Taking a moment, he posed with the axe. Stopped. Rolled up his sleeves, the way Galen liked them, and posed again. One gloved fist on his waist, the other gloved fist on top of the axe handle. His chin in the air the way he imagined Paul Bunyan might stand.
He didn’t have blue ox named Babe, but he did have Galen, driving fast up the drive, then screeching to a halt at the gate to the yard. Galen slammed the truck into park, turned off the engine, and before the engine could even start to ping as it cooled, he was through the gate and into Bede’s arms.
“Gah,” said Bede as Galen squeezed the air out of him. But he didn’t really mind and squeezed Galen right back. “Did you get the strawberries?” he asked.
“There were none,” said Galen. “But I got frozen strawberries so maybe you could make your coulis with that?”
“I could be persuaded,” said Bede, but he had been on board since the moment Galen had suggested it to him. “Leave the groceries and come inside.”
In the cool air, the groceries would keep, even the frozen strawberries. Bede laid the axe against the fence, opened it and pulled Galen behind him, tugging off his leather gloves at the same time. The screen door opened easily now that it had been repaired and swung quietly shut behind them.
Bede didn’t even have to point to the mugs. Galen saw them and hurried to the kitchen table, picked up the first mug he came to, held it to his cheek, and crooned a sweet love song, both to it and to Bede.
“You found them,” he said, his eyes half-lidded with love.
“I did, my sweet,” said Bede. “I hope you got more pods for the Keurig, otherwise we’ll be drinking hot water out of those things.”
“I did,” said Galen, nodding as he turned over each white china mug, one by one. “Hazelnut, vanilla, and regular.”
“And?” prompted Bede.
“And lavender espresso, of course.” With a smile, Galen put down the mug he held in his hands and sashayed over to Bede. There, to hug him close and whisper against his mouth, “Did you ever doubt me, my love?”
“It helps having it confirmed,” said Bede with a mock growl. Then he wrapped Galen in his arms, and kissed him hard, and then soft, absorbing Galen’s breath that felt like a whisper on his skin.
“The steak is coming to room temperature,” he said. “Shall we go upstairs in the meantime?”
“What about the groceries?” asked Galen, drawing back, his arms on Bede’s forearms, but it was easy for Bede to see thatGalen was only pretending to be shocked that they would be so casual with their foodstuffs.
“Fuck the groceries,” said Bede, almost roaring, but it was only for effect, because he planted more kisses on Galen’s face, anywhere they might land, and hauled Galen under his arm and up the stairs to their room.
The steak could wait. The groceries could wait. Hell, the whole world could wait while he made love to the most amazing man in the world.
Epilogue - Galen
Snow spat against the windowpanes and a high wind whistled outside. But it was warm inside as Galen sat at the kitchen table, a glass of red wine resting at his elbow. His eyes were on Bede, who stood at the gas stove, adding sliced mushrooms to the cast iron pan.
“Is that butter the right temperature?” he asked.
“Yes, my love,” said Bede, almost absently as he plopped the mushrooms in the pan and used a wooden spoon to make sure they weren’t crowded.
Galen hadn’t doubted that Bede knew how to cook mushrooms. He just wanted Bede to know that he was watching him. And, dressed in a white t-shirt and blue jeans, a white apron tied at his waist, Bede was an eyeful. Worthy of being absorbed with ever fibre of Galen’s being.
“You’re cooking barefoot,” Galen remarked.
Galen’s dad, Earl, had always taught him to wear shoes while cooking, in case you dropped something that shattered on the floor, or if a spatter of grease happened to fly out of the pan you were using.
“Yes, my love,” said Bede again, more on purpose this time, because he knew he was being watched, and he knew Galen loved being calledmy love.
The mushrooms sizzled in the pan. Bede gave them a slight stir, waiting till they browned before he added any salt.
Galen knew this because Bede had taken the time to patiently explain it to him.Wait till they’re brown, he said.Wait till the water is cooked out, then add salt.
After the first time Galen had tasted Bede’s cooking, he would have done anything Bede told him to. In the kitchen, Bede was master.
The low light over the stove shone on Bede’s dark hair, glinting on the moisture left from Bede’s recent sip of red wine. Aproned and barefoot, he was the most beautiful sight Galen had ever seen, and that wasn’t the wine talking. It was the truth.
“You should be like this always,” said Galen. So, okay, maybe that was the wine talking.
