“Because I’m proud of you, obviously.”
“Are you really?” James asked. “Because I feel like you’ve insulted both me and my romantic tale a fair bit.”
“What? When?” Cassian rolled onto his side and looked at James, who had stopped massaging him. “I’ve never insulted you. I insulted your story that one time out on the promenade, butI thought I’ve made my admiration of it—andyou—clear ever since.”
“You keep insinuating that I need to work on my craft,” James said.
“Only because I know what you’re capable of.”
“Which implies that right now, my writing isn’t what it should be.”
“It’spreciselywhat it should be,” Cassian said. “James, your writing is exquisite.” James only narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Cassian sighed. “Look, I never meant to imply that your writing is anythingbutexquisite. I only want to encourage you to continue with it, not only to improve your craft—which, in my opinion, isn’t in need of improvement in the sense that it isn’t lovely enough; only that, following what I’ve been taught, one shouldalwaysstrive to do better, regardless of the level of one’s skills—but I want you to continue with it for selfish reasons, too. I like your writing, James. I rarely read for pleasure, but I would readyourwriting for pleasure. And I hope that I can. For the rest of however long we have together.”
James’s heart fluttered. Cassian found James’s hand and kissed it.
“Keep writing,” he said.
Cheeks warming, James said, “That’s not a request, is it?”
“It is not.”
Cassian smiled at him, and James smiled back.
“Thank you, Cassian,” he said.
Cassian responded by peppering a flurry of soft kisses on James’s hand—one on the back and then one on each of James’s fingers—before releasing it. Then, the man rolled back onto his stomach. Chest still fluttery with fondness, James resumed the massage. He found himself thinking of the conversation he’d overheard once again, but this time with a new perspective.
Cassian really loved him, didn’t he? He was proud of him. Cassian loved him and was proud of him and believed in him. James’s throat constricted a little, emotions welling inside him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had said that they were proud of him. His parents certainly had never been proud of him. God, how cherished he felt.
Moving his hands up to the back of Cassian’s neck, James began to rub his thumbs in little circles. Cassian hummed happily. Everything was... oh, it was perfect.
Minutes passed like this, with James making sure that the fee Cassian had paid for the bath complex was moneyverywell spent. All the while, James continued to think about how lucky he was to have found someone who could make him feel like this. Not only loved butbeloved. Treasured, even. James smiled to himself when that word popped into his head, and he wondered whether he could work it into his pirate story somehow. Cassian would probably like it. He seemed to like cleverness in every form.
“Thank you for encouraging me,” James said, moving his hands to Cassian’s lower back.
“Anytime, my James.”
Fondness pulled at James’s heart. He found himself pondering how Cassian expected to receive James’s stories once their voyage ended.
And he wondered if it was time for him to broach the topic of their future together.
“After we reach New York,” James began, “how should I get my stories to you? Not only the, uhm, the one I’m working on now, I mean, but the others that I might write, too.”
Cassian looked over his shoulder.
“Might?” he said, his tone that incredible mixture of playful and chastising.
“Will,” James corrected with a chuckle. “Others that Iwillwrite.”
“Hmm...” Cassian rested his chin on his forearms. “I’ll have to keep traveling to Europe, I’d venture. You can share your latest stories with me on each of my trips.”
“Will that be often?” James asked. “Because I’ll miss you.”
“Often enough, I hope. Or, well, nothing could be often enough for this, perhaps, because I’d prefer it if I could see you every day.”
James shut his eyes. If only.
Oh, how he wanted so fervently to let himself hope for such a thing.
