It’s the 1960s, and having same-sex relationships are looked down upon. How cruel it is—Scaramouche can’t help but yearn for you and your affection. To the public eye, you and him are nothing more than friends.

Behind closed doors, however, you’ve kissed. God forbid two men do anything more than speak together. He can’t bear to watch you walk away. His grasp on the doorknob of his own home tightens.

“Would you like to come inside?” Scaramouche blurts what he’s been meaning to say, and it’s close to a whisper, lest the neighbors overhear.