For my parents and my siblings, and for all of the characters in my life that have inspired these stories.

When I met Zachary Leonard, it was through a mutual friend. At the time our friend worked for a since-closed pie shop in Denver, Colorado and it was at the bar there that we were first acquainted. I remember him hard at work typing on his laptop, a beer set in front of him, doing the familiar mental gymnastics that come with writing. I had come in to chat and luckily he welcomed a distraction in the form of my company, and I will always be grateful that he did. Almost immediately, it was clear to me that he was a storyteller. I remember sipping whiskey, my eyes wide open, in awe of some of the stories he told of his travels and his everyday life. Highlighting the chaos that can arise from the mundane and excitement of experiencing new places, he was the personification, for me, of what it meant to live a well-traveled, dramatic life, always prepared to keep on moving through hard times and never afraid to share.

A few years have passed now since that meeting, and I have come to hear so many more of Zachary’s stories, both real and imagined, and can not say how much of a pleasure it is to introduce this collection of them to you. I have heard what drives the ideas, discussed ways to develop them further, read drafts, and have been fortunate enough to be present for some of the events that inspired them. I can say, too, that this experience has truly helped me grow. Zachary’s words have given me an enhanced understanding of the depths that lie behind the tiny gestures and the nuances of our lives when they involve people that we love. We each, I believe, have a set of tiny somethings that mean the world to us, and you would be hard-pressed, reader, to finish this book without relating to it.

To put into words the little victories and the little deaths that make up characters with intimate, fulfilling, and, at times, troubled personal lives requires not only a deft craftsman but also an emotionally generous mind. Fiction, at its best, is here to take us through the experience of being someone else and then leave us feeling more connected to our worlds. With this volume, that is exactly what you can expect. These stories will place you behind the eyes of their characters and guide you through stories that underline the significance of moments both large and small, both good and bad. Whether from a gentle kiss on the forehead, an unexpected display of affection, an unwelcome diagnosis, or the process of learning to trust, it is through these stories I have come to understand that every aspect of our lives, every blip on the radar, is so much more meaningful than we may initially realize.

When you flip through these next few pages and dive into the experiences and imaginings of my dearest friend, I ask that you keep both your mind and your heart open. Since the first day I met Zachary, I knew I had to do the same that I ask of you, and he has only ever led me to a better understanding of him, of myself, and of the world around me. And truly, reader, when we sit down to enjoy fiction, isn’t that the point?

I was not drunk, just slightly inebriated. I’m pretty sure of that. I didn’t love to drink but I needed it in social situations like this one. Otherwise, I’d have been sitting in the corner sipping my soda water in silence. Instead, I had two vodka sodas and three shots of tequila. 

We were celebrating my friend Becca being published in a big magazine for the first time. 

Maybe I was drunk, because there I was stumbling over to some hot guy in a flannel shirt at this gay bar, a place I’d normally never go, keeping hard eye contact to let him know that it was him I was coming towards.

“HEY,” I said, or maybe I shouted it. 

“Hi,” he replied without even looking my way. 

“Oh, uh, oh god I didn’t think this through.”

“What?” he asked turning my way. “I can’t hear you, the music is so loud.”

“I really like your hairline,” I said, and he shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, um, you have really great hair. My hair has been falling out since I was sixteen so I really appreciate a, uh, good hairline.”

He smiled politely and said he needed to use the restroom. I turned and walked back towards Becca, who had sent me his way. 

“Awe how’d it go?” She asked. 

“Not well,” I said to her then asked the bartender for another shot of tequila. “How is it that I literally do not know how to talk to people? I can’t even have a simple conversation without making a fool of myself.” I tilted the shot into my mouth and bit the lime.

“I think I have to kill him,” I said with a gulp to get rid of the bad taste.

“Ummm, what?” 

“I literally just complimented that beautiful man on his hairline. I have to kill him before he tells everyone how pathetic I am.”

“Ohhh shut up,” Becca said and ordered me another shot of tequila.

“I have to flirt with someone else tonight,” I said after I threw back the shot. “I have to redeem myself from that embarrassment somehow.”

“Well let’s look around and see who we can find for you!” 

“No. That’s too much work. I’ll just text David.” 

