Mystic Man
Page 11
“Privately. In the middle of the Seaport. With visitors all over the freaking path.”
“There’s safety in numbers?”
“Well, you’d know all about safety.” Cody couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice, because damn it, it hurt.
Aaron winced. “I deserved that. But please. Hear me out?”
“Fine.” Cody spun around and stalked through the door. He strode into the middle of the sidewalk and turned to face Aaron. “Here we are. Outside.”
Aaron huffed a laugh, taking Cody’s elbow and drawing him out of the middle of traffic. “Look. I didn’t want a repeat of my meltdown, okay? That’s what I meant.”
Cody crossed his arms, still not ready to give in. “I thought you went back to California.”
“I did. Long enough to sign the papers on my condo sale, pack up my life, and put everything in storage.”
“But you said—”
“That I was planning to get my old job back?” Cody nodded. “Yeah, that was the plan for maybe half the flight back to LA. But then I remembered a couple of things.”
“Like what?”
“Fresh lobster. The sunrise over the water, as seen from your boat.” He took a step closer. “And your face when I told you I was leaving.”
Cody winced. “I probably looked like a beached cod.”
“You looked exactly like I felt every time my parents pulled another runner. Betrayed.” Aaron traced Cody’s cheek with the tip of one finger. “I… I have something to say to you. If you can forgive me at least enough to listen for a couple of minutes.”
Cody made a point of obviously checking his watch. “Okay. I guess I can spare you that much.”
Aaron took a deep breath. “Julia Morgan. Maria Tallchief. Katherine Goble Johnson.” His expression was expectant, hopeful.
But Cody was clueless. “Huh?”
“Remember, you asked me for three stories from history that ended well. Julia Morgan was the first licensed female architect in California. Among other things, she designed a little shack called Hearst Castle. Maria Tallchief was the first prima ballerina for the New York City Ballet, and the first Native American granted the title. Mrs. Johnson—”
“I remember now. WOC and NASA mathematician who helped put John Glenn in orbit.”
Aaron nodded. “I know that’s not exactly regaling, but that can happen later. I picked stories about women because—”
“Because Kaya said history needed more girls in it.” Cody’s heart floated free in his chest, bumping around his rib cage, until Aaron’s tentative smile sent it soaring.
“I don’t belong in a place—I belong with a person. For me, that person is you.”
“Okay, how am I supposed to stay mad at you when you say things like that?”
Aaron reached out and hooked their forefingers together. “I hope you won’t stay mad at me at all. We’ve known each other such a short time. I know what I hope for the future, but I didn’t want—I still don’t want to turn into a… an albatross around your neck. I needed to get my ducks in a row before I called you so you wouldn’t be, I don’t know. Responsible for my happiness, I guess.”
“Have you ever looked at ducks, Aaron? They’re always in a row.” He snatched his hand away, but Aaron caught his finger again and Cody didn’t fight it. “And suppose I want to be responsible for making you happy?”
“That’s a very different thing, and it needs to go both ways.” He drew Cody closer. “I’ve got a job now, a place to live. I even had a drive-away service bring my car cross-country, so I can meet you on equal footing.” His lips quirked in a lopsided smile. “So what do you say to some reciprocal responsibility?”
Cody curled his finger, linking it more securely with Aaron’s. “I have one demand. It’s non-negotiable.”
Aaron’s swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding enticingly above the collar of his white dress shirt. “I’d say ‘anything,’ but you know I’ve got my limits. I’m working on them, but—”
“No more putting our happiness on hold for organizationally challenged waterfowl. I don’t care if your freaking ducks are scattered from hell to breakfast, I’m not waiting for them to line up. Our future starts now. Tonight. Come home with me. We can have dinner with the family, and you can regale Kaya with stories of Julia Morgan, Maria Tallchief and… and….”
“Katherine Goble Johnson.”
“Exactly. Then afterward—” Cody glanced around to make sure nobody was close enough to overhear. He leaned forward to murmur in Aaron’s ear. “Afterward, I can revel in your skin again.”
Aaron shivered visibly. “I… I’d like that.”
“She wrote another story, by the way. Kaya.”
