Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Certainly not him.
But seeing the words of this long-ago Bram made him certain somehow that they would have been friends.
“I wish I’d known you in high school,” Bram said, as if he’d plucked the thought from Zachary’s very brain. “I would’ve kicked the asses of everyone who was mean to you.” His voice went fierce.
Zachary smiled. “I never took you for much of an ass-kicker.”
“Well, no, okay. But I would’ve been tall at them and told them they were making really terrible choices.”
Zachary laughed. “Thanks, I’m sure that would’ve left quite an impression.”
Bram nodded sincerely and Zachary kissed him.
“Thanks. For real.”
“You’re welcome,” Bram whispered. “Now draw me our house.”
Zachary didn’t think. He didn’t edit. He didn’t consider innovation or the opinions of anyone who would see it. He just let lines flow onto the page that reminded him of Bram. Of him. Of him and Bram together. Obtuse angles, gentle curves, solid, earthy materials, light glass. Earth tones at the bottom, sky tones at the top.
They talked about marble and tile and wood, ceiling heights and bay windows and skylights. Zachary drew room after room, garden after garden, each one circling closer and closer to a dream. To a promise. To a life.
“I want to wake up with you in our bed and look out the window as the sun rises,” Bram said.
Zachary made a note that the bedroom should be east-facing and Bram kissed his neck.
“I want to leave you still sleeping in bed and go work on carving, knowing you’re all warm and cuddly under the covers.”
Zachary made a note that the woodshop should be as far away from the bedroom as physically possible. Bram kissed his temple.
“I wanna go pick vegetables and herbs from the garden and make you dinner that we can eat on our porch and watch the sun set,” Bram said.
Zachary noted that the kitchen should have a door leading to the garden and that the dining room should flow into the porch facing west.
Bram kissed him deeply.
Bram understood that this was the language he used to say I love you. That he would design a house so perfectly in tune with the life they wanted that it could usher it into being.
They used page after page of the notebook, kissing between brainstorms. Zachary had never felt more exhilarated about a project. He supposed because he’d never thought of living inside one before.
They talked through the night, and as the first blush of morning fell through the window, Bram took his hand.
“Come with me?”
They got dressed and Bram grabbed two of the blankets off the bed. Zachary grabbed the notebook.
They crept through the house and out the back door. The garden was bathed in the softest light—half moon, half almost sun. Bram squeezed his hand and they settled on a bench next to the tomato plants. Zachary shivered and Bram wrapped the quilts around him, then wrapped his arms around the quilts.
“Sit with me.”
They sat on the bench. The sky lightened with every passing moment.
“Thank you for coming here with me,” Bram said. “It means so much. But I can’t wait to get back to our home. Our life.”
Zachary’s heart fluttered at the thought.
“Monday’s the day.” He was giving his two-weeks’ notice.
Bram nodded and squeezed him. “I’m so proud of you.”
An orange-and-black butterfly fluttered down and landed on a plant.
“That’s milkweed,” Bram said. “Can we have that in our garden? It’s the only thing monarch butterflies eat.”
Zachary added it to the list of plants and flowers they’d begun inside.
“Oh, and dahlias. I love dahlias. Do you like dahlias?”
Zachary didn’t know what dahlias looked like, but he leaned against Bram’s strong shoulder and gazed out at the garden.
“We should have a huge window in the kitchen so we can look out at the raised beds,” Zachary said, extracting one arm from the quilts to sketch it in.
“That sounds perfect,” Bram said.
They sat on the bench in the garden at the Larkspur compound, pressed close together against the morning chill. And as a new day dawned around them, they planned the life that they would have together in the old notebook. Past, present, and future cohering into the gentle whisper of the land: yes.
* * *