He chewed on his lip a moment before he looked up at me. “Could I drag you away from packing for an evening and cook you dinner sometime this week? And, maybe, keep you company while you pack sometimes?” He smiled sheepishly. “It would be a crime not to make the best of your last two weeks here.”
“I think I would like that,” I said.
He bounced up onto his toes and grabbed the collar of my shirt to tug me down to meet him halfway for a brief, heated kiss. His cheeks were pink when he pulled back.
“Tomorrow,” he said as he backed down the hall. “Four o’clock. I’m picking you up.”
“I’ll be here,” I promised.
I watched him disappear down the stairwell at the end of the hall, then retreated back into my apartment and closed the door behind myself. Murph wriggled, and I let him loose again.
Before I could even turn back to engage the locks, I heard Maura’s door open and close across the hall. I swung my own open again to find her on the other side, fist raised and poised to knock.
She squeezed inside without invitation and stooped to love on Murph. When she glanced back up at me, her grin looked way too much like thatstupid devil emoji she’d sent earlier: smug. Pleased that she’d been the catalyst to such a good—and eventful—evening.
There was a less than zero chance that she would milk this for years, knowing her, but I couldn’t bring myself to be annoyed. I was too grateful.
“All right, Dr. Harrington,” she said, ushering me toward the couch. “Sit your ass down and give meallthe details.”
CHAPTER 01: MASON
I can’t believe I let Joelle talk me into signing up for this.
I’m a farmhand from rural Virginia, for crying out loud. I say shit likeyes, ma’am, thank you kindly, over yonder,andknee-high to a grasshopper.I’m awake at five a.m. every day, sometimes sooner, so I can appreciate my coffee before feeding the livestock. I drive an old, rundown F-250, and I’m usually covered in some combination of shit and mud by noon.
Where I’m from, men aren’t attracted to other men. No, sir; we marry our high school sweethearts, spend every dime we have on a small piece of land, and start popping out youngins to help on the farm by the time we’re twenty-five.
Except even at twenty-five, I never had a high school sweetheart, I ain’t got two nickels to rub together, and since Iamattracted to men, no one’s going to be having babies any time soon.
I love my life, but there’s no denying it gets lonely.
When Joelle showed me the advertisement for the photoshoot, looking for queer folks to sign up to be photographed with a stranger, she begged me to sign up—and let me tell you, my cousin could woo the tits off a bullfrog, so it didn’t take long before she’d had me convinced to give it a try.
“What have you got to lose, Mason? If no one else signs up, it ain’t like you’ll be any worse off. And if they do, well, hell, you might just find yourself a queer cowboy to make all your roll-in-the-hay fantasies come true,” she’d argued.
“Gettin’ a little ahead of yourself, don’t you think, Joe? You’re assumin’ this photographer lady will pick me.”
Joelle had rolled her eyes.
“Mase, I’ve always told you that you’re too fucking pretty to be working on a farm. Anyone with eyes would love to put you in front of a camera.”
I laughed and told her she might be my cousinandmy best friend, but she needed to quit callin’ meprettybefore people got the wrong idea about her and me.
As it turns out, though, Iwaspicked.
The stranger shoot is tomorrow, and I’m freaking the hell out…mostly because that means there’s another queer man within a reasonable distance ofmy house. I mean, sure, I’ve hooked up with guys before, but I had to drive at least an hour just to get to the halfway point between us. Yeah, good ole Grapevine, Virginia, doesn’t offer a gay man much opportunity.
Not to mention, our community is tightly knit, and private business doesn’tstayprivate for long. That’s both good and bad. It forces us to have to trust each other, and we definitely depend on one another. Winters can be brutal here in the Appalachian Mountains; summer droughts can wreak havoc on our fields and livestock, and most everyone in this farming community is third or fourth generation. Maybe older. We all belong here, and this land is in our blood, woven into our DNA.
So, it’s not as easy as being able to ‘just move’ like Joelle once suggested.
Pushing the thoughts aside, I pull up the address of where we’re meeting today. I recognize the place as Thorndike’s farm. Well, what used to be Thorndike’s farm. The crotchety old sumbitch died a few years back. The farm went into probate while some things got sorted out. Last I heard, some yuppie with money from New York bought it.
If there’s one thing my community hates, it’s out-of-town Yankees buying up our land. Hell, they might even choose a queer like me over a guy like that.
Old Thorndike’s place will probably have a gas station and a cheap motel on it before long.
My cell phone rings as I finish getting dressed. It feels strange replacing my dirty Carhartt uniform with clean Wranglers and a gray button-down. Still have my ball cap, though.
