by K. Z. Snow
I walked to the end of Booker’s dock. “Okay,” I murmured, “you’ve won me over. I trusted you and you didn’t let me down.”
Cloud Lake glinted, as if pleased we understood each other. Concentric ripples appeared here, there—quiet celebrations. The scent of pine wafted past me on a powder-soft breeze. It was like a gift, and I filled my lungs with it.
All I need is the air that I breathe…
I remembered watching Booker stand where I now stood. Neither one of us was like Jay Gatsby, longing for a lost sweetheart. Perhaps, instead, we were each yearning for a future love.
The dock trembled beneath my feet. I didn’t turn. My nerves sang, anticipating my lover’s approach. I wanted to feel him before I saw him.
The sun sank farther into its slot beneath the horizon.
Booker’s arms slid around my midsection—a smooth, gentle movement that gracefully sealed the front of him to the back of me. I crossed my arms over his arms. He rested his chin on my shoulder.
Seamless.
“You okay?” he asked softly, so close to my ear that I could feel his lips, his breath.
I nodded then lightly brushed my hair against his. “Kenneth won’t be bothering us anymore.”
“The kitchen camera did capture him. Perfectly.” I felt Booker’s face crease against mine. “I think I’m better looking than he is.”
I met his smile. “Much. And a sweeter person. And more creative. And definitely a better lover and companion. Plus, you can cook. So you win.”
Booker kissed my neck, raising goosebumps on my skin. “Did you listen to the recording?” he asked.
“Yeah. Karl’s toast once we get all this stuff into the right hands. Let’s not talk about it now, though.”
We swayed together in a silent embrace as darkness fell.
“Charlie…”
“Hm?”
“I like it that you were here, waiting for me. I like it a lot.”
“I didn’t want to be anywhere else,” I said, and couldn’t seem to shut up after that. “I think, sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe and…” I thought the phrase would come to me, but it didn’t.
“To love you,” Booker murmured.
That’s it. “And to love you,” I repeated. Now I did turn to face him. It was time to take another risk. “Booker, may I?”
We held each other by the waist. He knew what I meant, yet he didn’t avert his eyes or seem put-off.
“Yes, please do,” he said with absolute assurance. “And what I have to offer, do you want it?” He kissed me. “Do you want this?”
I nodded. “Very much.”
He took a quavering breath and let it out. “That’s a great song. By the Hollies, isn’t it? Nineteen seventies.” His smile was shyly teasing, distinctly happy. “Maybe I’ll sing it for you sometime.”
I hugged him. “You do win. Hands down.”
The End
About the Author:
K. Z. Snow is a multi-published author who describes herself as “grossly overeducated and grossly underskilled.” Although K. Z. has written in a number of genres, her real love is m/m fiction. She lives an unremarkable life in rural Wisconsin, where she cooks as little as possible, reads and writes as much as possible, and enjoys spending time with her unremarkable friends and unremarkable dogs.