My head spun as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and struggled to make different facial expressions to unlock the device. Becca tried to grab the phone from my hands but I pulled back before she could get it. 

“You arenot texting David! Or any of your exes for that matter!"

“Awe,” I had hit the wall of intoxication. One would definitely consider me a mess. “Come on, I only have like two - wait three- exes. No biggie."

When I woke the next morning, my head was pounding and the sun was screaming. I sat up and looked around the room that wasn’t mine. Blank white walls, green plants, a desk with a notepad, and a blue and purple flannel shirt hanging on the back of the door.

My phone started vibrating in my pocket. I was half thankful I didn’t lose my phone and half thankful that I was still wearing all of my clothes. It was Becca calling. 

“Hello?” I said softly so that I didn’t make my presence known to whomever the apartment belonged. 

“Hey, where are you? I have called you like a hundred times. I have been so worried!” 

“I'm okay, I’m okay,” I said to calm her down. “I honestly don’t know where I am. I must have gone home with someone last night.”

I was embarrassed to admit it. Going home with strangers wasn’t something I did. I was by no means a prude, but let’s be honest, I was definitely a prude. 

“Oh,” her tone changed from worry to a flirtatious excitement. “And how did that go?”

“Uh, I have no idea. I can’t remember anything. I just woke up in this bed alone a minute ago. My head is killing me.” 

“Oh my what are you going to do?” I could hear footsteps coming from outside the door. 

“I’m not sure yet but I have to go,” I said and hung up. 

The doorknob spun and the door opened slowly as if whoever was on the other side knew I might still be sleeping and didn’t want to wake me. I sat there frozen in shock when the guy on the other side of the door was revealed. Now I remember why the flannel was so familiar. It was hairline guy. 

“Hey stud,” the words flew from his mouth so casually. He was in nothing but boxers and was carrying two coffee cups, one green, and one purple. “I hope you like hazelnut. It’s the only creamer flavor I like.” 

I was stuck, unable to answer because of two reasons: 1) I also can only drink coffee if I have hazelnut creamer, and 2) abs. 

He walked towards the bed and extended the purple cup in my direction. I took the it in my hands and considered what to say next. Carefully, as to not spill his own drink, he climbed up onto the bed and sat down beside me. 

“I’m Harrison,” he said. I introduced myself and thanked him for the coffee.

“Hazelnut is my favorite too,” I said and he smiled. “I have to be honest I am not completely sure how I got here.”

“That’s okay,” he said before taking a long sip of his coffee. “You were pretty drunk. Don’t worry though, we didn’t have sex or anything. Just cuddled some.” 

Somehow after years of being single and going on horrible dates, I had accidentally fallen into the bed of a man that I would never normally even look at twice for fear of being rejected.

“Oh well, that’s good to hear,” I said almost sarcastically. “I mean, not that I don’t find you attractive. I’m just happy we didn’t have sex because…well, actually,” I stopped and thought about what to say next before my brain melted and I made a complete fool of myself. All I could come up with was, "You make me really nervous.”

He smiled and said, “I can tell. It’s okay. Maybe I should have made you decaf?” I smiled and took a sip of the hazelnut flavored coffee.

“So,” I started hesitantly. “What are your plans for the day?” He set his coffee down on the nightstand. The way he moved so effortlessly, so confidently, so much better than me. 

“I have some errands to run today, some shopping to do,” he got up and pulled a plain grey t-shirt over his head and onto his body. “But I am free tonight if you want to grab a drink? Or dinner maybe?”

I had to stop and think about it, and when he saw my eyes widen in surprise he giggled. How did I end up in this situation? This was the guy who last night could barely look me in the eyes, and now I am somehow in his bed, and even further, he wants to spend more time with me? 

“How about I give you my number and you can let me know?” 

“Sure, that sounds good,” I said hating myself for not being better at this. He walked over to where the flannel he was wearing the night before hung, pulled it down, and threw it towards me. 

“Put that on and I’ll drive you home,” He said. “It’s cold this morning and you only have that t-shirt on.” 
 

Later that day I met Becca at our go-to coffee shop. The cafe was actually called “Coffee Shop” and we loved it because of the good music and the even better mochas. 

