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They kept stopping to check things out. Climbing trees to pluck leaves and compare them, or taking pictures of tiny birds in their nests.
It surprised Elliot, how much Wentworth knew about the foliage, the trees. An interest he’d picked up in their time apart? What others did he have now?
He hadn’t changed much outwardly. How much had he changed inwardly?
Louisa was all over him, touching his arm, leaning into him, giggling, asking for piggyback rides. She was thirty-five, for crying out loud. This was teenage behaviour.
So was accepting this invitation in the first place.
Louisa, climbing down a sprawling pohutukawa, stopped on the fork of the trunk and caught Wentworth’s eye.
“Go on, then.” Wentworth laughed. “I’ll catch you.”
She jumped; Wentworth caught her deftly and set her on firm ground. Elliot paused mid-step, transported to all the times Wentworth had said that to him.
“There’s my Bumblebee.” Wentworth whistled.
Elliot laughed from where he stood on the table at their end-of-school party, tipsy, but so happy. “In the wise and slightly-adapted words of the immortal Dr Seuss: Oh, the places we’ll go.”
Wentworth splayed his arms wide. “Let me tell you about the places we’ll go. Jump, I’ll catch ya.”
Elliot grinned and jumped into his boyfriend’s arms.
“Oof.” The laughter in Elliot’s ear tickled him to his toes. “Gained a few, Bumblebee?”
Louisa squeezed Wentworth’s bicep and winked over his shoulder at Elliot, all delight. “Gotta love a man who’s strong enough to catch you.”
Honey yipped in agreement.
Elliot was relieved when they finally stopped to refuel. Not so much for the food itself, but so that Louisa would stop jumping all over Wentworth. Grumpily, Elliot crammed his sandwich into his mouth. Then caught Wentworth’s astonished eyes on him.
There was no elegant way of swallowing.
“I’m ravenous.” He had been all week. It was like he’d rediscovered the joy of food.
Wentworth chuckled and forced the second half of his sandwich into Elliot’s hand.
“I—”
“Just have it.”
“Thank you.”
Wentworth petted Honey, who munched happily on his biscuits at the base of the log between them.
“Wentworth,” Louisa said, rising to her feet. She pointed to a grove of trees behind them. “Look, hazels.”
The two of them disappeared into the grove, checking out the trees. Their voices trailed off as they moved deeper but soon they were making their way back and Elliot, petting Honey on his lap, caught their conversation.
“So I took the cat in. I couldn’t bear that my neighbours’ hearts had been so fickle. Horrible. You decide to welcome a new member of the family into your home, you don’t change your mind. I would never back out of something I’ve committed to. When I make up my mind, no matter what comes, I live with it. Turning their backs on Slinky like that!”
“To have such a loving person as you to want and cherish and love her. Slinky’s very lucky. You love wholeheartedly. It’s a very attractive trait, Louisa.”
“I’m not saying she isn’t sometimes a handful. She can be very naughty sometimes, but through all our highs and lows, I love her to bits. I’d never get rid of her.”
“Neither would I. Not a dog, not a cat, not a bumblebee. The truth of love is in its adaptability, in its ability to weather all storms. It’s like these hazelnut trees. They survive on a wide range of terrains. They grow in acid soils in the Turkish mountains, they grow on Scotland’s wild coast, they are able to bloom in windswept Ireland, roots in limestone. They adapt to icy winters, soaking springs, stuffy summers. I wish for a love like the hazelnut tree. One that never stops growing, no matter the emotional landscape. Ups and downs, highs and lows. So long as we’re growing old together.”
Wentworth spoke with such warmth and sincerity, Elliot sat frozen to the side of the log, his hand gripped tightly around the end of Honey’s lead.
“I think Elliot and Honey are up that bank,” Louisa said. “Such a cute puppy. I think Elliot wishes he were his. I asked him last week why he didn’t head to the SPCA and rescue a dog himself.”
“Oh, really? What did he say?”
“Actually, it was quite sad.”
“Sad?”
“He said he wasn’t sure he could own a dog himself because eventually they’d get sick and die, and his heart couldn’t handle watching something he loved pass away again.”
Wentworth said nothing to this, and Elliot screwed up his eyes, wishing he wasn’t imagining Wentworth frowning tenderly. Wishing it didn’t hurt so much, remembering all Wentworth’s expressions. Wishing he couldn’t match the tone in his voice to the look on his face.
Those soft, care-filled eyes fixing on Elliot whenever he was nervous. The glitter in their depths when Wentworth was playful. The pinched edges of his mouth whenever they fought.
Those grumpy grimaces that melted when Wentworth drew Elliot into his arms. The humming into his hair as they absorbed one another.
