Page 42 of Rhett & Moses
“Rhett,” I gasped, a warning and a plea.
“I know,” he murmured against my lips. “Let go, Moses. I’ve got you.”
And I did, surrendering to the wave that crashed through me, dimly aware of Rhett following me over that precipice, his body tensing above mine before relaxing into the aftermath. For a long moment, we lay tangled together, hearts racing in tandem, breath mingling in the small space between us.
Eventually, he rolled to his side, keeping one arm draped possessively across my chest. “Well,” he said, his voice rough with satisfaction, “are you ready for another round?”
I laughed, the sound surprisingly free. “Give me a moment.”
“Understandable,” he said fervently, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “In fact, I vote for multiple repeat sessions all night long. Who needs sleep?”
“Ambitious,” I teased, turning to face him. “We’re not teenagers anymore, you know.”
“Thank God for that,” he replied, his expression softening into something more serious. “I like who we are now. Flawed, complicated, but real in a way we couldn’t be at eighteen.”
I understood exactly what he meant. At eighteen, we’d been all passion and possibility, but without the grounding that comes from experience, from making mistakes and learning from them, from building lives on our own terms.
“Me too,” I said simply, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Though I do sometimes wonder who we might have become if we’d stayed together, if that night had never happened.”
Rhett considered this, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe we’d have made it,maybe not. Long-distance is hard at any age, but especially right out of high school. And we both had a lot of growing up to do.”
“That’s true,” I acknowledged. “I needed to figure out who I was outside of Gomillion, outside of my family’s expectations. You needed space to become the architect you are now.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. “So maybe, in some strange way, these twenty years apart were necessary. They shaped us into people who might actually have a shot at making this work now.”
The thought was oddly comforting, that perhaps our separation, painful as it had been, wasn’t just a tragedy but a necessary detour that had led us back to each other when we were truly ready.
“A philosophy major and an architect,” I mused. “We were either destined to overthink everything or to build something lasting. Maybe both.”
Rhett laughed, the sound vibrating pleasantly against me. “Definitely both. Speaking of building things...” he trailed off, a hint of nervousness entering his expression.
“Yes?” I prompted, curious about this sudden shift.
“Tomorrow,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow to better see my face. “My surprise. I don’t want to ruin it, but I also don’t want you walking into it completely blind.”
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his uncharacteristic uncertainty. “Now I’m really curious.”
He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “I want to show you a property. A house, actually, about fifteen miles outside of Gomillion.”
“A house?” I echoed, confusion giving way to dawning understanding. “You’re... house shopping? Here?”
“Not exactly,” he clarified quickly. “I’m considering it as an investment. A weekend place, maybe, or even a rental property most of the time. But also...”
“Also?” I prompted when he hesitated.
“Also, a potential middle ground. Between Boston and Atlanta. A place where we could meet, spend time together without either of us having to completely uproot our lives right away.”
The implication, that he was actively planning for a future that included me, that included us finding ways to be together despite the geographic challenges, left me momentarily speechless.
“That’s... a lot to process,” I finally managed, my heart racing with something between panic and elation.
“I know,” he acknowledged immediately. “And I’m not asking for any kind of commitment right now. It’s just an idea, a possibility. If you hate it, or if it feels too fast, we can forget I ever mentioned it.”
I studied his face, the earnestness there, the vulnerability beneath the confidence. This was Rhett putting himself on the line, offering a tangible symbol of his intentions toward me, toward us.
“I don’t hate it,” I said softly, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. “It’s unexpected, but... not unwelcome.”
Relief flooded his expression. “Good. That’s... good.”
