Page 22 of The Woodcarver's Model
“So—did I pass the cooking test?”
“Not bad. Not bad at all,” Mitch said after giving it some consideration. “You do know how to handle meat. I give you nine out of ten.”
“Just a nine?”
“If I gave you a ten, you’d stop trying to push yourself. I don’t believe in tens.”
“Good sensible answer,” Rob said, wondering how to broach the big topic. “So, this article…it might take a while to write. I still have a lot of research to do. Would you mind if I stayed around for a while longer?”
Rob found himself growing anxious. Why wasn’t Mitch answering? For the first time in twenty years, he had fallen for someone and he didn’t want it to end. Mitch was kind, considerate, passionate and seemed in touch with himself. Was it too soon to feel this way about someone? Hadn’t Rob’s friends Todd and Steve moved in with each other after two dates, and they’d been together now for what, fifteen years?Did I scare him off with the question?
“I hoped you’d say something like that.”
“You did? Then is that a yes?”
“What do you think?” Mitch had a sly smile on his lips.
“I have no idea right now. I know what I’d like you to say…”
“Of course it’s a yes. It’s a thousand yeses.”
They kissed. It was becoming a habit neither one wanted to break.
The temperature dipped lower that night than it had in a while. Mitch lit a fire and the two snuggled up on the couch in front of it. They sipped on a hearty cabernet sauvignon—“This one’s imported from the faraway Okanagan Valley”—There was a rustling outside.
“That’ll be Rufus. He always likes a good fire.”
Mitch got up and let the dog in. The dog, that is, and the horrible stench that followed.
“What the hell is that smell?” Rob managed to choke out.
“I…oh God, I’m gonna be sick.” Mitch ran to the bathroom and Rob could hear him retching.
Mitch re-entered the room.
“You wuss,” Rob said with a smile.
“I can’t help it. I’ve got this thing with smells. Oh God!” Mitch ran back to the bathroom.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get this,” Rob yelled out to Mitch. “You,” he said to Rufus, “come here.” He opened the door and told the dog to wait on the porch, which he did. Rob went into the kitchen where he filled a bucket with warm water and dish soap.
Outside he led the dog away from the house and proceeded to scrub him down from nose to tail. Rufus whimpered slightly at the indignity of it all.
“Don’t complain to me about this. I wasn’t the one who rolled in… God, what did you get yourself into? I’ve smelled some rank things in my life, but nothing like this.”
Several buckets of water later, followed by a good hosing down—which Rufus took to be a game, snapping at the water as Rob tried to rinse him off—and a brisk towelling off, the two re-entered the house, Rufus smelling much better, Rob less so. Mitch was on the couch, still a little worse for wear, as the dog trotted over and plunked himself in front of the fire.
“I’m going to have a quick shower. Be back in a few minutes.”
When he returned, he looked at Mitch on the floor with the dog and smiled.
“What’s that for?” asked Mitch.
“This. The perfect domestic portrait. A Boy and His Dog.” He picked up his wineglass.
“Come join us. A Boy, His Boyfriend and His Dog has a better ring to it,” Mitch said.
Rob took a deep breath. “You are fearless. You know that, don’t you?”
