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He glanced up from his ice cream, his eyes tired and sad. “I was yes.”
“I was going to tell you the same thing,” I replied. The first hint of a smile I’d seen in hours lifted the corners of his mouth. “Honestly, and I hope that I can back this up, but my life isn’t always this insane.” I paused to ponder. “Okay, it might be. I love you and want to be with you forever, but I need to be real here. This kind of thing isn’t a daily occurrence, but the press can be vile. And if the new trilogy with Budgie in the Dell takes off, then the scrutiny will be intense again. I’d not fault you for not wanting to commit to being my one and only when there will be—”
He placed a finger to my lips. “I would love to be your one and only. And I am not a foolish man who enters into this lightly. Being with someone famous is trying at times, I’m sure, but I love you far too much to let that keep me from you. Also, if another photographer should show up, we’ll sic the gulls on them.”
That made me chuckle. “You’re so you. I love that about you,” I murmured into the finger resting on my mouth. Then I kissed the calloused pad tenderly. His gaze went soft as he traced my mouth lovingly. “As long as you know what you’re in for.”
“I’m well aware of what I’m getting into.” He lifted his arm for me. I moved under it, snuggling in tight to his side, then diving back into my tub, eager to get lost in the comfort of his embrace as I glutted on ice cream. I’d have to hide my weigh-in numbers from Katy this week. Maybe she would be too busy with her new love affair with Elle to hound me about my weight. A man could dream.
And sometimes, when he least expected it, those dreams come true.
One year later
“SigniorHortensio,’twixtsuchfriends as we few words suffice: and therefore, if thou know one rich enough to be Petruchio’s wife as wealth is burden of my wooing dance, be she as foul as was Florentius’ love, as old as Sibyl and as curst and shrewd as Socrates’ Xanthippe, or a worse, she moves me not, or not removes, at least affections edge in me, were she as rough as are the swelling Adriatic seas. I come to wive it wealthily in Padua. If wealthily, then happily in Padua.”
I waited in the wings for the young man playing Grumio to speak as the director of the play, our very own Mayor Minnie, stood at my side, the young woman dressed as a man nervously fiddling with the rapier hanging off her hip on stage.
The Kesside Isle Playhouse was packed to capacity, the opening night showing ofThe Taming of the Shrewbringing in people that were here for Labor Day who, I wagered, would have never entertained the notion of seeing a Shakespearean play if not for the fact that I was taking part. Not that I was on stage. I was the executive producer and a stand-in just in case the opening night nerves got to the young actors. Which was why I was in costume.
Since the announcement ofGray Rainshad been made in May, my stock value had soared again. No one seemed to care much that I wore frothy things anymore. And the ones who did care could go snorkel without a snorkel.
When I’d posed for a national queer magazine in a bright pink set that Gibson had bought me for my birthday last Valentine’s Day, the world had gone bananas. For a week. Then someone else had something scandalous and the press had charged off after them. Seeing me in frilly bits was no longer shocking. Which cut down on the creepers trying to sneak peeks in our cabin windows. Not that that happened much. We had installed security cameras a week after the Larry incident. And we had the guard gulls for several months over the summer. We felt as secure as was possible on an island off the coast of Maine.
“Grumio, it’s your line next,” I whispered to the young actor. He blinked at me, his face blank. I smiled and tossed him his opening line on the sly. The patrons were forgiving of the small mistakes as this was the first performance of the Kesside Young Thespians Club. I was the only one here with real acting credentials and a few of the patrons had insisted that I be Petruchio, but I had declined. I wanted young lovers of the stage to taste the glory of our art. Who knows, one of these budding performers just might be the next Tom Hanks or Meryl Streep. Producing was one task that I could do and then hand it over to someone else. Tomorrow Gibson and I were flying to Iceland to start shootingGray Rains.
“Oh,” Grumio stammered. “Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind says…”
Once he got over his little bump, Grumio flew through his lines. The rest of the play went off without any major hitches. A few fumbled lines, a lost sword, and a mishap with Katherine’s wig falling down to hide her eyes during a key scene, but that was it.
