Page 58 of Rhett & Moses
I shook my head quickly, not wanting him to misinterpret my contemplative mood. “No. Just processing. It’s been an intense week.”
Rhett nodded, sitting up and running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “That’s an understatement. You’ve confronted your past, cleared your name, reconciled with the town, reconnected with me... and now you have to go back to regular life as if none of that happened.”
“Exactly,” I confirmed, grateful for his immediate understanding. “It feels surreal. Like I’m stepping between worlds.”
He reached for my hand, his touch warm and grounding. “The difference is that this time, you’re not going back alone. Different cities, yes, but we’re in this together now.”
I squeezed his hand, drawing strength from the simple contact. “I know. It helps. More than I can express.”
We stayed like that for a moment, connected by touch and shared understanding, before the practical demands of the day began to assert themselves. Flights to book, goodbyes to say, real life to prepare for.
“What time do you think you’ll make a move?” Rhett asked as he reluctantly released my hand and moved to gather his scattered belongings.
“I should probably leave by early afternoon,” I replied, already mentally calculating the drive back to Atlanta. “I want to stop by the bar first, finalize a few things with Bronwyn.”
Rhett nodded, his movements measured and deliberate as he folded a shirt with architectural precision. “I was thinking of hitting the road around the same time. It’s a long drive to Boston, but if I get a few hours in today, I can break it up reasonably.”
The mundane logistics discussion felt like a defense mechanism for both of us, a way to avoid confronting the emotion of our impending separation. I played along, commenting on traffic patterns and optimal rest stops, all while a deeper current of feeling ran beneath the surface.
As we packed and prepared for the day, I found myself moving more slowly than necessary, lingering over simple tasks, stealing glances at Rhett as if to imprint his presence in my memory. He seemed to be doing the same, our eyes meeting often in silent acknowledgment of what neither of us was saying aloud.
We had breakfast at the hotel’s modest restaurant, our conversation drifting between practical plans for our three-month trial period and reminiscences about the week that had just passed. Neither of us mentioned the heaviness that hung inthe air, the countdown clock ticking in the background of every word.
After breakfast, we walked through the rain-slicked streets to Timbers & Tallboys, sharing an umbrella that forced us to walk pressed together, shoulders touching. The contact was both comfort and torture, a reminder of what I’d found again, what I’d soon be temporarily giving up.
The bar was quiet when we arrived, still hours from opening. Bronwyn was there. As expected, her organizational energy was apparent in the precise stacks of invoices and order forms spread across the bar top.
“Well, well,” she greeted us, looking up from her paperwork. “If it isn’t Gomillion’s most talked-about couple. Enjoying your last day in town?”
“Trying to,” I replied, shrugging out of my rain jacket. “Though the weather isn’t exactly cooperating.”
“Rain’s good luck for travelers,” Bronwyn claimed with characteristic certainty. “Cleanses the road ahead or some such nonsense.”
I laughed, grateful for her grounding presence after the emotional intensity of the past few days. “I’ll take whatever luck is available. Is everything set for my absence?”
Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “Yes, Moses. The bar will somehow continue functioning without your constant supervision and management; it has me.” She laughed. “It has all week while you’ve been busy rewriting local history and rekindling old flames.”
Her dry tone couldn’t quite mask the affection beneath, and I felt a surge of gratitude for this woman who had become family to me over the years.
“I know it will,” I assured her. “I just want to make sure you have everything you need before I head back.”
While I reviewed the week’s paperwork with Bronwyn, Rhett wandered the bar, examining the décor with an architect’s eye. I was acutely aware of his movements even as I focused on the business at hand, my attention divided in a way that felt both distracting and right.
“Go,” Bronwyn said suddenly, interrupting my half-hearted attempts to focus on inventory levels. “Everything’s fine here. You have more important things to do on your last day than count bottles.”
I started to protest, but she silenced me with a look I’d learned not to argue with. “Moses Morley, I have successfully run this bar without you for the entirety of reunion week. I think I can handle a few more days. Now take your architect and enjoy what time you have left before you’re both drowning in long-distance relationship clichés.”
Put that way, it was hard to argue. I embraced her briefly, a rare physical display that made her stiffen in surprise before awkwardly patting my back.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “For everything this week. Having you in my corner made all the difference.”
“Yes, well,” she muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the sentimentality, “someone had to make sure you didn’t mess it all up.”
I laughed, releasing her from the embrace. “Heaven forbid.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Bronwyn,” Rhett said, extending his hand to her. “Thank you for taking care of him all these years.”
She shook his hand firmly, her expression softening slightly. “He’s worth the trouble. Usually. Take care of each other, yes? And spare me the details of how you’ll do that.”
