I've never been a homebody. I don't cook. I don't do dishes. And the dinner I enjoy most is the one that I made reservations for. But ever since Arthur came into my life, I've changed.

He cooks. He does dishes. And he won't let me make reservations except on special occasions.

He made a home for us. Imagine that, at my age, discovering that a mistreated chit of a boy had something to show me. I know a great deal, but he knew what we needed before I did.

So he's buzzing around the flat like a bee in search of fresh flowers. All because Curt said he missed celebrating Thanksgiving this year.

Never mind that Curt has no family to speak of. He's a displaced American who's lived from suitcase to suitcase and airport to airport for too many years to be truly homesick. But he's got us, and Arthur, God bless his soul, wanted to make a difference. I could have told him that he did, that he had, every single day that I'd known him.

Instead I hid my pride in him behind an artful smile and admired him from a distance. But not from too far away. I would allow him to claim the kitchen and its surrounding environs as his domain. But I wanted more than a supporting role in this holiday celebration.

I wanted to help, but Arthur kept shooing me away like one of those annoying little dogs that continually gets underfoot. "Can I set the table?"

"You don't know where all the silverware goes, Jack," Arthur said reprovingly.

"I most certainly do," I said, drawing myself up haughtily.

"Okay, where does the salad fork go?"

"Umm...we're having salad?" I asked sheepishly.

Arthur chuckled. "Just do what you do best, Jack. Look pretty."

"I resent that remark," I returned sulkily.

Arthur leaned over the table that separated us and kissed me. "You know I love you, Jack," he reminded me, his voice suddenly tender.

I sighed, albeit a bit more happily, and kissed him back. "I can't argue with you when I know you're right."

Arthur smiled and stroked my cheek gently. "Why don't you get the apple cider?"

"No alcohol?"

"Curt doesn't drink anymore. Neither does Brian. I thought, well, why tempt them by having champagne? Is that all right, Jack?" All at once Arthur sounded terribly unsure of himself.

"How did you ever get to be so wonderful?" I whispered against his mouth before I captured what was rightfully mine.

I've never felt this possessive before. I've never wanted anyone to stay. But Arthur...Arthur holds my heart in the palm of his hand and even though one careless squeeze would finish me for certain...I trust him. Completely.

"Just lucky, I guess," Arthur whispered back, his dark eyes gleaming. Another kiss and he would surely drop the remaining silverware on the table between us.

But the doorbell chose that moment to ring.

"Are you going to answer that?" he asked.

I licked his lips from corner to corner. "Mmm...someone's been into the cranberry sauce."

Arthur blushed. "Just a little."

I swiped my tongue over his bottom lip and nudged his lips apart. The doorbell rang a second time, and I swear, it sounded quite impatient.

"Is there someplace else I should taste before I get the door?"

"Jaacckk...suppose someone is listening?"

"Let them take notes."

*****

Curt had rarely looked better. His long blond hair had been brushed till it shone, and his changeable blue-gray eyes seemed positively peaceful. "I can't believe you're doing this on account of me, man," he said to Arthur by way of greeting. "It's not like it's a British holiday."

Arthur nodded before saying thoughtfully, "Well, it occurred to me that we all have a lot to be thankful for this year."

"Some of us more than others," Curt agreed.

I peered behind Curt into the empty hallway. "Where's Brian?"

"He's coming. He said he had to pick up something."

"Really? What?" I inquired curiously.

"He wouldn't say. Sometimes I think he gets off on being mysterious," Curt laughed. Whatever Brian was up to, it clearly didn't bother Curt. I supposed that Curt had gotten rather used to Brian's ways over the years, but I think the truth was, like me, he trusted his lover. Implicitly.

*****

I handed Curt a glass of cider, and he accepted gratefully. "Thanks, Jack. Hey, Arthur, something smells pretty good in there. Want some help?"

"No, thanks. Why don't you keep Jack company?" Translation:  Arthur wanted Curt to keep me out of the way. Hmm...I pondered that for several seconds before remembering that I had virtually signed a treaty of non-interference earlier.

"No problem." Curt pulled off his boots and settled comfortably on the sofa, his feet under him. I snorted, almost blowing bubbles in my apple juice, and said, "Make yourself at home, Curt."

"Thanks," Curt said with a grin. "Hey, it's not like my feet stink or anything."

"No, you even wore clean socks. Brian's obviously been a good influence on you," I said dryly.

"Are you saying I wouldn't wash unless someone told me to?" Curt demanded in mock outrage.

"Heaven forbid."

"Jeez, Bri better get here soon. Or you'll be serving me for dinner," Curt said, his gray eyes sparkling with mischief. God, when he looked at me that way, I wondered what Brian could possibly be thinking letting the man off the leash.

