Preston Tucci read through a handful of memos, then dropped them in his "purge" pile. Nothing of great significance, definitely nothing that needed to be saved. He'd taken care of the urgent matters for the day, everything else could wait for tomorrow, except one thing.

"Miss Vought," Preston called, raising his head.

"Coming, sir." His personal assistant, Rigel appeared in the doorway. "Yes, sir?"

Preston gestured to the invitation that sat smugly at the top of his inbox. "I need a date for that dinner. Can you find someone who's available on the twenty-third?"

Rigel nodded. "I'll pull from the beard file, sir."

Presto nodded, only half listening. "Good, you do that." He opened his email and started reading the messages Rigel had forwarded up to him. A second ticked by, two…

Wait a minute! his mind yelled.

"Rigel!" he snapped.

The black haired woman reappeared, expression neutral. "Yes, sir?"

Preston pushed his glasses up on his nose. "What file did you say you were pulling names from?" he asked, folding his hands together on the edge of his desk.

Rigel flushed, clearly caught in an uncomfortable position. She tightened her grip on her tablet as if it were a shield.

"The 'beard file,' sir," she replied hesitantly.

Preston ran a hand over his thin face and groaned inwardly. "I should hope, Miss Vought, that is not a phrase you have ever used when talking to someone else regarding your little list of names?"

Rigel shook her head. "No, sir. I'd never do such a thing."

"Just as you'd never refer to it as 'the beard file' to me, Miss Vought?"

Rigel paled slightly.

Preston rose from his chair, crossing around his desk and coming to a stop less than a yard away from his assistant. He clasped his hands behind his back and drew himself up to his full height. Tall, thin, angular. "Miss Vought," he began, voice barely above a whisper. "If you ever refer to my list of female companionship by that name again, I can assure you that conversation will take a far different tone than this. I do not want to hear the phrase 'beard' used again in regards to my lady friends. Do I make myself clear?"

Rigel swallowed and nodded. "Crystal clear, sir."

"Good. I'm glad you understand that."

Preston returned to his desk and waited till she was safely out of sight before collapsing into his chair. His heart beat a frantic rhythm against the inside of his ribs. All those years of training, maintaining perfect control in the business world. That god she couldn't read his mind, see the crushing anxiety within his slight frame. Beard file, indeed. If Rigel hadn't figured out his nature by now, she was quite clearly on the right track.

In the corporate world, reputation was everything. Preston couldn't risk being outed, not even accused. What would the Board say? Enough damage had been done by Rhonda LeBlanc over a year ago. Factor in that she then went missing shortly thereafter, and the interrogations Preston had endured during the investigation into her disappearance… The fact he'd managed to escape with his sanity, the truth, and his sexuality still in hand was no small feat in itself.

While New York might have laws protecting discrimination based on sexuality, Preston knew the Board could find other ways to route him out if they wanted to. Though his job was more secure than it had been after he took the place of Thaddeus Dimas as CEO, it was by no means guaranteed.

"Beard file," Preston groaned, reaching for his overcoat. Just when he was starting to think things were looking up.

A silver Subaru was parked at the curb between his house and the neighbor's. Preston paid little attention to it as he pulled into the garage.

He was looking forward to coming in, slipping into a pair of sweatpants, and enjoying a glass of wine and the crossword puzzle from today's newspaper. Sweatpants… Antoine had convinced him of their virtue. Now Preston wondered how he'd ever been able to relax without them.

Antoine was home already, not entirely surprising. He'd finished work early, and caught the bus home. It was nice having someone to come home to, Preston reflected as he stepped inside the laundry room that connected the garage to the kitchen.

Immediately, Preston's nose was filled with the scents of barbeque sauce and smoked meats, the smell carried on the wind through the house from the grill out back. Antoine's voice, bright and cheerful called out from the kitchen: "Hey, glad you're home! Did you remember to pick up the coleslaw?"

Preston clenched his teeth. Coleslaw, of course he hadn't remembered. He'd gotten Antoine's text just before the whole 'beard file' bit derailed his train of thought.

"No," he admitted, hanging his coat in the closet by the washer. "It completely slipped my mind."

"Oh."

Preston could see Antoine's face fall in his voice.

"I guess we'll just have salad then," Antoine replied.

"That's okay, Antoine," came a second voice, a woman's. "Salad's fine."

What?! Preston's head snapped up. He shoved his wallet into his pocket, and hurried into the kitchen.

Out of all the things he could've expected, the scene that greeted him was not one of them.