Becca was eager to hear everything. When Harrison dropped me off at my apartment, I had just enough time to change clothes and brush my teeth before she pulled up to go get coffee.

“Nice shirt,” she said as I climbed into the passenger seat of her car. “That looks familiar.” She was smiling because she knew exactly where the cold colored flannel came from. 

After we got our coffee, we sat at our normal spot. I told her everything that happened, and since there wasn’t much, we quickly moved on to silently working on our own projects. I sat with my laptop, her with a notepad and pencil. 

I had my second cup of coffee and I was finally settled in to get some work done when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Mind if I join you?” A voice asked from behind me. I looked up at Becca who was smiling wide-eyed and then I turned around to see Harrison standing there. He was wearing a baseball cap and my god he looked so good. 

“Oh! Hi!” I was stunned. The last person I thought I would see here still looking like a mess from the night before, still wearing his shirt. My cheeks were hot and, of course, I knocked over my coffee.

“What’re you doing here?” I asked as he pulled me in for a hug. I could feel Becca’s excited eyes on me. “I thought you had some errands to run today?”

“It turns out one of my errands involves working on my laptop with a good cup of coffee.” He smiled and my world fell apart.

What was happening to me? Of course, I had never been the most confident person but normally I was not such a bumbling idiot. I apologized to the barista who was tasked to clean the coffee mess I made on the floor, while Becca introduced herself to Harrison and told him to take her seat, that she was headed out.

“Wait..?” I asked. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” Becca said. “I have to go home and get ready for work, but I have a feeling you aren’t going to be too lonely.”

She was lying. Saturdays were Becca’s one day off from her serving job. I thought about challenging her, but decided I should take the opportunity to see what Harrison was really looking to get from me. I gave Becca a hug and a smirk and she was on her way. 

Harrison and I sat across from each other, both our laptops open. The barista brought me a new cup of coffee and I apologized again. 

“So what are you working on?” Harrison asked. I was hesitant on how honest I should be with him. Being a full-time writer is tough to explain, because people either have zero respect for the craft, or they have an obscure idea of what a writer actually does. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“I’m a writer. I’m writing a book.”

“Really!” He said, obviously impressed.

“Yeah, it’s been my life for a couple of years now. What do you do for work?”

“I work in advertising. It’s okay but not at all as interesting as being a writer,” he said with a side eye smirk. “Can I ask you what the book is about?”

My muscles were starting to relax. I could feel myself growing more comfortable with this person. There was something so welcoming about him, so genuine, so gracious. Nothing like the men I normally met. Which why I was slightly embarrassed to respond with, “It’s a series of short stories about some of my horrible experiences with the gay community.”

A point in the conversation where people normally backed up, Harrison leaned in, and that was it. All at once I felt a rush in my body that was giving myself over to him. I was skeptical until then, but now I knew it: I had a crush, and I hoped he had one on me too.

“So is it a memoir then?”

“Well, I have definitely pulled a lot of small details from personal experience, but I have fictionalized it enough that I wouldn’t call any of it actually true.”

“Very interesting,” he took a sip of his coffee. “I can’t wait to read it. I’m legitimately intrigued.” 

“Well who knows, maybe you’ll end up inspiring a story.” 

We both laughed. 

That evening I changed my shirt six times before settling into a plain grey shirt with a navy blue cardigan and blue jeans. Not casual but not too fancy either. I wanted to look nice but not like I was trying too hard even though, obviously, I was. 

After an hour of small talk in the coffee shop, Harrison had to go but asked me if I would wanna meet him for a drink that night. I confidently said yes. I wanted to know him better. Know him more than just a night of drunken cuddling and an hour at a coffee shop discussing our favorite colors and bands. 

I combed my hair and brushed my teeth for three minutes instead of the recommended two. Extra deodorant, just in case, and I filed my nails down so I couldn’t even try to bite them if I felt anxious. 

Our plan was he would pick me up at five but I was standing ready at the front door of my apartment complex at ten till. I wanted to make an impression. I didn’t want to keep him waiting. I wanted him to see that this was important to me. That, maybe, with the right chemistry, he could be important to me. 

When he pulled up I skipped down the steps that lead to the street. In a moment that would usually give me anxiety, I felt calm and collected and ready. 

“Hey there,” he said as I climbed into his car and pulled the door shut. 

