I’ve been all over the world.

Anywhere. You name it, I’ve seen it.

I collect stamps to hang on my fridge and bulletin board, along with postcards and an occasional pin.

I started traveling when I turned eighteen and graduated from highschool.

The second I got that diploma, I headed off to Europe and tasted all of the treats I grew up making. 

My mother always jokes about how I’m like a walking passport and I can’t sit still unless I’m trying a new pastry. 

Always onto the next thing.  

I like to make conversation with the people who pass on bikes or runs, and I wait patiently for my magazines and milk.

From my porch, I see many mailmen. Ones with boxes and ones with bags full of newspapers. They ride in carts and bicycles, hastily moving on to the next thing. 

On Monday mornings, my mailman comes. He wears a special pin on his blue pocket square and has messy hair that curls perfectly around the rim of his cap. 

Taking his time, he’ll whistle La Vie En Rose. 

The first time I talked to him, I chuckled, “How’d you learn to whistle a tune like that?” 

He grins and whistles it all funky to make me laugh and said “It’s my favorite, ever since I was a boy.”

“Mine too.” I said quietly. 

“Now you have a great day, sir!” 

I waved goodbye. 

The next Monday, at around eight o'clock in the morning, fresh milk arrives at my doorstep and I’m ready to make my special blueberry muffins for my coworkers at the supermarket.

About thirty minutes later, he comes by with my newsletters of the week.

I run to my door to say hello and as soon as I make it, he is already at the doorbell looking around nervously. 

“G’morning! I just couldn’t help but ring it, you have a lovely smell coming out from your windows.”

I smile and say “They're my specialty muffins! Would you like one for the road?”

“Well I was hopin’ I could stay and sit for a minute sir? It’s been quite the morning”

“Of course, call me Jack.” I giggled.

“I’m Will. Nice to finally meet you.”

A week goes by, I’ve read all that has been delivered. 

I’ve tried three new recipes and took notes in between my shifts at the market.

The next Monday morning, I decided to bake some éclairs to eat for dessert later that evening. 

Then I made myself a latte and sat on my porch for a bit. 

There he came up my road, all giddy and bright—still whistling the same tune.

“Well hello there!” I shout happily. “Looking great today, Will.”

“Why thank you, Jack. I ironed my shirt this mornin’, can you tell?”

I chuckle and then stop suddenly to say “Hey! I just made some éclairs, wanna try one?”

“I’d be delighted,” he says.

I leave my door open and scurry away. I make my way back after just a minute with a treat.

“Jack, I saw you have stamps and postcards hangin’ up on your board in there, you collect?” he says curiously.

“Oh I’ve been collecting since I was eighteen when I started traveling,” I say.

“Well I’ll be damned! You should see my house, plastered with stamps, some even framed. I’ll tell you what, if I get a pastry every Monday mornin’, I’ll bring you a stamp to add to your collection.”

“Will, how could a man like me pass that up? You already know me too well.”

“It’s a deal.” 

He smiled with rosy cheeks and trotted away.

I couldn’t help but feel even more excited than I did before.

Mondays are always dreaded but after making that deal with Will, I started planning what I was gonna bake for him the second he left. 

After about two months, me and Will exchanged our pastries and stamps, which happened to be great conversation starters. He’d also come by on other mornings even when I didn’t have mail. 

We talked about the places we visited, the food we’ve tried and ones we wanted to, our families, friends, and pets, and just about everything in between. Some playful banter here and there too. I was drawn to Will, I was interested in what he had to say. 

I watched him tell stories like I was watching a big Broadway show.

He shined brighter than city lights. 

Friends—we were, but there was always something more.

Friends don’t talk like Will and I talk.

One Monday morning, he had time to spare and we talked about our years in highschool.

 I first mentioned how I came out to my mom as gay when I was in tenth grade and how supportive she was about it. 

Will just nodded and looked off into the distance like he had something to say.

After a bit of silence, he suddenly said, “You know, I’ve never really thought about it. In my family, we were taught to never really talk about things like that. I’ve had a short-term girlfriend and seen a boy or two—but I never really took it seriously.”

I said, “Well..maybe you should. After all, you are a 27 year-old man livin’ on your own, so why not?”

“Hm,” he said seriously, “I’ll consider. Especially because you’ve been teachin’ me a lot, Jack. You’re so sure in yourself, it’s admirable.”

I smiled and nodded. 

“If you ever wanna talk about it, you know where to find me—and my pastries.”

Will laughed and grabbed my arm teasingly. 

“Oh, I know.”

The next evening, I was eating dinner by my television and watching sitcoms when I heard the doorbell ring.

I don’t usually have company, so it startled me. 

I went to look through the peephole and saw him. His hair slicked back, a nice buttoned-up shirt and his beard mended. 

I raised my eyebrows in surprise and quickly opened the door to say, “Will! What are you doin’ here?” 

He looked so shy, I just couldn’t stop smiling.

“Well.. I was really thinkin’ about what you said yesterday. I am 27 years old and I do live on my own, it’s about time I think about myself and the way I feel about myself. Since the day you introduced yourself yourself to me, I just couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.” 

He just rambled and rambled until—silence. The world around us became still and quiet. He took a deep breath like he’d never imagined himself saying all of that. 

My face softened, “Sit down for a second, would ya?”

We settled and cleared our throats. 

“Look Jack, I like you and it’s obvious. I like the way we have deep talks and laugh. I like the way we’ve both been all around the world and you care enough to listen to my stories. I like the way that you like me. You care, you show up, and I’ll be honest—I’d say you’re my best friend these days.”

My stomach turned with excitment, “I like you, Will. I’ve liked you ever since you cared enough to brighten my mornings with stories and stamps. I’ve never been more excited to bake for someone, I even baked you my best! You made me feel seen as the man that I am.”

He then leaned over his chair, dipping over mine. He smelled sweetly of aftershave and breathmints.

Before I knew it, Will was kissin’ me and I was kissin’ him. It felt like the fourth of July, a million fireworks shooting all around us. It was just Will and me—in our own little bubble. 

With both of our faces flushed, Will said, “I’m thinkin’ that it’s time I take you on a real date.”

“I would be delighted.” I said with a grin from ear to ear. 

We broke into sudden laughter, playfully hitting eachother on the arm.

I was happy, he was happy.