Page 115 of Leather and Longing
Adam shrugged. “An hour, maybe longer? I thought I’d make myself useful.” Paul sniffed, and he sighed. “Okay, I burnt the toast the first time I tried.”
Paul chuckled. “Well, it couldn’t have been that bad. You didn’t set off the smoke alarm.” He regarded the chair with mistrust.
Adam, the sod, was doing his mindreading act again.
“You should be able to sit,” he said, his voice softer. “Try it.” He placed a mug of coffee and a plate of buttered toast on the table, and turned to pour one for himself.
Paul pulled back the chair and sat slowly, cautiously, holding onto the table as he did so. He didn’t ache as much as he’d anticipated, but it was still there. He did his best to ignore it while he ate and drank. Adam was quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. Through the open window came the ever-present cries of the gulls and the waves against the rocks. Paul glanced over at the window. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, not a cloud to be seen.
I want to be outside, to feel the sea breeze on my face, feel the sun’s warmth on my bare skin.
He finished his breakfast and washed his plate and mug, before collecting Adam’s mug.
“What do you want to do this morning?” Adam asked. “In the circumstances, I feel like I should give you the day off. I’m going to be working on my book.”
“I thought of going for a walk,” Paul told him. “Not far, maybe down to the bay and back. It looks so nice out there, it seems a shame to waste it.” The signs of autumn’s arrival were already in evidence: the trees that covered the hillside were turning shades of orange and red, at their most beautiful in the evening sun.
“That sounds like a good idea. Want some company?”
Ordinarily Paul would have jumped at the chance to spend time with Adam, and the thought of walking along the shore with him was a tempting one. But right then he needed to think, and having Adam in close proximity wasn’t conducive to clarity of thought.
“No, it’s okay, you stay here and work. I won’t be long,” Paul informed him. He’d go and find a T-shirt to cover up his back.
No sense scaring the natives.
It was clear from Adam’s expression he’d have preferred to accompany Paul, but he acquiesced to Paul’s decision. “Enjoy.”When Paul passed his chair, Adam reached out and stopped him. “Paul, are you all right?”
Paul covered Adam’s hand with his own. “I’m fine,” he stressed. “I know you want to talk about yesterday, and we will, but later, okay?” On impulse he leaned in and kissed Adam on the lips. “I’ll be back to make lunch, okay?”
“Okay,” Adam said with a smile. “Have a good walk.”
Paul patted his shoulder and exited the kitchen in search of a soft T-shirt.
I just need some time to think.
Adam sat in the kitchen, his fingers curled loosely around a mug of coffee gone lukewarm. The house was quiet. Paul had been gone maybe ten minutes, and Adam let the silence envelop him.
In his mind he replayed fragments of the scene: thesnapof leather, Seth’s calm voice, Paul’s breathing. The sudden break in rhythm when that one word cut through the air, sharp and absolute.
Red.
Nothing broken. Nothing ruined. Paul had discovered something about himself, and trusted the space enough to speak it.
That was the win.
Adam hadn’t been sure any of this was possible anymore. Without sight, he’d feared the whole world of control and surrender was closed to him. But yesterday proved otherwise. There would be trial and error. Not every scene would fit. And he would have to lean into what he could sense rather than what hecould see: the cadence of breath, the tremor of muscle under his touch, the words Paul gave him freely. It wouldn’t be the same, he knew that.
But maybe it can be something new. Something ours.
Seth’s words had lodged in Adam’s chest.Adam Kent—in love.
Adam couldn’t deny it. The truth was there, as steady as the tide outside the window.
I love Paul.
He loved the way he laughed when Adam was sarcastic, the way he never hovered but was alwaysthere, the way he had trusted Adam enough to try, even when neither of them knew how it would go.
And now Adam knew what he had to do.
