“My boots—the snow,” protested Zeke, but Cal hushed him with more kisses.
“The snow will melt,” he said. “I’ll sweep it out in a second.”
He wrapped his arms around Zeke and held him close, letting his own body warmth soak into Zeke. Zeke wrapped his arms around Cal’s waist in return, and Cal sighed with pleasure.
“This is my favorite part when you go away,” whispered Cal in Zeke’s ear.
“Mine, too,” said Zeke, whispering back. “I love you, Cal.”
“And I love you, Zeke.”
Their wedding vows right after Cal had received his Certificate of Completion had been this simple. They’d exchanged promises and rings in the rustic Iron Mountain Country Church, located at a small bend in the road just north of Farthingdale Guest Ranch.
The plan had been to keep the ceremony small and quick, but everybody from the ranch had come, including a few guests who’d lingered after their week was up. Everybody from the Fresh Start Program had come, as well, including Beck, who wasn’t really a parolee, and Tom, a parolee from the earliestpart of the summer, along with his wife, Joanna, and cute baby daughter, Barbara Lynn.
The wedding reception in the small canvas pavilion in the parking lot of the church had started off simple, as well, but then pony kegs had shown up. Five to be exact, each with a different type of beer. And Beck, evidently, had splurged for twelve bottles of champagne and, of all things, Buffalo wings, and then the party had gotten quite boisterous and almost out of hand.
Everyone was having such a good time, so Zeke and Cal had slipped away just as the sun was setting. He knew he’d never forget that moment as they headed south on Highway 211 with all of their belongings stowed in the back of Zeke’s truck.
A bit of sunset had glimmered on the gold of their rings as they held hands, Zeke’s hand linked with his, both of their hands resting on Zeke’s strong, warm knee.
I love you, Cal, Zeke had said in the purple and blue twilight.
And I love you, Zeke, Cal had said.
They said those words to each other almost every day. It was important to say them because the words bound them to each other, ribbons of sound and intention and love.
“What’s for lunch?” asked Zeke as he pulled back with one last lingering kiss.
Zeke had told Cal about what the concept of farm supper meant, a gathering of a family together around a sturdy table, the food made with love was another way of connecting them together. Cal loved the idea of it, and together they had worked in the kitchen, preparing oatmeal on cold mornings, and hearty stews on winter evenings.
“I can make sandwiches,” Cal said. “Tomato soup, too.”
“We can make that together,” said Zeke. “Let’s get the groceries away while you tell me how many carrots you managed to sneak to the mules today.”
Caught red-handed, Cal laughed, kissed Zeke again, and did his best to put most of the groceries. That way, Zeke could get started on lunch, and Cal could pull the tall stool near the stove and watch his favorite man put on a chef’s apron and make tomato soup from scratch.
Yes, fromscratch. Zeke was a trove of hidden talents, and nothing pleased Cal more than to be continually surprised and amazed by him.
“Bert needed help with his computer today,” said Cal as he plopped himself on the stood in the warm kitchen, where the sun shone through the opening in the curtained windows. “He said Carla’s cookies are on their way.”
“Good,” said Zeke, busy at the cutting board, his expression serious and contented at the same time. “What kind?”
Surely Zeke knew Carla would always send their favorites, but he was too much of a gentleman to assume, so he always asked.
“Oatmeal and chocolate chip,” said Cal. “And peanut butter for me.”
Zeke made a low sound beneath his breath as he laid cut tomatoes on a pan to roast in the oven. Cal jumped up to get the hand blender so it would be ready and, before he sat back down again, he grabbed a quart of cream from the fridge.
“I only gave them small slivers of carrots,” said Cal as he sat back down. As a reward for being honest, Zeke paused to kiss him on the forehead, then returned to his cooking.
This was the way life should be, so sweet and perfect and peaceful that Cal couldn’t have imagined it would be this good, Zeke and him together.
They didn’t go out much, and mostly did chores all day, and their reward was exactly this: them in the warm kitchen, making farm breakfasts, and farm lunches, and farm suppers. Cleaning up after each one, side by side at the sink, sweeping the woodenfloor, then settling on the rumbled couch in front of the pot-bellied stove.
He looked at his hand and twirled the gold ring on his ring finger, the metal warm from his skin, the single diamond flat inside the band, sparkling like a promise.
When he looked up, Zeke had stopped, and was looking at him, his green eyes bright, his smile fond.
