Always Almost

*NOTE This will be a slow burn romance, there will be some sexy scenes as we advance through the story, but they aren't in this part*

The room is filled with murmured condolences, the quiet rustle of black suits and dresses shifting in their seats. The air is heavy with loss. I've known Mrs. Clarkston my whole life. Every Sunday morning, she was there; kind, warm, always making sure I left church with a handful of butterscotch candies. She was like a grandmother to me. And now, she's gone.

The usher leads me to a seat, and I nod at Mr. Erikson, another church regular. I know so many people here. That's how it is in places like this. You grow up in the same circles, sharing potlucks and holiday services, always assuming people like Mrs. Clarkston will just... always be here.

But today, not everyone is familiar.

I scan the room with my eyes, and I see someone I've never seen before. Young. Fit. Unreasonably attractive. It takes me half a second too long to register that I'm staring. My pulse spikes.

"Am I staring at him?"

I swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of how dry my mouth is. I should look away. I should not be doing this.

But before I can, he turns his head and catches me. For a second, we lock eyes. And for some reason, my body reacts before my brain can stop it. My fingers twitch. My breath catches. My heartbeat....loud. Too loud.

He smiles. Effortless. Confident. Like he's completely at ease, even in a place meant for mourning. I grin back-too quick, too wide-and finally force myself to sit.

"Look at the Bible, Cal. You need Jesus."

I open it, letting the pages blur in front of me. But no verse is going to save me from whatever that was.

...

The service goes on for so long. Too long. I shift in my seat, fingers tightening around the Bible in my lap, trying to focus on the words being spoken. But my mind is still caught in that moment--the way my body reacted.

Why? Why did I react like that?

The only person who's ever made me feel that kind of nervous energy was Amber. She was the last person to spark something in me, the last time I felt that immediate, visceral pull. That was years ago now. But this? This is different. He's not a woman.

I shake my head, exhaling through my nose. I must be off today. Maybe I had one too many shots last night at my coworker's birthday party. That's it. That's why my head's not in the game.

Suddenly, a chorus of "AMEN" fills the room, snapping me back into reality. I have no idea how long I was lost in my own thoughts.

I stand up, smoothing out my shirt. It's time for me to go. On my way out, I go through the motions--shaking hands, nodding, murmuring condolences. Judy Clarkston and her husband, Mitch, are near the doors, and I take a moment to offer my sympathies. Then, finally, freedom. The exit is just a few steps away.

"Cal!"

I freeze.I don't have to turn around to know who it is. Dave. It's always Dave. We've been friends for a few years now. I know he's not the type to let me slip away unnoticed. I turn back, forcing a smile. "Hey, Dave. I was just on my way out. Too much partying last night." I chuckle, trying to sell the excuse.

Dave doesn't buy it. He never does.

"No need to rush out, Cal. I was hoping you'd be here. I have someone I wanted to introduce to you."

He turns slightly, raising a hand, and calls out, "Hey Bobby!"

Oh. Crap. It's him. The guy from earlier. The one I've been trying not to think about. And now? There's nowhere to run.

Bobby politely excuses himself from his conversation and strides over, his grin easy and confident.

"Hey, Dave," he greets, then turns his attention to me. His eyes are steady, unreadable. They lock onto mine as he extends a hand.

"Hi, I'm Bobby. It's nice to meet you."

I reach for his hand, but somehow my brain short-circuits mid-introduction.

"I'm... Cal... vin... Calvin."

Dave laughs, smacking my shoulder. "Bobby here is my little brother's good friend. They play pickleball together every Wednesday. Oh! And he's also the only other person I've ever heard drone on and on about that book series you love so much. What's it called? Wraithborn?"

Without hesitation, Bobby and I say it at the exact same time.

"Mistborn!" We both grin, shaking our heads slightly.

"Finally, someone with taste," Bobby says with a smirk.

"Clearly, Dave doesn't get it," I reply.

Dave groans, waving us off. "Oh great, there are two of you now."

Bobby chuckles, and I find myself laughing along with him. This is... easy. More natural than I expected. He's a cool guy.

"Listen," Dave says, cutting in. "The reason I wanted to introduce you guys tonight is because we're all going to Sam and Monica's wedding next month. And I was thinking since hotel prices are ridiculous do you think we could crash at your place? It's so close to the venue. It would be Bobby, my little brother and myself"

"That sounds good to me," I say without hesitation.

