He fixes me with a look. “Don’t tell me you can’t choose one either.”
I chuckle, because how the fuck are we always riding the same wavelength? “The purple one. When in doubt, always go with my favorite color.”
“It’smyfavorite color too, you know?” he huffs.
“Even more reason to wear it, Sugar.”
He’s been wearing a lot more of what he’s comfortable in lately. The only time he isn’t crossdressing these days is when he’s out on the boat. Rightfully so, those clothes would be ruined doing what we do for a living. What looks so much better on Marcus than the clothes or the makeup, however, is the confidence hewears. There are days he still gets all up in his head about it, but they’re notably getting fewer and farther between.
He sets that one aside and steps over to look out over the balcony. We haven’t even left port yet—so we’re still in Portland, Maine—but the view is already breathtaking. Unlike Ternbay, the city abuts the waterways, not a small, coastal fishing village. The juxtaposition of modern high-rises set against the centuries old lighthouses, breakwaters, and pylons is, I don’t know, symbolic I guess? Like blending the old with the new, I suppose, and it’s something that resonates with me big time.
Marcus points down at something. “C, look. We’re likestoriesabove that sailboat, and that thing isn’t tiny by any means…”
I nod, slipping underneath his brawny arm, threading my fingers through his. He leans down—and I meanwaydown—to press a kiss on the top of my head.
“Thank you for this trip, babe,” he murmurs, gazing back out over the water. “You know, if someone had come to me a decade ago and asked if we’d have ever had this kind of life together, I would have told them to get their head checked…”
He trails off at the same time I feel a hand against my lower back. I look over my shoulder to see Lauren standing there, her other palm on Marcus’ back. She rests her chin in the divot made where my shoulder is pressed against the side of his arm.
“Now look at you both,” she continues on, finishing Marcus’ thought. “Together, my sun and my moon. Both in orbit with one another again.”
“Who’s who?” Marcus jokes. “Let me guess, I’m the moon because you all are infatuated with my ass?”
She giggles. “No. You’re the sun, touching everything with your light, your warmth, and your goodness. You help flowers bloom andgrow. You radiate energy and life. Caleb, you’re the moon, reflecting that light to be even brighter yourself. But even when there’s daylight and you think you’re not as visible, you’re a quiet presence. Still there, and your effects remain felt—like how you control the tides.”
“Well aren’t we quite a trio, then,” I sign. “The sun, the moon, and a dark rose.”
“I love it,” she tacks on.
“I second that,” Marcus adds.
“I hope three is not a crowd here, because I have to agree too. You both are the wind that fills my sails, and keeps me moving forward. This trip is my treat to you both, for being those gusts of wind for me.”
Marcus turns his head slowly and gapes at me. “That is absolutely crazy, C. I think youdohave some sort of ability to read my mind.”
“Why?”
“Thanksgiving night. I went to bed that night so full of love for both of you. I thought about how you guys were the wind that fillsmysails…”
Lauren guffaws. “So, basically, I’m the odd one out here because I’m not a fisherman and don’t resort to making nautical themed analogies, is what I’m getting from that.”
Marcus snorts. “Basically, but we’ll still keep ya.”
She clicks her tongue and gives his arm a playful thwack. “No onekeepsme; I’m not apossession.”
“Right, right,” he hums, as if just remembering that, when in actuality, it’s drilled into us all the time. “You just hang around near us like an opportunistic seagull.”
I laugh at that. “She’s going to hand you your balls tonight, you know that, right?” I tease him.
“Oh, I know,” he hums with a sly grin. “Kinda counting on it. Hey, so I know we’re setting sail soon for the Bahamas, but what are the odds about us making a pit stop at the Eiffel Tower at some point after dinner tonight?”
Lauren pulls back and doubles over cackling. “Marcus,” she manages to squeak out between fits of laughter. “You kill me, sweetie. Of course we can. You must already know I packed Eggplant Earl… and enough underwear to get me through until May, at least.”
“But of course, my dear,” he teases. Then, he grins and looks to me, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Thoughts?”
I smirk. “I have plenty of thoughts and not a single one of them is rated PG at the moment.”
He winks. “I knew I liked you.”
