Chapter Eleven

CONNOR ROLLED OVER in bed and watched Trey as he slept. With a hand just above Trey’s grizzled face, he traced the contours of his jawline and then reached up to let his fingers dance above his thick dark hair.

They’d been seeing each for two months now, and Trey had been a perfect gentleman the entire time, almost courtly. They’d gone out to many dinners, concerts, movies, and had even done a little hiking in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains.

During all of those outings, though, Trey had never made a move, never tried anything improper, even though sometimes Connor had wanted him to. But Connor had told him, after their night together at Monsoon, that he was nursing a heart that was in tatters. He needed to take things slow.

He had to restrain himself from falling into bed with Trey every time he saw another post from Steve on Facebook, which made his heart twinge. Here were Steve and Rory in a jewelry store downtown, picking out wedding bands. There they were with friends at Lola for brunch—guys who’d once been Connor’s friends, too, but who had gone radio silent. Pics of them on a ferry crossing to Vashon Island, standing below the Space Needle, running the trail about Green Lake. The photos telegraphed their love and bliss.

And Connor knew that having sex with someone as a kind of balm for his aching heart would only be using Trey, no matter how much he enjoyed the physical sensations. He also knew that detaching from Steve—and all of their couple hopes and dreams—would be healed only by time.

Still, it was so tempting to post his own pics of him and Trey on various outings around town, but he didn’t want to engage in a competition, especially since he sensed he’d be the only one competing. That would be pathetic.

There’d been a lot of physical affection—handholding, kissing (some Mary Chapin Carpenter passionate), and even some hugging that morphed into full-body rubbing, but they’d yet to go all the way, as high school as that phrase sounded applied to two middle-aged gay men.

Until last night.

Connor himself had proposed the getaway at the end of January, thinking it would be an amazing way to not only consummate their relationship, but also to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

“Have you ever been to Orcas?” he’d asked Trey over oysters and cold beer at a restaurant on Bainbridge Island.

Trey had laughed. “The whales?”

“No! Come on. Orcas Island? You know?”

Trey shook his head.

“You’re not aware of Orcas Island? What about the other San Juans?”

“Where is that? Puerto Rico?”

“Are you serious?” Connor was flabbergasted Trey wasn’t even aware of the islands north of Seattle, up near the Canadian border in the part of Puget Sound known as the Salish Sea. “San Juan Island itself? The Salish Sea? Friday Harbor?”

The islands, and the ferry ride to get to them, presented some of the most breathtakingly beautiful scenery the Pacific Northwest had to offer. Day trips and longer were very common among Seattle residents because of how easy it was to get to them, the potential for whale sightings, as well as the magic they possessed—just going there lowered blood pressure and heart rates and upped one’s appreciation for the wonders Mother Nature could work when she put her mind to it.

Trey’s face was a blank.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. But Orcas Island is gorgeous, serene, and one of my happy places. For years, we used to go up there every fall and stay at this resort called Doe Bay. They grow organic vegetables on the site, have cabins and yurts available for rent, and—oh my—some of the most gorgeous scenery anyone could imagine. They even have clothing-optional hot tubs that face the bay—”

Trey chuckled. “You had me at clothing optional.” He raised his eyebrows.

“I know. You’ve been patient.” Connor gave him his best, and most knowing, smile. They’d talked about how prolonged their courtship had been, especially for gay men. But Connor had been grateful for Trey’s understanding. And even more grateful that he hadn’t gone off to seek someone else out because Connor was sexually unavailable.

But when Connor thought of a Valentine’s weekend at the Doe Bay resort, he decided that would be a lovely setting for them to—at last—become intimate. It was a big step. He hadn’t been with another man since Steve had left. He’d been a faithful partner to Steve throughout the course of their nearly twenty-year relationship.

Why, he was practically a virgin again!

“Anyway, I thought we might escape up there for a long weekend and to celebrate Valentine’s. Would you be free? Game?”

Trey had needed no time to ponder. “Yes, yes, of course. It sounds wonderful.”

“You’ll be blown away by the island. Just getting there is crazy gorgeous. But when we do, I’ll take you to Moran State Park, and we can go up to the top of Mount Constitution. The views up there, of the Salish Sea, Mount Baker, and more are indescribable, even for someone like me for whom words are his living.”

“Sold,” Trey said quietly. He’d covered Connor’s hand with his own.

Connor felt giddy. “I’ll make all the arrangements. And it was my idea, so my treat.” He held up a hand. “No arguments.”

“Okay, okay.”

And now, here they were in a cozy little one-bedroom cabin that looked out on a meadow bordered by towering pines. There was even a peek-a-boo glimpse of the blue waters of the bay. The cabin, wood-paneled and rustic, had everything they needed.

And now, here they were, drowsy lovers (officially) waking in each other’s arms.

Connor snuggled close to Trey, gently, so as not to wake him. Morning sun, diffuse, poured in through the partially open blinds.

