The Wedding Bet

by facewithoutheart

Summary:

I can practically see the drool building in Agatha’s mouth. “Sweet Gaia. Did Baz just propose a bet?”

Shep bounces in his chair and claps his hands. “A bet! A bet! A bet!”

“The Return of the Mustache Plaque, 2022,” Penny gasps.

Shep buries his face in his hands. “Please no.”

I nod, solemnly, thinking of the framed facial hair I keep in my office. “I deem this prize acceptable.”

“Only because it embarrasses me!” Shep sinks deeper into his arms.

“I deem that prize also acceptable,” I grin. 

The Gang makes a bet to find Simon a date for his coworker’s wedding, or Baz and Simon’s love story develops over five acts and four years.

Notes:

• For martsonmars.

You do not need to have seen HIMYM to understand this fic. In fact… I don’t actually know if Marta has seen this show and I wrote this fic for them SO. That should tell you something.

For Marta… my adopted child, the Italian light of my life. You bring me so much joy and laughter. Happy “you can now drink legally in America” Birthday! I set this in NYC and hope one day we can meet there. Please enjoy this gift… it started small and got away from me LOL just like our friendship (in the best way.) pizza hugs 🍕🍕🍕

Thanks to Kati for the endless questions and debates I had about this piece, as well as beta-ing. Also for co-parenting our rambunctious child. You’re a joy ❤️

Thanks also to Em for giving me Penny’s lawyer background, talking me through two other ideas before settling on this, and beta-ing it on a last minute notice when I failed to understand a calendar 🤣

Chapter 1: Act I

Past: September 4, 2018

No one knows exactly why Baz ended up on the rooftop with me that night, but it felt like fate, kismet.

Destiny.

Although, later, Baz blamed a full bladder.

“Uh,” he blinked, stumbling out of the stairwell, wearing a light pink floral shirt and jeans so tight they hurt me to look at them, “this isn’t the restroom.”

(The evidence supported his claim.)

I stubbed out the cigarette I’d escaped my party to smoke. “No, it isn’t.” Leaning back on the IKEA patio furniture Penny and I used to claim this communal space, I asked, “Can I help you?”

He flinched as the metal stairway door he’d used to gain entry slammed shut with a final-sounding click. “Tell me that sound didn’t signal the only door to the roof locking behind me.”

“Oh,” I laughed, “that sound definitely signaled the only door to the roof locking behind you.” My smirk turned into something softer as his proud posture I’d come to envy in the space of five seconds slumped into something resembling human. My feelings morphed accordingly.

At the time, I called it pity, compassion.

Empathy.

“Good thing there’s an open window just down the fire escape.” I offered my hand. “Want me to show you?”

But the instant his palm met mine, gray eyes open and trusting, I knew I’d been a fool to think whatever’d begun churning in my belly was anything less than the worst gift a man could hand to Tyrannus Basilton “Baz” Grimm-Pitch:

Love.

 

Chat: May 13, 2022

penlove: McGareth’s. 4:30.
sloot_up: some of us work, Penny
sloot_up: it’s EOQ
penlove: it’s mid-may! How is it your end of quarter?
penlove: Agatha????
sloot_up: [redacted]
sloot_up: oops guess I can’t explain
sloot_up: sorry guys I’ll catch the next one
chupbuncecabra: Niamh’s working
sloot_up: omw
snowwrite: AGS yesss full gang!
snowwrite: gotta finish grading these awful awful comp 1 essays then i’ll be there
chupbuncecabra: 😘😘😘
snowwrite: get me two beers in case i miss happy hour
bazzyboo: I’ll buy you the entire bar if you let me change my username
penlove: YOU KNOW THE RULES BAZ
sloot_up: NO ONE IS ABOVE THE RULES
chupbuncecabra: THA RUUUUULEZZZ
snowwrite: you know you do this to yourself, right Baz?
bazzyboo: sigh
bazzyboo: be there as soon as I can

 

 

Now: May 13, 2022

Baz slides into the booth next to me, still proudly displaying his Channel 1 News badge. Without preamble, he clears his throat and asks, “So for how much longer am I in username jail?”

The corner of my mouth quirks up for a second at the sound of his voice. I resist the urge to scan Baz’s long, suit-clad lines but I do let my eyes fall on his own mouth, twitching at the edges like mine.

Penny waves off his intrusion. “We’ll get to your drama in a second, Baz. Right now we’re dealing with Simon’s.”

I groan, sinking lower into the booth. My legs spread, jeans pressing against expensive wool. I savor Baz’s warmth. In these trying times, I need all the comfort I can get.

“Has he still not found a date for his coworker’s wedding?” Baz tuts. “For shame, Simon. Procrastinating like one of your first years.”

“Freshmen,” I correct. “And I’m not procrastinating, I’m just…” I let the word sit on my tongue for a second, “selective.”

Baz hums but doesn’t reply.

Penny rolls her eyes. “Back me up here, husband.”

Shepard chokes on his wine. “Can I stay out of this? Only I’ve spent the whole day mediating conflict and, unless the problem can be solved with a sticker,” here Shepard reveals forearms covered in tiny vinyl animals that peel at the edges, “I’m fresh out of fucks to give.”

“Do you have a Baz-shaped one?” Agatha asks, swinging around a chair at the head of our booth to sit on it backward, “I’m sure Simon would do anything for one of those.”

“Hah, hah,” I mock, sipping my cheap beer. “Except we all know I’m past my Baz phase, no offense.”

“None taken,” Baz smirks, though he moves his leg so it’s no longer pressing against mine.

There’s a loud clunk when Niamh sets down a tumbler of bourbon, neat. “Basilton.”

“Niamh.”

They give each other the tiniest of head nods. 

Agatha pouts. “No drink for me?” She loosens her tie then flicks open up her top two buttons. “Or are you my beverage, Niamh?” she asks, rolling up the sleeves of her pink suit jacket. “It’s past six but I can tell the taste of you would make me very happy.”

Niamh rolls her eyes and walks away.

“You know she’s not going to get you a drink now,” I say.

Baz raises one eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be so sure of—”

Clunk. Scraaaaape, the glass sounds on the table when Niamh pushes it over.

She turns and walks away without a word.

“One day…” Agatha licks her lips, holding the glass with just her fingertips. She swirls the brown liquid for a second, then holds it up where Niamh can see and not return Agatha’s silent cheers.

“Can we get back to Simon’s sad, dateless life?”

“Hey!” I gape at Penny. “It’s not sad!”

“Oh, love,” (which is supremely unfair for Baz to say), “it is a bit sad.”

I glare at him. “I’ll have you know I went on the best date last night. Candlelight. Home-cooked meal. Third base and he screamed my name until he could barely talk.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t just pretending to lose his voice so he wouldn’t have to fake moans?”

Shepard laughs and I turn my glare on him.

“What?” He shrugs. “Baz is funny. I’m allowed to laugh at Baz-jokes. I love Baz-jokes.”

They high-five in front of my aghast face.

“Penny,” I turn to my oldest and most beloved friend, “are you going to let this slander stand?”

“It’s only slander if it’s untrue, uh- lawyered,” she says, then high-fives Shepard and Baz in turn.

I throw my hands in the air. “Will no one defend my honor?”

“Come on, Si,” Agatha says, draping an elbow over my shoulder, “I’ll do you one better.” She pats my chest then sweeps the other hand across the room. “Look around. Find one lucky man or woman who sets your nethers to pleasantly twitch, and we’ll play, ‘Haaaaave you met Simon?’“

My eyes fall, briefly, onto Baz, just long enough to note his tight jaw and downturned gaze.

Consider my honor completely and thoroughly defamed. 

I lean back against the booth until Agatha’s arm drops off me. I sigh, “Sorry, Ags. The gang has spoken.” Then, in a more serious voice, I add, “While I appreciate the offer, I don’t think I can’t handle one more awful date. I resign to my life of spinsterhood.”

“To eternal bachelordom,” Baz says, clinking his glass against mine.

Despite the prospect of another lonely night, I can’t help thinking it’s worth the sacrifice to put the light back in Baz’s eyes.

Penny corners me by the jukebox later where I’m two dollars deep into requesting enough Elliott Smith songs to make the whole bar groan. “Why did you turn down Agatha’s offer?”

I try to weasel away but she gives me one of her best ‘ You’ve got some ’splaining to do’ stares and I’m helpless against it. (There’s a reason she’s one of her firm’s top litigators; her patented look could make anyone talk.)

“Can’t a man be too tired for rejection?”

(I never said they’d talk truth.)

The look strengthens. “Except Agatha’s game plus your charisma equals zero failures. You forget I’m the official record keeper.”

“Ah ah!” I wag a finger. “You’re forgetting the schnapps blow-out of ‘’17.”

“You mean where you had the flu and kept fever sweating through your shirt? Yeah. That doesn’t count.”

I bang my head against the wall. “What do you want me to say, Penny?”

“I want you to say you’re not letting your heart wander down the Grimm-Pitch path again.” She’s pointing with her finger and it’s not cool how intimidated I am by 5’3” of packaged adorableness inside a sundress.

“I’m not,” I argue

“You promised!”

“I said I’m not!”

“No yelling!” Niamh yells from behind the counter.

Penny and I dip our heads. “Sorry, Niamh.” (If anyone has the looks to justify intimidation, it’s Niamh.)

“I said I’m not,” I repeat in a whisper.

Penny grabs my jaw and turns my head toward the booth we’ve vacated. “Look at them.”

Shep’s slid into the seat beside Baz, his phone out and between them, two heads pressed together, laughing at whatever’s on the screen.

“He’s happy.”

I know she means Shep, but I can’t help taking in Baz’s rosy cheeks and crinkled eyes. “I know.”

“Remember Candace?”

How could I forget? “I think Shep was more devastated by her cheating than I was.”

“And Kyle?”

“Okay, the man thought rom-coms were emasculating. He insulted Nora Ephron, Penny. Ephron! I will not apologize for breaking up with him just because he liked to puzzle.”

Penny shakes her head solemnly. “Sometimes I catch Shepard staring at that 2,000 piece they never finished.”

“Oh my god,” I groan. “Throw it away!”

“And don’t forget Samantha.”

Ah, Samantha . “She moved to Germany. I can’t be blamed for that one. I asked her to try long distance.” 

And she asked me to drop Baz as a friend first, though I’ll never tell Penny that’s the real reason we split.

For a long time I’d thought she was the one that got away, but, even then, Shep seemed more torn up about her leaving then I was.

(I should probably meditate on this trend later.)

“If you and Baz dated, then broke up—”

“I know, Penny.” I can’t help stealing another glance, drinking in the sight of Baz flicking back a lock of hair, the sly curve of his lips when he catches me watching. That one, arched eyebrow which never fails to make my heart skip a beat. “I remember what I promised.”

“Good.” She pat-pats my chest. “Then that’s settled. You marry him, or you leave it alone.” She chuckles, “Thank god Baz has said over and over he’s not the marrying type so it’s an easy choice for you.”

I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Right.”

She tugs my arm. “Back to the table. I have a plan.”