A knock on the door saved me from having to comment any further. It was Brian, looking none the worse for wear and his mystifying errand. He and Curt were dressed in similar fashion, both of them clad in black leather, but there the resemblance ended. Brian was no longer fair, having returned to his natural hair color long ago. His long dark brown hair glistened like the finest sable and curved lovingly around his face. His vivid blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "Hi, Jack. Hope you're taking good care of the kids."

"I heard that," Curt growled huskily, but he rose effortlessly to his feet to greet his lover with a kiss. "What took so long?"

Brian reached into his jacket pocket and removed a small box. "I had to get this."

"What is it?"

"Why don't you open it and find out?" Brian said, shrugging out of his jacket. He offered the box to Curt, and Curt stared at it for a moment, as if he expected it to open itself.

Curt pulled the top off the box so slowly that I almost grabbed it out of his hand. "Come on, Curt. Some of us want to know what's inside."

"I thought you didn't like surprises," Curt said to Brian, never taking his eyes off the box.

Brian smiled. "I know what's in there, Curt. No surprise there."

"Maybe it was me, then."

"It won't blow up, Curt. I swear."

Curt looked as though he wasn't too sure about that. "I didn't get you anything, babe. Thanksgiving isn't that kind of holiday, y'know? I mean, you didn't have to get me a present."

"Since when do I need a reason?" Brian asked rhetorically, flopping down on the sofa with his characteristic grace.

Curt leaned on his lover and peeked inside the box while Brian slipped his arm around Curt's waist. "Do you like it?"

"This is real silver."

Brian nodded. "Do you like it?"

"Yeahhh..." Curt drawled slowly but approvingly. He held it up finally, and I caught my first glance of what had captured his attention. It was a small yet perfectly crafted wolf's head, wrought in fine silver, and it was apparently made to be worn on the matching chain, either as a necklace or a choker.

"Is it engraved?" I asked.

Curt examined the charm even more closely. "It's got our names!" he exclaimed brightly.

Brian nodded again. "The date, too. When we first met," he added shyly, as if he'd only just realized that he was doing this in front of a small but very interested audience.

"I love it," Curt said, his gray eyes suddenly darker and wetter than a few moments ago. "Put it on me?"

"Of course," Brian replied, reaching out to encircle Curt's neck with the chain. Curt caught his hands and pressed a kiss to each palm in what struck me as a rather courtly gesture. "I love you," he said in a low voice meant only for Brian's ears.

They kissed, Brian's lips grazing Curt's neck where the necklace now rested against his fair skin. Curt pushed Brian back against the cushions with a heartfelt kiss, and I groaned out loud. "Must you do that right now? It's terribly distracting."

Brian glanced at me, his arms wrapped contentedly around Curt, and sniffed. "Is something burning?"

"The turkey!" Arthur yelled, sprinting into the kitchen with a cry.

I had visions of us all sitting down to a Thanksgiving Day dinner of...pizza. But I hadn't reckoned on Arthur's skill in the kitchen. He managed to save the dinner...and the day.

*****

Bruno and Robert arrived shortly before we sat down to eat. "You came!" I shouted, wondering where all this enthusiasm had come from.

Robert looked happier than he had in a very long time, and from the way Robert was clutching Bruno's hand, I assumed that Bruno had a great deal to do with putting that smile on his face. "We wouldn't miss this for the world, Jack. We wouldn't even be together if it wasn't for you and Arthur."

"That...I highly doubt," I said. But I couldn't help but feel a tiny burst of pride that I had played some small part in salvaging their relationship.

For the first time, Bruno spoke, his voice pitched low yet distinctly articulate. "Thanks for having us."

"My pleasure, dear boy. Do you know Curt and Brian?" As the others murmured their introductions, for a moment, I was struck by how right everything seemed. Arthur was brilliant.  We did have a lot to be thankful for.

And most of it was sitting down to dinner.

*****

Dinner was perfect. Despite Arthur's earlier attempt to incinerate the flat, everything had fallen into place with an ease that was almost unbelievable.

"Bruno's back in school," Robert announced proudly. He couldn't have sounded more pleased if he'd been talking about himself.

"That's wonderful, Bruno," I said softly. "No more nightmares?"

Bruno shook his head. "Once in a while. But I'm not afraid anymore. Not as long as Robert's there."

Robert beamed. At last he was someone important. It didn't matter that they didn't have any more money than they'd had before. What they had was better than money.

That kind of love couldn't be bought. At any price.

I understood now. It wasn't enough to love. You had to believe.