Page 111 of Plentywood
“I understand,” I agreed. “But all this?” I asked, gesturing around the interior. “You made decisions about all of this. That’s a good start, right?”
“Because of therapy, Ben. I started therapy,” he revealed. “But I am still stuck in grief over what happened to me. Being with me and loving me will be a very difficult task.”
“We could start over then,” I suggested. “I’m patient, Hunt. And I know I love you already. And I need help as well.”
He gently laughed and reached for my chin, holding it while he searched my eyes. “Have I told you how much I love your eyes?” he asked.
“No,” I whispered.
“They’re beautiful, baby boy. They remind me of a happier time in my life.”
“That is sweet, Hunt.”
“One more question,” he said. “Wait,” he corrected. “Two more questions.”
“Yes,” I interrupted. “I’ll help you through this.”
“Now hold on, Mr. Eager Beaver,” he teased. “How do you know my questions?”
“And no. I am not leaving Plentywood,” I added.
“You’re sure?”
“I have a clinic to run. And I have a theater to build, and a daycare to expand, and a ranch to work on, and…”
Hunter covered my mouth. “And a life to build with me?”
“And a life to build with you.”
EPILOGUE: Benedict
Two And A Half Years Later
The view from our deck was spectacular every day, but early summer mornings were turning out to be almost too much to bear. Two hundred yards away, the ranch’s Lake Hawthorne twinkled in the sunshine. The view was almost like the water’s surface was winking at me and reminding me of how far we’d come in three years.
“Ben!” Hunter hollered from inside. “Come here, please.”
I stretched one more time and smiled to myself before turning toward the open wall of glass. “Yes, dear?” I said, stepping into the oversized great room.
“What do you think if the shelving unit goes on this wall?” he asked, standing with a hammer and a level in his hands.
Hunter was bare-chested with only his boxers on, a typical morning for him, looking too sexy for my insatiable libido. Lately, he’d been bouncing out of bed first thing to work on the final interior projects. Our new house on Triple H Ranch was completed a month before and we’d moved in two weeks ago.
“What doyouthink?” I teased, winking and gently reminding him that he had a say in the way we decorated too. “I got to pick out the sectional. The TV is all you, mister.”
“I think the sun’s glare will be negated if we go here,” he said. “And then we can relocate the sectional to over there.”
I wandered across the room toward him, checking out the idea he’d just shared. “I like it,” I confirmed. “Will your new ninety-inch screen fit on that shelf? Or are we watching from a mile away?”
Hunt grabbed me and wrapped me in his arms, slobbering kisses on my face. “Monday Night Football starts in three months, baby boy,” he announced gleefully.
“Already?” I whined, turning my smile upside down. “Didn’t you just watch that big game thingy?”
“That big game thingy was theSuper Bowl, silly. And that was in February a few months back,” he replied.
“They do this every year?” I asked. “And I suppose we’ll be going to Smitty’s each time that thingy happens?”
Hunter grabbed my hand and placed it on his bulge. “I’ll trade you viewership time with play time. How about that?” he joked.
