Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “I never—”
“Yeah, yeah, you never saw Friday Night Lights, I know.”
Charlie shrugged.
“Wow. I can’t believe I didn’t know about this,” Rye said. “I guess that decides our Halloween costumes. Also I have to text Simon immediately because, sheesh.”
It was only because he was grinning directly into Charlie’s face that he saw the flicker in his expression.
“What?”
“Oh. Well. Nothing,” Charlie said, making it absolutely clear that the one thing it wasn’t was nothing.
“Charlie.”
Charlie ran a finger over the bridge of Rye’s nose.
“Will you be here. For Halloween?”
Rye blinked. They hadn’t talked about this since they’d become...what they were. Boyfriends or whatever. But every time he had a question about something in the Crow Lane house, Charlie talked about it like he assumed Rye would be there. Like it was Rye’s house. So why was he questioning Rye’s presence now?
“I... Yeah?”
Charlie bit his lip and nodded.
“Okay.”
“Do you think I won’t?”
Charlie shook his head.
“No, no. I... I just wanted to check.”
But later, when Charlie pulled him close in bed as they fell asleep, his arms were tight around him like he feared Rye might disappear in the night.
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlie
Build a life together. That’s what Rye had told Charlie he wanted to do. And that’s what they were doing. On days when Rye was scheduled to work at the store, they drove in together. They cooked dinner together. They slept together, curled up under the covers of Charlie’s big bed, Jane and Marmot staking out territory around their feet once they’d settled.
The more they talked, the more they had to say. The more they touched, the more they wanted to touch. The more time they spent together the more time they wanted to spend together.
And the plans. They couldn’t stop talking about them. Rye would mention a book he liked, and Charlie would instantly want to read it to understand what Rye liked. Charlie would say he wanted to go to the Grand Canyon, and Rye would describe the road trip they could take there. One of them would see a food that appealed to them while watching a movie and they would plan to cook it together.
It was giddy, this planning of the things that made up a life.
But a life wasn’t the only thing they were engaged in building. Crow Lane was progressing each weekend. It was no longer a house of horrors. It almost looked like a place someone could live.
And that was a huge problem.
Because it meant that soon Rye would leave. Charlie was no longer so concerned about him going back to Seattle—Garnet Run seemed to endear itself to him with every local restaurant and friendly shopkeeper. But he would leave. He would take his bag full of black band T-shirts and his cat and he would move into the Crow Lane house.
That was the plan, anyway. That had always been the plan.
The thought of not falling asleep next to Rye every night, not waking up beside him every morning, not stirring in the wee hours and reaching for him...it filled Charlie with a different kind of sadness than he’d ever felt. A delicate, maudlin sadness built of yearning for something that wasn’t even gone yet.
* * *
“Hey, bro,” Jack said with a goofy wink from under a pile of dogs. “Come here often?”
Here was Jack and Simon’s house, where Charlie had come on his lunch break.
Simon waved from the couch and made a gesture toward Jack that indicated he was in silly, roll-around-with-the-dogs mode.
Jack and Charlie had had lunch together several times since their conversation at the store, and it had been good. They’d talked more. About their past, their present. About everything. Everything except Rye. Rye and Charlie’s future.
Jack and Simon’s cat, Mayonnaise, yawned hugely and stretched out a paw to Charlie as he settled on the couch beside Rye. Charlie scooped Mayonnaise up and lifted her onto his lap.
“Hey, kitten,” Charlie said. He stroked between her ears.
“We still working on the house tomorrow?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, thanks. And Rye says thanks too.”
“Sooooo,” Jack drawled, eyebrow cocked expectantly.
“So?” Charlie said, looking between Jack and Simon.
“So what about Rye?” Jack asked impatiently.
“Rye’s good.”
Jack and Simon wore matching expressions of exasperation.
“Fine.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Rye’s...” Amazing, perfect, dazzling, adorable, sexy, hilarious, beautiful. “Rye’s pretty great.”
Simon leaned in, chin on his knees, as intent as a child at story time.
“Soooo, are you together, then?” Jack asked.
“Um. Yeah.”
Jack let out a celebratory whoop, which scared several dogs and Mayonnaise, who tried to bound off Charlie’s lap but failed when her claws stuck in his jeans.
“Shit, sorry, babies,” Jack said.
“I’m really happy for you, Charlie,” Simon said.
“We knew weeks ago,” Jack said. “But still.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Jack, having lost his companions on the floor, went into the kitchen and brought out sandwiches for lunch.
Charlie thanked him and smiled when he saw Jack had made him peanut butter and honey just the way Charlie used to make it: a thin layer of peanut butter on both slices of bread to seal them, then honey in the middle.