 

“No.” I shake my head. “Absolutely not. Did you hear me when I said I can’t handle one more bad date?”

Agatha rubs her hands together. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

“I said no.” I turn to Baz. “You heard me, right? Or have I slipped into another dimension where reason has no sound?”

He cups his ear. “What?”

“Hah, hah.”

“Come on,” Shepard whines. “Let us set you up. You’re such a catch.” He makes his Come with me to Cryptid-Con, face. Uh oh. There’s a Mothman costume in my closet that proves the invincibility of that face. “Let me find you the perfect partner.”

This time I resist the impulse to look at Baz. “There’s no such thing.”

Penny scoffs and gestures to her husband’s entirety. “Exhibit A.”

“Cute,” I snark, “but unfair. You know you’re my OTP. No need to rub it in.”

“But that’s exactly why you should let us help!” She leans over the table, nearly upending her beer with the force of her enthusiasm. (Shep saves it at the last second.) “Who better to help you find the love of your life than two people who’ve found theirs? Come on,” she whines.

“Come on!” Shep echoes.

“Let us help you find someone to come on,” Agatha winks.

“Conscientious objector,” Baz says, when I eventually look toward him for support. “I’m Switzerland.”

“Booo.” Agatha wrinkles her nose. “That’s the worst.”

Under the table, I press my leg against Baz’s, a question he answers by moving his away.

My heart sinks. “Fine.”

Penny and Shep’s eyebrows fly to their hairline in perfect sync. (Another reminder of what I don’t have.)

“I said, fine!” I shout to erase the look of shock on their faces. “Three dates. One from each of you.” I don’t look at Baz. “And if none of you find me love, you leave it the hell alone.”

Agatha gives a fake shudder. “So forceful, Simon. You’ve almost made me reconsider men.”

Niamh lets out a low growl from behind the bar.

“Oh, no worries, sweetheart,” Agatha makes kissing noises at her, “it’s still clit-only for me.”

Which only serves to make Niamh growl even deeper before storming off into the back room.

“One day…”

(We ignore Agatha.)

Penny claps her hands. “Oh my god, Si. I have the best date for you.”

Shep jostles her with his shoulder. “No, I have the best date for him.”

They glare at each other in a facsimile of their creamy versus chunky Peanut Butter Stand-off of ’14 posters.

“What if they find you the kind of love you can take to a wedding, hmm?” Baz asks, examining his manicure as if he couldn’t care less about the question. “What do they win?”

I can practically see the drool building in Agatha’s mouth. “Sweet Gaia. Did Baz just propose a bet?”

Shep bounces in his chair and claps his hands. “A bet! A bet! A bet!”

“The Return of the Mustache Plaque, 2022,” Penny gasps.

Shep buries his face in his hands. “Please no.”

I nod, solemnly, thinking of the framed facial hair I keep in my office. “I deem this prize acceptable.”

“Only because it embarrasses me!” Shep sinks deeper into his arms.

“I deem that prize also acceptable,” I grin.

“Argh!” 

Penny scritches the top of her husband’s head. “Don’t worry, Shepperoni. I’ll win it back for us.”

This causes him to lift up, his face twisted in disbelief. “You mean I’ll win it back for me, Penn-a-lope.” He slams a fist down on the table, rattling what’s left of our drinks. “And then I’ll burn it.”

A collective gasp sweeps over our table. (And at least three adjacent ones.) 

“No!” Crash.

We snap our heads toward the bar counter where Niamh’s dropped a six-pack of Bud Light. “He can’t burn the Mustache Plaque!”

Agatha fans her face with a beer coaster. “One day, I’m going to marry that woman.”

Notes:

<3<3 This fic is completely done and I'll be posting the rest this week, unless Marta requests a quicker update schedule.

Chapter 2: Act II

Past: November 9, 2018

In the two months it took me to get Baz on a date, one might have expected allergies to come up in response to one of my many, many, persuasive text messages.

Instead, I spent the entirety of our first date holding his hand in the emergency waiting room.

“I’m fine,” he spoke around a swollen tongue, his eyes puffy and weeping. “Theriouthly, Thimon, I’m o-ay.”

“You’re not okay.” I had to keep reminding myself to ease off the pressure on his fingers; I’d already sent him into anaphylactic shock. No need to add loss of digital circulation into the mix. “Shellfish is a really common allergy. I should have asked.”

“You ’id a weally good ’ob of findin’ and uthin’ my EpiPeh.”

I dropped his hand to groan into mine. That made it worse. “My gran’s allergic to strawberries. She taught me.” I spared a moment to consider how she’d react to this failing. (Kind, as always. Probably with a home-baked cake.) (That she, unlike me, would remember to check for common allergens prior to baking.)

“Thee? You know whuh it’th ‘ike.” Baz patted his hive-covered (still lovely) hand on my thigh. “No har’ duh.”

With a weak scoff, I gestured at his… all of him. “So much harm.”

“Thimon…”

The nurse called us back before he could finish his sentence.

I followed him a pace behind, twisting my hands together, refusing to sit as the doctor assessed Baz’s status, gave him another injection, and had us wait until the swelling went down.

He’ll be fine, he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine, I reassured myself. But none of my soothing words eased the panic I felt coursing through my veins.

“Please sit.” Already his s’s had more definition. “You’re making me nervous.”

Even this I couldn’t manage. I slumped into the nearest chair. Fate brought him into my life and I just kept… failing him. In my defense, if I had one, I’ve always confused scallops with shallots. But I should have asked. I should have known.

Before this, I’d spent an entire month texting him increasingly vague invitations to ‘hang’ before finally going for broke and sending:

Simon (“There’s no way your middle name is actually Snow.”) Salisbury: Hey. I really like you. I’d like to get to know you better. Could I take you out to dinner?

And receiving his immediate reply:

Tyrannus (“No, not like the dinosaur.”) Basilton “Baz” (“Yes, put all of those names, Simon. I’ve earned them!”) Grimm-Pitch: I thought you’d never ask directly. YES!

Then, we spent another month being cockblocked by his work and mine. Mid-terms for both of us. His: covering the election for Channel 1 while he worked his way up to the anchor desk. Mine: slogging through narrative essays for ENGL 101 in which I worked as a TA while completing my PhD.

And finally, finally, I got us reservations at the fancy new Thai restaurant next to my apartment. Dressed up so even Agatha approved. Stumbled through a flustered compliment about Baz’s even better outfit.

Somewhere inside my relentless text-pursuit I’d missed the whole reason I’d wanted to date Baz in the first place: so that someday there wouldn’t be a single speck of him that I couldn’t call to mind with my eyes closed. 

In the hospital chair where my lack of foresight landed him, I reached across the space between us, taking his hand in my own. “Maybe we’re moving too fast.”

He arched an eyebrow. (I fell even harder.) “Is the ER third base in America? You lot have such strange customs.”

Flushing from my toes to my hairline, I sputtered, “No! No, I just. I want to get to know you better. I want to… I want to not make this kind of mistake in the future. I want…” I wasn’t sure what I wanted.

He bit his swollen lip and looked down at the floor. “You’ve seen what it’s like to try and find one spare evening where I’m free. I only have time for a friend or a boyfriend, Simon.” He looked up at me through a curtain of black hair. “Which is it?”

I panicked. He was too good for me; that much was obvious. Whatever luck brought him into my life, I’d established on one bad date that I couldn’t be trusted with his tongue, let alone his heart.

So I chose the only option I thought would keep Baz in my life, if less than what I preferred. “Friend,” I said.

He nodded.

And thus made an even bigger mistake.

Chat: May 14, 2022

penlove: I submit the following terms to the group chat
penlove: The Bet: Find the love of Simon’s life (aka date to his coworker’s wedding)
penlove: The Prize: Shepard’s Mustache Plaque
sloot_up: *trumpet herald*
penlove: The Rules: Cannot be someone Simon has dated before
sloot_up: wow way to rule out half of Manhattan
penlove: good point
snowwrite: HEY
penlove: Cannot be someone Simon has dated more than once
sloot_up: ty
penlove: Cannot be an escort
chupbuncecabra: wooooow sex work shaming?
penlove: SIGH
penlove: Cannot be monetarily inclined to fake romance/love
sloot_up: there’s more than one way to bribe someone, like [redacted]
sloot_up: oops work phone
snowwrite: your job is terrifying Agatha
sloot_up: I know isn’t it so sexy of me
penlove: ANYWAYS
penlove: Cannot be monetarily or otherwise coerced into faking romance/love
penlove: any other rules?
snowwrite: everyone gets ONE CHANCE
snowwrite: and the dates have to be picked in this next week, scheduled within two
penlove: Baz? Any rules? You’ve been quiet today
bazzyboo: Can a condition of the bet be changing my username?
chupbuncecabra: NOOOOOOOO
penlove: nuh uh nice try
sloot_up: does anyone even remember why Baz can’t change his username
chupbuncecabra: RUUUUUUULEZ
snowwrite: apparently it’s a deal between him and Shep and we’re not supposed to ask, only enforce
penlove: ok back on track. Baz, any input?
bazzyboo: Switzerland
chupbuncecabra: and this is why you are forever bazzyboo

Now: May 17, 2022

I bang my head three times against the table and send a brief prayer for the sweet release of death to McGareth Pub’s patron saint: Cockarat (half-cockroach, half-rat, all unholy terror).

Penny’s hand circles on my back five times before finishing with two hard slaps, her signature soothe. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not until Cockarat swallows my existence whole.” That way I don’t have to have this discussion with Penny.

“You know Cockarat never shows up unless Shepard’s present.”

I sit up, looking around. “Where is Shepard? He never misses White People Taco Tuesday.”

“Stuck in class,” she says. “Some kind of glue emergency? He’s not coming.”

Shock temporarily distracts me from the disastrous memory of my previous night’s date. “Must have been some catastrophe. Agatha?”

Penny shudders. “Something about her work. She’ll drop by later though.”

I wait for more explanation but none comes. Then I resist filling the blank space by asking about Baz’s whereabouts. (If I don’t want to share the details of my date with Penny, I definitely don’t want to share them with him.) In want of another solution, I deflect. “No details on either of their hold-ups? Some litigator you are.”

“I’m saving all my questioning magic for you.” Penny sticks out her tongue then flicks an ice cube from her Cuba Libre at my face. I dodge so it hits the dart board behind me instead.

“Bullseye!” we cheer.

“You two had better go pick that up.”

We chime, Yes, Niamh, like scolded children.

“I’ll get it.” I scoot out of the booth, grateful for an extra second to gather my thoughts; if Penny’s been banking her investigative powers I can expect a very unsexy grilling.

In my cupped palms, I bring the errant ice to Niamh. “I’m afraid he’s well past revival.”

She rolls her eyes and plucks the cube from my hand, tossing it in the sink without a second glance. “Sit.”

Shit. I thought I had a better poker face. (Maybe I should have prayed to Cockarat for that.) I drop into a barstool at Niamh’s insistence. “Is it that bad?”

She tilts her head.

