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“The coloring book. The one we did together when I twisted my ankle?”
“Fuck. Holy shit, I forgot all about that.”
The past came rushing up at him. It had been years since then, right? Surely. Barrett glanced at his screen. June fifteenth. Eight months, almost to the day when he’d seen Ambrose at the dock, and about seven since that night in the tower. “I thought you could finish it and I’ll put a frame on it, hang it somewhere.”
“Yeah, the bathroom.”
“Hush, you. I’m serious. I’ll hang it in my office, so every time I’m stuck in a spreadsheet and I hate everything, I can look at it and smile.”
Barrett went over to the bookshelf and rifled through the atlases and books on leaves and insects. “I still have that book on fish here, by the way.”
“Brochis splendens.”
His fingers curled around the coloring book. “Hmm, okay, you got me.”
“Emerald catfish. Brazilian.”
”Is it actually emerald colored?”
He could hear Ambrose’s smile. “Actually, in a way, yes. The scales shimmer bright green. I think it’s on a postage stamp in Brazil.”
Barrett found the fish ID guide and took it and the coloring book over to the map table. He settled on the stool and flipped the coloring book open until he found Miss Sparklepants. “Well, here she is. Poor Miss Sparklepants, half colored in.”
“Ah, the poor dear. I’m sure you’ll do right by her.”
“You really gonna hang this up?”
“Absolutely! She deserves a nice place. As a reminder.”
Barrett smiled. “It makes for a good story.”
“The best.”
Two days later
Barrett scooped Ambrose up in a hug that threatened the stability of his lungs and he didn’t care. Barrett was here and big and warm and he smelled like coffee and Ambrose melted into his arms. Dandi danced around them. “I am terrified of how she’s going to get up the stairs,” he said into Barrett’s shoulder.
“She’ll do all right. It just wasn’t practical to keep her here the whole month. Plus if there’s an emergency, I can’t leave her alone in the tower.” Barrett crouched and accepted Dandi’s licks with ease. He didn’t even flinch at the slobber; and admittedly, Ambrose had gotten used to it, too. A dog that big put outbucketsof drool, and yet he simply didn’t care. He also didn’t care when Barrett kissed him smelling like sunscreen and sweat, or when Barrett slid big, rough hands up his body, his calluses catching on sensitive skin.
Hereveledin it.
Because it was Barrett. Because he was in love, helpless to it.
They gathered up Ambrose’s bags and the supplies for Dandi and made the slow trek up the stairs. Dandi didn’t mind the steep stairs at all, her massive body graceful as she followed Barrett. Ambrose was close behind, just in case.
When they rounded the fourth landing, a flicker caught Ambrose’s eye. Fire in the distance. “Barrett?”
Barrett stopped, turned, and swore. “Shit. All right. I’ll help you get Dandi up. We can let her have the spot by the bookshelf. Then I gotta go stop ’em.”
They shuffled gear and hurried up stairs so Barrett could grab his supplies and rush back down. “Is that fireworks?” Ambrose asked, concerned, as Barrett dashed about.
“Yeah. Not as dangerous now because of the rain this week, but in the middle of a drought…” Barrett gave him a swift kiss and a wink and then was gone, thundering back down the stairs to his truck.
Ambrose sighed and turned slowly in a circle, taking in the frog kettle and the neatly made bed with mosquito netting draped above. On the battered coffee table was a book about fish and the coloring book. Miss Sparklepants was fully colored and, in the corner, signed with a heart.
Chuckling, Ambrose sat on the couch and pulled the fish book into his lap. Dandi was snuffling near the bookshelves. A breeze blew in from the open windows, warm and fragrant with summer. Now that he was in the tower and not in pain, Ambrose saw the appeal immediately. The quiet was satisfyingly peaceful. He let his head fall back against the couch and closed his eyes, enjoying the way the wind caressed his bare arms and face.
After a few minutes, Ambrose got to his feet and put the kettle on. There was no way he’d let Barrett drink that foul bagged blend. Out came the small bag of darjeeling he’d packed for the weekend, ignoring the bottle of wine he’d stowed between rolled up shirts and shorts. That was for later, after the sun went down and the dark cocooned them and they were high up above the forest. After preparing the frog kettle, Ambrose leaned against the counter and looked out over the treetops, smiling at how the wind teased the lush, dark green leaves. It was beautiful up here. Inspiring, even.