“She did? Does Amelia Earhart sail up the Connecticut River on a leaf-peeping adventure?”
“Not quite. The river and leaves make an appearance, as does Bishop’s Orchard again, but there’s no Amelia Earhart in sight.” He rested his hand on Aaron’s chest, and Aaron’s heartbeat was as erratic as his own. “It’s about you and me.”
Aaron’s eyebrows traveled up his forehead. “Us?”
“Yep. So if you don’t want to destroy her faith in history forever….”
Aaron covered Cody’s hand with his own. “We’ll have to make this story end happily ever after.”
Aaron’s kiss, soft, warm, but totally safe for work, promised exactly that.
Chapter TEN
A year later.
“HEY, AARON.” Cody’s voice, cheerful and dear, carried easily on the bright hillside, even though he was on the other side of the next row of apple trees. “I’ve got the perfect idea for our trip.”
Aaron peered out between the leaves of his own target tree to see Cody grinning at him. Who needs the sun when I’ve got him? “Our trip?”
“You and me.” He wandered toward Aaron, one hand swinging an empty bucket, the other swooping through the air. “Sailing.”
“On the water?”
“That’s usually how it’s done.”
Aaron placed a pair of apples in the bucket at his feet and ducked out from under the tree to fix Cody with a mock glare. “You know, when you said you wanted to set sail on our new life, I thought you were speaking metaphorically.”
“You’re a Mystic man now, Aaron. Ships and boats are unavoidable. Besides, you did fine on the river cruises.”
“Yes, but that was a few hours on perfectly calm days with land in sight on both sides the whole time.”
“It’s a progression. I think your fear has more to do with lack of experience than actual, you know, fear. After another summer of sailing lessons, you’ll be ready for the Sound. Maybe even Cape Cod.”
“Don’t press your luck,” Aaron growled, but couldn’t be too intimidating in the face of Cody’s infectious grin.
“I wouldn’t be true to my job as a sailing instructor if I didn’t at least try. Then once you’re acclimated….” He waggled his eyebrows. “We can have some real fun.”
Aaron shook his head as he reached for his half-full bucket. “Your idea of fun—”
“Oh, come on, Aaron. Aruba? Jamaica?”
Aaron paused, narrowing his eyes as he studied Cody’s mischievous expression. “You’ve been listening to your dad’s music again, haven’t you? The Beach Boys?”
Cody’s grinned, obviously unrepentant. “Guilty.” He linked his arm with Aaron’s as they strolled toward where the rest of the family was still picking fruit. “But the day we met, you said it yourself. Traveling is for sharing experiences with the people you love. That’s what ‘Kokomo’ is about, right?”
“Maybe. Okay, yes. It is. But that doesn’t mean you’re getting me on a boat.”
“You’ve been on a boat with me before, if you recall.” Cody leaned closer, murmuring in Aaron’s ear. “Good things happen when we’re on boats together.”
Heat rushed up Aaron’s throat when he remembered some of those good things. “Can’t argue with that,” he muttered. “But—”
/>
“Hey.” Cody caught Aaron’s hand, pulling him into the shade between two trees. “We won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable. We can stay docked at the Seaport for our entire vacation if you want. But think about it.” Cody kissed him, his lips soft and warm from the sun. “Okay?”
Aaron smiled down at him—because how could he not?—and stroked Cody’s shaggy hair back from his forehead. “Okay.”
“That’s all I ask, you know,” Cody murmured, expression turning serious. “You don’t have to go along with all my harebrained schemes.”
“I know. But as you said, good things happen when I do, so every scheme at least deserves consideration.” Aaron shaded his eyes, peering up at the sun. “You know, I thought Kaya was exaggerating when she drew those giant suns in her pictures of the family at Bishop’s.” He shot Cody a wry smile. “Especially now that I’ve been in Connecticut long enough to know autumn weather can be extremely unpredictable. But she got it right.”
“Yeah.” Cody leaned into his shoulder. “It’s weird. We always come out here to pick apples around the second week of October, and in my memory, it’s always been a perfect day, just like this.”