“You’re performing the bartender act.” I gesture at how she’s wiping the clean counter with a dirty rag. “You never perform the bartender act. What’s next? Are you gonna ask me, ‘Why the long face?’”

“You don’t have a long face,” she frowns.

I shake my head. “Never mind. What’s up?”

Her eyes flick over to our usual booth. “Tell me the worst version of your date so you can lie to Penny and make it sound better.”

I gawk. “I wasn’t going to—”

Niamh shoots me her best Cut the bullshit stare. It’s airtight.

With a sigh I confess, “He slept with Baz.”

“How did you know that?” Her hand’s still moving in circles over the countertop but it’s stuck in the same spot.

I look over one shoulder, then the other. Bringing my hands up in front of my face, I wiggle my fingers and coo, “Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo. DOO-doo-doo-doo-doo.”

“Really? Flashback fingers?”

“Shh,” I shush her. “You asked and I’m sharing; you don’t get to dictate the terms of my storytale.”

She rolls her eyes and moves on to cutting limes.

“Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo,” I repeat, just to be an ass, with one last hand flourish. “Okay. So, we meet at a coffee shop. He’s cute, great smile. A promising beginning.”

“More like a symbol of your shockingly low standards,” she retorts.

“Anyway!” I continue, ignoring her unwanted and accurate character assassination: “It starts off great. He loves ‘When Harry Met Sally,’ has the new Lizzo hit memorized, and thinks pumpkin spice season should last all year long.”

“The trifecta,” Niamh deadpans.

“And we’re almost at that part of the date where you start touching each other in casual ways to gauge chemistry–”

“Is that a thing?”

In reflex, I want to tease her, but I look up at her face and there’s something curious about how she’s furrowing her eyebrows. I lean forward. “Yeah. Like, you start with bumping your foot up against theirs. Then maybe you hand them something and let your fingers drag longer than they might normally. You lay a hand on their forearm, to see if it draws goosebumps.”

Her eyes drift over to the bar entrance, where I can hear the staccato click of heels walking behind us. A waft of floral perfume hits my nose. “Huh,” Niamh huffs.

I fight back a grin. “So I’m just about to offer him a bite of my muffin–”

“Is that a euphemism?” Agatha interrupts, sitting beside me. “Hello, Niamh.” 

Agatha’s draped one arm over the counter and I can see Niamh’s eyes drop to it briefly before turning her face into a scowl. “We were talking,” Niamh says.

“Uh huh.” Agatha reaches over to pluck a maraschino cherry from behind the bar. Tilting back to expose her long neck, Agatha dangles the fruit above red lips and darts out her tongue to lick a drop of juice that threatens to fall from the garnish. She sucks the cherry into her mouth.

I snap my fingers in front of Niamh’s glazed eyes. “Brody? Brody?”

“I’m listening,” Niamh frowns.

I roll my eyes. “So I’m just about to offer him a bite of my blueberry muffin,” I amend to dodge Agatha’s dirty mind, “when the three o’clock news comes on. Channel 1. I look up–” 

“Of course.”

Ignoring Agatha’s interruption, I continue, “And my date says, ‘Baz Pitch, huh? Hard to believe he’s a bottom.’” I shake out my shoulders; my blood still boiling at the off-hand comment. “I mean! Can you imagine… the nerve of him!”

Niamh blinks. “So?”

I drop my jaw. “So? SO?!”

Agatha pats me on the shoulder but addresses Niamh. “He’s very sensitive about Baz’s bottom.”

“What about Baz’s bottom?”

Oh great. Just what I need: Penny. “Hiii Pen.” I smile with a wobble. “How are you?”

Penny raises an eyebrow. “Very suspicious about this tone of voice you’re using, that’s how I am.” She gestures between me, Agatha and Niamh. “I assume you’re all discussing Simon’s date until he can find a way to tell the story without hurting my feelings?”

I drop my head into my arms. Fuck it all. “He slept with Baz!”

“Apparently that’s a bad thing,” Niamh offers.

Agatha scoffs. “Well, of course it’s a bad thing. Simon’s in love with Baz.”

I muffle a pained noise into my elbow.

“But he’s not allowed to love Baz.”

“Okay, Penny,” Agatha mocks, “because it’s so easy to stop loving someone.”

“Simon loves Baz?”

“Where have you been, Niamh? It’s written all over his face.”

“I’m not good at facial expressions.”

I pick up my head. “Then how did you know the date went poorly?”

Niamh stares me down. This is a new look. It’s terrifying. “You were banging your head on the table.”

“Oh.” That tracks.

There’s a tug at my elbow; I let Penny lead me back to our usual table while Agatha (click-click-click) and Niamh (clunk-clunk-clunk) follow.

Penny shoves me into the booth. “Talk.”

We arrange ourselves as is tradition, with the new addition of Niamh hovering over Agatha’s shoulder.

“What?” She shrugs. “I’m invested now.”

Agatha’s red lips quirk up in one corner, but, surprisingly, she stays silent.

I drum my fingers on the table, gathering my thoughts. How to explain? I don’t know how to put into words the sheer rage I felt when my date implied he’d slept with Baz. And, I mean, Baz isn’t… I don’t get to…

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” I ask. “That my date just so happens to have slept with Baz?”

Penny purses her lips. “It’s not like Baz hasn’t dated.”

“I know that.” I’ve tried not to know that.

“He’s allowed to sleep with people,” Penny says.

I growl, “I know that.”

“Do you?” 

I leave Agatha’s question unanswered. I turn to Penny. “So you can see why I couldn’t take him to the wedding. I couldn’t date him, knowing…”

“So you ran off,” Penny sighs, pulling out her phone. “How much will the damage control cost me?”

I steal her phone and lock it. “No damage control needed. I handled it myself.”

Three sets of eyes blink at me in disbelief.

“I handled it myself,” I repeat with a squeak. “Honest!”

Penny snatches back her cell, using it to add emphasis when she jabs her index finger at me. “One sentence to defend yourself or I’m texting Shep that you’re the one who shrunk his commemorative Loch Ness t-shirt.”

I open my mouth to object that it was an accident but Penny holds up her jabbing finger again in warning. “One sentence,” she reminds me.

With a sigh, I explain, “I told him I ate something off for breakfast and thought I might puke.”

Penny slumps into the booth, crossing her arms over her chest. “Shit.”

Agatha starts shimmying in her seat.

“What’s happening?” Niamh asks.

Agatha’s shimmy turns into a bounce. “Penny’s out of the running now.”

“Wasn’t she already?”

(I love that Niamh’s pointing out what I already know.)

But Agatha shakes her head as she transforms her shimmy-bounce into full-on dancing, a real Whoop! There it is movement. “No! Penny could have convinced Simon.” Not likely. “Except he’s put the nail in that coffin himself.”

Penny nods. “There’s nothing less sexy than food poisoning.”  

“Seriously? Is that all?” Niamh shakes her head. “You weaklings wouldn’t last a day in the bartender business.” Then, she walks back to the bar, muttering, “Cockarat take me away.”

Agatha follows her retreat with a wistful sigh.

“I’m getting first round,” Penny says, slamming her palms on the table with a loud smack.

It’s only then that I realize none of us have had a drop to drink in the whole time we’ve been in the bar.

Once Penny’s outside of earshot, Agatha leans in, “Don’t worry. You’ll love who I’ve got picked for you.”

I drop my head onto the table and bang it three times. Cockarat take me away, indeed.

Notes:

This is what I had in mind for Simon’s flashback fingers

Chapter 3: Act III

Past: February 14, 2020

When Penny and Shepard’s increasingly adorable cuddling sawed off the third wheel to their Valentine’s date (me), and my curiosity about where Baz had disappeared grew too big to ignore, I climbed the fire escape to my apartment’s rooftop and found an entirely different scene.

“I am never getting married!” Baz shouted over the edge.

Someone in the building across from us shouted back, “No one cares!”

What would that be like? I wondered. To not care about Baz?

But then I looked at him: his black hair caught in a mid-February wind. He wore a purple paisley button-up, arms wrapped around his waist. Another pair of jeans so tight it hurt to look at him. Seeming smaller than his six-foot-two height when cast against the vast city skyline. Like the dark buildings with empty windows might swallow him up if I blinked at the wrong moment. 

I hovered behind where Baz stood. “Hey, buddy. Pal. Maybe you could scoot back?” I swallowed. “Just one or two– oof,” He slumped backward and I huffed, catching him in my arms.

He looked up through a curtain of wind-swept hair, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. (No EpiPen needed, this time.) “I’m never, ever, getting married, Simon. Love…” he hiccuped, “...love isn’t something I get to have.”

I wrapped my arms tightly around him and shuffled us both over to the nearest lounge chair to lie down. “Why would you say that?” I swept a lock of hair off his forehead, tucking it behind one ear. “What about… Ryan?” It made my nose wrinkle to speak his name.

Baz scoffed, snuggling into my embrace. Why wasn’t he wearing a jacket? I rubbed his arms to warm them up. “Fuck Ryan.” He pressed his cold nose against my neck. Sniffed. “We broke up.”

Well, that explained the disappearing act. And the nighttime shouting.

“Oh no,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion, then winced.

His shivers turned to bodily laughter. “Don’t strain a muscle there.”

“Sorry.” I wasn’t sorry at all.

“You hated him.”

Hate hardly covered it. “He didn’t appreciate you.”

“No one does.”

I would… I did. I should have… “That’s not true.” 

Baz looked up at me. It was the most I’d ever dared say to him, the most I’d ever allowed myself to hint at since that night of our first date when I chose friendship over what I really wanted.

“What do you think happened?” he asked. “Between Ryan and me?”

I hummed to buy time. It couldn’t have been their work schedules; Ryan was Baz’s co-anchor. I thought that made them perfect for each other. That Ryan could get Baz in a way I couldn’t.

It certainly wasn’t Baz. Though it’s not something I allowed myself to think about too deeply, I’ve a list of reasons why Baz would make a great boyfriend. A list that’s glaringly blank on the flipside where I’ve written the word, ‘Cons,’ and nothing else.

The longer I considered this unsolvable puzzle the deeper the pit in my stomach grew. I’d waited too long, hadn’t I.

With the weight of Baz’s gray eyes upon me, I blinked.

A mask fell over his face. “He was never in love with me,” Baz explained, before I had a chance to guess the right answer, “he was in love with the idea of me. He saw this,” Baz gestured to the length of his body, “and he made an assumption.”

My gut twisted with the guilty remembrance of how I’d basically done the same on our first date, made an assumption – one that ended up with him in the hospital.

“He looked at my fancy clothes and my camera-ready looks and thought he’d figured me out. Decided the role in his life to which I was best suited was that of an ornament.” He scooted further from me on the chair. “People see me but they don’t actually see me.

“And I know what you’re thinking,” he scoffs, “‘Woe is Basilton. He’s too pretty for love? Well boo-hoo.’ I know you’re thinking that’s not actually a problem.”

