“God, I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“It won’t,” John’s voice was even and firm. “I won’t let it.”
“My Aunts can be pretty intense. They make CIA interrogators look bad.”
“I think I can handle them,” he murmured, slipping his hand out of his and cradling his chin, stroking the line of his jaw with his thumb. John could handle anything, Wyatt knew that. He knew that this inner-city emergency department doctor was battle-hardened and tested by years of practice.
But could he handle Wyatt’s heart, which felt like a thousand galloping horses stomping on his chest? Because John was here—with him—for him, and he loved him so much it fucking hurt. And he knew he’d never love anyone like he loved John.
“Ready?” John asked gently. “If not, I can drive us to a nearby bar… have a couple drinks… maybe get a hotel…”
“Fuck, that sounds good,” Wyatt grated out, staring into the dark blue spark of John’s heated gaze. “Kiss me.”
John did, it was firm and yet gentle. It was exactly what he needed.
John pulled back, searching his gaze, “Safe word is eructation.”
Laughter spilled from Wyatt’s chest, “Really?”
John grinned, slipping on his sexy aviator sunglasses. “Wonderful. That was the exact result I was looking for, Dr. Lawson. So, yes, we will need to implement this into our vocabulary for the time being.”
Wyatt tried not to melt like hot butter in his seat at the sound of Dr. Donnelly speaking.
“None of that, Dr. Lawson,” John instructed firmly, both eyebrows arched as he popped open the car door. “Can’t have you looking at me like that the next few hours and not expect me to drag you into an empty bedroom—or horse stall?”
“Only if it’s clean,” Wyatt drawled longingly and climbed out of the driver's side, inhaling the scent of dust and nature, a calm settling over his body as his boots hit the ground.
Wyatt gazed over the large house, which over the years had transformed from a working ranch into a private estate for tourists to rent. The porch had been re-stained and wrapped around the house, with plenty of cushion seating, fire pits, and overhead fans. The house was painted a cream white color and trimmed in dark brown, with potted plants adding the flare of color that lined the pathway and porch.
John’s eyes moved from the house to Wyatt’s beneath his sunglasses, and he bit back a sigh just looking at his handsome doctor. He wore a maroon-red button-up that was slightly wrinkled from all the traveling, which he rolled up past his elbows, exposing his thick forearms and wrists. An all-black watch dangled from his wrist, and he wore dark blue jeans and worn hiking boots. His brown, graying hair was ruffled, and his beard was trimmed. He looked relaxed and yet made sure to keep glancing Wyatt’s way, checking on him without saying anything, which he appreciated.
He stared at the watch on John’s wrist, his gaze traveling to his firm hand and fingers.
He wondered what his hand would look like with a matching black band around his ring finger.
Wyatt’s chest swooped, and his heart slammed into his chest.
Oh fuck.
The door to the estate swung open, and Aunt Nancy and Aunt Carol appeared. Wyatt’s thoughts were completely muddled by the time the older women made it down the porch steps, their flittering gazes jumping from Wyatt to John, clearly excited.
“Oh my God, Wyatt, honey,” Aunt Nancy wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight against her tall, slender frame. “I thought you were never…”
“Hush,” Aunt Carol snipped at her. “We’re so glad you’re here, hon.”
Aunt Carol hugged him next, her fuller build was sturdier and her hug firmer, as she patted his back.
They were married partners, the only gay couple Wyatt had known growing up, until he moved to LA. Aunt Nancy, his father’s sister, had the Lawson family's sandy-brown blond hair that naturally waved and pale blue eyes. She wore red cowboy boots and a blue short-sleeved dress. Her skin was well tanned and her hair naturally graying through the blond streaks. He smiled warmly at her, remembering briefly that the last time he had seen her was a few Christmases ago.
Aunt Carol, her wife, had short hair and a round face. She wore jeans, a plain brown T-shirt, and a rodeo buckle. Her boots were black and her smile was contagious. She had been the first one to figure out Wyatt was gay, and hewould always appreciate how she talked to him about it when he was a confused teenager.
“This is John,” Wyatt motioned them to him. “My—uh…”
Boyfriend?
“Partner,” John supplied cooly.
Wyatt’s heart kicked again, and he wondered what it would be like to hear him say:husband.
