Page 71 of Rhett & Moses
Moses smiled, the expression both fond and knowing. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you? They’re not just preliminary plans, they’re detailed visions.”
“You know me too well,” I conceded. “Yes, I’ve been sketching possibilities, researching equipment, watching woodworking videos when you’re at the distillery. It’s become a bit of an obsession.”
“A healthy one,” Moses declared. “You should do it. The house is finished, the distillery is running smoothly, we’re settling into a sustainable routine between here and Atlanta. Thetiming is right for a new project, especially one that’s just for you, just for joy.”
The encouragement warmed me, though it wasn’t unexpected. Moses had always supported my creative pursuits, always understood the importance of maintaining individual passions within our partnership. It was one of the countless reasons I loved him, his ability to see me clearly, to value my needs and dreams as distinct from, but complementary, to his own.
“I think I will,” I decided. “Though it would be more accurate to say it’s for us. I already have ideas for furniture pieces for the house, maybe a custom bar cart for your gin collection.”
“Practical and thoughtful,” Moses observed with a smile. “Very you.”
We lapsed into comfortable silence again, finishing our now-lukewarm coffee as the morning advanced.
Ordinary sounds, ordinary moments, made extraordinary only by the context, by the fact that we were experiencing them together after so many years apart, by the knowledge that this peaceful Sunday was not an anomaly but our new normal, our shared reality.
“I should call Bronwyn later,” Moses mused, setting his empty mug aside. “Check in on how things are going at the bar this weekend. Noah, the new bartender is still learning the ropes, and Saturday nights can be challenging.”
I smiled, hearing the restraint in his voice. Though Moses had gradually reduced his direct involvement in Timbers & Tallboys as the distillery demanded more attention, he still maintained a careful oversight, particularly when new staff were being trained. His standards were high, his processes specific, his vision for the customer experience precise.
“I’m sure Bronwyn has everything under control,” I assured him. “She’s been running that place single-handedly for most ofthe past year. And she’s not exactly shy about calling if she needs you.”
Moses laughed, acknowledging the truth of this observation. “Fair point. Though I do miss it sometimes, the energy of a busy night, the satisfaction of a perfectly crafted drink, the regulars and their stories.”
“We could go down for a next weekend,” I suggested. “Spend Friday and Saturday in Gomillion, check in on both businesses. It’s been almost a month since we were last there. I know you’re itching to return.”
Moses considered the proposition, calculating mental schedules in the way I’d grown accustomed to observing. “That could work. The distillery has that journalist visiting on Friday, the one doing the feature on craft spirits in the Southeast. It would be good to be there for that. And I should review the books with Bronwyn, make sure everything’s on track for the quarterly taxes.”
“I could use a day at the firm, too,” I added, thinking of the projects I was still consulting on remotely. Though I’d scaled back my Boston practice considerably, maintaining only a few key clients and partnerships, I remained connected to the architectural world that had defined my professional identity for so long. “Plus, it’s been too long since we had dinner at that Vietnamese place you like.”
The plans formed naturally, our separate professional responsibilities balanced against our shared personal priorities. This had become our pattern, alternating weeks between the Carolina house, our home base and sanctuary. Then of course Atlanta, the business hub, and our connection to urban energy, with occasional trips to Boston as needed. It wasn’t always convenient, but it worked, a compromise that allowed each of us to maintain the aspects of our previous lives that mattered most while building our shared future.
“Do you ever miss it?” Moses asked suddenly, his gaze distant as if seeing beyond our peaceful porch to the city life we’d both partially left behind. “The constant stimulation of urban living? The convenience of everything at your fingertips? The anonymity of being just another face in the crowd?”
I considered the question seriously, as I did all questions Moses posed. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “Usually when I’m making that third trip to the hardware store in a single day because our rural options are limited. Or when I’m craving authentic Ethiopian food at midnight.”
Moses laughed, his expression suggesting similar experiences.
“But mostly, no,” I continued. “The trade-offs are worth it. The space, the quiet, the connection to nature. And most importantly, the fact that we’re building this together, on our own terms, in a place that belongs to both of us equally.”
Moses nodded, understanding the significance of that last point. Neither Boston nor Atlanta could have been truly neutral territory, each carried the weight of established routines, professional networks, and individual histories. Our Carolina home, by contrast, was a fresh canvas, a joint creation, a physical manifestation of our commitment to building something new together.
“I feel the same,” he said after a moment. “Though I reserve the right to complain bitterly about the lack of decent delivery options every now and then.”
“Duly noted,” I agreed with a smile. “And I reserve the right to remind you that you were the one who insisted our property be at least five miles from the nearest neighbor.”
“Privacy is important,” Moses defended, though his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Especially given your tendency to sing in the shower at full volume.”
“That’s not singing,” I corrected with mock seriousness. “That's a vocal expression. An entirely different artistic medium.”
Moses’s laughter, bright and uninhibited, filled the morning air. These moments of playful banter, of easy teasing and shared humor, had become as essential to our relationship as the deeper conversations, the passionate connections, and the mutual support through challenges. Together, they formed the tapestry of our daily life, complex, textured, and beautiful in its imperfection.
“We should probably think about getting dressed,” Moses said eventually, glancing at his watch. “Maxwell and Cole will be here around noon, and I promised to show them the distillery plans when they next visit.”
I nodded, though neither of us made any immediate move to leave our comfortable perch on the porch. The day stretched before us, brunch with friends, perhaps a walk through the woods that bordered our property, dinner together in the kitchen we’d designed to accommodate both Moses’s culinary experiments and my tendency to spread out architectural drawings on any available surface.
An ordinary day, by the standards we’d established in our months of living together. Yet as I looked at Moses, relaxed in the morning sunlight, a coffee mug cradled in his hands, eyes bright with contentment, I felt a surge of gratitude so profound it momentarily took my breath away.
“I love you,” I said simply, the words both familiar and extraordinary on my tongue. “Every day, in every version of our life together, I love you.”