“Hi,” I said with a smile. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked. “I know a great Mexican place.”

“That sounds great!” I said.

We drove to the other side of town where the restaurant was and took turns playing our favorite songs and talking about how the rest of our days went. His work meeting that ran too long causing him to almost be late picking me up. My complete writers' block after he left me at the coffee shop. We told stories and laughed and happiness fell into place. 

We sat across from each other at the restaurant, margaritas in hand. “So,” Harrison said after we clinked our glasses. “What do I need to know about you? What’s something people don’t know about you?” 

“Hmm,” I thought. “Well as a writer, I am pretty much an open book. You can ask me whatever you’d like.”

He sat back in his chair quizzically, “Do you have siblings?” He asked. 

“Yes, two older sisters and one older brother.”

“And you’re out to them?”

“Of course. My whole family knows.”

He smiled and nodded. Like I had passed a test. “And how is your relationship with your parents?”

“It’s…complicated,” I said. “But getting better every day.”

“That’s so wonderful!”

“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “It was mostly me and my mom. It feels like I am at the end of a hard race with her. Like we were taking turns being in first place and finally, we figured out that we could cross the finish line together.”

“Hmm,” he leaned forward in his chair. “Do you ever write about her?”

“I do, but I would never publish anything that is so blatantly about the stuff we have gone through. It was a lot of miscommunication and I could probably write an entire series of it but I love her, and I don’t want to hurt her by publishing something too incredibly honest when mostly there was just a lot of confusion between us. Neither of us were ever at fault I don’t believe."

He smiled, “That’s good. Mom’s are important, and Dad’s too.”

“I agree,” I replied. “It’s weird I never talk about it. I’m usually too shy to let it be brought up.”

“It can be tough sometimes for sure."

“How is your relationship with your parents? Any siblings?”

“I actually don’t have any siblings and my parents passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t…”

“It’s okay,” he assured me with a subtle smile. 

The server dropped off two plates of tacos in front of us and refilled our basket of chips. I wasn’t exactly sure how to move the conversation forward, so I was happy when, finally, he said, “Yeah, it was a tough few years but I had good people in my life to take care of me.”

I envied him. I had plenty of friends, but being a writer was sporadic just enough that it was tough to keep relationships alive. Late nights with a bottle of wine on the balcony of my apartment, early mornings in coffee shops beating my head on the table when my brain refused to function. 

Of course, I had Becca, but she was also a writer and a lot of times our schedules didn’t align properly. And when they did, our moods didn’t. I needed loud when she needed quiet. She needed wine when I need espresso. 

“I am happy you have good people,” I said. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t have that. Like if something bad happened to my parents or siblings, I wouldn’t have anyone or anything to fall on but my career”

“I think people will surprise you with how much they actually care. I think people will surprise you in general.”

“You’re right,” I said thinking about how, even after only knowing him for a day and a half, I’d drop everything for Harrison if he needed me.

“How about after this we go over to this bar I know.” He said and gulped down the rest of his margarita. I followed suit. “I have a few friends I want you to meet.”

We drove back across town with the windows down. When he was focused on the roads I’d look his way and imagined what this could possibly end up being. Was I really the one to attract such a beautifully charismatic man into my life. And now he wanted me to meet his friends. I don't even remember the last time a boy I was talking to introduced me to his friends. 

I spent the past three years of my life single and holding myself up and together and doing everything I could to avoid stomach butterflies and get love quick schemes. And eventually, I felt nothing about anyone ever. There wasn’t a single guy that I met that made me stutter and trip on my feelings, until this guy right here, who was unbelievably gorgeous and was actually smart and kind. 

We got to the bar and he pulled me by my left hand through a crowd of people lit up with different colored stage lights. The music was live but not too loud that you couldn’t have a conversation. 

He pulled me through to a back corner where a group of his friends were sitting at a table. He let go of my hand to hug his friends, one by one. 

The last guy he hugged was tall and thin, with long hair pulled back into a messy bun. He pulled him over to where I was to introduce us.

“I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Jonothan,” he said and the boy reached his hand out to shake mine.

“Hey, it’s great to meet ya!” He said. “Harrison was telling me about your drunken night together...so funny!"

“I…wait, what?"