Page 23 of Beards and Love Letters

“Bye,” I reply when he finally pulls away and makes his way to the newer Kodiak he uses for personal flights. It’s sleek and offers more comfort than the other planes he mostly flies for cargo.

He works fast, and too soon, I’m waving goodbye to the bird in the air as the man I’ve fallen in love with flies out of sight.

The rest of the morning moves fast as I finish the final touches on Billy Jean, Gavin’s grandpa’s first plane. The old baddie was beat up and bruised, but Gavin and I got her running, and with this last coat of paint, she’ll shine like the first day he saw her. A big part of me wants this to give him closure. To have something special of his grandpa’s and be able to move forward. He’s opened up to me more outside of our letters, but he's still stoic and unfriendly when we go to town. When Robin told us she was moving yesterday at lunch, he clammed up completely.

“What do you think?” I ask my plucky little sidekick, who bleats a few times, and I nod my understanding.

“You’re right. It needs something a little more…. sentimental.”

Suddenly my goat friend takes off toward the office.

“Hey! Wait a minute. Do you know something I don’t?” I shout pointlessly as I follow Billy the Kid into the room he disappeared into.

It’s not Gavin’s office but his grandpa’s; by the looks of things, it hasn’t been touched in a long time. It’s dusty, and stacks of boxes and engine parts lay scattered. I take a deep breath at his desk and sit in his chair.

“Whoa,” I whisper to no one. Feeling the old man’s presence even though I know he’s not here. It’s been over a year, and a dusty glass of bourbon sits atop a stack of papers as if he drank it just last night. For a moment, I wonder if he has a picture of him and Gavin somewhere. Bonus points if it’s next to the old Billy Jean. The thought has me rummaging through the rickety brown desk.

Flight records? No, that’s lame.

“Aww, look Billy, it’s you.”

I turn the photo of Billy the Kid in Gavin’s arms for the pygmy goat to see. He humors me with a trot of excitement.

“This is defiantly going on our fridge.”

I freeze at my own words. Our fridge.

It certainly feels like our home, but we never had the moving in with each other talk. He says things like he wants me to stay, but there are no plans for the future. As a matter of fact, we haven’t even been on an official date aside from drinks at the bar, and he’s never referred to me as his girlfriend. Gavin is a man of little words, but his actions tell me not to worry. That he wants me. What if he doesn’t want a commitment long term?

No, he would never risk our friendship to just hook up. We’ve been friends too long for him to jeopardize that. Gavin wouldn’t hurt me.

That was my last thought before I noticed my name on the envelope under the glass of bourbon.

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