Trey had been considerate, going slow at first, when Connor was uncertain, and yes, even a little irrationally guilty. The thought that he was being unfaithful to Steve was there in the back of his mind, even though he knew there was no reason for him to feel ashamed or guilty, certainly not that he was cheating. But sometimes, it takes our hearts a while to catch up to our heads.

But after the kissing and stroking ignited and then stoked their desires, thoughts of Steve faded and then vanished into the background. Their libidos took over. Connor hadn’t realized how starved he’d been for this, and he smiled now at the thought of just how he’d gone from nervous and reserved to wanton and nearly out of control in a matter of a few minutes and a few well-placed touches and licks.

The room smelled of semen and the lemon verbena candle they’d lit. The sheets cocooning them were warm and slightly damp from their sweat. In his mind’s eye, Connor visualized their shadows, flickering, on the wall opposite the bed, charting the course of their desire.

He’d forgotten just how wonderful lovemaking could be, how completely and utterly it could take over one’s body and soul. Sweet oblivion.

By the time dawn seeped into the room and they passed into an undeniable weariness and welcome slumber, Connor knew he’d fallen in love with this man, a fact he thought wouldn’t be possible for him when Steve had left him. At that time, he was resigned to making his best life—alone.

He was glad they’d waited.

The only thing he wasn’t glad about was Miranda. She’d tried after their second date to convince him again Trey was all wrong—that there was something “off” about him. Yet when pressed, she could offer no evidence supporting her claims other than her intuition. At times, Connor felt she was holding something back, but he couldn’t imagine what.

She’d withdrawn from him. He tried not to take it personally and attempted to believe her when she claimed it wasn’t personal. She was working feverishly to finish up her novel before the end of the term.

The fact that he and Trey had continued dating seemed to annoy her. This made him sad. But at the same time, he couldn’t let his own child ruin his chances for love. If the tables were turned, he’d expect her to stick to her guns if she found someone to love that Connor was less than crazy about. Only we, ourselves, can decide whom we will or will not love, no matter how much or how little sense it makes to anyone else.

He knew he and his daughter had work to do to bring their relationship back to what it was before Trey arrived on the scene.

But thoughts like these were for later. Right now, from the sound of Trey’s breathing, he knew he was climbing out of the warm embrace of slumber.

And Connor had other embraces to welcome him back to the waking world.

 

THEY ATE A simple dinner in the cabin. They could have gone to Doe Bay’s excellent and quaint restaurant, with its stunning views of the bay, but Trey insisted they stay in. It was a good idea, especially since a soft but steady rain had begun that afternoon.

Now, with darkness pressing against the rain-smeared windows, and the patter of drops on the roof, Connor felt like he was sheltered with Trey. They were the only people in the world.

Their empty plates and glasses had been shoved to one side as they gazed across the table, wordless, at one another. Connor always believed the best relationships were defined by their silences. If you could be comfortably quiet with someone, that was a very good sign.

Connor and Trey had stopped at Whole Foods before making the trek north and had bought the ingredients for tonight’s dinner—simple. There were halibut filets, poached in white wine, roasted potatoes, carrots, and turnips, spiked with garlic, a good loaf of French bread with Irish sweet-cream butter, and a salad of arugula and lemon.

For a while, they sipped their wine in companionable silence. Every now and then, Connor would look across the table at Trey, and their gazes would lock. To Connor, it seemed so much passed between them in those simple glances, stuff mere words couldn’t begin to approach—hope, desire, affection, love.

It was this last emotion that caused Connor to set down his glass and draw in a deep breath.

It was time.

The utterance of these three words were always, Connor thought, a make-or-break point for any new relationship. But he’d always adhered to the wisdom that if you would only leap, the net would appear. Whether things went well or poorly after the words were, no pun intended, on the table, wasn’t the point. The point was knowledge…and understanding where the two of you might go as a couple from the moment the words were uttered.

He glanced down, back up, and, steeling himself, said the words that made the world go ’round, at least according to the songs. “I love you, Trey.”

The silence that rose, surrounding them, was different than before. It was no longer companionable. It was cold. And Connor knew, as soon as the words left his lips, he was in trouble. He’d ruined not only the weekend, but perhaps their future. Why didn’t I wait?

Trey stood, maybe a little unsteadily from the wine, and moved toward the window, peering out through its rain-smeared panes at the night. Connor considered the back of him, feeling lost, hopeless.

I wanted him to quickly say, “I love you too.” Is that too much to ask? As the seconds stretched into minutes, he thought it apparently was.

He gulped his wine, staring down at the table, face burning. He shut his eyes against the indignity of it all.

And, in a few seconds, there was a whisper of movement—and then Trey’s arms around him from behind and above. Hot breath in Connor’s ear. “I love you too. Thanks for saying it first.”

Connor was overcome, so much so that tears rose to his eyes, stinging. He simply reached up and covered Trey’s hands with his own. It was as though time stood still, as though they were the only people on the planet.

But nothing could have surprised him more than what Trey said next. “We should get married.”