Which couldn’t have been farther from the truth. I was thinking about how wrinkled Baz’s paisley shirt looked. How there was snot under his nose. He’d been wearing mascara that night and it was smudged from his tears. The wind knotted his hair into a thousand tangles and I was thinking Baz didn’t understand what perfection meant, not to me.

Ryan only loved Baz in a full face of makeup, under the studio lights, with his anchor voice and his bespoke suits.

I loved Baz here, on this rooftop, shivering against me even though he’d say he wasn’t cold if I offered my jacket. I loved Baz covered in snot, scuffing his leather boots on cheap wicker, wrapped in my arms…

I loved Baz.

Oh.

“You won’t tell Penny and Shep?” Baz asked, rubbing his nose on my shirt, leaving a trail of slime we both noticed but didn’t mention. “About what I said earlier. How I’m never getting married.”

Oh no.

The promise I made to Penny when I came up to the rooftop rang in my ears.

“Because if I told them that they’d never stop trying to set me up. Which would be some form of hell for me.”

I told her I’d either leave it alone, or marry him.

“Can you imagine?” Baz fake-shuddered. “All of those blind dates?”

At the time I thought it wouldn’t be hard; Baz was my friend. I chose Baz as my friend.

“They’d probably make a bet about it.”

Fuck. I had chosen wrong. 

“Simon?”

And now it was too late… 

I shook out of my downward spiral. “What is it, Baz?”

He smiled. “Thank you for coming up here to find me. For comforting me.” He burrowed back down against my chest. “I’m so glad I have you as my friend.”

Friend: not quite a four-letter word, but close.

Then my eyes caught on the roof’s edge, where Baz stood when I came up the stairs. I remembered how he’d looked. Lonely. Like the inky darkness of the city might claim him if no one pulled him back from the brink.

I wrapped my arms around him tighter. “I love you, Baz.”

“I know,” he said. “I love you, too.” He puffed out a hot breath. “Who needs romantic love when you have this?” He sighed, a deep release that relaxed his whole body into mine. “This is better.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong; with Baz melted against me I searched the vault of my emotional past to discern any romance that had ever left me feeling this breathless, this twisted up inside.

This simultaneously bereft and blissful.

This is better, he’d said.

But he wasn’t entirely right, either. This may have been better for Baz, but for me?

This was enough.

Chat: May 18, 2022

penlove: alright Ags ball’s in your court
penlove: Agatha Well-be-love-y, you’re my only hope
sloot_up: I’m so ready
sloot_up: got a spot on my office wall picked out for my new plaque
chupbuncecabra: don’t be too hasty there
chupbuncecabra: you haven’t seen mah skillzzzz
penlove: as someone who is intimately familiar with shep’s skillz I think Agatha should send us a picture of where her new plaque will hang
chupbuncecabra: YOU BETRAY SHEP?
chupbuncecabra: YOU BETRAY SHEP IN GROUP CHAT?
chupbuncecabra: JAIL FOR WIFE. JAIL FOR WIFE FOR ONE THOUSAND YEARS.
penlove: look, you threaten the life of my beloved mustache plaque, I insult the sexual prowess of my beloved
penlove: that’s how this works
bazzyboo: you know I never got the story of what happened with Simon’s last date
bazzyboo: what was his name? Thomas? Ted?
chupbuncecabra: Treyton
bazzyboo: huh
bazzyboo: why is that name ringing a bell?
sloot_up: I’m fairly certain that name has rung no bells ever
sloot_up: ANYWAY I know Simon will enjoy his night out with Charles
penlove: what’s the plan?
snowwrite: bowlin’ & beers charity outing for NewYork Presbyterian
snowwrite: his pick
chupbuncecapbra: shit
penlove: fuck
sloot_up: hey Simon what’s the plaque measurements I want to make sure it fits
sloot_up: cause I got this in da BAG
chupbuncecabra: hey Agatha what’s Charles’ DICK measurement Simon wants to make sure it fits
bazzyboo: can we not
snowwrite: seconded

Now: May 19, 2022

Shepard shoves Penny deeper into the booth, nearly toppling her over in his excitement to sit down. “Tell me you didn’t start without me!”

“Start what?” Agatha blinks her long lashes, a coy smile on her face.

“The story of Simon’s–”

“Shhh!” Agatha and Penny hiss at the same time. A millisecond later we hear Niamh’s echoing, “Shhh,” delayed by her distant position behind the bar.

Next to me, Baz cocks an eyebrow that I pretend not to see. “I think that’s my cue to use the restroom,” he deadpans, then slides off the leather seat, leaving my right side cold.

Niamh rushes over to fill the space. (It’s not the same.) “Spill.”

Shepard looks from Niamh, to the restroom door, to me, and then to Penny. “Why are we not talking about this in front of Baz?”

“Because Simon’s in love with him and it’s awkward apparently,” Niamh explains, sounding a bit like Siri trying to pronounce a keysmash. “Now on with the story!”

Shep’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry, what?”

“How is everyone surprised by this?” Agatha muses, winking at Niamh who rolls her eyes.

I bury my face in my hands. “Can we get this train wreck over with?”

Agatha pouts. “You didn’t like Charles?”

“Yeah,” Penny pops a peanut in her mouth from the bowl on our table. (I note that Niamh’s nose wrinkles at this action; I’ve always wondered about the cleanliness of McGareth’s bar snacks.) “I thought for certain that date was a winner.” She ticks the items off on her salt-covered fingers, “Beer, bowling, charity, for kids. I was waiting for Simon to text the group chat that he’d sucked Charles off in the bathroom before his second cocktail.”

“Wouldn’t that be his second cocktail?” Shepard asks, making Penny guffaw. 

“And the student becomes the teacher,” Agatha sighs, wiping away an imaginary tear. “I’m so proud.”

The three of them high five and then all shovel a palmful of dirty nuts in their mouths. (Serves them right.)

Ignoring the salmonella they’ve likely ingested, I correct Penny’s earlier mistake, “Chaz.”

“Bless you,” Niamh says.

I shake my head. “That’s not a sneeze; that’s Charles’ nickname.”

“No,” Penny groans. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Wish it was,” I sigh, sinking down into the booth. I turn to Agatha. “Tell me you didn’t know.”

She scoffs, “Of course I knew.” She has to raise her voice over the table’s resulting groans. “What? Come on! I stacked the deck. All men are interchangeable, right?” She reaches out an arm and taps her manicured index finger on the table. “I gave you a hot guy, with a beating heart, who’s name you don’t have to worry about mispronouncing when you come.” 

Niamh pats the back of Agatha’s hand. “A valiant effort.”

Agatha stares down at how Niamh’s broad palm nearly covers her entire hand. She squeaks a weak, “Thanks,” which sounds a bit like a deflating balloon.

With Agatha’s eyes on where Niamh’s touching her and everyone else’s gaze fixed on me, I’m the only one who catches Niamh’s smug grin.

Good for her.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I remember what’s at stake. “So obviously I’m not taking Chaz to the wedding.”

“Is that what this is about?” Niamh arches an eyebrow. “A wedding date?” She’s now stroking her thumb against Agatha’s. Agatha looks five seconds from spontaneous combustion.

Though she doesn’t deserve it, I take pity on her. “Will your wall forgive me?”

“Huh?” Agatha shakes out her blonde hair and her eyes look more clear when she answers, “Oh right! The plaque.” With a feigned pout she turns to Niamh. “Treat me to dinner tomorrow and take my mind off my loss?”

“No,” Niamh replies and Agatha’s body turns rigid. “Counter: what if I have you for dinner instead, tonight, and I promise you’ll forget you even have a mind when I’m done with you.”

Agatha’s eyes light up; her pupils widen, and I know this face. That’s Agatha’s Oh shit I might bottom tonight face. “Win. That’s a win; I’ll take it.” She pushes her chair back from the table. “So long, prudes.” Then, she takes Niamh by the hand and drags her out of the booth.

“Cover for me!” Niamh shouts before walking out the door, just as Keris, her trainee, reemerges from the kitchen. 

Keris gives a weak wave, straightens her ‘Day 2’ badge with trembling fingers, and turns to the now ravenous crowd gathering at the counter with a wobbly, “Who, um… Who likes beer?”

The patrons erupt in a roar of shouted orders.

Under the table, I shoot off a stealthy text while everyone else is distracted.

Baz returns from the restroom just as Shepard’s setting down a bucket of beer in front of Penny. 

“What did I miss?” Baz asks, grabbing a bottle and downing nearly half of it in one, long swallow.

I can’t help but trace the motion and Shepard’s eyes bounce from him, to me, and back to him. “I could ask you both the same.”

“Ask them what?” Penny says, popping another handful of disease-ridden nuts into her mouth.

Shepard reaches out to do the same and I catch his wrist. With a slow headshake, I push his hand back to his side of the table.

He narrows his eyes then taps his watch three times, the Watch me hand signal that he uses in his classroom. With his lips, he mouths an ominous phrase. You’ll answer for this later, he says.

I sink into the booth with a pout and, under the table, Baz presses his knee against mine.

Chapter 4: Act IV

Past: December 31, 2021

Fireworks lit up the night sky, their crackling explosions ill-timed and discordant. I knew the feeling. It wasn’t yet midnight and I felt ready to give up the evening to sleep.

It was New Year’s Eve and we’d traded our normal rooftop for another, this one rented out by one of Agatha’s co-workers. Penny’d spent most of the party torn between wanting and not wanting to ask how much everything had cost, with Shepard trailing behind, compiling a list on his phone with his own estimates and giving their cost equivalent in classroom supplies.

After the second ice sculpture (a year’s worth of hand sanitizer for the entire school), Agatha stalked off to play ‘Come Again…and Again’ with the host’s wife. After the Tiffany-themed gift bags (funding to take his class on a field trip to the Met… every year for the next decade), Baz left to partake in the bourbon flight.

“Two dozen colored pencils a drink!” Shep called after him. “Crayola if it’s top shelf!”

I lasted through the rented band (a school nurse who’s actually a nurse) before it got too depressing to hear Shep’s calculations while Penny listened with adoring eyes, both for the state of our public education and the empty spot on my arm.

Though nearly every square foot of the party contained a drunken reveler, I managed to find a spot against the banister to watch the Time Square crowd below and wished that there was a way to be both surrounded by the celebration and apart from it.

A shoulder bumped against mine, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Hey.”

I allowed myself to inhale the distinct cologne, pressing my arm against the man I’d know with my eyes closed. “Hey, Baz.”

“Sorry I missed your ex’s Abschiedsparty.”  

Despite my melancholy, this managed to make me smile. “Samantha’s going away party? That was three months ago.”

“Still.”

I shouldn’t have found this funny, and yet… “We’ve seen each other so many times since then.”

“Hmm. Have we?”

“You could have apologized at any one of those meet-ups.”

A smirk seeped into his tone. “Perhaps…”

Finally, I turned toward him, a grin stretching across my face. “What are you playing at?”

Above us, a firework burst into rainbow colors that reflected in Baz’s eyes like a twinkle. “I’m not playing at anything.” His words danced like a song.

“We see each other once a week. Sometimes more than.” I poked at his mid-section then hated myself for that casual touch. (Especially for having felt the ridges of his abs.)