"Me too," Bobby agrees.

I nod, feeling an unexpected sense of contentment settle over me. This is nice. Making new friends. I've been a bit of a loner lately, and Dave has been trying to pull me out of my shell. Usually, it feels awkward, forced. But this? This doesn't feel bad at all.

"Calvin?"

I blink, realizing Bobby is standing in front of me with his arm extended, phone in hand.

"Huh?" I shake myself out of my thoughts.

"I said put your number in my phone so we can actually plan this." He hands me his phone. Warm from his grip.

I take it, quickly typing my name and number, then pass it back. Bobby smiles, fingers moving over the screen. A second later, my phone buzzes.

"Listen, I gotta get going," he says. "I'll be in touch."

We exchange quick goodbyes, and as I walk to my car, I pull out my phone.

New message from 555-158-8965.

I don't care if I have to share your bed... I'm not sleeping on the floor! -Bobby Harris

I stare at the screen, a slow breath escaping me. Huh. I should brush it off as a joke. Yeah that's definitely a joke. I toss my phone onto the passenger seat. But it doesn't stay there long.

I read it again.

...

Over the next couple of weeks, I started getting to know Bobby better. Not in person--yet--but through the group chat Dave made for the wedding plans. It's mostly logistics at first. Who's bringing what, what time we're leaving, hotel vs. my place. But eventually, it turns into something else. Random memes. Stupid inside jokes. Late-night messages about nothing in particular. And before I realize it, Bobby and I are talking more than anyone else in the chat.

Wednesday, 8:23 PM

Me: I'm thinking you guys should come over the night before. Come straight after work. I'll BBQ burgers or steak or something? Might as well make a weekend out of it.

A minute passes. Then my phone buzzes.

Bobby: If you make me steaks I'm gonna marry you.

I snort, shaking my head as I type back.

Me: That's a legally binding statement Harris.

Bobby: Not in this state, you will have to win my heart first.

Dave: Oh great, I'm gonna have to listen to this in real time next week.

Me: You're just jealous you don't ask me to marry you first.

Bobby: Yeah Dave, dont make this about you.

Alex: I knew you two would get along too well. Youre both weird.

Dave: Shame on you Cal, you're the old man here. You're supposed to be the mature one, teaching everyone how to be a proper young man.

We all laugh. It's easy. Effortless.

Maybe I should brush past the way my stomach flipped just a little at Bobby's comment. Maybe I should ignore the way I instantly looked forward to seeing him again. But I don't. Instead, I just sit there, staring at my screen, rereading the messages, wondering why this feels the way it does.

...

Finally, it's the night before the wedding. -I've got everything set--extra towels in the bathroom, and the guest bed made up for Alex and Bobby. They're the youngest, so they can share. That just makes sense. And Dave? He gets the camping cot in the living room. No complaints. Everything's settled.

Or so I think.

Bobby drops his bag by the bed and looks at me, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. "You're not sharing your bed?"

I blink. Wait, what?

"I don't mind sharing," he adds, smirking. "Especially since that steak you have resting means we're married now."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying--"

"You're done." I point at the bed. "Go to sleep."

"Not before I've eaten all that meat," he says winking at me. He means the steak...right?

He just chuckles, grabbing a hanger from his bag. "Can I hang my suit in your closet? There's nowhere to put it in here."

My stomach twists. The guest room closet is broken. The bar fell down months ago. I forgot. I'm a bad host.

"Uh--yeah. Yeah, of course," I say, stepping back toward my room.

Bobby follows, suit slung over his arm, way too casual about walking into my space like it's nothing. And maybe it is. Maybe this is normal. Maybe this shouldn't feel like anything at all. But as I pull open my closet door, and Bobby moves past me, brushing just a little too close, I realize. It does.

...

I didn't get much sleep that night.

Not because the house was loud, Alex and Dave were out within minutes, and Bobby didn't make a sound once he settled in. Not because I was uncomfortable, my bed was fine, the blankets were warm, the room was quiet. But because my mind wouldn't shut up. Because I kept replaying everything.

The way Bobby looked at me when he said "I don't mind sharing." The way he followed me into my room like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way he brushed past me when he hung up his suit. None of it should have mattered. None of it should have stuck with me.

But I lay there, staring at the ceiling, hyper-aware that just down the hall--Bobby was there. And for some reason, that fact alone made sleep impossible.