I took my bows with the kids, smiling and clapping for each young actor as they basked in the spotlights. The stage was littered with flowers. The attendees were on their feet, everyone clapping loudly, and I felt on top of the world. There was no notoriety for this play, not really. A small write-up in a few local newspapers was about it, which was fine. I didn’t want the accolades. This project was for local talent. I was just adding a tiny push to opening night attendance. Also, it had been fucking years since I’d done any Shakespeare. I truly did love it. Maybe someday, if Caiden Dell was willing, we could redo one of the Bard’s plays with a queer cast.
After the curtain fell for the last time, I herded the bubbly thespians to the changing rooms where family and friends were gathered. The kids were all beaming as they were hugged and kissed, handed bouquets, and generally majorly fussed over. My father, Kimmy, and Gibson were waiting for me outside the small dressing room.
Gibson stepped up to place a dozen long stem roses in my arms. “You did a marvelous job tonight, Elias.” He stole a quick kiss. “And now you know the joy of passing along the arts to young minds. I’m so thrilled to have been able to see those children blossom under your tutelage. Kiss me once more.”
So I did, and then once more after that. “Okay, you randy bucks,” Dad teased as our faces flamed. Sometimes we did tend to forget we weren’t alone, but that was how love was. It swept you up and carried you out to sea. Sometimes those waters were placid, and sometimes it was like sailing into a gale in a paper canoe. “Mind your manners. You’ll have a whole month or two in Iceland all alone to get frisky.”
I hated to bust Dad’s bubble, but the only time we would be alone was when we were in our hotel rooms. Location shooting was long, arduous, and trying. But we were both thrilled to be going despite how tiring making a film was. Bomb Bay and I were ready to bring this queer, interracial action/romance/post-apocalyptic movie to life. The four of us—Gibson, me, Bomb Bay, and his current girl Veronica—were hoping to see the sights while working. The Northern Lights were on the top of all of our bucket lists.
“Did you pack warm clothes?” Kimmy asked as we slowly made our way outside, stopping to shake hands, make nice with the mayor, and take a few selfies with the Morton family. Even little Roscoe Morton had come to the play, but he slept through the whole thing. Not unlike Billy used to do when we were studying classic literature in high school. Like father, like son.
“We did, although it won’t be really cold there for a while yet,” I said, taking Gibson’s hand in mine as we walked to the pier. “Where are you two going?”
“Back to the inn for a foot rub,” Dad said, hugging Kimmy to his side.
“When did I say I would rub your feet?” Kimmy asked as the stars twinkled over our heads. The air was rich with the scent of the sea, the waves lapping at the moorings under our feet.
“It’s part of being a couple. You rub my feet and I rub your back.” Dad smooched her on the cheek. “You’ll stop by the inn before you leave tomorrow morning, right?”
“Of course.” I hugged Dad and Kimmy, and then they embraced Gibson. Soon it was just us leaning on the old wooden railing overlooking the ocean. The moon was full, high in the sky, and bathing the gentle waves with milky light.
“You look so peaceful,” Gibson remarked, draping an arm around my shoulders. “I hope to see you look this serene every day.”
“Well, that won’t happen, obviously. Life just isn’t that way. But every time I’m with you I feel a sense of calm that I’ve never known before.” I let my head meet his. “There is something amazingly restorative about the sea.”
“Mm, yes, which is part of why I moved here. The ocean heals us if we just allow it to do so. As did finding you. You’ve healed me in ways that I never thought were possible, Elias. I spent a long time alone and then you showed up one day and lifted that shroud of loss from my eyes.”
My gods the man had a way with words. Guess all that college education paid off.
“If only I had words like the Bard to reply back with, but I don’t. I’m just a Mainer who got lucky and found a man who loves him despite all the baggage he’s pulled along with him. I do adore you. I trust you and love you. I’ve never been happier anywhere. That fancy mansion in the Hills has nothing on our little yellow cabin.”
He kissed me with passion that made my toes curl in my boots. I’d yet to change or wash the makeup off my face. How silly we must have looked standing on the dock, him in flannel and jeans and me in a period costume with a feathered beret making out like randy teens. Not that we cared. We were in love and the whole world lay before us ready for us to explore it.
And while I was sure Iceland would be breathtaking, I was also sure that nothing could compare to that little yellow cabin where the pines kissed the sky.
THE END
