Page 3

Finn

I wake up bright and early. If the bridge needs repairs, it will take quite a while, if Wyatt and I can even do anything to fix it. All I know is I need to prove myself as capable and put in a good showing.

Breakfast is uneventful, but I can’t believe how delicious Doris’ biscuit and gravy is—even if it isn’t all that good for me. I finish eating and start wondering what’s keeping Wyatt. He’s usually up and ready to go at this hour.

“Have you seen Wyatt?” I ask as Miranda comes by to clear my plate. “Oh, thank you for this, but I can bring my own dishes to the kitchen. You don’t have to pick up after me.”

“Nonsense,” she says. “I was headed back that way to get my own meal anyway. And to answer your question, yes.”

“Oh? Where is he? We’re supposed to check the bridge for damage from the storm.”

At that moment, the front door opens, and in walks the man of the hour, Wyatt.

His broad shoulders, thick muscular frame, and the way he carries himself send my tummy fluttering.

Down boy, I think to myself. He’s off limits.

Not only because he’s a good thirteen years older than me, but we work together.

Never good to dip the pen in the company ink, or so I’ve been told.

“Hey, Finn,” he says as he closes the door and takes off his hat. He walks up to the table and sits. “Care if I join you?”

I’ve finished my meal, but I could really use the company and some conversation. Plus, we need to get a game plan together to check out the bridge. “I’d love some company.”

I catch a glance from Miranda, and she has a little smile on her face. Does she know I’m gay? Can she sense my physical response to Wyatt being here? I return her smile, and her eyes glisten with a deviousness I didn’t expect. What does this lady have up her sleeve?

“Wyatt,” she says. “Don’t you move a muscle. I’ll have Doris whip a plate right up for you.”

I’m about to make an excuse for her to get me something too so it doesn’t feel awkward watching him eat, when she stops me. “Finn, I’ll bring you one of Doris’ delicious pastries and some fresh-squeezed orange juice. Would you also care for some coffee?”

Coffee. There was a time when I would have zombie-walked into a coffee shop and ordered one of those huge, sugary drinks the place is famous for, but now I do it more for the caffeine. “I would love a nice hot cup of black coffee, Miranda. Thank you so much.”

“Anything for the two of you handsome fellas.” She turns on her heel and rushes off into the kitchen.

We settle into an uncomfortable silence, each waiting for the other to speak. I break first.

“Any idea what we will find today at the bridge?”

He shakes his head. “No idea, man. You mentioned you felt the bridge shaking or something?”

“Yeah, it sounded like it was creaking and groaning as I went across it last night. I played it off to the guests as nothing, but it scared the shit out of me.”

“I’ve seen flash floods cause quite a bit of damage, but my hope is that the new support beams we installed two years ago will have held. Won’t know until we get out there and check it out for ourselves.”

“Here you fellas go,” Miranda and Doris say as they bring out plates heaped with food. They put the dishes down in front of us, and all I can do is stare in shocked silence. How much do they think I can eat?

“Wow, ladies,” Wyatt says. “You really outdid yourselves this morning. Everything looks amazing.”

Doris giggles and places her hand over her heart. “There’s nothing more satisfying than cooking for the two boys of the most important men in my life, your fathers.”

Miranda puts a hand over her mouth, and it’s clear she’s fighting back emotions. She nods but doesn’t say a word.

“Thank you both so much for all you do. I can’t imagine this place without either of you,” I say. Diving into the fist-sized cinnamon roll, my words fail me at how delicious it is. All I can do is moan and take another bite.

“From the sound of that moan,” Wyatt says playfully, “I’d say Finn is enjoying his breakfast.”

Both ladies giggle and rush off to whatever they’re doing next, leaving Wyatt and me alone to eat and talk.

We make small talk, but nothing important.

I have to admit it’s nice to have a conversation with someone since I haven’t had time to sit down and get to know anyone all that well since moving here.

Once we finish our meals, my second one actually, we get up, put our coats on, and head out to inspect the potential damage.

“I’ve loaded up the truck with some tools in case we need them,” Wyatt says. “There’s a ladder and some rope in the back too.”

“Sounds great,” I say. Honestly, I wouldn’t have had the foggiest idea what to bring, and it’s kind of nice to have a man with some knowhow to rely on. If we needed to balance the monthly books or start a new business model, I’m the guy, but tools have never been my thing.

I hop into the passenger seat, and we take off down the road.

The bridge that crosses over Bear Creek is about a mile and a half down the road that leads from our property to the highway.

It seems to take us far less time to reach the destination than it did last night when the storm was in full force.

As we pull up to the bridge, everything looks solid, but I guess that doesn’t mean anything.