I get up early, pulling myself out of bed after what felt like barely any sleep. The house is quiet, everyone else still out cold. So I head to the kitchen and start cooking eggs and bacon for the guys.

The sizzle of bacon fills the air, and I hear footsteps behind me.

"Morning, old man," Bobby's voice comes from the doorway, groggy but playful. I glance over my shoulder. He's barefoot, hair messy, looking way too relaxed in my kitchen.

"This is a really nice place you got here," he says, leaning against the counter. "Must've got it for a cheap price during the Great Depression."

I snort, shaking my head. "I'm not THAT old, you know."

"Okay, Grandpa, then how old are you actually?"

"Thirty-five."

Bobby whistles, exaggerated. "Whoa. Unc status." I roll my eyes, flipping the bacon.

"I'm twenty-two," he continues, hopping onto the counter like he owns the place.

"Guess I gotta come to you for all my insight needs."

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "You sure you can handle that, kid?"

He smirks. "Oh, I can handle a lot."

Something about the way he says it makes me pause. I turn back to the stove, suddenly very focused on the eggs. Very focused on not reading into that.

"Breakfast is ready," I call out but the other two don't stir. I grab a pillow from the couch and launch it at Dave, who's sprawled out on the camping cot in the living room.

"Get up, breakfast is ready." The pillow lands dead center on his face. He groans, blindly swatting it away before rolling onto his side. No movement.

Fine.

I grab another pillow and head for the guest room, pushing the door open just enough to spot Alex buried under the covers. Completely dead to the world. I chuck the pillow at him.

"You too. Rise and shine."

A muffled, "Five more minutes..." comes from under the blanket.

"Nope. Get up."

Dave lets out an unintelligible groan from the living room while Alex barely stirs.

Meanwhile, Bobby who has absolutely no intention of helping just sits on the kitchen counter, casually eating a strip of bacon like this is some kind of morning entertainment.

"You throw pillows like an old man," he teases.

I point the spatula at him. "You keep calling me old, and you're getting the burnt pieces."

He just smirks, unfazed. Like always.

...

Breakfast goes off without a hitch.

Despite their groaning, Dave and Alex eventually drag themselves to the table, shoveling down eggs and bacon like they haven't eaten in days. Bobby is still way too smug for someone who barely lifted a finger. He leans back in his chair, sipping coffee like he's already won something. Once plates are cleared and coffee cups are emptied, it's time to get ready for the wedding.

I stretch, rolling out my shoulders. "Alright, gentlemen, time to look presentable."

Dave grumbles, pushing himself up from the table. "Ugh. Do I have to?"

"Yes," Bobby and I say in unison.

Alex laughs, already heading toward the guest room to grab his suit. Dave shuffles off to the bathroom, still half-asleep, suit in hand.

Bobby lingers behind. He stretches his arms over his head--his shirt riding up slightly--before cracking his neck. We both sit in silence just drinking our coffee. Dave finally emerges from the bathroom fully dressed.

"Guess I better suit up," Bobby says, flashing a grin. "You need the bathroom first, or should I take it?"

A normal question. A casual question. But somehow, the way he says it makes my brain freeze for half a second too long.

"Uh...nah, go ahead," I say, waving him off.

I watch as he disappears down the hall, the bathroom door clicking shut behind him.

I exhale. Shake my head. This is fine. This is just getting ready for a wedding. I have no reason to be standing here, staring at a closed bathroom door, feeling like I need to get a grip on myself. I head to my own room to grab my suit, telling myself for the hundredth time, that this is nothing.

...

I'm mostly dressed--slacks, dress shirt, belt. Just need a tie.

That's when my phone buzzes. Mom.

I grab it off the nightstand and answer. "Hey, Mom."

"We're outside, sweetheart. Just dropping off the gift for Sam and Monica before we head to the airport."

Right. The cruise. They've been planning this for months.

"I'll be right out."

I slip on my shoes and hurry outside. Their car is idling in the driveway, Mom waving from the passenger seat.

"Sorry, honey, we're rushing, we cut it too close with packing," she says as she hands me a neatly wrapped box.

"No problem," I say, tucking it under my arm.

Dad gives me a nod from behind the wheel. "Try to behave at this wedding, huh?"

"No promises."

Mom shakes her head, laughing. "We'll call when we're back. Love you!"

"Love you too," I say, stepping back as the car pulls away.

