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Jack slowly wakens, aware of being warm and comfortable. The quilt is tucked around them, and the couch cushions are surprisingly good for sleeping on. The faint glow of lights from the Christmas tree gives just enough illumination for him to see Bitty's sleeping face a few inches away from his. The rest of the room is dark. Jack figures it must be about six or six thirty, but he left his phone upstairs and fishing around for Bitty's would probably wake him. They're pressed closely together on their sides, and Jack has one arm over Bitty, keeping him close.
Of course, Jack had offered to take the couch last night, and been roundly shushed by all three Bittles and told he was sleeping in the spare room. But Jack had lain awake for an hour, staring at the ceiling. They already had to spend so many nights of the year apart. Maybe it was stupid to miss his boyfriend when he was only downstairs but, well, Jack did. So he'd crept down into the living room, where Bitty had greeted him with a sleepy smile and drawn him down into the blankets, saying “just for a little while, and no funny business.”
“Of course,” Jack had answered, settling in and wrapping him body around Bitty's. He'd kissed his forehead. “Just for a little while.”
They'd talked quietly for a few minutes, and then just lain together. That—just lying together, having Bitty safe and close to him, listening to his breathing—that was what Jack missed when he was on the road. They'd only been living together half a year, but Jack's body had already gotten used to it, to the way the two of them fit together, Bitty's head nestled into his shoulder, hands tucked against Jack's chest. He honestly hadn't meant to fall asleep here, but waking now and having this quiet moment, he can't bring himself to regret it. He tightens his arm slightly around Bitty, determined to enjoy a few more moments of closeness before he has to sneak back upstairs to the guest room and pretend that he's been there all night.
Something catches Jack's attention and he looks up sharply to see a small figure in a fluffy bathrobe glaring at them from the foot of the stairs.
“Mrs. Bittle!” Jack exclaims. Bitty jerks awake with a startled noise.
“What do you boys have to say for yourselves?” comes the stern question. She may be even smaller than Bitty, and one of the nicest people Jack's ever met, but right at that moment she's as intimidating as any disappointed coach Jack has ever had to face.
“Mama! Um,” Bitty scrambles and shoves at him and suddenly they're both sitting, shame-faced, on opposite ends of the couch.
She folds her arms and levels them both with a glare that makes Jack feel about three inches tall.
“I know that y'all live together now, and what you get up to in Providence is your own business. You're grown men and you can make your own choices. But I am your mother. And in this house,” she stabs one finger downward, “the rule is, unmarried couples don't share. Your cousin Missy and her young man slept apart when they came visiting until they got married. I expect you to follow the rules, too. Now,” she points at first Bitty, then Jack. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, ma'am. Sorry, Mama,” Bitty says.
“Sorry Mrs. Bittle,” Jack echoes. She nods at them, mollified. A thought surfaces that he's been pushing away for a while now. He knows the timing isn't good. And he should probably have a real discussion with Bitty about it first. But something about the lingering feeling of waking up with Bitty in his arms under the warmth of the quilt, bathed in the light of the christmas tree makes him speak. “Maybe by the time we come back next Christmas we will...be able to share.”
Jack keeps one eye on Bitty's face as he speaks, and he was prepared for the blush and the look of awed tenderness he sees there. He's only put that look on Bitty's face a handful of times—the first time he'd referred to Bitty as his boyfriend, when he'd mentioned that he hoped Bitty would want to move in with him after graduation—and it's one of the best feelings in the world when he manages it. What he wasn't ready for was Mrs. Bittle's reaction.
Her eyes go wide, then tears well up. For a second he's afraid she's angry again. She sobs. Jack suddenly finds himself in a stranglehold as her tiny arms wrap around his neck. Her tears of joy sound just like Bitty's. “Um, there, there,” he mutters, awkwardly patting her on the back and making help-me eyes at his boyfriend.
Bitty has to escort his sobbing mother out of the room to bake something before she can calm down at all. Sixty minutes later there are two new pies, a pear tart, and two dozen turnovers littering the cooling racks. Jack is watching Bitty and his mother roll out dough for cookies while chatting away and carefully not mentioning anything about weddings. Jack just steers clear and quietly sips his coffee, occasionally catching Bitty's eyes and seeing him smile a little bashfully every time.
The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs makes Jack turn just in time to see Coach Bittle entering the kitchen. “Whoa,” he says, coming in and surveying the scene. Every flat surface is covered in something made of dough. He picks up an apple turnover from the island and takes a cautious bite out of it. Jack pours a second mug of coffee and hands it to him. “What happened here?” he asks.
Jack clears his throat and says, “I may have mentioned that I'm planning to ask your son to marry me.”
He's not sure what to expect. He and Mr. Bittle get along just fine these days, but it's one thing to talk about playoffs and the weather. This is a whole other ballgame. But Coach just takes another bite of the turnover and laconically observes, “Yup, that'll do it.”