Other than the creek being a little higher than normal, branches lying around the road, across the bridge, and jamming up the creek itself, I wouldn’t have known there’d been a storm.

Wyatt gets out of the car, and I follow him.

We walk up to the creek’s edge, and he shakes his head.

Then he crawls under the bridge in the space where the highest part of the bank and the road meet.

I have no idea what he’s doing or looking for, so I patiently wait topside.

After ten minutes or so, he comes back out and says, “We lucked out.”

“Really? No damage?”

“Surprisingly none. The new joints and support beams we installed held exactly as they should. The only thing we need to do is remove the debris from the creek and the bridge, and we should be good to go.”

“That’s fantastic.” I start for the road. “I’ll start up here if you want to work below?”

He nods and disappears back down the steep bank toward the creek.

I spend my time picking up armloads of branches and moving them off the roadway, piling them next to the lane.

There are a few large enough that if dried out would make some nice wood for the fireplace, so I add them to the truck bed.

I start to work up a sweat despite the cold weather and feel the muscles in my calves and lower back begin to burn.

This is more manual labor than I’ve done, well, ever in my life.

Once I’m done, I check on Wyatt. I duck my head under the bridge and am about to call out to him when I notice he’s in the middle of relieving himself.

Despite the chilled air around us, his cock hasn’t shrunk, or if it has, he’s quite the lucky guy.

Even at this distance, I can see the girth of his shaft and the way the foreskin hasn’t quite been all the way removed when he was circumcised—again, very fortunate for him.

I’m dickmatized. Unable to look away, I turn into this peeper who watches another man pee. That is until he glances up and smiles. It throws me out of my trance, and I quickly say, “Oh, hey, sorry about that. I didn’t know you were…” I shrug and gesture vaguely in his direction.

“Peeing?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying my best to stifle a laugh.

“I’m ready to go when you are.” I can’t help but notice he’s finished but hasn’t yet put his dick away.

Feeling stuck in place, I look away for a moment.

When my gaze returns, he has successfully stuffed his large, beautiful cock back into his pants.

Without another word, I walk quickly back to the truck and get inside and shut the door.

A few minutes later, he gets in and starts the engine. Without a word, he turns the truck around and starts back toward The Wildwood. There are so many apologies I try to say but can’t even get the first sound out. Instead, I sit there like a weirdo and watch out the window.

“So, what’d you think?” Wyatt asks as he parks the truck.

“Huh? What do you mean?” I ask. “I guess it was above average?”

Wyatt bursts out laughing. He keeps trying to speak, but every time he looks over at me, he doubles over in laughter. He shakes his head and waves his hand. “I’m talking about going out on your first repair job.”

Oh my god. Talk about putting my foot in my mouth. What the hell is wrong with me? Of course, he isn’t asking me what I think of his dick that I was caught creeping on. I feel my face flush hot, beads of sweat forming on my brow and making my scalp itch under the knitted hat.

I want to die, but I force myself to look him in the eye. “It was great. Thank you for showing me.” I don’t mean it how it sounds, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Wyatt chuckles and then grows serious. His eyes are so soft and kind.

The way his dark brown beard has started to turn white in one little patch in the middle of his chin.

He’s truly handsome, rugged, and so far off limits I should have run from the truck right then and there.

“Please don’t feel weird about earlier. It’s really no big deal to me.

I’m not shy.” He slugs my shoulder. “What’s the saying? You can look, but don’t touch.”

I laugh with him, but oh how I would love to touch it. I nod and open the door, slide out of the truck cab, and turn back before I walk away. “Thanks, Wyatt.”

“And for the record,” he says. “It is above average. You know, from what I’ve been told.” He winks, a twinkle of humor in his eyes and a smirking half-smile across his full lips.

It’s my turn to laugh. Hell, if he isn’t going to worry about it, then why should I? “Thanks again for all the help today.”

I shut the door and hurry into the main lobby.

Miranda meets me with a cardboard box in her arms. She thrusts the box toward me and says, “I’m sorry, Finn.

I wanted to give you a little more time to settle in before I gave you this, but here are a few important items your father had marked specifically for you. ”

I take the box from her, surprised by how heavy it is. There must be some important things inside, or he wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of making sure I received it after he passed. “Thank you, Miranda.”

My mind races with the possibilities of what’s inside the box. My father and I didn’t have a strong relationship, so what could be so important? I hurry to my room and close the door. I open the lid, and the first item on top is a notebook marked: Journal.

Is there something inside it that will answer all my questions? Will I find out what happened between my parents after I was born? My mother never gave me the answers I needed, always saying it was the past and no point in bringing it all back up.

I sit down on the bed, the journal on my lap. My hands tremble, and my heart races as I reach to open the cover to the first page. Here goes nothing.