Page 18 of The Boy from Half Moon

He lifted his eyes, and we locked onto each other’s again. There was definitely something between us. It was real in my mind, at least. Perhaps, as it turned out, I hadn’t imagined the palpable tension we shared.

When it came to his appearance, Luke was a giant contradiction. The man/boy was a Herculean human being who oozed sexual energy without knowing he did, yet he was quiet and unsure of himself, almost embarrassed to have to communicate with strangers. Even direct eye contact seemed difficult.

Yet again, he wore high-waisted, wide-legged denim jeans, and a short-sleeved white button-down that was sparklingly clean. His belt was cinched tight again, because of his narrow waist and muscular thighs. I couldn’t get over the fact someone like him existed in real life. How had modeling scouts not found this hidden-in-the-backwoods treasure?

“May I still call you Tate?” he asked, again looking at his feet after inquiring about permission to use my first name.

“I’d like it if you did.”

“I’d like that too,” he said. His eyes drifted around the store, perhaps thinking of something to say. “We don’t sell coffee here either. Just in case you didn’t know.”

So, he did remember me. The idea that he recalled my name and our encounter at the bakery weeks ago made my heart swell. “Lucky thing I’m not looking for coffee today.”

I turned around and surveyed the space. The store’s interior was stark, with little decoration. Incredible handcrafted furniture, most in groupings by room, took up most of the store. A small reception area with a cash register sat in the middle of the approximately basketball-court-sized interior.

The building was situated by itself just off the main road, heading into Bend. I’d driven by at least a dozen times and had never noticed the galvanized steel-sided building. A simple sign out front read ‘Half Moon Handcrafted Furniture’.

“Do you need furniture?” Luke asked from behind me, moving to my side.

Luke was a solid mass of muscle as he stood alongside me, making me lose my train of thought. “Do you make this furniture?” I asked, studying the incredible craftsmanship in front of me. “And yeah,” I stammered, getting back to his question. “I do need furniture.”

“We do make it here, and I currently assist while I apprentice,” he replied. “My hope is to learn all I can and create pieces we can sell. I’m eager to make it my profession,” he added.

Luke seemed to want to impress me by letting me know of his role, as well as his future goals. He had an earnest way about him that seemed so authentic from a young man these days. Perhaps his candid attitude had something to do with where he lived.

We began walking through the store, with me stopping to examine a few pieces, and Luke followed on my heels. “Your… church… uhm, ranch, makes all these pieces?” I clarified, fumbling to find the right words for his community.

“We do. All the pieces you see are made right here in the back of the store,” he said, motioning to the door he’d come out of that read, ‘Employees Only.’ “Our craftsmen are off today because business is usually slow on your holidays.”

Luke blushed when I abruptly stopped walking and turned around to face him. He seemed to be uncomfortable when I looked directly at him from such close proximity. His entire posture changed when confronted with his space being invaded, or if he had to engage with me up close. I studied his face carefully, stunned by how flawless his skin was. At nineteen, he showed no signs of facial hair, his exposed arms adding to my supposition of a completely smooth body.

His blue eyes and short-on-the-sides blond hair were perfect accents for his square jaw and full pink lips. I wondered what kissing a boy of his size and innocence would feel like. I inhaled quickly, holding my breath, and thought about him holding me in his strong arms. Being near him was beyond distracting because he was so perfect. He looked like he could literally be the statue of David come to life.

“You don’t consider this to be your holiday as well?” I inquired, feeling judgmental the second I uttered the question.

Luke’s hands were fighting a battle as he twisted them nervously in front of himself. “We don’t celebrate holidays,” he said softly. “Not even our birthdays, if that was going to be your next question,” he added.

Apparently, he’d heard this query more than once. “Actually, I wish I could avoid my birthday as well,” I quipped, smiling at him, hoping we could keep the banter going. “It’d be nice to pick an age and stay right there.”

“We keep track of our ages, though,” he quickly added. “Like, you know, I’m an adult.”

His comment fascinated me. He seemed to want me to know that he was an adult. “Yeah, I remember you told me you were nineteen when we met at the bakery.”

“I’ve been a man for over a year now,” he said. “In case you were wondering.”

He moved his hands behind his back, and I noticed he inflated his chest. Was he sending me a subtle message, or was I so mesmerized that I was imagining things? Was I correct in thinking that he was attempting to flirt with me? Was that even possible for a young man so removed from society?

“You definitely look like a man,” I stated, motioning my hand toward him. “A quite handsome man at that.”

I’ve never seen a person turn as red as he did. Crimson flooded his fair skin in a flash. Had I gone too far with my compliment? I watched as his face registered a dozen different emotions. A brief grin was instantly replaced with wide eyes and a look of terror.

“I’m sorry, Luke,” I whispered, stepping closer to him. I’d seen this response the last time I saw him at the bakery. Something I’d done, or words I may have said, had alarmed him that day. He looked anxious, panicked even, and I didn’t want him to disappear again today.

“I’ve never had a man say I was handsome before,” he confessed, moving his eyes to and from me several times, almost like he was checking to see if I was still staring at him each time. The fact that I was, was almost too much for him to bear. I wanted him to feel safe with me, to like me, and not consider me a threat.

“Well, I’m glad I was the first one to tell you,” I said. “But I am sorry if you think me telling you was off base or anything like that.”

Luke stepped closer, leaning within inches of my face, and caught me completely off guard with his next comment. “I think you are the most handsomest man I have ever met.”

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