Page 38 of Small City Heart
Charlie leaned across the counter and planted a kiss on his lips.
“How long do we have before the dance?” Patrick asked.
“Exactly long enough to either, one, head home for a couple hours of hanky-panky, or two, go to Bakers Creek so you can take pictures in that perfect sunset hour you get a special boner over.”
“Bakers Creek it is,” Patrick said, then laughed at Charlie’s fake pouting.
It was tempting to go to their duplex, which Patrick had only recently moved into, but he suspected they’d never make it to the Alumni Weekend Dance if they went home and got naked.
He wanted to go to the dance. He was looking forward to some time spent with Suzy and Rachel as well as a few other friends he’d made over the last year. Plus, he was all prepped to spend time with his mom’s new boyfriend—Timmy Trinity, owner of Trinity Trucking, video gamer, and lover of blackberry cobbler.
Patrick activated the security system and locked up the gallery, then followed Charlie to his truck. Charlie had dropped him off that morning so they wouldn’t be juggling the truck and Blue this evening.
In a matter of minutes, Charlie parked at Bakers Creek, and Patrick jumped out, camera gear in hand. Charlie lowered the tailgate of his truck and sat, his feet dangling.
Patrick took a long moment to ogle his boyfriend, the man he loved. The last year hadn’t been without incident, but every moment, even the difficult ones, made him sure he’d made the right choice. His career had floundered for a bit, but he’d managed to snag a handful of wedding gigs and score a few gallery showings in Kansas City and St. Louis.
Now, he was tempted to abandon his plan of taking photos of the creek in the setting sun and instead let his camera make sweet, sweet love to Charlie’s impressive form, his pickup in the background and summer wheat cresting the horizon.
Charlie smiled as if he could read Patrick’s hesitation. “Come here.”
Patrick slunk over. Charlie turned him so Patrick was standing between his legs, Patrick’s back to Charlie’s front.
“The clouds to the west are the deepest purple,” Charlie said in his ear, causing a shiver of want to ripple through Patrick. “And the willow leaves are neon green against the sky. The wooden bridge is perfectly framed by the trees and sunset. The water is clear and white-capped from this week’s rain. The sun is pink.”
“You’re so good at your colors.”
Charlie laughed and kissed Patrick’s neck, which was not convincing Patrick to move away and work.
“Take your pictures, then come back here and kiss me. You’ve been waiting for a day this perfect for weeks.”
Patrick pulled back reluctantly with one last peck to Charlie’s lips. Soon he lost himself through the lens of his camera, remembering Charlie’s words, focusing in on the willow trees and the old bridge, the rushing creek, the deep, colorful sunset. A stillness settled in him, one that he’d associated with taking pictures, with living behind his camera, but that feeling had been showing up more and more often. And at unusual times, like when he sat on the porch with his mom painting their fingernails. Or when having coffee with Arnold at the diner. Or when Charlie would suddenly pull him into a hug and hold on tight for no reason at all other than closeness.
The sun finally disappeared behind a limestone-tipped hill, and Patrick resurfaced as if coming out of a daze. They’d been there at least an hour, but it could have been longer. Charlie hadn’t moved from his spot on the tailgate, leaning back on one hand, a ratty fantasy paperback in the other.
Patrick froze and lifted his camera slowly, so as not to startle his subject. He snapped a picture of Charlie’s tennis shoes, swinging slowly in the shadow of the tailgate. Then another of his hand—strong and callused and so fucking gentle—holding the book. Then one of the ring box slightly bulging Charlie’s shirt pocket, a box Patrick had found in an old boot in their closet last week but had been pretending not to know about. He moved his sights to Charlie’s face to find Charlie smiling slightly, like he’d realized Patrick’s game. Patrick took that shot for the gift it was.
He zoomed out and took a picture of the whole scene—Charlie sitting in his truck bed, the last dredges of daylight gilding his brown hair bronze, his strong body relaxed and casual.
“You’re my muse,” Patrick said, only partially joking.
“I feel objectified.” Charlie smiled wider but didn’t look up from his book. “I like it.”
“Good.” Patrick packed up his camera and gear quickly before sliding back between Charlie’s legs. “Do you think you’ll like it when we’re older? When you’re an impossibly handsome silver fox and I get the urge to lovingly take pictures of your sideburns? Or your gray chest hair? Or your saggy butt?”
Charlie tossed his book to the side and raked his fingers through Patrick’s curls, pulling his long hair away from his face. He kissed Patrick softly until his lips were sensitized and his heart was pounding. “I’ll always love having your eyes on me. I’ll always love you. And your camera.”
Patrick pressed his forehead against Charlie’s and gazed into his dark eyes. “You’re not just my muse, you know?”
“Oh?”
“No.” Patrick kissed Charlie’s ear, then pressed their cheeks together. “I love you. You’re my muse, my home, and my heart.” Patrick gently but very deliberately tapped the box holding two gold rings in Charlie’s pocket.
Charlie laughed in surprise and held him tighter. “You want me to do this now or later?”
“Now.”
Charlie whispered his love in Patrick’s ear, close and soft and secret, before slipping a ring on his finger. Patrick returned the favor.
They waited there for another few minutes, their hearts beating as one, their souls settling. Then they left for a night of dancing, and community, and love. Together.
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