Antoine sat along one side of the table. Across from him sat a woman, her silver-blond hair loose about her shoulders. She wore a flannel shirt, and a pair of faded blue jeans. At the head of the table sat a solidly built man, his ebony skin matched by his hair and beard; save for a few streaks of grey that made their way into both. He leaned back in the chair, expression amused.

Preston froze, unsure of what to say or do.

He felt Antoine's hand on his shirt sleeve, tugging him forward. "Come one, Preppy! It's about time you're home."

"There he is," the broad-shouldered man laughed. "So you're the man Antoine keeps talking so much about."

Preston's mind spun frantically, trying to figure out what was happening. He said nothing as Antoine pulled him into an empty chair.

The woman smiled at Preston. "You look familiar," she remarked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Course he looks familiar," the man replied, grinning. "Remember that article in your society pages, Debbie? Mister Eligible, himself, eh?"

"Oh, that's right!" She turned her attention to Antoine. "You never told us your housemate was the CEO of the nuclear plant."

Antoine rubbed the back of his neck and gave an innocent shrug. "Must've slipped my mind, you know?"

The man at the head of the table gave a belly laugh. "Oh, come off it, Antoine. Nothing slips your mind unless you decide to let it."

Antoine tilted his head to the side. "Guilty as charged."

"Straight up you are!"

Preston opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shut it and looked around the table in utter bewilderment. Finally, he looked at Antoine for help.

"Oh yeah," Antoine said. "Where are my manners. Preston, meet Debbie and Marcus. Remember how I said I was having company over today? Yeah, and that's why I needed coleslaw? Well, anyhow, I guess you could call Debbie and Marcus my parents."

Preston held up a finger to ask a question, then hesitated.

Marcus grinned at him, teeth shining against his dark skin. Preston thought he caught the glint of a gold tooth in the smile, but couldn't be sure.

Antoine sensed the pause in the conversation, and jumped back in. "Remember you talking with your folks over Christmas? I got to thinking about Burnsie, his family and stuff…" Antoine's voice trailed off.

The woman, Debbie, picked it up. "Marcus and I got a postcard in the mail about two months ago."

Marcus nodded. "It said 'I figured I'd reach out to you. I'm on social media. Hit me up if you want to chat. Same last name. Antoine." Marcus rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Although he hardly needed to sign it. Your handwriting's pretty recognizable."

Preston afforded himself a slight chuckle. Antoine's so-called handwriting was a barely legible scrawl, some hodgepodge combination of print and cursive that was utterly unique, and distinctly Antoine.

"We talked back and forth a bit online," Debbie explained. "Then decided to meet in person."

Marcus folded his hands across his broad chest. "And now, here we are."

Preston's eyes circled around the table. Despite the explanation, none of it made any sense. He reached for a pitcher of iced tea in the center of the table, and poured himself a glass. "Your… parents?" he began, looking at Antoine, perplexed.

Antoine gave a bashful shrug. "Eh, foster parents, but yeah. I mean, they're my parents as much as anyone's ever been, right?"

Behind him, a timer dinged. Antoine pushed himself up. "S'cuse me. I gotta go check on the ribs." He let himself out onto the back deck.

Preston sipped his tea. "So…" he began slowly.

Marcus beamed at him. "Cat gotcher tongue, Mister Eligible?" he teased lightly. "Antoine never said you were the quiet sort."

Debbie reached out and took Marcus by the arm, shushing him gently. "Marcus and I were Antoine's foster parents while he was about ten. We never planned for him to go back in the system, but then Marcus wound up in the hospital-"

"Had to have a triple bypass surgery," Marcus explained. "Minimally invasive, my ass. I got one hell of a scar. Wanna see?" He reached for the buttons of his shirt.

"NO!" Debbie and Preston yelled in unison; Debbie slapping Marcus's hands back down.

"No one wants to see your bypass scar," Debbie chided her husband.

Marcus rolled his eyes and reached for a plate of veggies and dip.

"Anyhow," Debbie continued, "with him in the hospital, and me splitting my time between him and trying to keep enough hours at work to cover the bills, we wanted Antoine to go stay with Marcus's parents up in Schenectady." She gave a helpless shrug. "Child services wouldn't hear about it. They wanted him to go back into the system, and we lost that fight."

"Story we got told was we'd be able to get him back when I got better," Marcus grunted. "Load of bull that was. By the time I was better they said he was already in a new home, and that was that."

Preston glanced out the sliding door to the patio where Antoine stood over the grill, a pair of tongs in hand, turning the ribs.

