“Sure it could,” Arthur muttered.
Rory had been expecting to take the train, but Arthur had wanted to drive to Boston. “Being able to drive anywhere I want is something I love about America,” he said sheepishly. “I’ve never bought a car overseas. It just never feels like I’ll be in one place long enough to make it worth owning one.”
Rory had side-eyed him. “I thought you weren’t expecting to be overseas again yet.”
Arthur had gotten cagey and just muttered, “Well, you know.”
Whichno, Rory didn’t know, and he’d very much like to know, thanks. But sitting in the comfy Cadillac, with Arthur in his tweed jacket and flat cap being excited about driving his car, just the two of them for three hours—Rory was a sucker for it, so he wasn’t gonna argue.
They got a room with two beds in a hotel near the old stone church where Mrs. Brodigan would get married in the morning. It was a big enough hotel, and cheap enough, that no one paid them any attention, even if that also meant the beds were really too tiny for two men to share.
In the morning, with Arthur down in the lobby, making some calls, Rory did his best to clean up in the men’s bathroom, trimming his hair just enough to make the curls even. He didn’t have a fancy hat, but he was gonna be in a church anyway, so he’d just deal. He showered, shaved, and put on the secondhand gray suit he’d found for six dollars at a store by the Dragon House. It was more than he’d ever spent on clothes in his life, but it fit decent, and most of all, it was for Mrs. B.
He got back to their room to find Arthur leaning over the bed and securing the clasps on the suitcase. “Since there’s no reception, I’ll pick you up at the church after the ceremony,” he said, looking up. “And remember, you promised to take the ring—oh.” He blinked several times. “Hi. Hello.”
Rory rolled his eyes. “Just ’cause I don’t usually wear suits doesn’t mean I can’t.” He leaned on the door to close it behind him. “I used to dress for church all the time.”
“Did you.” The corner of Arthur’s mouth turned up in his sly smile, and a moment later he was across their small room, hands on the door above Rory’s head to box him in. “I’m afraid I’m not thinking about church right now.”
Rory couldn’t help smiling back. “Save it,” he warned, tilting his chin up to meet Arthur’s eyes. “I gotta get going.”
“Where’s your ring?”
“Pocket.”
“And...?”
Rory huffed. “I’m so bad at it still,” he said. “I’m not gonna start a tempest at Mrs. B’s wedding.”
“If you’re in danger, you most certainly are,” said Arthur. “Teddy, you promised.”
The ring was safe in its heavy lead box. It wasn’t like Rory was actually gonna need to use it. “All right already,” he grouched. “I promise.”
“Good.” Arthur’s gaze traveled over Rory’s suit again, then his tongue darted out and wetted his lips. “How much time do we have?”
“Not enough,” Rory said, with real regret.
Arthur sighed but moved back. He grabbed the suitcase off the bed and they made their way down to his car, parked on the street in front of the hotel.
The church was at the end of a street of row houses, built of ivy-covered gray stone with arches over the doors and a huge stained glass window. Arthur brought the car to the curb in front of the church and then reached into the back seat. “Would you like to borrow this?”
He held out a gray fedora that went so perfectly with Rory’s suit that Arthur had to have brought it on purpose. Rory raised an eyebrow. “That yours?”
“It is,” said Arthur, “but it should fit you. Well. More or less.”
Rory hesitated. Maybe it was a strange thing to make his heart beat faster, but there was something about sitting in Arthur’s car, borrowing his hat for the morning like it was no big deal—it was a simple thing, but somehow having even the casual parts of their lives entwined like a real couple felt like a fairy tale.
“Thanks,” he said quietly, taking the hat.
Arthur brushed the thanks away. “I love that you think I did this out of the goodness of my heart and not out of a selfish desire to treat my eyes.”
Rory put the fedora on. It was a little big, but not ridiculously so, and that would keep it from messing up his curls too much. “How’s it look?”
Arthur’s gaze was locked on him. “Perfect,” he said simply.
Rory’s lips curved up. “See you in two hours?”
“I’ll be here,” Arthur promised. “And I mean every word when I say I can’t wait to see you again.”
