“Your puny little arms couldn’t carry a dead bird,” Oli replied cheekily, before entering the house backwards, waggling his eyebrows at Aberlour, clearly baiting him into a fight.
Aberlour was all too happy to take the bait. He chased after Oli, kicking the door shut behind him and grabbing the man by the waist before he could get away. With a deep growl, he slammed Oli against the door and took his mouth in a heated kiss.
Alone. Safe. Home. At long last.
“What would it look like?” Oliver asked.
While cruising down the highway, Aberlour had his right hand safely tucked in Oli’s left. Aberlour had chosen to drive instead of flying to Marcus’ wedding, as the rest of the team was doing, because he’d needed to be on the open road. They’d been in so many planes and boats lately, all he wanted was a highway without booby traps and insurgents. He found it restful and comforting to just hit the road and drive across the country.
Oliver wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about hitting the road. But they’d been craving some quality alone time, so he’d finally relented. Now though, he seemed right at home. Looking like a passenger princess, baseball cap low over his forehead, he played with Aberlour’s fingers. He kept running his fingers over Aberlour’s softly and slowly.
“What?” Aberlour asked, he’d spaced out and hadn’t heard the question. He’d been staring off into the distance thinking about how his truck had seen better days, but she was still purring along. Daniel Bélanger was singing softly about spring, the sky above was blue and cloudless.
“Our house. What would it look like?” he asked. His tone indicated it should have been obvious what he was talking about.
Aberlour huffed but entertained the thought. He never had before. He’d never dared to dream past this moment they were enjoying together. Imagining a future was asking to be gunned down by hope, and Aberlour knew better. He did—except where Oliver was concerned.
“I loved your parents’ house. I think it was the right size,” Oliver remarked with a smile.
“Says the guy who grew up in a castle.”
Oliver hummed but didn’t argue.
“It too was the perfect size, because then we never had to see each other unless we wanted to. So, the mountains or the ocean?” Oliver gazed out the window at the hilly countryside on either side of the highway.
This part of the country was neither, but it still reminded Aberlour of home. Rolling mountains were familiar and comforting. They weren’t a place for Oliver, though. When Aberlour thought of Oliver, he always thought of the beach. New England perhaps. Or somewhere even warmer. Somewhere where the sun shone every day, and the sand grew too hot to walk on.
“The beach,” Aberlour said, with certainty.
Oliver raised an eyebrow in surprise but didn’t argue.
“You hate the heat,” he remarked, arching a brow.
“You look great with no shirt on,” Aberlour countered.
Oliver’s laugh was like the hills. It came rolling out of him in waves. Easily and comforting.
“Do you think we’d have met?”
“What kind of fucking question is that?” Aberlour was baffled.
Oliver gave a shrug. He always came up with things Aberlour had never gotten around to considering. His mind running through scenarios and questions like they’d be on a pop quiz. It was fascinating, if a little irritating at times.
“If I’d—let’s say I’d have done what my mother had wanted me to and gotten a degree in finance or some shit, do you think we’d have met?”
No. If Oliver had become the man he was describing, Aberlour wouldn’t have looked his way, let alone become friends and—whatever else they were.
“No,” he admitted because they didn’t lie to each other.
“Maybe we’d have met in a bar,” Oliver said, like he didn’t like Abe’s answer.
“And I would have decked you,” Abe answered, rolling his eyes.
Oliver stopped playing with his hand for a minute. He laced his fingers in Aberlour’s and squeezed his hand tightly.
“I disagree,” he said, as if that was an impossibility.
Aberlour wanted to call bullshit and tell Oliver he was a hopeless romantic, but something in his friend’s gaze stopped him.
