“Tigger, huh?” Tierney bobbed his head from side to side, as if thinking it over, the whole sofa shaking with his motion. “I can live with that, but who does that make you?”
“I don’t know. Do I have to be someone?”
Tierney squinted his eyes thoughtfully. “Let’s see, who was Tigger’s best friend? I don’t think he had a boyfriend.”
“I’m pretty sure he was in Christopher Robin’s closet.”
Tierney snorted a laugh, but wouldn’t be knocked off track. “Was it Roo? I think it was; so I guess you must be Roo.”
All Dalton could do was nod. “I guess so.”
The name stuck, even after Tierney’s abundance of nervous energy leveled out and Dalton had stopped accusing him of being weaned on Tigger blood. In truth, Dalton liked being Tierney’s Roo. It was way better than being Ian’s Squirrel, even Sam admitted that.
He also liked shopping for furniture, especially when it was so obvious what was really happening. The big tip-off was that Tierney insisted on going with him. The man hated shopping, of any kind. When he couldn’t cajole Dalton into doing it for him, he paid his assistant to.
So, duh: Tierney wanted Dalton to pick out the new table because he wanted that table to also be Dalton’s. It was ridiculously obvious. Apparently, though, Dalton wasn’t as easy to read, because Tierney didn’t seem to understand that by agreeing to pick out the table, Dalton was agreeing to part ownership of it.
At the giant warehouse-style store, Dalton watched from the modular storage section as Tierney stared at the talkative saleslady. You’d think she was speaking a foreign language—Tierney’s mouth was even hanging open slightly. Dalton would have to step in if he started to drool.
He didn’t though. Instead he shook himself out of his stupor and beckoned frantically. Dalton took his time wandering over.
“Um, what do you think of this one?” Tierney said as soon as he didn’t have to shout. Much.
It’s ugly. “Well, do you like it?” It was surprisingly similar to the old table, but the scrollwork legs were painted and the beading around the edge was even more intricate.
Tierney curled his lip at it. “No.”
“We have quite a few other tables of this size,” the saleslady reassured them, as if they couldn’t see they were standing in two football fields’ worth of dining room furnishings.
“Do you really need a table that’s as big as the old one?” Dalton asked. “That thing’s huge.” He was now close enough that Tierney could touch him, and he did, just like always, taking Dalton’s hand.
Tierney shrugged. “I dunno. I guess so.”
Dalton squeezed his fingers. “So, you regularly have large dinner parties?”
Tierney’s answer was to look at him is if he’d lost his mind.
“That’s a no,” Dalton said, pointing at him. “To both dinner parties and needing a big table. Do you see that changing in the future? The dinner parties?”
“Not unless you wanna have some.”
Dalton ignored that, for now. “Maybe you could get a smaller table that has leaves to make it bigger?”
Tugging on Dalton to get him to move, Tierney towed him to the section with the smaller ones, the saleslady trailing behind. She kept watching them, sneaking glances at their clasped hands. Tierney refused to not take Dalton’s hand in public, or kiss him if he wanted to. He’d said he’d hidden too many years to keep doing it now.
It always made Dalton melt a little when Tierney would blandly stare down someone who looked at them twice.
“This one’s cool,” Tierney said, halting in front of a small square table with simple lines and a pronounced wood grain.
“I really like it.” Dalton picked up the hangtag to read the details.
“I don’t know, are you sure it’s big enough?”
Sigh. “It extends to seat ten.”
“But it looks so small.”
“It’ll easily fit the two of us.”
Tierney turned to him. “I don’t know. Lay down on it and let’s see.”
“Tierney,” Dalton admonished, trying not to laugh. But over Tierney’s shoulder he saw how red the saleslady’s cheeks had gone, and he couldn’t stifle it. Fortunately, she giggled too, covering her mouth with her hand and tittering.
“Fine, you can lay on it at home and we’ll return it if we have to.” Tierney winked at him. “We’ll take this one,” he added to the woman helping them. Then he whirled back around and said excitedly, “If we get a smaller table, we’ll have a ton of space, won’t we? We could get shelves too, right? Sort of screen off the kitchen with them?”
In the end, they bought enough new furniture to fill a delivery truck. A small one, but still. They even picked out a new bed. And Dalton had to give his stamp of approval on each item, because Tierney refused to decide until he did. So obvious. And sweet.
Once the saleslady had left them, walking back to the store office to arrange for delivery of their purchases, probably adding up her commission in awe, Dalton finally dropped the bomb. “I know why you’re doing this.” He meandered one or two steps closer, until he was nearly in Tierney’s arms, and their clasped hands bumped alternately against each of their thighs.
“What?” Tierney opened his eyes impossibly wide, which had made no one look innocent, ever, in the history of the world. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re making me pick out the furniture because you want me to like it so much I’ll move into your place.”
He dropped the act immediately. “Is it working?”
Dalton tilted his head and smiled before turning away to fake interest in some bookshelves.
“Okay, listen,” Tierney said, untangling their fingers and splaying his on Dalton’s lower back. “I know I’m supposed to wait a year, but it’s been nearly seven months, and things are going great. I mean, you think so too, right?”
It was tempting to not answer again, but that would be cruel. “You know I do.”
Tierney dropped a kiss on his temple. “And you said we could revisit it in six months, anyway.”
“Has it really been that long?” Dalton asked airily.
“So, don’t you want to be with me all the time? Your cat already lives at my place. Half your stuff is there too.”
Reaching up, he carelessly patted Tierney’s cheek. “I’ll think about it.” He had to pretend to be inspecting a very ugly vase to hide his smile.