nora and a smile from Jack. 

“What’d you pack?” Eric asks, beginning to look through the cooler. As he pulls items out, the band members on stage begin warming up, prompting Nora to hum along and twirl in circles.

“Sandwiches and fruit salad. There’s some pasta with peas and diced chicken and some cheese cubes in there for Nora, and Goldfish crackers. I brought chips for us.” He tosses the bag of salt and vinegar to Eric.

“And I,” Eric says, indicating the bag he’s set down, “brought C-O-O-K-I-E-S.”

Nora sits down hard. “Cookies?” 

“For you,” Eric says as Jack’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, “after you eat your pasta.” To Jack he says, “Did your dad teach her that one?” It’s a fair — and probably accurate — assumption. Bob and Alicia had Nora overnight a few weeks ago so Jack and Eric could celebrate their anniversary.  

“Possible,” Jack says. “Or, it could be that any kid who grows up in a bakery is going to learn how to spell 'cookie' eventually.” 

“Yeah, but my money is on your parents,” Eric says. Jack knows he’s right. His parents also taught her the phrase “baby brother,” and while Jack is certain she doesn’t know what it means, it’s hasn’t stopped her from asking for one every day since. It’s a conversation he and Eric have had a few times, just to make sure they’re on the same page, but it’s not something either of them is eager to rush into. Living together as a family of three these past six months has been wonderful, but any little change is a big adjustment when there’s a toddler in the house, and they’re all finally used to this new normal.

When the band begins to play “Here Comes the Sun,” the song Eric always sings to Nora, the two get up and dance. “Come on, Sweetpea,” Eric says, extending a hand down toward Jack, “dance with us.” Jack looks at his daughter in her ridiculous outfit, and his boyfriend with that ridiculous dead flower in his hair, and his heart feels so full he thinks it might explode. 

“I still can’t believe you kept those dance moves a secret for so long,” Eric laughs as Jack pulls both of them a little closer. 

“I like to think the surprise was worth it the first time I made you dance with me.” When it comes to kitchen dancing, Bob and Alicia Zimmermann taught their son well. 

“Very worth it,” Eric says, rising on his toes to give Jack a quick kiss. 

They dance for one, then two, then three songs before they collapse on their blanket, spent, to finish eating their dinner. Afterward, Nora insists on more dancing. She joins a group of kids on the blanket next to them and determinedly tries to keep up with their twirling and jumping.

“She’s going to crash so hard tonight,” Jack says.

“Maybe that means she’ll sleep late,” Eric says with a meaningful raise of his eyebrow. Saturday mornings have been really nice ever since he delegated weekend opening duties to Charlotte.

It’s the twirling that does her in. Nora’s sprawled across both of their laps, asleep, well before the concert ends. She’s clutching a half-eaten cookie in one hand and her stuffed rabbit in the other. “We should probably get her home,” Eric whispers, brushing a lock of dark hair that’s escaped her pigtails away from her face.

“But it’s so nice here with you,” Jack says, pulling them both a little closer. 

“I’m kind of ready to turn in too,” Eric admits. “Been up all day, remember?”

Jack knows. His days keeping up with an active toddler and the two online classes he’s taking are demanding, but Eric still begins most days before dawn. They’re lucky if they get an hour or two together after Nora goes to bed in the evenings before they fall asleep in front of their latest Netflix binge. Though that’s changing, now that Charlotte’s taking on more responsibility. Eric even felt comfortable enough leaving Bakehaus in her hands so they could go to Hawaii in January. They’d spent a lot of time at the resort’s kiddie pool. Eric doesn’t know it yet, but Jack’s planning to surprise him with a trip to Italy in August, when his parents get back from their own vacation and can take Nora for a week.

“If we go home now,” Eric says when Jack doesn’t get up, “I’ll make it worth it.” 

“Yeah?” Jack wiggles his eyebrows in what he hopes is a sexy way, but it probably isn’t because Eric just snorts out a giggle and adjusts Nora so he can get to his feet. 

“How does she manage to weigh twice as much when she’s asleep?” Eric asks. 

“No idea,” Jack says, taking the rabbit and cookie out of her hands before she drops them. He tucks the rabbit into the diaper bag and throws the cookie in the trash with their sandwich wrappers. He’ll deal with the inevitable meltdown when she realizes the cookie is missing later. One perk of having a partner who owns a bakery is that there are always cookies around the house.

They take their time walking back to their car. Jack stores their things in the trunk while Eric manages to get Nora into her car seat without waking her. Jack sets her rabbit in her lap so it’s there if she happens to wake up on the way home.

“You wanna drive or should I?” 

“I will.” Jack catches the keys and walks around the car to the driver’s side. 

Nora’s still asleep when they pull into their building’s parking garage. “You carry the kid, I’ll carry the stuff?” Eric asks.

“No fair. You just don’t want to be the one to wake her up.”

“Hey, I’m the one who got her to the car without waking her. Remember,” Eric says, trailing his fingers along Jack’s bare arm, “when I said I would make it worth it if we went home?” 

They stare at each other for a couple seconds, each waiting for the other to give in. Eric smiles. Jack knows he’s already lost. That smile and those brown eyes get him every time.