He pursed his lips together. “Is that a fact.”

“Ba-az,” I whined, a laugh caught in the center. “Come on.” I poked his stomach again. (I promised myself I’d add not doing that to my list of New Year’s Resolutions.) (All related to Baz and expanding with every second I stood beside him.) (A problem for Simon Salisbury, 2022.)

Something flitted across Baz’s face and, despite the loud crack of a firework behind me, I refused to blink.

“What?” I pushed. “Tell me.”

He bit his lower lip. “What did Agatha mean, earlier? At McGareth’s?”

My blood ran cold remembering how she’d snapped during pre-party drinks when I’d pushed about her budding crush on the new bartender. “Not all of us meet the love of our lives on a rooftop and then proceed to piss it away because we’re scared.”

“You heard that?” I gulped.

Baz nodded. “Only I don’t understand.” I opened my mouth to interject, but Baz barreled forward. “Who else have you met on a rooftop?”

“Baz…”

“Because I know you used to like me. Obviously, you liked me. You took me out on that date.”

Christ. I still hated to think of that night.

“But you’re over me.” His eyes searched my expression and I once again regretted the fact I never prayed to Cockarat for a better poker face. “You’ve been over me, Simon. Past the Baz-phase, as Penny likes to say. Because that night you chose friendship.”

“I did.” God let the truth protect me, even this partial one.

“You’re over me.” Baz spoke it like a fact but still it felt like a question. “You’re over me.”

Maybe if he repeated that phrase enough times it would come true.

A ripple of, “It’s starting!” washed over the crowd. Someone began the countdown to midnight.

Twenty.

“You’re over me,” Baz said, soft. I could barely hear him over the crowd’s cries.

Fifteen.

“You’re over me.” He placed one hand on the side of my face.

Ten.

“Simon.” My hands found his waist.

Eight.

“Say it.” A whisper, his lips brushing my ear.

Seven.

“Fuck it,” I groaned, and kissed him when the crowd shouted, “Five!”

Both of his hands on my face, both of mine fisted in his sheer, black button-up. I pressed our hips together. I moaned into his open mouth.

I held on tight, like he might dissolve if I let go. I almost wanted him to become vapor so I could breathe him into my lungs, hold him there. Keep him.

Four blissful seconds. An eternity.

Not enough.

Baz pulled back. “Okay,” he said, his chest rising and falling in quick pants. “Okay, that was fine.” There was spit on his lips. Mine. “Nice, even.”

“Nice,” I repeated.

“Great,” he amended.

“Great.”

He cleared his throat. “No reason to try again.”

“Can’t think of one,” I lied. I was already making a list, a new one. Fuck Simon Salisbury, 2021. I had new resolutions. Better ones.

“So,” Baz pulled back just enough to thrust out one hand between our bodies, as if to offer me a handshake, “friends?”

I took his palm; it was sweatier than I imagined. Calloused. Less than perfect. 

Baz.

With an iron grip, I groaned, “Fuck that,” and pulled him back into my arms.

Chat: May 24, 2022

chupbuncecapbra: Simon what are you wearing to your co-worker’s wedding
snowwrite: i dunno a suit?
snowwrite: why?
chupbuncecapbra: my pick for your date will need to coordinate
chupbuncecapbra: cause I’m gonna WIN
penlove: cutting it PRETTY close here my love
penlove: isn’t the wedding in four days?
chupbuncecapbra: I know, I know but it was hard to find a time that worked for everyone
chupbuncecapbra: her schedule is rather packed you know, what with being a model and all
sloot_up: 👀👀👀👀
snowwrite: ags should you be emoji-eyeballing my date when you said Niamh railed you so hard last night you couldn’t walk?
snowwrite: you said you made interns carry you around at work all day
penlove: OMG AGATHA
penlove: you can’t just piggy-back interns
penlove: pretty sure that violates at least five workplace harassment laws
sloot_up: don’t worry I didn’t make them piggy back me
sloot_up: they used a palanquin
chupbuncecapbra: that’s not actually better?
snowwrite: #goals
bazzyboo: #goals
bazzyboo: JINX
snowwrite: JINX
sloot_up: no no it’s actually great practice for [redacted]
sloot_up: ah damn
penlove: I repeat: Agatha, your work terrifies me
chupbuncecapbra: ANYWAY how hot does a fire need to burn to incinerate facial hair? asking for a friend
penlove: 😭😭😭

Now: May 25, 2022

Penny and I arrive first at McGareth’s for my last post-date debrief. We’re waiting for the others to show and, for a moment, it feels like old times. Back when we were childhood best friends and keenly felt the influence of our mothers, Lucy and Mitali, two strong women who raised us to be independent.

Before Shepard knocked on the wrong dorm room and fell in love with Penny at first sight: pleated skirt, knee-high stockings, and immediate door-slam greeting.

Before Penny cried about not wanting to follow in her parent’s footsteps as an ivory-tower appellate expert and Shep told her he’d love her no matter what path she pursued.

Before Agatha woke up in my bed, sandwiched between two gorgeous redheads, begging me to serve as her forever wingsimon, but what she really wanted was a friend.

Before my friends convinced me to quit the corporate job sucking out my soul and become an English professor, like I’d always wanted, even though it meant taking on debt.

Before Baz found me on a rooftop and unlocked a part of my heart I didn’t know existed.

Before Baz grasped my hand and I knew I’d never find someone better to stand by my side.

Before Baz…

Before Baz.

It’s hard for me to imagine that world now; I almost don’t want to. I appreciate the reminder of when it was me and Penny against the world, our family behind us, but I like our new group. I like being in the world, not fighting it. I like sitting in the booth next to Baz, Agatha straddling a chair at the head, Penny and Shepard snuggling across the table.

Then Niamh brings our tray of wings and it’s back to old habits. Penny gives me the carrots, bleu cheese, and drumettes, taking the flats, ranch, and celery for herself. (It’s nice not having to fight Shepard’s belief that we both take an equal portion of everything, for balance.) 

(“I’m allowed to have preferences,” Penny always argues while Shepard insists, “Not when those preferences are the flat part of the wing!”)

She says they’re crispier; I say, ‘Good riddance!’ and pass them over.

“So how’s your coworker doing?” Penny asks.

I’m deepthroating a drumette so my ‘Huh?’ gets trapped fortuitously.

She dips a wing in ranch. “You know I never caught their name.”

I chew, then swallow. “It’s Sarah.” Shit. What’s her last name?

“Are you two close?”

Close enough. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

Penny’s mouth drops open. “Nothing! God, can’t I take an interest?” She begins waving around a stick of celery. “I mean, it’s not like the whole group hasn’t spent the last two weeks trying to find you a date. It’s not like this whole,” the celery starts flinging off droplets of water (seriously, who prefers celery to carrots? It’s like saying sparkling water is better than beer), “bet hasn’t centered around a coworker’s wedding, a coworker whose name I’ve only just learned.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t act like this bet isn’t anything more than entertainment born out of a show hole.”

“Huh.” Penny blinks twice. “Shep and I had just finished rewatching Parks and Recreation when you mentioned you didn’t have a date.” She crunches into the celery and then has to basically grunt-clench her jaw until the stick breaks off in her mouth. “But don’t change the subject.”

I take a dainty bite of my carrot, the superior vegetable. “How am I changing the subject?”

She huffs, “You never answered my question! How’s she doing? I remember planning Shep’s and my wedding.” So do I; we both cross ourselves at the same time, though neither of us have walked inside a cathedral since that day, and, before that, since high school. “It was a nightmare.”

I shrug. “She hasn’t complained.” Crying’s not the same as complaining.

The pub door opens and with it brings in our new world: Baz, Shepard, and Agatha spilling into McGareth’s at the same time.

“Took you long enough,” Niamh grunts, hopping over the bar counter and rushing to Agatha’s side, dipping her into a saucy kiss.

Shep and I whoop while Baz grins.

“Love is in the air,” Baz says, sliding into the booth by my side. “First round’s on me! Margaritas please.”

Now the whole bar whoops while Keris shoots him a thumbs up with one hand, ringing the ‘Daddy’s credit card’ bell above the bar with the other before pulling out the blender. (I note she’s wearing her Week 2 badge.) (Good for her; trainee’s rarely last past Day 5, when they have to bring an offering of salt and vinegar chips down into the basement for Cockarat.)

“Baz ordered drinks drowning in sugar? He must be in a good mood,” Shep says, aiming a wink in my direction.

“Like he said,” I glare at Shepard, who should know better, “love is in the air.”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Indeed.” Then, he looks down at our plates and groans.

“Don’t start,” Penny warns.

He mimes a zip-up of his lips and Penny and I exchange our, ‘How long will that last?’ looks. The man hasn’t met a sentence he didn’t like speaking.

I don’t look at Baz; I can’t. I’ll give the whole game away.

“So,” he elbows me, “tell us how the date went.”

I pinch his leg under the table. Don’t be so smug, I want to say.

Penny interrupts instead. “Wait, are we talking about this in front of Baz now?”

Niamh drags a chair over, plopping down and patting her leg until Agatha sits on it.

I laugh at Agatha’s face, “That look’s stuck on you, isn’t it.”

“My ‘Dom me, baby’ look?” Agatha asks.

Shaking my head, I reply, “Your shameless ‘Bottom’s up’ one.”

She shrugs. “If the strap fits.”

Shep looks like he’s straining against his imaginary mouth zipper.

Penny sighs. “You can speak now.”

He actually mimes unzipping his lips, the nerd (Penny watches with heart-eyes). “Can Simon tell us about his date now?”

“Speaking of bottoms,” Agatha grins.

I give her the glare I shared with Shep earlier, because I’m feeling generous.

Niamh side-eyes Baz like he’s ordered an unsweetened Long Island Iced Tea. “I don’t understand the rules. I thought we did this without Baz.”

Baz presses his leg against mine and I press back. “It’s up to Simon, but I’m comfortable here.” 

As if I ever want him to leave. “It’s fine; Baz can stay.”

“So generous, my lord.” He plays up his accent, like I’m always begging him to.

“One must appease one’s peasants.” My accent’s so terrible it’s bordering on Southern.

Baz hides his laughter into the margarita Keris has just placed on our table.

“The date?” Agatha prods.

“Right!” I take a deep sip of my own margarita. To build suspense. “She didn’t show.”

The whole table, plus Keris, gasps out a chorused, “What?!”

I shrug. “Yup. She didn’t show. A no-show.”

“Date dodger,” Baz suggests.

“Conscientious non-dater,” I counter.

“The Irish never-said-hello.”

“Date-serter.”

Baz wrinkles his nose.

“Not good?”

“You could do better.”

Shepard clears his throat, reminding me there are other people at this table besides Baz. 

I giggle, high-pitched and bubbly. Under the table, Baz flicks my knee and I don’t care; I’d risk a million leg-flicks to joke with him like this.

Penny and Agatha deflate against their respective significant others.

“So who won?” Keris asks.

