Page 63 of I'm Your Guy
Nevertheless, I smile at Buck when he reappears in fresh jeans and a Cougars hoodie. “Got a minute to carry my sewing machine downstairs?”
“Sure.” He frowns. “But why are we moving your sewing machine? I don’t want to chase you off.”
“You’re not. I’m going to a client’s house first thing tomorrow to hem his curtains.” I don’t add that I won’t be back. There’s no need to make Buck feel bad about this. “Rigo is due any minute, too. Wouldn’t it be cool if you were standing in his parking spot when he pulled in?”
“Hell yes.” He grabs my sewing machine by the handle. “Let’s do this.”
It’s snowing lightly as Buck loads the machine into my car. “Anything else you need?”
“Nope. I’m all set. And look!”
He turns his head to see Rigo’s pickup pull into the lot. “Aw yeah!” His smile is so wide that it’s probably visible from space. “I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks.”
The lump in my throat makes it difficult to speak. “Go get your man.”
“I’m going to make a proper entrance,” he says, stepping behind a neighboring Jeep to conceal himself.
After getting in my car, I start the engine and carefully back out of my spot.
But I can’t make myself pull away yet. I roll down the window and watch, because it’s not every day I get to see a love story play out in front of my eyes.
Rigo takes a moment to get out of his truck and retrieve his bag from the backseat.
“Excuse me, sir.” Buck steps out from behind the parked Jeep. “You look familiar.”
Rigo freezes at the sound of his husband’s voice. Then his work bag falls to the asphalt, and he covers his mouth with both hands.
I stop breathing as he slowly turns around.
His face when he spots Buck—I’ve never seen so much love and relief in one place before in my life. He runs toward his husband. They both run. Buck catches Rigo, and my friend throws his arms around the bigger man’s body. Buck lifts him off the ground.
In the history of hugs, there has never been one quite so exuberant. As if those two could extinguish the time and space between them by perfecting their embrace. Rigo’s back heaves, and Buck clamps a hand to the back of his neck. Snow falls gently into their hair, and they don’t notice.
My eyes are burning, and I finally remember to breathe.
Someday I want a hug like that.
Just one.
I drive away and leave them to it.
* * *
Several hours later, I’m sitting in bed, counting down the hours until daybreak.
Well, I’m sitting on a bed. Not in it. I’m too skeeved out by the Happy Hours hotel to pull the musty bedspread over my body. I’m lying on the top sheet, fully clothed, including my shoes.
One of the occupational hazards of interior design is mentally redecorating every room I enter. I’m a talented guy, but I could never make this place beautiful. Not with these low ceilings. And not with the cloud of despair that permeates the place like mildew.
I’ve left the ugly gray drapes open, so I can see my ancient car. My whole life is inside it, and if someone decides to break in, I’ll…
Actually, I don’t know what I’d do, except call 911 and panic. This place costs less than a hundred dollars a night, but it’s terrifying. I witnessed a drug deal while I was unlocking the room’s flimsy door.
Tomorrow I’ll have to find something a little less squalid. But after you include hotel taxes, a reasonable room costs at least a hundred fifty dollars, and a few weeks at that rate will empty my savings. If that happens, Montana is my only option.
Bye bye, Colorado. Bye bye, entrepreneurship.
If I think too hard about it, I’ll cry. Instead, I sit up late reading reviews of weighted blankets, so Tommaso’s mother can get the very best one for Christmas.
