Bennett smiled faintly. “I like this version better.”
Jasper reached up and kissed him. Soft. Certain.
They didn’t need to talk about forever. They didn’t need declarations that stretched beyond what they could honestly promise.
They had effort. Intention. Choice.
And that, Jasper had learned, was enough.
When Bennett left laterthat night, he paused at the door.
“Dinner again,” Bennett said. “Soon.”
Jasper smiled. “I will hold you to that.”
“You should,” Bennett replied.
As the door closed behind him, Jasper leaned back against it and let himself breathe.
This wasn’t a secret. This wasn’t an accident.
It was something chosen. Again and again.
And Jasper was very happy to keep choosing it.
Two weeks later,Jasper suggested a weekend away.
They were at Bennett’s apartment, Friday evening settling into that comfortable quiet that had become familiar. Bennett was reviewing quarterly reports at his kitchen table. Jasper was scrolling through his phone on the couch.
“I have an idea,” Jasper said.
Bennett looked up. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not,” Jasper replied. “It’s spontaneous.”
“Even worse.”
Jasper smiled. “There’s a cabin. Two hours north. My friend owns it. He offered it to me for the weekend.”
Bennett set his pen down carefully. “A cabin.”
“Yes.”
“In the woods.”
“Technically, yes,” Jasper said. “But it has Wi-Fi and running water. I’m not asking you to survive in the wilderness.”
Bennett considered this. His instinct was to check his calendar, to list the reasons why leaving town on short notice was impractical.
Instead, he asked, “When?”
Jasper’s eyebrows lifted. “Tomorrow morning.”
Bennett’s chest tightened. Not with anxiety. With something else. Possibility, maybe.
“Okay,” he said.
Jasper stared at him. “Okay.”
