“I don’t think it needs more of those, Auntie,” Aiden says, as his aunt picks up the jar of cinnamon sticks on the counter.

She pushes her silver hair over her shoulder, looks up at him with an arched eyebrow.

“You’re telling me how to cook, now?” She pokes Aiden’s side with her finger, clicks her tongue. “I’m the one who taught you all of your grandpa’s recipes, you know. Here, you add these in for me. My hands are all floury, anyways.”

She hands Aiden the jar of cinnamon sticks. He considers for a moment, then reaches up and puts the jar on top of one of the kitchen cabinets, far out of reach to anyone but him.

“What - Aiden!” his aunt sputters, to a soft huff of laughter. “I knew it was gonna be trouble, you turning out this tall! You get that down right now, get - get the...”

She fades off, blinking up at the warm smile on Aiden’s face. She shakes her head, gently touches his cheek, and turns back to the kitchen counter.

“Honestly,” she says, trying to sound like she’s grumbling, not quite managing it.

She can’t keep up even the pretense of irritation when Aiden is smiling. I've noticed that she looks surprised every time he laughs, then radiantly happy.

I’ve also noticed that sometimes she looks down for him, then seems to realize she needs to be looking up, instead. She’s a very small, slight woman. Her head barely comes up to Aiden's chest, and she almost disappears into him when he puts his arm around her.

Aiden is still smirking over his victory. But he hesitates, glancing at his aunt, and reaches up to retrieve the jar. He adds two cinnamon sticks to the pot boiling on the stove, then puts the jar away in its proper place.

She sees him do it out of the corner of her eye, and smiles to herself, rolling up another ball of almond cookie dough.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table, watching Aiden and Aunt Sarah. There’s a warm glow between the two of them that makes me happy to see.

It’s been a long, tranquil evening. Aiden can keep us warm outside without raising any questions, since Aunt Sarah knows about his abilities. So we sat out on her porch for a slow, relaxed dinner, talking softly. It was a beautiful sunset, the windswept treetops blazing with deep red light. We stayed outside to watch as it gradually turned into a crisp, clear, early spring night.

Aiden showed his aunt pictures of the exhibition space, which is really starting to come together. He explained what we were working on, how it should ultimately look. He also showed her a clipping from the newspaper, the first press release that Alix sent out to announce the upcoming show.

I don’t know if Aiden noticed, but it was abundantly clear to me that Aunt Sarah was brimming with pride the whole time. Before he even started talking about the exhibition, actually. Her blue eyes kept drifting to look at Aiden’s fireflies, which were floating around us in the cool blue dusk.

They’re radiant, and he summoned them effortlessly, and the shimmering golden light they spilled over the table was beautiful. I saw them reflected in Aunt Sarah's eyes as she stared at them.

She's had a fond, warm way of looking at me all night, too. She’s been smiling at me a lot. Placing little affectionate touches on my arm, the same way she does with Aiden.

I asked Aiden about it, and he guessed that it’s probably because he told her about how I cut the vine from his Tree. That checks out. I did catch her looking at the faded bruises on my palms at several different points throughout dinner.

“But also, she just likes you,” Aiden pinned on.

He said it like an afterthought, as if it didn’t make me supremely happy to hear. Aiden wants my parents to like him. I’m no different about his, and from what I've heard, Aunt Sarah is the closest thing to a real parent that he's ever had.

It's cold outside, but cozy and warm in the kitchen. When Aunt Sarah was cooking dinner, the air was rich with spices, with simmering and sizzling noises. Now she’s working on dessert, and the scent has become cinnamon, cardamom, sugar.

It’s all very relaxing. I’m feeling unwound, watching Aiden and his aunt with serene, slow-blinking eyes. Aiden is in a bright mood, playful and teasing.

“Aiden, honey,” Aunt Sarah says, dusting her hands off, “Can you get the rest of the things from the table?”

Aiden steals a piece of cookie dough from the mixing bowl, dodging as Aunt Sarah swats at him. He stuffs it into his mouth, then rushes out onto the porch before she can catch him.

“Honestly!” Aunt Sarah says again, like she’s not smiling from ear to ear.

“You don’t seem like you actually mind it,” I tell her.

She laughs, rolls out the last piece of dough, and puts the mixing bowl in the sink.

“No, I don't. I like to see Aiden like this. I never used to, even when he was tiny. His mom was always so strict with him. Didn’t want him to turn into his father.”

I feel my smile drop a little, my heart twisting.

“Thank you for coming to dinner, Jamie,” Aunt Sarah says cheerfully, brushing right past the sudden moment of silence. “I always love when you boys come over.”

