Page 28 of As Many Stars
“We could travel again, sometime.” Cam walked a hand up, let it rest over Blake’s heart. “You do love it—the way you write about deserts, glaciers, rivers, castles, like you love them. No more affairs, mind. You’re all ours.”
“Of course,” Blake said, “they were all just to pretend I wasn’t me, anyway.” He hugged them closer. The future danced, a tempting swirl of starlight and poetry, travel tales and a physician’s practice, a library and a home. He could sell his own house, even. His youthful tasteless edifice of defiance, of scandal, wouldn’t matter, if he was living here.
That thought surprised him; he turned it over, scrutinized it, for a moment. He could. Not because he hated the place; he did not, or he thought not. Not now.
But he didn’t need it. He had a home. Where he belonged.
He said, “If I do travel, if we do, because you said we, and yes, you’re both coming with me…if we do, I could show you some places—places you’d like, history, maybe. I could write more. People like the books. They might…like the books even without the affairs and the seductions and all that.”
“They would,” Ash said. “They do. You’re a good writer.I’ve always thought so.”
“So have I,” Cam said, amused.
“All right, then.” Blake kept both arms around the men he loved, felt the satisfied golden contentment spread out, in his body and in the afternoon and everywhere. “We’ll figure out all the adventures. Together.”
THE END
