"Did you just say what I thought you said?" asked Kyle. "Did you really justsaythat?"
Kyle didn't sound angry, so Clayton risked it, let go of his own head, and looked up.
Kyle's expression was that of a man who could see a great deal of the way down a road he wasn't sure he was allowed to go on. His mouth was open, and his eyes were wide, eyebrows raised just a fraction, as if he was on the verge of asking for what he wanted, asking his future self:Is this the way I should go?
"I meant to take it much slower than that," said Clayton, hurrying to get the words out. "It was like while I meant to tap the gas pedal I gunned it instead—but I meant every word. And if it makes you uncomfortable at all, I'm sure I can make it to the interstate and find a motel."
"You'll do no such thing," said Kyle, shaking his head.
Clayton could tell he meant it, so at least he wouldn't have to start a dark, cold drive to find a motel that might already be booked solid. But more importantly, if Kyle wasn't angry and didn't want him to go, did that also mean he wanted Clayton to stay? To come back? To be with him? Clayton needed to be sure.
"Okay about the motel and me staying here," said Clayton carefully as he pointed at the table. "But what about everything else? I went too fast, I know, but what about?—"
He stopped, unable to go on. He'd spoken his piece anyhow, so there wasn't much point in going over it again. He needed to wait, to be patient, to hear what Kyle had to say.
Kyle amazed him by sitting at the table where he'd been sitting before. Not across from Clayton, but kitty-corner to him, their elbows brushing against each other on the tabletop.
"I didn't know," said Kyle slowly, as if letting his brain catch up to what his mouth was saying. "I mean, you've been so nice, so easy to be with, and I could see, well. I could see how nice it was to have the empty places in this house filled with someone besides myself. On the other hand?—"
Kyle leaned his chin into his cupped hand, his fingers dappling against his flushed cheek.
"On the other hand, you could be the serial killer your sister is worried that I'll turn out to be, and people will say we were foolish. They'll say that we were stupid and blind and that we shouldn't have?—"
Kyle stopped and looked up at Clayton with his eyes so blue, Clayton could see the sky in them, a sky full of dreams and hopes and hearts that wanted something they remembered wanting when they were younger and didn't know the world was full of danger and closed doors and broken promises.
"That we shouldn't," said Kyle. He swallowed hard, took his hand away from his face, and sat back, as if fully prepared for the moment when Clayton would agree with him and also say that they shouldn't.
"Nobody gets to tell you that you shouldn't but you," said Clayton, his throat thickening with anger at anyone who'd ever stood in Kyle's way of doing what he wanted.
He wanted to stand up and shout at those invisible, unknown people who'd turned into barriers to Kyle's dream ofmaking things and traveling the country to sell them and see a little bit of the world. But he stayed seated where he was because he didn't want to startle Kyle into thinking that maybe his Christmas guest ought to take his heated opinion and go on down the road to the interstate motel. So he stayed seated, breath held.
"You say what Brent and Richard are always saying," said Kyle. "They want to bankroll my little business, with proper papers through a bank so I won't refuse on account of I'd take it as charity."
"You should let them," said Clayton, firmly, almost fiercely. "You should sign those papers and take to the road."
"Would you come with me?" asked Kyle, his gaze quite level as he looked at Clayton, and for a moment, the world was in his eyes, blue as the sky, as open as a horizon on the high plains.
Clayton's heart soared with hope. Then, with a little shrug, Kyle laughed.
"Seems kind of sudden, you and me, talking about taking to the road together."
"Maybe a little," said Clayton. His heart was beating hard against his breastbone. "We could put on the brakes a bit and take it slow for a while. I could stop by once in a while on my route, when it takes me this way?—"
"More than once in a while," said Kyle, smiling, that sweet flush coming to his face. "Definitely more than once in a while."
Clayton had his answer. He had his answer, and it was the best Christmas present he could ever remember getting. They had a chance to be together.
His breath caught in his throat as he thought about all the Christmases to come, the future Clayton and Kyle decorating a real Christmas tree together, remembering together to make the Rice Krispies treats to leave out for Santa. The bottles of wine they would share, and the scarves they would wrap around eachother's necks with gentle hands, leaving traces of warmth behind.
"Is this where we kiss for the first time?" asked Kyle, breaking in on Clayton's rambling thoughts.
"Maybe?" Clayton's eyebrows rose. "And after that, we take it nice and slow, because it's been a while since I—well, it's been a while."
"For me too," said Kyle. He looked up at Clayton through his lashes in the most flirty way that made Clayton's heart skip a beat. "Maybe we could cuddle on the couch after, but I'm not one of those guys you meet in bars who's ready for it, who's already bending over and ready for it?—"
"Me either," said Clayton, when he figured out where Kyle was going with his thoughts. "I mean, I used to be, but I'm up for cuddling." His face felt warm, even as he said it.
"That's settled then," said Kyle, standing up from the table, scraping the chair back across the kitchen floor with a screech. "You pick out a movie for us, and I'll make some eggnog with rum."
