Speak My Language: A heartwarming and steamy Thanksgiving MM novella (Slow Burn Holidays Book 1) by Nico Flynn

Author:Nico Flynn [Flynn, Nico]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-11-16T16:00:00+00:00

TRIAL #3: RESULTS

Promising. Very promising.

But there’s still one love language to go.

Chapter Five

◆◆◆

TRIAL #4 - Physical Touch

I blow out a long, slow breath to steady my nerves.

I’ve been dreading this trial since the start of the experiment.

We’ve always spent quality time together. I’ve always bought little things for Oliver on occasion, when I see something he needs or wants. I’ve even told Oliver in words how funny and brilliant he is… though not necessarily in the most romantic terms. I tried to get closer to the truth, to say something that couldn't be as easily written off as friendship. And it worked better than the other three love languages, at least. There was a crack in Oliver's defenses Saturday night, one I’ve been sorely tempted to push at. If the final trial doesn't do it, I’ll definitely be trying words of affirmation again.

But first, there’s physical touch.

I can count on one hand the number of times Oliver and I have touched in a meaningful way in five years of friendship. The lingering handshake (that was practically a hand hold, if I’m honest) way back when we first met, before I had really accepted my attraction to men. The hug we shared at the hospital after Mrs. Thomas fell two winters ago. The arm I wrapped around Oliver’s waist after his Ph.D graduation, when Oliver’s mom insisted on photos. Everything else I’ve done before now could be explained away. The gift. The quality time at the restaurant. Even my words of affirmation.

This can't be mistaken. This will be a marked change from our usual pattern. It’ll be noticeable.

That’s the whole point, I guess.

Come on, man. Courage. Finish what you started.

I check my shirt one last time in my bedroom mirror, blow out a nervous breath, and meet Oliver out in the sitting room.

"Ready to go?" I ask.

Oliver is staring out the front window at the long stretch of the backyard, the bag with our contributions to today’s meal dangling from one hand. A moment of silence passes before Oliver steps back and turns, his expression unreadable. I steel myself for my first attempt.

Here we go.

I walk toward Oliver and gently place my hand on his upper arm, then let it slide down until it cups his elbow.

That one tiny touch is electrifying.

"You sure you're up for this tonight? Everyone would understand, you know," I say, rubbing my thumb across the smooth fabric of Oliver's fine suit jacket. I hope I don’t actually sound as breathless as I think I do, but it doesn't seem to matter much; Oliver is speechless, his mouth slightly open and his eyes locked on mine. Frozen. Bad frozen, or...?

Only one way to find out.

I shift closer, letting my hand drift along his arm again. "Oliver? You okay?"

"Yes," he finally breathes.

And, lo and behold, his free hand comes up to rest gently at my waist.

Me touching Oliver’s arm, connected to Oliver’s hand touching me. A closed circle of warmth.

Heaven, heaven, heaven.

I give Oliver a small smile and squeeze his arm once before letting my hand drift to the small of his back.

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