Taylor’s eyebrow arched slightly, but he didn’t press. Instead, he settled back in his seat, letting his shoulder rest against mine in the cramped space.
I shook my head, marveling at the fact that I was on a plane I hadn’t planned to be on, flying to stay with someone I hadn’t seen in a decade until yesterday.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done something this spontaneous. Probably because I never had.
Heading to Maine wasn’t some grand, romantic gesture—I had work to do after all— but itfeltromantic. Because as much as I was looking forward to Taylor fucking me in every room in that big, old house of his, what I wasreallylooking forward to was spending quality time with him.
I wanted to visit his favorite restaurant, drive along his favorite streets, check out his favorite coffee shop, and watch hisfavorite TV shows while snuggled up together on his couch, like we used to.
I wanted to know all of his favorite things. I wanted to learn who he’d become during the years we’d been apart.
But first, logistics—the mundane details that would turn this fantasy into reality.
"According to the map, Kennebunkport is about an hour from your place. Should I rent a car or …?”
I only had a vague sense of his life, and given the way he'd described his financial situation, I didn't want to assume he'd have something I could borrow.
He smirked. “You know those poor financial decisions I mentioned?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, a lot of them are parked in my barn.”
I blinked, processing this information, and Taylor laughed at my confusion.
“When I told you I had a barn, you were picturing cows and chickens or some shit, weren’t you?”
I scratched the side of my jaw, feeling sheepish over my assumptions. “Maybe.”
He shook his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I can barely keep a plant alive, and you think I’m going to try my hand at Old MacDonald? Nope. That barn is full to the brim with all the cars I wanted growing up.”
His words sparked a memory of the time he’d dragged me to a classic car show, pointing out his dream car, a Corvette convertible from the fifties.
“Did you ever get your Corvette?”
“Fuck yeah, I did. Arctic blue, cream-colored soft-top. She’s got a dual-carb 283 under the hood, and every time I fire her up, I swear I’m eighteen again, dreaming about the open road.” His grin widened, boyish and unguarded. “She’s a real beauty.”
That grin.Damn.
I wanted to memorize the exact angle of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, and the animation in his voice. I needed to knoweverythingthat made him this happy—every passion, every dream, and every small thing that brought him joy.
This was the Taylor I’d lost. The one who leaned in close and shared his excitement without holding anything back. The one with the same damn grin he’d flashed me the day we met.
Shit.
I was in epically deep trouble.
“Will you take me for a ride in it? Err, her?”
“I'll take you to Ogunquit.” He leaned close, his mouth near my ear. “Huge queer mecca. We could hold hands, and no one would give a damn.”
The idea of holding his hand in public—in broad daylight, no less—made my chest go tight.
I’d never even considered it with Wyatt—the risk was too high, the consequences too real. Even in Vegas, I’d only let my guard down in a space where everyone was too drunk or high to care. But this? Walking down the street, our fingers intertwined, just existing?
God, I wanted it.
And that was dangerous.