“I’m happy to come,” I answer, very much meaning it. “Sometimes when we go to my parent’s house for dinner, my mom shows Aiden pictures of me when I was little, so. Nice to be spared from that mortifying experience here.”

“Oh.” Aunt Sarah pauses, her hands around a ball of cookie dough. “Well - I have pictures of Aiden when he was little, you know.”

Holy shit. I can’t believe that I didn’t think to ask Aunt Sarah about this before now. I’ve seen Aiden as a little kid only once, and that was as a memory, through a failed attempt at making the ghost goggles. But I was so distracted by what was being said that I didn’t get a long look at him.

“Oh, yes,” I sigh happily, and Aunt Sarah laughs again.

She tucks the baking sheet into the oven, washes her hands, and goes to a drawer in the corner of the kitchen. Then she comes over to join me at the table.

She gazes down at the printed pictures in her fingers, smiling to herself. Memories flickering in her blue eyes.

She slides one of the photos over the tabletop towards me. “There’s my boy.”

I pick it up and stare down at it.

“Oh my god,” I say softly, my heart suddenly in the grip of an immense wave of affection.

It’s a photo of Aiden sitting in Aunt Sarah’s clover-laden backyard, hugging a soccer ball to his chest. He looks about the right age for peewee soccer, but he’s not in a jersey, and no one else is in the picture. It looks like he was playing alone.

He’s got an exceedingly sweet, gentle little face. Round cheeks, enormous blue eyes. A glossy mop of windblown chestnut hair, softly woven through with dark gold. Streaks of mud and grass on his arms and legs, like he was outside playing for a while before his aunt caught a photo of him.

But - he’s not smiling. He’s looking furtively up at the camera, somehow shy even in the photo. And his eyes…

I bring the picture closer to my face, take a better look.

The Aiden in the photo is a little child, but his blue eyes are deep and heavy, like he’s thinking very hard about something.

They’re so brooding, so serious, so sensitive. Fretful, a little anxious.

“Oh,” I say again, putting a hand over my heart. “Oh, my god. Okay.”

“Sweet, isn’t he?” Aunt Sarah asks warmly.

I just nod, my heart doing all kinds of gymnastics, knocking around my ribcage.

“What did I just walk in on?” Aiden asks, his deep voice catching both of us by surprise. We didn’t hear him come in. We were both too absorbed in the picture. He sets the stack of plates on the kitchen counter, looking at us with obvious suspicion. “What is that, Jamie?”

I bring the photo closer to myself, flapping my other hand at him. “Nothing!”

Aiden huffs out a laugh, leaning back against the counter.

“World’s worst liar. I can literally see you holding something. What is it, Auntie?”

“I just thought I’d show Jamie some pictures of you when you were little,” she says brightly, as I rush to get my phone out of my pocket. “He wanted to see them, isn’t that sw-?”

She breaks off in surprise as a flurry of activity bursts through the kitchen. I unlock my phone at top speed and snap a photo of the picture, right as Aiden bounds around the side of the table and snatches it out of my hand.

“Really, Auntie?” he complains, his cheeks turning scarlet. “Can’t leave you two alone for a second!”

Aunt Sarah laughs, then slowly starts to get up, one hand braced on her chair. Aiden quickly drops the photo onto the table and goes to help her up. She gives him an affectionate smile, tucks her silver hair behind her ears, and moves back to the kitchen counter.

“I can do that,” Aiden offers, as she collects some cups to pour the tea into.

“No need, sweetheart. I’ve got it. You boys go relax, I’ll be right there.”

Aiden hesitates, nibbling his lip, then shrugs his broad shoulders. I get up, let him thread his fingers through mine and draw me into the living room. But he pauses in the doorway, watching his aunt pick up the heavy pot she was brewing the rose petals in.

“Nah, I’m gonna do it,” he murmurs, and gives me a gentle push towards the living room. “Be right there.”

I watch him go back into the kitchen, warmth flowing in my heart. Then I head into the living room, where Aiden got a fire burning after dinner.

The couch looks cozy, but the comforting snap and pop of the low-burning fire draws me right in. I drop to sit down on the deep, soft rug before it.

The Persian tiles bordering the fireplace look beautiful in the ruby red glow of the flames. The light cast by the fire dances over them, all the intricate patterns and colors.

I sit there in the half-light, breathing deeply. Then I slip my phone out of my pocket and pull up the photo of Aiden with his soccer ball. I stare down at it, at the look in his blue eyes.

I hastily put my phone away as Aiden steps into the living room. Present-day Aiden, the one whose charcoal henley is loose-fitting everywhere except his muscled chest, shoulders, and biceps. Aiden with a close-cropped beard, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Enough height that he has to bend to get through the doorway. A voice so deep that I feel the vibration of it even when we're not touching.