(By the end of this bet, will anyone actually work at McGareth’s?) (Since there’s no one behind the bar, I can see Braden and Lamb reaching over the counter to steal their own bottle of Bull’s Blood.)

Penny’s lower lip wobbles at the thought of burning the Mustache Plaque. 

“Actually…” I start, six pairs of eyes snapping to mine. “Sarah called yesterday.”

“Who’s Sarah?” Niamh whispers.

“Simon’s coworker who’s getting married, god. Pay attention,” Penny whispers back, like she didn’t just learn this fact herself.

Biting my lip to stop from laughing, I continue, “One of her cousin’s family can’t make it anymore. There’s a whole table open. If you all,” I pointedly don’t look at Keris, “want to join.”

“But the bet,” Agatha pouts.

“Was to find the love of my life,” I sling an arm around Baz, “and I see four of them right here at this table.” I clear my throat. “No offense, Niamh. Keris.”

Keris shrugs. “I don’t even know your name.”

Niamh nods. “I’d have been more insulted if you had considered me one of the loves of your life.”

Well. That hurts, but it does simplify things. I give my best, You make me want to be the best version of myself, eyes to Shepard, Penny, Agatha and Baz in turn. “Loves of mine, would you do me the honor of being my dates to Sarah Insert-Last-Name-Here’s wedding?”

Shepard places one hand over his heart, Penny nods, Agatha actually wipes away one tear, and Baz laughs.

I’m not sure who actually speaks these words, since I may or not have been momentarily struck with allergies (there’s no other reason my eyes are watering, nope, not at all), but I think it’s Baz who says, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter 5: Act V

Past: May 13, 2022, after McGareth’s

I couldn’t blame Baz for not sitting through The Mustache Plaque Origin when our happy hour inevitably devolved into tales of glories past. There were only so many times one could hear about Penny selecting the perfect craft glue to recreate Shep’s patchy mustache on a Mod Podged Lionel Richie without feeling the urge to dare him into another ill-advised No Shave November. 

Personally, I never got tired of the story, especially when Penny started mocking the buzz-buzz of her electric razor while Shepard pretended to be asleep, shivering with fear. But Baz cashed out early, a pinched look on his face when he gave me our standard out-in-public one-armed hug, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, a whisper unspoken on his lips.

I wanted to follow him out, ask him if he'd done it by accident or on purpose. Beg him to tell me what he’d kept inside…

That’s when Sarah rang.

After finishing the call, I climbed up the fire escape to our rooftop to grab some air and found Baz instead.

He was sitting in the IKEA lounger where I held him that night he broke up with Ryan, and he seemed, as always, encased in glass. Unreal. Untouchable, like a precious gem one might find behind three layers of security in a museum.

He turned his head to reveal tears streaming down his cheeks and in an instant he became the man I loved.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, rushing over to take him in my arms, but he pushed me away.

“Don’t.” He swiped angrily at the tears under his eyes as if they were the ones who’d betrayed him, and not whatever made him cry.

My hands ached to soothe him, but I pulled over another chair to give him space. Even so, I leaned in so close to him that anyone watching from a distance would think us touching. “Please, Baz. Tell me. What’s wrong?”

His face wrenched up in pain. “It’s embarrassing.”

That was his dad speaking, I knew it; the man hated all forms of weakness, namely: emotions. 

I scoffed, “Like I don’t know about embarrassment? Me, who performed, ‘Sometimes’ at the last karaoke night at McGareth’s?”

“Hey,” he pointed at me, “singing Britney hits is never an embarrassment. No matter how off-key the rendition.” For a second, I thought I'd distracted him, but then he crumpled into his hands.

“Babe,” I said, then winced. Me and my pisspoor timing.

From between the gaps of his fingers, Baz peered at me, like I was an eclipse he could only view through layers of protection. “What did you say?”

“Hah hah!” I attempted a laugh that came off like a weak car horn, scratching at the curls atop my head. “Nothing?”

He slapped his palms on his thighs. “Say it again.”

“Oh god.” I drug a hand down my face like that could erase the flush blooming. “I may or may not have used an endearment.”

He growled, “Say. It. Again.”

“Fine!” I threw up my hands. “Okay.” I took a deep breath. “ Babe,” the word rushed out along with all the air from my lungs. “I called you babe. I’ve been wanting to call you babe since the night we first kissed – no. Since before then. Since… since I broke up with Samantha. Since you broke up with Ryan. Since our first date!” 

I stared into those gray eyes of his, so open and trusting, and I didn’t feel panicked. For once, I felt certain. It was as if my soul floated above my body and revealed a divine truth: Baz and me, on the rooftop where we first met…

This was my last chance to fix the mistakes of my past.

“Since the moment I met you, Baz,” I reached for him, “I gave you my hand and my heart and I’m not sure which you took first.”

He clasped my hand in an instant. “Say it again,” he whispered.

This time, it was my face that crumpled. “Baz, babe. Baby. Don’t you know?”

A siren wailed in the distance. Still, I heard his next words as clear as the click of the door which locked behind him that first night. “Darling. That’s why I was crying.”

“What?” I fell forward, almost a swoon.

Baz caught me, our palms pressed together in the center of us as we both leaned in, our foreheads nearly touching. “I almost called you that tonight when I hugged you before leaving. That’s what I’ve always wanted to call you. Darling.”

“Since?” I asked, my heart once again in his hands.

“Since the night I met you on this rooftop and took your hand. In that moment, I knew you’d ruin me. I wanted you to ruin me.”

I gasped in a lungful of air. “Baz.”

“Why the fuck are you so far away?”

I practically dove into his arms, peppering his face with kisses as I pushed him flat onto the lounger. “I love you,” I said. “I love you, I love you.”

“Romantically?”

I laughed into his neck. “I love you all of the loves. Every kind. So many. Love upon love upon love.”

“Sap.” He kissed the top of my head. “I love you, too. If that wasn’t clear.”

“All of the loves?”

His arms squeezed my middle. “From here until eternity.”

And then we held each other in the crisp May evening as the city fell asleep around us. In love, and together, and finally, finally, on the same page.

It wasn’t better. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t more.

It was everything.

Until my phone began to buzz with Penny’s special ringtone.

I groaned, dropping my head against his sternum. “That reminds me. We might have to flee the country.”

“Okay,” he said, like I’d asked him to grab a snack from the nearest bodega. “Canada? Mexico? Maybe back to the UK? I still have my citizenship.”

“Like I’d ever make you go back to the country where they still remember the theme song to that children’s show you starred in.”

He flicked my side, and pain never felt so good. “You remember the theme song to the children’s show in which I, regrettably, starred.”

I decided to sing it for him, because he loved me, and because I could. “Baaazzy Boo! Everyone’s waaaaiting for you! Don’t you know the sky,” my voice cracked on the high note, and maybe, also, from Baz still pinching my side, “is clear and now we’ve got the gang,” I hit this one a little better, “all here. Because we love you, Baaaazzy Boo.” Oh no. I started to get a little choked up. “And we think you loooove,” I gulped, “us too.”

Baz let me sit with that for a second.

“Better or worse than the Britney performance?” I asked, hiding my face in his chest.

“Oh, much, much worse,” he chuckled. “I’m telling everyone tomorrow at the pub.”

I gasped and sat up. “But you can’t! Oh god. You can’t tell anyone we’re together, like. Official-official.”

To Baz’s credit, he didn’t immediately push me out of his lap. “Explain.”

“Penny made me promise not to date you.” When his jaw dropped open, I rushed to add, “or at least, not to date you casually.”

He blinked. “So the friends with benefits situation since New Year’s…”

“Wasn’t technically dating?” I squeaked. “Yaaay loopholes.” I twirled my finger in the air, like an idiot.

He raised one eyebrow. “We’ll discuss your terrible logic at a later time. After you explain why you promised Penny you wouldn’t date me.”

“Well,” I tilted my head from side to side, “she said it would be fine if I married you.”

“Huh.” He drummed his fingers on my thighs. “Now there’s an idea.”

“Come again?”

“Marriage.”

I popped open his top button, then refastened it. “But you don’t want to get married.”

He frowned. “When did I say that?”

“Like all the time.” At his confused face I repeated, “Like all the time, Baz. It’s half of why I never pushed harder to date you.”

“Are you serious?” He sat up, not enough to dislodge me but to bring us at the same eye level. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. February 14, 2020. Post-Ryan breakup, and I quote: ‘I am never getting married.’” I point over at the roof’s edge. “Shouted just over there. I remember. Core memory.”

“Oh my god.”

I huff, “Now you remember?”

“No!” He slapped my shoulder, then dragged it over to kiss it. 

I slumped against his chest.

“You adorable moron,” he kissed the side of my face and I decided not to take issue with his insult. (At least he found me adorable.) “I said I would never get married, not that I didn’t want to.”

“How are those different?” The words come out muffled against his shirt.

Again, he kissed my temple. “They’re different because I assumed I’d never get married since you’d never ask.”

“Oh my god.”

He laughed, “Stolen right from my mouth.”

I bang my head against his sternum. “Oh my god.”

“My sentiments exactly.” He shoved his hand between my skull and his chest to prevent further damage.

Then, I remembered my earlier phone call. Maybe this wasn’t pisspoor timing, after all. Maybe this was perfect timing: fate, kismet.

Destiny.

But what was predestination without choice?

“Marry me,” I said.

“Okay, love,” he said, running his fingers through the curls at the base of my skull.

“No.” I push myself back up to sitting. “Marry me. In two weeks from now. May 28th, 2022. You, me, St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”

He tickled my sides. “Pull the other one.”

I slapped away his hands. “No, Baz. I’m serious. I just talked to Sarah.”

“Who?”

“My coworker. The one for whose wedding our friends have a bet on to find me a date.”

He tickled my sides again. “Add that to our expanding list of things to discuss once I’ve fucked the boyfriend into you.”

Again, I slapped away his hands, then pressed mine to both of his cheeks. “Basilton Grimm-Pitch. My coworker called me this evening to tell me she’s split up with her fiancé. Her wedding’s off and her dad made her call each guest to let them know.” Finally, I could see I held Baz’s full attention.

I continued. “I won’t get into details, but she’s got St. Patrick’s booked. A whole bunch of deposits she can’t get back. If we could reimburse her–”

“We could be married before the month is out,” Baz grinned. “Call her.”

I couldn’t help squeezing his cheeks in excitement. “Seriously?”

He scoffed. “I’ve loved you for nearly four years, Simon. I’m not worried if it looks like a rush job. Call her.”

“Okay.” I bounced in his lap. “Okay, we’re doing this.”

“Yes.” He gripped my hips with his hands. “But stop doing that or we’ll be doing something other than wedding planning.”

“Right.” I gave him one last bounce just to be an ass. “Step one?”

“Call Sarah.”

“Right,” I nodded. “Step two?”

“I call my family and tell them to get flights.”

“Step three, I’ll text Penny?”

A wicked look curled across Baz’s face, one I’d yet to name. “Or.”

Ah. I decided to name that look Baz’s ‘Let’s fuck shit up’ face. I loved it. “Let’s not tell them.”

