Crouching in front of the flower bed, James studied the rows of tulips, their pink, white, purple, and yellow bulbs swaying slightly with each light breeze, and he wondered which one he ought to pick to commemorate the sinking. James exhaled a soft sigh as he picked up the secateurs.
He could hardly believe that so many years had passed since he’d crossed the Atlantic. Thinking back on his time on theTitanic, James couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t been transformational. In practically every sense of the word. He’d found love while aboard that ill-fated ship. He’d found love and friendship and the courage to ask for the life he wanted, too. Working as a steward aboard that luxurious vessel had meant meeting Cassian, the man he loved more than anything in the world. It had meant rekindling his love of life and of writing. And it had meant refinding the pieces of himself that he’d once feared had been lost forever.
Being aboard that illustrious ship, sailing across the living infinite, had, in so many respects, saved James’s life.
But so many others who had been on that ship had lost everything. Reconciling the reality of what had happened that nightwith the fact that his current life had only been made possible because he’d been on the ship in the first place was still so impossible sometimes.
Yet, James was so very thankful for his life now. He and Cassian spent a lot of time together at the cottage, sometimes only for a few days here and there before Cassian returned to the city, but many times for much longer than that.
And James had made such wonderful friends on that voyage, all of whom were like family to him now. Even Ethel’s mother, Helena, while not exactly like family in some ways, was still exceedingly kind to him, especially considering the fact that she probably suspected the truth about what was happening between him and Cassian behind closed doors.
Life at the cottage was more magical, more wonderful, than James could have ever imagined it would be. He spent the bulk of his time writing stories and keeping the house. And both of those things meant taking care of Cassian, too, in a way. After all, Cassian had ridiculously high expectations when it came to how he liked his home. And James knew how important and special it was that he was able to meet them. Or, more often than not, exceed them.
Even more spectacular, though, was Cassian’s love for James’s romantic adventure stories. He was never not pestering James to write another one. How bloody incredible it was for James to be able to feel as though he was caring for Cassian, even from afar, even while following his passion and scribbling in a notebook.
And whenever Cassianwaswith James at the cottage, then life was even more magical. James was able to serve him and pamper him and even spoil him. And in return, James received Cassian’s unending love and adoration, mostly in the form of kisses and cuddles and (often vigorous, but sometimes gentle) sex. And sweet-but-strange cheek massages that never failed to make his heart flutter. Not to mention the loveliest compliments and praise.And presents like notebooks and pens and clothing and personal care products, though the latter weren’t always to his personal tastes, but to Cassian’s.
Even if other people might not recognize Cassian purchasing James a bow tie that he himself wanted to see James wear as an act of love, James knew that, for Cassian, it was. Cassian’s selfish sweetness was precisely how he showed James that he cared. And James absolutely loved how particular and possessive Cassian was.
All of Cassian’s selfish sweetness, from Cassian unexpectedly interrupting James in the middle of a chore for a session of sexual intimacy to Cassian choosing a particular shirt for James to wear because he thought that James might look cute in it, made James feel so perfectly cherished.
James was still smiling to himself as he moved to snip a yellow tulip when little Quinn came up behind him, his brown-blond hair a mess from running around. Jacob Matthew Calbot III followed in short order, looking a little worse for wear compared to his cousin, probably because he was the more adventurous of the two.
“Can I pick the flower this year, Uncle James?” Quinn asked.
“You can each choose one, if you’d like,” James said with a warm smile.
“Do I have to?” Jacob asked, wrinkling his nose. “Flowers aren’t even interesting.”
James chuckled a little. “Of course you don’thaveto,” he said. “But we planted them to honor your father. He loved flowers. Even thoughhisfather thought that he shouldn’t.”
Jacob pursed his lips, seemingly thinking this over.
“Alright,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll pick one.”
James handed him the secateurs. He snipped a pink one, seemingly at random. Then, Quinn chose a yellow one, fretted that maybe he had chosen poorly, and picked a second, plumper onein case the first one was somehow insufficient. Both boys handed their selections to James, who waved them off and then snipped a purple one.
Afterward, James started inside so that he could press them with the blotting paper. Just as he neared the house, he heard Cassian and John pull up in the car, and a smile split his face. Cassian hopped out first, and James hurried over to him.
“Good morning, my James,” Cassian said, pulling James in by his lapels for a quick kiss.
“Nine days and fifteen hours this time,” James lamented, nuzzling Cassian’s nose. “And somehow, I think I missed you more than ever.”
“You will never not count, will you?” Cassian asked through a laugh.
“Nope. Never.”
Cassian hummed and swept a hand through James’s hair. Afterward, he stroked one of James’s cheeks with his thumb.
“I missed you, too.”
John came up beside them.
“How’s Ethel? Did the children behave?” he asked, his eyebrows pinching.
James smiled reassuringly.
“Quinn, yes, probably too well. Jacob, mostly, though when Ingrid comes by later, Ethel has instructed that we are supposed to report back that her son has been nothing short of angelic, and Thomas, not so much, but he’s only three and therefore, I cannot bring myself to blame him for his... crying. Lots of crying. Over everything from an improperly cut piece of fruit to being handed the wrong color block.”