The sun had nothing on the warmth in Aaron’s chest. Because in the months since he’d moved to Connecticut, even in February which (as Cody had once told him) totally sucked, all the days had been perfect to him because he’d spent part of each one—and most of his nights—with Cody.
Then, when the lease on his apartment was up last month, they’d moved in together, into Eliza and Hiran’s newly renovated carriage house.
A home. A job he loved. A boyfriend he loved even more. A year ago, Aaron would never have believed it was possible.
Kaya raced up to them, seemingly all knees and elbows after her latest growth spurt. She held up her own bucket. “Is this enough, Uncle Cody?”
Cody tweaked her braid. “You think a dozen apples is enough to keep you in sauce, pie, and cider all winter?”
“If it was just me.” She glowered at her baby brother, currently trying to shove his entire fist into his mouth while strapped in a baby carrier on Hiran’s chest. “But that Shaan eats a lot of applesauce.”
“Well, then. Back at it.” Cody chuckled as she stalked down the hill with another glare at her brother, spoiling the effect when she patted him on his round tummy, and Aaron was hit by a sneaker wave of tenderness.
He set down his apple bucket and cuddled up against Cody’s back, nuzzling his nape.
“Mmmmm.” Cody leaned back into his embrace. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”
“Nothing. Just that I love you.”
Cody twisted around to face Aaron, letting his empty bucket drop to the ground. “That’s not nothing, babe. That’s everything. And I love you too.” He lifted his chin for another kiss, which they kept PG since all of Cody’s family—not just Eliza’s crew, but his parents, his brother, George, aunts, uncles, and cousins whom Aaron had stopped trying to count—were running around the orchard, and they never knew when one of them would pop out from behind a tree.
Cody wrapped his arms around Aaron’s waist and squeezed, hitting exactly the wrong place. Wincing, Aaron sucked in a breath.
Immediately, Cody let go, stepping back. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
“No. That is, sort of, but it’s not your fault.” Aaron dropped his gaze, scratching the back of his head. “See, there’s this thing….”
“You know, for a librarian, you suck at words sometimes.”
Aaron sighed. “I know. But admitting to impulsiveness has never worked out well for me.”
Cody’s grin bloomed. “Impulsive, Aaron? You? Tell me.”
“I got a… a tattoo.”
“Really? Another one?”
“No. I just finished the first one.” Aaron raised his T-shirt to display the new ink in the center of his bookplate tattoo: Cody’s name in a rustic font, entwined with an anchor. “Since I’m out of circulation….”
“Oh.” He stroked Aaron’s skin with a feather touch, his smile incandescent.
“You’re my anchor, sweetheart. Now and always.”
Cody threaded his hands through Aaron’s hair. “And you’re my safe harbor.” He drew Aaron’s head down for a lingering kiss. “Now, about that sailing trip….”
Note
I LIVED in Connecticut for three years while attending graduate school. During that time, I met my Curmudgeonly Husband, who’s Connecticut born and raised—although interestingly enough, I met him in Vermont and our first six months living together were spent in Washington, DC.
Like Cody does for Aaron, CH introduced me to things about Connecticut that he knew and loved: Killam’s Point, The Place, Bishop’s Orchards, and of course Mystic Seaport. The story Cody tells about drifting out to sea with his cousin Kenny actually happened to CH and his cousin Kenny (and I may have had a reaction similar to Aaron’s).
One day, on a hike in the hills above New Haven (during which I had a panic attack of my own while standing on a steep slope—I am not a fan of heights), we met a family with a young son. He took one look at Hartford in the distance and asked, “How come it doesn’t take us an hour to see Hartford?”
It’s still one of the best questions I’ve ever heard.
E.J. RUSSELL holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she’s spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH also loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).
E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.
Newsletter: ejrussell.com/newsletter
Website: ejrussell.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/e.russell.author
Twitter: @ej_russell
By E.J. Russell
Mystic Man
The Probability of Mistletoe
DREAMSPUN BEYOND
#20 – Nudging Fate
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Mystic Man
© 2018 E.J. Russell.
Cover Art
© 2018 Brooke Albrecht.
http://brookealbrechtstudio.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
Digital ISBN: 978-1-64080-639-9
Digital eBook published June 2018
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America
sell, Mystic Man