Page 66 of Rhett & Moses
“My place it is,” I agreed, starting the car. “I think I have everything for that pasta dish you liked last time.”
“Perfect,” Rhett replied, settling back in his seat with a contented sigh.
The drive to my Midtown apartment took longer than usual due to typical Atlanta traffic, but neither of us minded. We fell into easy conversation about the warehouse, the distillery plans, the upcoming weekend we’d planned at the Carolina property to check on renovation progress.
My apartment welcomed us with familiar comfort, not as sleek or architectural as Rhett’s Boston place, but warm andlived-in, reflecting my more eclectic tastes. Over the past months, traces of Rhett had gradually appeared, a spare phone charger in the bedroom, preferred toiletries in the bathroom, a few changes of clothes in the closet. Small markers of our intertwining lives, practical necessities that had taken on emotional significance.
As I prepared dinner, Rhett opened a bottle of wine and set about answering emails on his laptop at the kitchen island, a domestic scene that had become wonderfully routine during his visits. The normalcy of it, the quiet intimacy of shared space and parallel activities, never failed to fill me with a particular kind of contentment I’d never quite experienced before.
“Bronwyn texted,” I mentioned, glancing at my phone as it chimed with an incoming message. “She wants to know if we’re still on for brunch tomorrow before your flight.”
Rhett looked up from his laptop, nodding. “Absolutely. I’ve been looking forward to giving her the warehouse tour. Her feedback will be valuable, given how closely she’ll be working with the space.”
Bronwyn’s involvement in the distillery project had been a natural development. As my business partner in Timbers & Tallboys, she had a vested interest in this expansion, and more importantly, she had the operational expertise that would allow me to split my time between Atlanta and our Carolina property once renovations were complete.
“She’s got some ideas about the tasting room setup,” I told him, stirring the pasta sauce. “Strong opinions, as usual.”
Rhett laughed. “I’d expect nothing less. It’s why you work so well together, isn’t it? She challenges you, keeps you honest.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” I agreed with a wry smile. “Though ‘forces me to defend every decision with exhaustive evidence’ might be more accurate.”
“A valuable business partner trait,” Rhett observed. “Especially for someone like you, who tends to follow gut instincts.”
“As opposed to someone like you, who creates detailed spreadsheets comparing options before making any decision?” I teased back.
“Exactly,” Rhett confirmed without a hint of embarrassment. “It’s why we balance each other so well. Your intuition, my analysis. Together, we make one fully functional adult.”
I laughed at the assessment, recognizing its essential truth. We did balance each other, not in the clichéd sense of opposites attracting, but in the more subtle complementarity of different approaches to similar values, different paths to shared destinations.
Dinner was relaxed and intimate, conversation flowing easily between professional plans and personal reflections. As we cleared the dishes afterward, my phone chimed with another message, this time from an unexpected source.
“Maxwell,” I explained in response to Rhett’s questioning look. “Says he and Cole are in Atlanta for a conference and want to meet for drinks tomorrow night.”
Rhett’s expression brightened. “That would be great. I haven’t seen Maxwell since prior to the Gomillion reunion, and I’ve been wanting to thank Cole properly for his support during that week.”
I nodded, typing a quick reply confirming plans for the following evening. “They’ll be glad to see you. And to hear about the distillery plans, I’m sure.”
Maxwell and Cole had become unexpected allies in our relationship over the past months. It had been a struggle at first with the link to my assistant Meredith being Maxwell’s ex-wife, but she soon moved on and left, leaving a wake in her presence that had made me realize how glad I was to have heraway from our world and life. A woman I realized that I actually thought I knew everything about and in reality, was the polar opposite. When Cole appeared, Maxwell became a different man altogether. Their own history, meeting later in life, navigating careers in different cities before finding a shared path, offered both inspiration and practical advice for our situation. And their genuine happiness for us, their unquestioning support of our relationship, had been a balm during the occasional difficult moments of our long-distance arrangement.
“Should we tell them about the Carolina house?” Rhett asked, drying the last of the dishes. “The renovations are far enough along now that it feels real.”
I considered the question, feeling a flutter of excitement at the thought of sharing our news more widely. Until now, we’d been relatively private about the property purchase, telling only Bronwyn and a few close friends about our plans for a shared home. But with the major structural work nearly complete and our move-in date tentatively set for early spring; it was becoming less a dream and more a reality.
“Yes,” I decided. “I think it’s time. And they’ll understand the significance better than most.”
Rhett smiled, setting aside the dish towel and pulling me into an embrace that felt like home. “It is significant, isn’t it? Our first real home together.”
“Very significant,” I agreed, leaning into his solid warmth. “Though I’m still not sure about that paint color you’ve chosen for the master bedroom.”
“You’ll love it once you see it with the natural light,” Rhett assured me with the confidence of someone accustomed to visualizing finished spaces from raw materials. “Trust the architect.”
“Always,” I promised, meaning it completely.
Later, as we prepared for bed with the comfortable choreography of a long-established couple, I found myself reflecting on how thoroughly my life had changed in just three months. The distillery that had been a distant dream was now becoming reality. The loneliness that had been a constant, if unacknowledged, companion for twenty years had dissipated like morning mist. And the man now moving around my bathroom with casual familiarity had gone from painful memory to essential presence.
“What’s that smile about?” Rhett asked, catching my expression in the bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth.
I shrugged, not quite able to articulate the fullness I felt. “Just... happy. Content. Grateful.”
