AllFreeNovel
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“The first fuck of the rest of our lives.”
I laugh into his shoulder as he wraps his big arms around me. “Let’s see them put that one on a Hallmark card.”
35
Ford
“Yes.Yes. Yes!”My fists are clenched, and I’m balancing on the tops of my toes as the soapbox cars fly past me. Daryl is in a good position, driving well, so fucking close to placing. This is everything my sixteeners have worked toward over the last few months, and it feels like their success is my success.
The racers approach the finish line at the bottom of the hill, and my muscles coil tight. They’re close … closer … Daryl is neck and neck with the car beside him, fighting it out for second and third position.
Don’t do anything stupid … don’t do anything stupid.
Daryl crosses the finish line, and the group around me explodes into cheers. It’s too hard to tell from here if he placed second or third, but he did it. Top three is always our goal. And the clever little shit did it all in a soapbox car he made himself.
We make our way over, and when Daryl tells us he made second, my heart soars for him. I have no idea if I’ll have any seventeeners next year, so it’s awesome for this year to go out on a high.
Even if that thought tries to bring me down.
Orson makes it back just in time for the presentations.
“How’d your littlies go?” I ask.
“Great. A couple of places, a couple of wrecked cars, and a lot of tears.”
“Sounds like a usual race day to me.”
He chuckles, and I pull him in front of me and wrap my arms around his waist. We cheer when Daryl’s name is called and join the parents and families in congratulating the kids—all of them. Even if they didn’t win, they still built a whole damn car.
After that, Orson and I make our way back to the booth we’ve set up. The Springfield Thanksgiving festival is always a great day, and I love setting up my little booth to talk cars and offer free advice on issues while Orson covers the kids in temporary tattoos.
This is the fucking life. Simple and happy. Cars and Orson.
Our last few weeks together have been incredible, and even though it’s a chilly day overall, it hasn’t snowed yet this year, and the weak sun is doing its job enough for people to make the trip out here. The festival is full, a last-ditch attempt at enjoying the outdoors before winter kicks in and months of hibernating begin.
I love that I’ve been able to share this with him, and hopefully, we’ll have plenty of years ahead of doing the exact same thing.
After the night together a few weeks ago, where I put it all on the line and told Orson exactly what I wanted from him, we’ve barely spent a night apart. Next week, we’re doing Thanksgiving with some of our friends at my house, and after Christmas, we’re going to start the process of him officially moving in with me.
“You okay over here, big guy?” Orson asks when the group we’ve finished helping moves on.
“Sure am.”
“You’re all … quiet. Pensive. It’s weird.”
I chuckle. “What? I’m not allowed to sit back and think about things?”
“Not unless those things are me.”
“Oh, those things arealwaysyou and what I’m going to do with you later.”
“Hmm, I’m listening.”
“Well, first, I’m going to get you home …”
“Yes?”
“Strip you off …”