He drops down onto the rug in front of the fire, facing me. I stare at him, chewing my lip, feeling stupid with love and affection.

“Hi,” I say, taking Aiden's face into my hands. “So, um - just want to let you know that I take back everything I said last night, about you being rude and inconsiderate and unsexy. You’re very sweet and very considerate and very bisexy, and I love you, and-”

“Okay,” Aiden laughs, planting a finger over my lips. “Stop, please. What’s the matter with you?”

My heart is melting through my ribs. “I don’t know! Everything?”

“Well - yeah, obviously, but what else?”

“Everything else!”

Aiden huffs out a puzzled laugh, then reaches out for me. I move to cuddle closely with him on the soft rug, in the warmth of the fireplace. Aiden folds his arms around me, and I sink deeply into that sense of perfect safety I always feel within them.

“Those cookies smell so good,” I tell Aiden, snuggling back against him.

“Yeah?” he rumbles, smoothing his thumb in a slow circle on my sternum. “I know how to make them, too. You can just tell me, whenever you want some.”

“Are you flirting with me, dude? Because if so, it's working.”

“Dumbass,” he laughs, giving me a squeeze.

I open my mouth to answer him, then realize that Aunt Sarah is standing in the doorway, watching us. Aiden follows my line of sight to her, and she hastily steps into the room, three cups of tea in her hands.

“Still hot,” she warns us, as she holds them out.

We untangle from each other, sitting up better on the rug. Aiden takes one of the glass cups, and I reach for the nearest one to me.

“Oh - that one’s mine, honey,” Aunt Sarah says quickly. “Here, have this one.”

She holds the cup with the green rim to herself, offers me the other one. I take it, and she sits down on the couch, lets out a contented sigh as she sinks into the cushions.

She seems different, these days. There’s a certain fullness, a richness of spirit about her. Every time Aiden laughs, Aunt Sarah gets the same look on her face that my mom has when she comes home from the flea market with some new thing that she considers to be a priceless treasure.

Aiden pulls me back to lean against him again, and Aunt Sarah’s eyes flit to watch him.

She smiles behind her cup of tea, then takes a long sip of it.

Aiden catches my eye, silently asks me a question. This does seem like a good time, so I give him an encouraging smile, and he turns to face his aunt.

“Auntie,” he says. “You know the exciting news I mentioned, that I wanted to tell you about?"

She sets her tea down on the coffee table, looking at him curiously. "Mhm?"

"Well, um..." Aiden's soft-spoken voice rings with happiness. "Jamie and I, we’re moving in together.”

Aunt Sarah's expression goes completely blank. She sits there, wide-eyed, staring at me and Aiden.

“What?” she asks, very softly.

“I asked Jamie to move in with me, and he said yes.”

“You asked?” she repeats, like she doesn’t believe him.

“Yes,” Aiden laughs. “Why are you-? Yes.”

Aunt Sarah goes very still. Then she sits back, blinking hard and fast. She puts her fingers over her mouth, looking at Aiden with glowing eyes.

“I…” she stammers, “I, um…”

She cuts herself off, gets swiftly to her feet. Aiden and I both look up at her, caught by surprise. Without a word, she turns and makes a beeline for the door.

Aiden sets his cup down, concerned. “Where are you going, Auntie?”

“To the porch!”

“Why?”

“Because if this isn’t an occasion that deserves a celebration cigarette, then I don’t know what is!” she answers, and disappears into the kitchen.

But Aiden and I both saw the same thing before she put her back to us.

“Is she crying?” Aiden asks, alarmed.

“Um - yeah, she is," I answer, a little stunned.

Aiden stares after her, his eyes wide. “Did I do something wrong?”

He starts to get up, all in a rush. I catch hold of his sleeve and pull him back down.

“No, I - I think she just needs a minute, babe.”

“Oh,” Aiden says, unsure. "Okay."

There’s a silence, and then ice-blue magic sparks in his eyes.

“Just - making sure she’s warm enough out there,” he says, when I look at him for an explanation.

His anxious blue eyes are making me think of the picture his aunt showed me.

“Hey." I gather Aiden's hands into mine, give his fingers a soft squeeze. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Sugar Maple. She’s not upset. She’s happy.”

Aiden nibbles his lip. “You sure that’s it?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. "I'm sure."

Aiden looks at me with infinite, obvious relief. I tip forward to place a kiss on his cheek, and feel it round out with his smile.

I lock my arms around him, smoothing my hand over his back, my love for him knit into every movement. I feel his tense body relax in my arms, and smile to myself.

Everyone has an inner child. I want Aiden’s inner child to have comfort, security, tenderness. Closeness. Love.

I intend to fill our home with all of those things, just like he fills places with his warmth, with his light.