Page 69 of Rhett & Moses
Back at my apartment, as we prepared for Rhett’s early morning flight back to Boston, his last trip before our scheduled holiday visit to the Carolina property, I found myself reluctant to let the evening end. These partings, though no longer fraught with the uncertainty of our initial separation in Gomillion, still carried a weight, a temporary emptiness that no amount of video calls could quite fill.
“Two weeks,” Rhett reminded me as we settled into bed, sensing my melancholy mood. “Then the Carolina house for Christmas. Our first holiday together.”
“In our house,” I added, the concept still new enough to bring a thrill of excitement. “Even if we are sleeping on air mattresses surrounded by construction materials.”
“The renovations will be far enough along to be comfortable,” Rhett assured me. “And there’s something poetic about spending our first Christmas there while it’s still in transition. A house becoming a home, just as we’re becoming... whatever we’re becoming.”
“A couple,” I supplied. “Partners. A family, in our own way.”
The last few words hung in the air between us, significant in its implications. We hadn’t discussed the more formal aspects of commitment, marriage, legal documentation, the structures that traditionally defined family relationships. But the feeling was there, the essence of family in its most important sense: certainty, belonging, and shared purpose.
“Yes,” Rhett agreed, his voice soft but certain in the darkness. “A family.”
As sleep claimed us, bodies aligned with practiced ease despite the weeks often spent apart, I felt that sense of rightness that had become increasingly familiar over the past months. The road ahead still held challenges, logistical complications, career adjustments, the inevitable friction that arises when two independent lives merge into a shared path. But the destination was clear, the companion chosen, the journey already underway.
In the morning, I would drive Rhett to the airport. We would say our temporary goodbyes, return to our separate cities, our established routines. But unlike our parting in Gomillion three months earlier, this separation carried no fear, no doubt, no sense of an ending.
Because it wasn’t an ending at all. It was merely a pause in a story that would continue, in two weeks at our Carolina home, in the spring at the distillery opening, in all the countless moments, big and small, that would comprise our shared future.
A future that, after twenty years of separate paths, we were finally building together, one decision, one dream, one day at a time.
EPILOGUE
RHETT
6 MONTHS LATER
Six monthsafter the grand opening of Distilled Dreams 2.0, I stood in the kitchen of our Carolina farmhouse, morning sunlight streaming through windows that no longer needed renovation. The coffee maker gurgled pleasantly, filling the air with the rich aroma that had become part of our shared morning ritual. Outside, the late summer garden Moses had planted in spring was thriving: herbs for his gin experiments, vegetables for our table, and flowers simply because they brought him joy.
It was Sunday, our designated day of rest, no business calls, no design meetings, no distillery emergencies. Just us, together in the home we’d created from the bones of an old farmhouse and the promise of a shared future.
“Mail came yesterday,” Moses announced, padding into the kitchen with bare feet and sleep-tousled curls. He’d started letting his hair grow longer since we’d moved in, the tight, professional cut giving way to something wilder, more reminiscent of the boy I’d fallen in love with twenty years ago. “I forgot to bring it in.”
He dropped a small stack of envelopes on the counter, making a beeline for the coffee pot with single-minded determination. Neither of us functioned well before caffeine, a compatibility we’d discovered early in our cohabitation.
“Anything interesting?” I asked, sorting through the pile as I waited for my toast to pop.
“Bill, advertisement, alumni newsletter,” Moses listed, pouring coffee into the mugs I’d set out. “Oh, and something from the Gomillion High Alumni Association. Probably fundraising.”
My curiosity piqued, I located the envelope in question, cream-colored with the school’s milliped logo embossed in blue. Inside was indeed a donation request, but attached to it was something more interesting: a printed newsletter with the headline “Milliped Moments: Catch up.”
“Look at this,” I said, spreading the newsletter on the counter for Moses to see. “Our class updates.”
Moses leaned over my shoulder, coffee mug in hand, close enough that I could feel his warmth, smell the faint citrus of his shampoo. “Anything good? Or just the usual ‘married with 2.5 kids, working in insurance’ updates?”
I scanned the neatly organized columns, each featuring a small block of text and occasionally a photo. “A bit of both. Tom Jenkins is running for school board, that’s concerning. Sarah Kilmore is a paediatric surgeon now. And... oh, this is interesting.”
My finger stopped at a familiar name: Soren Hayes. Unlike most entries, his didn’t include a photo, just a brief paragraph about returning to studies after ‘a period of personal reflection and growth.’
Moses read it over my shoulder, his body tensing slightly. “Seems he’s taken some time,” he murmured. “I hope it helps him.”
He leaned in for a coffee-flavored kiss, one hand warm against my cheek. When he pulled back, the newsletter was already forgotten, left on the counter as we moved to the porch with our breakfast to enjoy the morning sunshine.
Our beach wooden chairs sat side by side facing the garden, positioned to catch the morning light while providing a view of the rolling hills beyond our property. It had become our favorite spot for weekend mornings, peaceful, private, and perfectly ours.
“I had an email from Vanessa yesterday,” Moses mentioned as we settled into our chairs. “The museum is sending her to an international art fair in Venice next month. She’s going to extend the trip, make a proper vacation of it.”
“Good for her,” I replied sincerely. Since her move to Chicago, Vanessa had flourished professionally, her career advancement was a testament to the talent that had been underutilized in Gomillion. “She deserves it.”