He traced a finger down my nose. “I love this look on you.”

“What look?”

“Your, ‘Whatever you want, Baz, I’ll give it to you,’ look.”

I kissed his lips, then whispered against them, “That’s just my face.” 

Chat: May 28, 2022

penlove: hey all I grabbed a seat in the front.
chupbuncecabra: it’s so weird
penlove: I know right? But the usher insisted
sloot_up: omw!
penlove: on your way like pulling in or on your way like you’re still putting on makeup
sloot_up: I’m putting on makeup in the cab, which is about to pull in
penlove: coolcoolcool
chupbuncecabra: I swear I just saw Baz’s sister
penlove: wtf?
chupbuncecabra: omg I found Fiona’s doppelgänger
sloot_up: omgomgomgomg country!Fiona?
penlove: please tell me it’s preppy!Fiona
chupbuncecabra: no uh. I mean. It’s like, punk-Fiona-but-dressed-for-a-wedding?
sloot_up: Baz and Simon are shockingly quiet today
chupbuncecabra: Siiiiiiiimon
chupbuncecabra: Baaaaaaaaaaz
penlove: ok ags come find us when you get here things are getting seriously strange
penlove: I’m halfway through the communion wine Shep stole for me and he’s chugged his and we’re not sure if it’s holy booze or what but we just saw Simon’s gran and uncle
chupbuncecabra: and a man who looks like silver fox Baz
chupbuncecabra: is this a shifter situation?
penlove: Agatha I need someone else sane to weigh in here because I’m almost about to agree with Shep’s shifter hypothesis
chupbuncecabra: VINDICATED
sloot_up: well good luck finding someone sane because I just saw Nico
chupbuncecabra: NICO
penlove: NICO
sloot_up: no if’s and’s or but’s about it the man was death growling Bazzy Boo’s theme song so you know it’s Nico
penlove: did you talk to him?
sloot_up: NO he straight up “eeped” when he saw me and ran away
sloot_up: something seriously weird is happening here
penlove: oh god
penlove: ags get in here now
penlove: Gareth is here
chupbuncecabra: uh
sloot_up: from school?
chupbuncecabra: guys
sloot_up: who’s the reason we picked McGareth’s as our pub of choice?
penlove: YES! for hilarious coincidence reasons
chupbuncecapbra: Guys.
sloot_up: the one who moved to Vegas to be an Elvis-impersonating wedding officiant?
chupbuncecabra: GUYS!!
penlove: THE ONE AND THE SAME
penlove: what is it Shep? Ags and I are discussing something very important
chupbuncecabra: more important than the fact LUCY SALISBURY IS WALKING OUR BEST FRIEND DOWN THE AISLE?
penlove: WTF????
sloot_up: it’s worse
penlove: HOW??!???!?
sloot_up: guess who I just dodged trying to make it to my seat?
sloot_up: someone tall, dark, handsome, and wearing bridal white while standing next to his HOT mother?
penlove: welp
penlove: now we know why Simon and Baz were being so quiet in the group chat
penlove: apparently they’re getting married

Now: May 28, 2022

I’m snuggled up next to my husband in our regular booth, like one of those same-side couples, when Penny slams open the door to McGareth’s. 

“You mother fuckers!” she shouts, and I almost expect a crack of thunder to sound behind her. (I suppose this is what we deserve, having followed up our elopement with a no-show at our wedding reception.) (I wish I could care, but…)

Baz flutters his eyelashes at me and takes a long, slurping, sip of our ‘Just Married’ punch bowl. “Husband of mine, do you hear something?”

“Hmm,” I hum, dropping a syrupy kiss to his now-stubbled cheek, “just the distant whining of someone left out of our very inside joke.”

Penny slams her palms on the table, rattling our giant drink; Baz Heys! and wraps an arm around the glass to protect it. “I demand answers.”

“And I demand more snuggles,” I pout, wrapping an arm around Baz and curling into his perfect neck crook, where the scent of bergamot is strongest.

“Oh Gaia,” Agatha groans, walking up behind Penny and grasping her by the shoulders, “you two are going to be worse than Shepparoni and Penn-a-lope, aren’t you?” She sighs, “Come on, Penny. Let’s get you sauced. Then we can come back for answers.” 

I don’t bother to watch their retreat, preoccupied as I am with whispering a few new endearments against Baz’s neck. Basilbum. Grimmblebee. 

I’m biting Snazzlebear into his skin when I hear a loud crash from behind the bar.

“Agatha,” I hear Niamh gasp, “you’re wearing a dress.”

“Lord help us,” Baz laughs, winding his fingers through my curls and tugging to dislodge my teeth from his neck. “I don’t know if Niamh will survive this.”

“She’s wearing her best push-up bra too.” I strain against his grip to get back to my biting ground. (I rather like this push-pull of pain; something to explore later.) (I love that word: later. I’ll bite that into Baz’s neck next.)

“How do you know this?” Baz pouts.

I reluctantly leave my bite marks behind to look him in the eyes. “Baz.” Using one finger, I turn his head until he’s looking over at Agatha.

“Oh damn,” he gasps.

“I know, right?”

He wolf-whistles. “Free those tits!”

Niamh covers Agatha’s boobs with both hands, looks over her shoulder at us, and growls.

“Tsk.” Baz fondles my chest and shouts back, “You can keep ’em! I’ve got my own, now.”

I drop my head against his shoulder, laughing with a joy I can’t contain bubbling up and up. It’s a wonder I can contain this much happiness.

Baz wraps his hands around the back of my head and kisses the curls, settling me in that way only he can. So I drag his hands down to my chest and make them squeeze.

“Honk honk, babe,” I say, “if they’re yours, don’t neglect them.”

“I could never,” he replies, aghast. “I’ll cherish them forever like the treasures they are.”

He squeezes again and it’s a joke. It’s silly! They’re not even real tits. Still, the fact he’s vowing to cherish them, an echo of his earlier vows, makes my heart clench along with his fists.

 

Once Shepard, Penny, Agatha and Niamh have reached the appropriate level of drunkenness, they settle into our (new) usual configuration.

Shep passes over a bottle of beer. “Do you want to start, or do you want me to?”

“I’ll do you one better,” I say, first taking a sip and then reaching over to find the plastic bag behind my feet where no one could see. I set it down on the table. “Voila!”

With a crinkling flourish, Shep pulls out a shirt and holds it up to the light. “Oh my–”

Penny reads along over his shoulder, her jaw dropping as she catches its meaning.

Then she rips the shirt out of Shep’s hand and starts beating him with it. “You knew!”

“Penn-a-lope!”

“Don’t you Penn-a-lope me!” she says, still slapping the shit out of him with his prize.

Baz tugs it out of her hand. “Don’t take it out on the gift,” he tuts, “it’s one hundred percent pure, innocent cotton.” He brings it to his chest, ostensibly to smooth out the wrinkles, though he’s positioned the text outward so everyone can see.

“I Found Out A Week Ago And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt,” Agatha reads out, gasps, then she grabs the shirt out of Baz’s hands and starts beating Shepard. “You knew!”

“Didn’t everyone?” Niamh says.

Everyone else at the table hushes out a shocked, “Whuuh?”

Agatha drops the shirt on the table (I snatch it up quickly, for protection). Her lower lip wobbles. “Et tu, Niamhy Baby?”

She shrugs. “I caught them fucking in the alley after Bad Date Number 1.” (Baz’s face turns beet red. Adorable.) “Cockarat watched, the little pervert.”

Shepard growls, “Do not blaspheme Cockarat.”

“What else would you call a half-rat, half-cockroach watching two dudes get it on behind a dumpster? A voyeur? Is that classy enough for your hideous deity?”

“Do not kinkshame Cockarat.”

“It’s not a kink if he’s not getting consent!” Niamh argues.

I shrug, “I don’t mind,” then drag my hand down Baz’s chest, hooking one finger under the waistband of his trousers, whispering, “Cockarat can watch.”

Baz grabs my wrist and drags my groping appendage away from his crotch, placing it on the table with two comforting pat-pats. “Please don’t say Cockarat while touching my cock.”

“Maybe everyone can stop saying Cockarat, always,” Agatha suggests.

“Yes, and can we get onto the important matters? Namely: where else have Simon and Baz been fucking and for how long?” Penny crosses her arms over her chest in a sulk.

Baz and I exchange a look, our We’ve angered Penny; prepare to die look . Which somehow translates into him pulling me into his lap and devouring my lips with his.

It’s minutes or eons later when I feel something wet on my face that isn’t Baz’s saliva. (He’s a bit of a slimy kisser.) (My favorite.)

“What the fuck?” Baz sputters, pulling back and shaking off the unknown liquid.

Some drips off my nose onto my lips. I lick it. “Is that… tequila?”

We look over and find Niamh raising both her eyebrow and a spray bottle labeled, ‘Espolon.’ She warns, “I have a weapon and I’m prepared to use it.”

Beside her, Agatha squeals, “Ooh, Squirt me!” and opens her mouth.

With an eye roll, Niamh sprays two bursts onto Agatha’s tongue.

“Mmm,” she mmms, “just like last night.”

“But we get sprayed in the eyes,” I point out.

“You know it!” Baz replies, waggling his eyebrows like a total dork.

I high-five him despite how terrible I find his joke. (We wrote custom vows; this was one of them: never let your husband’s palm go un-slapped.) (I also agreed never to wear socks with holes in them.)

Penny slaps her hands down on the table. “Order in my courtroom!”

“Not a judge,” Shep says in reflex.

She groans and drops her head into her arms. “I just need to know where I lost the plot.”

“Same,” I agree. “But instead of plot, I mean my drink. Beer me, Keris!”

A bottle appears at my elbow. 

“Thanks, Keris!” 

She nods and rushes back to the busy bar counter, reminding me once again that we’re not the only people in McGareth’s. (Weird how I always forget that.)

“Can we finally get back to my question?” Penny begs.

“Which question?” Baz smiles his smug little grin and I find I have to kiss it until I get another face-full of tequila.

I smack my lips when I pull back.

By this point, I think Penny’s trying to dissolve into the table.

“Fine,” I say. I’m not entirely without pity. I mean, it’s not like she set an arbitrary boundary that’s kept me from frenching Baz in public for the past, oh, four years or so. I’m not holding a grudge or anything. “So it all began on September 4, 2018…”

Baz pins my hands to my sides. “If you do flashback fingers, I think Penny might actually murder you.”

I look at her: red-faced and basically foaming at the mouth. “Good call. Thanks for the save, husband.”

“Anytime, husband.”

Then his eyes are doing that thing where they go all soft and warm, like a pool of fresh cement just begging for you to carve in your initials. To claim a square foot of something permanent. Forever.

Niamh raises her spray bottle at my eyeline. “Simon.”

The whole table shouts, “Get on with it!”

I sigh, and rest my head on Baz’s shoulder. “You tell them, babe. I don’t know if I can share this story without making it a production.”