Once they're gone, I head back inside. The house is quiet. Dave on the couch attention on his phone. Alex hasn't emerged from the guest room yet.

I walk into my room, heading straight for my dresser where I left my tie. And then I stop. Bobby is there. He's standing in the middle of my room with his pants off.

For a second, I can't process what I'm looking at. My brain locks up, caught somewhere between confusion and something else I don't have the words for.

I've never seen him like this before. Not in a locker room. Not at the gym. Not in some casual, accidental way. Not at all. Those are normal ways to see your friend, pant less.

And yet, here he is.

He looks up as I freeze in the doorway, his fingers still working at the buttons of his dress shirt.

"Oh, hey," he says, like this is nothing. Like I haven't just walked in on him half-dressed in my space.

My stomach twists.

"Uh--sorry," I say quickly, stepping back toward the door.

Bobby doesn't move to cover himself. He doesn't grab his pants. He just smirks.

"What? You've never seen a guy in his boxers before?"

The way he says it, it's a challenge. Like he's daring me to react. Like he's watching to see if I will. This is a test. I know it is.

I grab my tie and force a laugh, rolling my eyes as I grip the door handle. "I'll let you finish."

But before I step out, I glance back at him, just for a second.

And he's still watching me. Not uncomfortable. Not embarrassed. Just...watching.

And as I shut the door behind me, heart pounding in my chest, I realize something I can't shake: He didn't have to change in my room. But he did. I realize something else too. I'm still thinking about it.

I try to shake it off. Standing in front of the mirror, and fixing the knot. Just focus. Act normal. I look at the confused look on my face. What is going on?!

But I hear footsteps behind me, feel the air shift. Then, he's there. Bobby steps up just over my shoulder, still rolling his sleeves up, his shirt hanging open at the collar. Our eyes meet in the reflection.

"What do you think?" he asks, adjusting the fabric like he's waiting for approval.

I swallow. "About what?"

He smirks. "The fit. The look. You're the old man here, thought I'd get your opinion."

He's messing with me. I know he is. But for some reason, I can't bring myself to fire back. Not when he's this close. Not when his sleeves are still half-rolled, his chest still barely covered, his smirk still lingering like he knows exactly what he's doing. Not when this feels like another test. I exhale through my nose, adjusting my tie one last time before turning away.

"You look fine, Bobby."

His smirk deepens. "Just fine?"

I shake my head, stepping toward the door. "Go finish getting dressed, out Uber will be here in five minutes."

I don't wait to see if he listens. I just leave before he sees the way my hands are shaking.

...

The ceremony is beautiful. We eat, we dance, we laugh--all of it effortless.

Bobby and I spend the whole day making jokes, poking fun at each other, bouncing off one another like we've known each other forever. Dave and Alex team up against us, roasting us any chance they get.

"I swear, you two act like an old married couple," Dave says at one point.

"Yeah," Alex chimes in. "Just kiss already."

We roll our eyes. We laugh. We don't care. It's all in good fun.

The reception is loud, the bass thumping through the speakers as people move toward the dance floor. The four of us sit at our table, still catching our breath from the last round of dancing. I'm mid-sentence when Bobby suddenly grabs the bottom of my chair and pulls me in closer. It's quick, casual, and effortless. He does it like it's nothing.

But it's not nothing.

I blink as his hand pats my thigh, resting there just long enough to feel the warmth through my dress pants.

"That's better," he says, now close enough to hear him over the music.

I open my mouth to respond, but my brain is still catching up to what just happened. Before I can say anything, he leans in, still grinning. "Want a drink?"

I nod. "Yeah, sure."

He pushes off from the table, heading toward the bar. And I watch him go. That's when I notice it. At least four women follow him with their eyes as he moves through the crowd. And then one of them makes her move. She steps up beside him at the bar, smiling, saying something I can't hear over the music.

Bobby turns to her, polite, casual, easy. I don't know why I keep looking. I don't know why this suddenly feels like something I don't want to watch. Yet I don't look away. I watch as the woman leans in, laughing at something Bobby says. She's got that obvious, flirty energy. The kind that makes her intentions clear.

A few seconds later, Bobby returns to the table, two drinks in hand. He sets mine down and plops into his chair, grinning.

"Did you see that? A woman just gave me her number."

Before I can react, Dave snorts. "She's a six at best."

I choke on my drink, laughing, while Alex groans, shaking his head.

"Dude, you're brutal," Alex says, rubbing his temples.