Page 8 of The Uncut Wood

The late afternoon light filtering through low, heavy clouds cast everything in monochrome blue: wet, blue-black trunks; pale-blue shadows hovering on the fragile surface of the snow drifts; the blue-white vapor of our breath. In the quiet wood there was only the sound of our breathing, the muffled crunch of our boots, and the faint background hiss of flakes sifting through icy branches.

But now that I had Gunner alone and willing, what the hell was I even supposed to talk about? The weather?

Georgia winters were more likely to deliver ice storms—a freaking millimeter of freezing rain was enough to shut down most of the Atlanta metropolitan area—and the snow was out of the ordinary. “Pretty, thick snows like this are rare treats. When I was a kid it snowed like this all the time up here. We’d get out of school at least three or four days a year.”

Gunner’s usual remarks on climate change took all of about thirty seconds and then we were back to plodding through the snow in relative silence. He mercifully saved the situation by recapping the log-splitting competition.

While it felt normal to laugh and bullshit with him, talking about it only led us to the heart of the matter—the wager—and I couldn’t keep the question to myself any longer. “Why’d you throw the race?”

“Who said I threw it?” His innocent tone was borderline ridiculous.

I glanced over, trying to read his expression. “Oh, come on.”

“You can’t prove anything.” Gunner’s attempt to be coy seemed intentionally transparent. “Why’d you ask me on a date?”

“Why’d you say yes?” Mirroring his childishness was a knee-jerk response.

Gunner took a deep breath and looked off into the distance like he was preparing for a speech. “I know my agreeing to it must seem a little surprisingly heteronormative of me, but—”

I made a sound of protest and stopped in my tracks, ready to defend myself against a lecture about what a Hallmark-indoctrinated simpleton I was. “I need you to give me a straight answer here, or I’m gonna start thinking you’re just fucking with me.”

Gunner stopped walking too. “But,” he continued. “I actually like the idea.” He smiled in a way I thought was surprisingly shy for him.

“You do?” Skepticism was still restraining my hope.

“I really do. And it took a lot of balls to put that wager out there. You went out on a limb for me. No way I was gonna leave you hanging.”

My hope was now trying hard to break free. “Is that why you didn’t have a counter-wager?”

“I didn’t need one.” He sounded entirely resolved.

“You were willing to lose on purpose?” I rarely won any race or contest to Gunner and definitely not without a fight.

“I don’t see this as losing.” His brown eyes were warm and soft.

Holy shit. I stood there stunned, with my mouth hanging open, watching snowflakes fleck Gunner’s beard and lashes. “I thought dating wasn’t your thing.”

Gunner’s lips twisted. “Well, I can’t remember the last event that would’ve qualified. Maybe back in high school.” His voice went soft. “I’ve been thinking about dating for a while now.”

“Since when?” I knew I sounded unconvinced, but I couldn’t quite let my skepticism go.

His eyes locked on mine and his voice was almost a whisper. “Since I met you.”

I cocked my head at him and stared, trying my damnedest not to start grinning like an idiot. This was the kind of thing he said to me in my daydreams. “If you’re messing with me—”

Gunner chuckled. “No, seriously. I’ve been thinking a lot about what the concept of a relationship means for me now. In the past, I’ve tried to challenge myself and others to have a consciousness about these choices. I’ve come through a period where I chose polyamory. Everything from open relationships to triads to general man-whoredom. Which, as you know, I’m all for. Depending on who you are, where you are in life, and what you choose for yourself. That choice is one of abundance. Nearly everybody who’s willing is available. But it can also be exhausting.” He rolled his eyes. “Or, I guess I should say, I may have exhausted it for myself. This is just me. I’m not saying it’s how it should work for anybody else.”

He paused to take a deep breath. I was still holding mine.

“There are reasons why I left the commune and came here in search of something else, even before I met you. The ideal you believe in, what I call eventual monogamy—Wait. Hold on. I’m not lecturing you.” I must have made some disgusted noise or the expression on my face must have changed. “When I play with the idea in my mind of being with only one person, you’re the only contender my imagination can supply. I was thinking about it in the abstract, but it’s no longer a choice between fucking everybody or fucking one nameless, faceless ideal. It’s a choice between nameless, faceless everybody and you. And that is an entirely different proposition.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” I’d heard him, but I needed a really straightforward confirmation.

“Sorry.” Gunner closed his eyes and shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I’m making this way too complicated. When you suggested that wager, you affirmed the choice for me. I saw it as you asking me if I wanted to be with you, and the simple answer is, I do.”

The directness of his admission should not have surprised me. For all his expansive wordiness, sometimes Gunner could be blunt.

“You processed all that in the time between my wager and Jim yelling go?”

---