“My hopeless romantic comedy fiend,” Baz coos, kissing the top of my head as he likes to do. “So it all began…”

I listen to Baz’s soothing tones and sexy accent as he tells the story of how we met, how we flirted then fell apart. Of times when we were distant, times when we almost came together, and times when our friendship seemed like the most important thing in our entire universe.

As he starts to edge in on New Year’s Eve, 2021, I let my eyes close and imagine a world where that first kiss never happened. Where I let the countdown end in a quick peck on the cheek, a swift parting. A pining look cast over my shoulder.

But it doesn’t end there; that’s where the story starts.

Notes:

I decided to split Act V into two chapters... the next bit works better as an epilogue. Gonna do some more edits and hopefully post it soon!

Chapter 6: Epilogue

Baz finishes his version of our story on the night of The Wedding Bet, or, “The Return of the Mustache Plaque,” as he calls it.

“So you’re telling me you went on three dates while planning to marry Baz?” Agatha gawks. “Simon. My man.” She holds her hand up for a high five and Baz glares in a bright shade of jealous.

“Or not…” She shivers. “That look is sexy, Baz. Damn. Possessive looks hot on you.”

Niamh growls and tightens her arm around Agatha’s waist, which, judging by the smug grin on Agatha’s face, is exactly the reaction she wanted.

Ignoring the soap opera at the head of our table, I explain, “I went on the first date only because what harm could befall on me during a little ol’ coffee date.” I pointedly don’t look at Baz.

“Darling,” he soothes, “I swear I don’t remember him.”

“Treyton.” I layer his name with venom. “You’re sure you don’t remember Treyton the Topper?”

Baz laughs. “My heart, my love. If I could go back and revise our vows, I would. Never ever shall I again speak or think of that horrible name.”

“The name or the nickname?”

“Both.”

“Fine.” I pout until he kisses my puffed out bottom lip.

Agatha clears her throat. “And Charles?”

(Penny’s not speaking due to the Wine-V Keris set up for her. (Like an IV. But for wine.) It seems to be helping her fits of left-out-of-the-loop anger.)

I feel Baz squirm beside me. Goody. “Someone got jealous and crashed the date.”

“In my defense, I have none,” Baz admits. 

“This little stinker,” I pinch his cheek, “thought I’d leave him for a hot blond with a heart for charity.”

“Good thing I hate charity and love pussy.”

We all ignore Agatha, except Niamh, who’s hand may have just disappeared…

I ignore Agatha harder. “So Charles!” I cough. “Just as Charles tells me he goes by Chaz I see a very familiar face duck behind a row of bowling balls.”

“I was inspecting their shine.” Baz turns his nose up in the air, the snob.

“Yes, the empty rows were particularly luminescent.”

“Remember I wore communal shoes for you, Simon.” Baz points an accusing finger.

I chuckle. “You wore communal shoes to spy on me, which,” I squeeze his thigh, “is honestly hotter, Plotty McPlotterson.”

“That’s Mister Plotty McPlotterson- Salisbury to you.”

I bite his nose to punish his cheek.

Spritz spritz. This time, I turn my face just in time to catch the tequila in my mouth. I mmm to annoy Niamh and finish my story. 

“So I see Baz camouflaging himself with all the finesse of Shepard trying to hide his credit card bills. You know, how he puts them in the vegetable drawer where Penny keeps her chocolate?” Everyone nods, including Penny. “I’m so surprised to see him that I yell, ‘Baz!’ To which Charles corrects me, ‘It’s Chaz.’” I use my smarmiest voice for Baz’s benefit.

Baz puffs out his chest. “And then I say, ‘No, it’s Baz, bitch,’ and nearly brain him with my rented shoe.”

“Charles was rather lovely, all things considered,” I admit. Apparently this wasn’t the first time he’d been hit by a shoe. “If it weren’t for, you know, being completely and irrevocably in love with Baz, I might have given him a shot.”

Baz rolls his eyes. “The instant he graciously ceded the date to me you wouldn’t stop complaining about how his favorite movie is Se7en.”

“Shit,” I shudder, “I’d repressed that. Who the fuck picks Se7en as their favorite movie when The Sweetest Thing exists?”

“A psychopath,” Baz and I say together. “Jinx!”

“Anyway,” I clear my throat of emotion. (I’ve always found our jinxes intimate.) “And then there was the no-show.”

Shepard unhooks Penny’s Wine-V. “Wake up, sweetheart. Now we’re getting to my part.”

“Oh goody,” she groans. “And what’s the title of this chapter?”

He waggles his eyebrows. “This one’s called: How Shepard Won The Bet. So it all began…”

Penny starts making a high-pitched whine and doesn’t stop. She basically whines the whole time Shepard explains how he figured out how Baz had feelings for me, how he begged Baz to confess.

“So that’s why his username is bazzyboo?” Agatha asks. “Because he didn’t tell Simon how he felt?”

Shepard tilts his head side-to-side. “Technically it’s because he wouldn’t propose.”

Everyone except me, Baz and Shepard drop their jaws at this.

“It’s also why his anchor sign-off is, ‘And that’s the news.’”

Well. That’s news to me. “I thought that was because… he’d just, you know. Told us the news.”

“The news?” Shepard grins. “Or… the Now Elope With Simon.”

I bang my forehead on the table two times before Baz manages to sneak his hand between my brain and a hard surface. “Simon, stop hurting yourself.”

“You started using that sign-off at the beginning of 2019!”

“Darling,” he curls me into his side, “we’ve been over this. We both knew we loved each other the moment we met on the rooftop.”

“Hold on,” Shepard says, “I’ve got a compilation video.”

He cues it up on his phone. It’s every one of Baz’s sign-offs, ranging from disgruntled, to wistful. At times heartbreakingly sad (I kiss Baz on the cheek whenever I see one of those). Sometimes… um…

“God, your anchor voice is sexy,” I whisper to Baz, resisting the urge to crawl back into his lap.

“Down boy,” he smirks. “We can roleplay sexy anchor and hot cameraman later.”

I have to close my eyes for a whole minute and think of Penny’s collection of Cheetos shaped like famous Supreme Court Justices to calm down. (Later is a terrible word; I’ve always thought so.)

When I rejoin the conversation, Shep’s explaining how he canceled my blind date to send Baz and me off on a couple’s spa day. “So technically,” he smarms, “Baz was Simon’s third date, and Simon took Baz to the wedding, making me…”

“Oh no,” Penny buries her face in her hands.

“Wait for it…” He lifts up in his seat and farts loud enough to turn half the room’s heads “...the winner!”

Penny shakes her head with solemn sadness. “I can’t believe you just tooted your own horn.”

Shep pumps his arm. “Toot-toot! Now,” he extends a hand toward me and makes a grabby gesture, “gimme gimme.”

With a sigh, I dig back into the prize bag and pull out the plaque.

Shepard yanks it out of my hand and scampers off toward the back door of McGareth’s.

“Mustache Plaque, you were too beautiful for this world,” Agatha says, watching Shep literally skip away, cackling.

We all salute toward the back door. “Amen.”

Then, once I’m certain Shepard’s in the alley, I reach into the prize bag and reveal the true prank.

Baz gasps. “Is that…”

“My god,” Penny gapes.

“Gaia’s Bouncing Bosom,” Agatha whispers.

Niamh wipes away one, dainty tear. “It’s so beautiful.”

At the snap of my fingers, Keris queues up a track of angelic voices, swings a spotlight on our table under which I place our beloved plaque, all while simultaneously making cocktails for a crowd three persons deep. (She really ought to get a raise by now.)

“We take this secret to the grave,” I threaten in my scariest voice. (Baz’s eyes darken.) “Swear on Cockarat’s Throne.”

Together, we recite the ancient pledge: “May the knowledge of this plaque be forever redacted. In Cockarat we vow. A-rat.”

“A-rat,” I repeat, to seal the secret. “Now who wants shots?”

Four hands shoot into the air.

 

Safe in our knowledge that the true plaque has been protected for future generations, we can enjoy the warmth of Shep’s alley-made bonfire. (Also, the smell, given that I’ve made his fake plaque out of cedar and there’s no facial hair to burn.)

I huddle up to Baz. He wraps an arm around my waist as I drop my head on his shoulder. “Best. Wedding. Ever.”

He hums, “I know. I can’t think of a single thing that could make this night better.”

Behind us, we hear a soft squeak.

“Cockarat,” Baz whispers. “He’s here.”

We whirl around. There he is: the size of a yappy dog and ten times more hideous. Glowing red eyes. Teeth that could cut through metal. His fur’s a sleek black and there’s a hard shell on his back, where he hides his wings. Instead of the normal four legs of a rat, he’s got two extra, curled up on his chest like a T. Rex. 

Cockarat tilts his head to one side.

I feel Penny slink up to my right, Agatha on Baz’s left. Two hands grip my shoulders: Shep.

“He’s saying something to you,” Shep says. “Can you hear it?”

On the wind, I make out a shrill whine. Maybe you needed less of a poker face, you asshole.

“He’s blessing my union with Baz,” I translate.

Whatever you want to call it. Just know that I’m giving you this head nod even though you don’t deserve my time, you little shit.

Cockarat dips his head in serene benediction.

I want spicy jalapeno chips next time! Those salt and vinegar ones suck ass.

Then, he scurries off into the shadows.

“Wow,” Penny says in a soft voice. “I can’t believe he came.”

“Things Baz won’t say tonight,” Agatha mumbles in reflex.

In honor of this special moment, we all high-five lightly so our palm-slaps don't make a sound.

Baz clears his throat, the volume of his voice growing as the gravity of what has happened dissipates. “I’m reporting here live from the scene of my own wedding reception after party to report that Cockarat, official deity of the local pub McGareth’s, has made a rare sighting.

“Some say the half-cockroach and half-mouse is the unholy consequence of a Monsanto experiment. Others say he’s the love child of two star-crossed vermin. A few twisted individuals,” here Shep squeezes one of my shoulders in silent agreement, “propose that Cockarat is actually an eldritch horror from another dimension, sent to Earth to reign terror on those it deems unworthy. In this backstory, Cockarat was accidentally shrunk while using the interdimensional portal and decided that, due to the friendliness of one Shepard Love, humans weren’t all that bad and maybe he would spare them his wrath. For now.

“I’m Basilton Grimm-Pitch, and that’s,” he bumps his hip against mine, “the N.E.W.S.”

Notes:

And that's the N.E.W.S.! Thanks for coming along on this journey. And HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARTA!!!

Notes:

Bonus content!

I love that Marta and I went super-nuts on each other's birthday gifts and ended up writing way longer fics than we'd planned, so you should read her gift to meeeeee:
where I belong, a Hercules AU that updates Thursdays and Sundays. It's so laugh out loud funny with moments of sharp sadness. I'm so in love.

More Marta Birthday Madness:
wrapped around my heart by Julia. An adorable and spicy for Teen established relationship fic.It's sweet, it's sexy. IT'S GOT A BABY. Read it.
Second Impressions by Kati. A fic with Simon and Baz overcoming first impressions to find each other. It's actually kind of like Pride and Prejudice but with Simon as Mr. Darcy for once.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Author’s Favorites