"So you… never gave him up."

"Not at all. He's a great kid! Used to take him flying with me. Said he wanted to be a pilot himself. And now he is," Marcus added proudly.

Slowly, a picture was beginning to form in Preston's mind. Pieces of a puzzle coming together slowly but steadily. "So you're the family he talks about," Preston began.

Marcus and Debbie exchanged looks. "Well, if you say so, I guess we are." Marcus nodded.

Preston wrapped his hands around his glass, thinking. "He doesn't talk much about his past," Preston confessed. "Most of what I know is little pieces here and there, but he always talked about this family who he hoped would be a forever thing, where his foster father would take him flying…" Preston took a sip of his iced-tea. It was semi-sweet; just enough sugar to take the edge off, but still crisp and refreshing.

Debbie smiled and snagged a carrot of her husband's plate. "He's always been a private person. He didn't tell us much about you either, to be honest. He told us he had a housemate." Debbie popped the carrot in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of her tea. "Of course I had to ask him if he had a special someone in his life," she began. "He told me he didn't need one."

"Might've said something about having found one," Marcus added. "But sometimes getting answers from him is like pulling teeth from a crocodile."

"We didn't push the issue," Debbie finished. "He seems happy though."

The door slid open. Antoine lumbered in, a plate full of ribs and a second platter of grilled corn balanced precariously on his arms.

"Let me help you with that," Preston offered, hopping up.

"Hmm, thanks, Preppy."

The two men placed the food on the table.

"So," Antoine began as they dug into dinner, "did Marcus try to show you his scar?"

Preston rubbed the bridge of his nose and laughed. "Oh yes. I can see the family resemblance."

Preston was suddenly aware that three sets of eyes had focused on him. He felt his cheeks redden, and looked away awkwardly. "I mean, well, I didn't mean it like that. I, uh…"

Marcus threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, what? You've never seen a man and his son before?"

Preston blushed harder. Debbie stifled a giggle behind her hand. Antoine gave a barking laugh, then threw his arm around Preston's shoulder. The familiar weight was reassuring. He let Antoine tug him closer. "Oh, relax, Prep," he grinned. "It's all in good fun!"

Everyone laughed, and Preston, wedged up against Antoine's side, felt himself joining in.

Preston wiped down the table as Antoine loaded the dishwasher.

"You know, Antoine, I really enjoyed meeting your parents."

Antoine looked up, face neutral.

"I mean, you foster parents. I mean… oh lord, Antoine. You know what I mean."

Antoine nodded. "I know."

Preston swept a few crumbs into his hand and tossed them into the garbage. "Do you think you'll keep in touch from here on?"

Antoine nodded, blue hair swinging about his face. "Yeah, I think so. It's weird seeing them again, but it was nice. I enjoyed it." He raised his eyes to Preston. "How'd you like it?"

Preston tossed the rag into the sink and sat down at the counter. "They're a lot more laid back than my parents."

"Right?"

"Right." Preston rested his chin on his hands. "It was nice of Debbie to let us keep that key lime pie she brought. She seems like a fine woman, very down to earth."

Antoine nodded. "She and Marcus both are. I mean, they're just cool people, you know? I was worried they'd have forgotten about me by now, but I figured everyone else was connecting with family, and I guess I felt a little left out." Antoine shrugged. "So we talked online for a while, and now, well, there it is."

"Do you think we'll do this again?" Preston asked.

Antoine gave a vigorous nod. "Oh, absolutely, sure! Marcus really wants to see the Little Diva. Maybe next time, I'll get her out and take him up for a flight." Antoine propped himself on the counter and regarded Preston thoughtfully.

Preston felt his face redden again under Antoine's gentle gaze.

"Did you tell them anything?"

Antoine raised his eyebrows in false innocence. "About?"

"About us." Preston held his breath, not daring to hope.

Antoine stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I told 'em I had an awesome housemate, who'd done a lot of cool stuff and was kind of important. I might've also mentioned he was my best friend in the world and I couldn't imagine life without him." Antoine twirled a hand casually. "That last part might've just slipped out."

Preston smiled, and reached across the counter. He draped his hand over Antoine's.

"That's okay, right?" Antoine asked, raising his eyes.

Preston smiled. "Absolutely." He gave Antoine's had a squeeze, before standing up and excusing himself. Out of sight of Antoine, Preston let his face split into an ear-to-ear grin. As if there was ever a question, Antoine? Of course it's okay. Better than okay... He smiled as he slipped into a pair of grey sweatpants. ...Absolutely!