35. Jeremy

He had driven out last night after hanging with Emmy, Phoebe, and Ryan at Next Door after the workday, sipping a ginger beer with bitters that Dec had prepared for him. He had been pointedly vague about where he was going for the long weekend, though Emmy’s and Phoebe’s shared glances told him that the two women knew exactly what he was up to. Ryan, bless his heart, told Jeremy that he hoped he had a nice time.

Part of Jeremy’s mind still believed that he would show up, and Davis would see him and act as if nothing happened. He had selected a chamomile and lavender blend for his tea today to soothe his nerves. Chamomile was what his dad had always prepared for Jeremy before he had tests at school, and Jeremy had continued the habit when he began college, sipping a cup before exhibition openings or studio critique sessions. And now, apparently, before he went to the national forest to see a man that he may or may not be starting a relationship with.

He shouldn’t have worried, though, with Davis greeting him with a knowing smile and, once he was inside Davis’s cabin, pulling him into a hungry kiss, whispering I missed you against his jaw.

They worked better now, after acknowledging (and repeatedly acting on) their mutual attraction, an elephant in the room that had shrunk to something smaller than Mary Anne. Ideas flowed smoother, the division between their work relationship and personal relationship becoming translucent. An idea shared in the dark, faces turned toward each other on pillows or a tangent about a childhood memory that derailed a work session. No worries, because, though there was a deadline connected to the grant funding, Jeremy felt like there was no possible end in sight, a trail that would continue for miles, like the Appalachian Trail that Davis had a map of in his bedroom, the sections he had completed highlighted in bright yellow.

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“So I’ll be sending this out to the regional office for a final approval, though it might take a while with the holiday,” Davis said, clicking send on an email in his office in the admin building. “And then once we get the okay from them, we can put the signage into production and begin the install.” Davis looked over at the paper calendar taped to his wall, a Pittsburgh Pirates giveaway that his cousin had sent in a care package along with a photocopied recipe for pepperoni rolls and a handful of morel mushrooms. “Is it too ambitious to hope for an installation in the summer?”

“I don’t think so,” Jeremy said, doing a series of mental calculations in his head.

“Oh, I wasn’t worried about us,” Davis said, and Jeremy tried— and failed— not to read a double meaning in that sentence. “It’s just that summer is our busiest season.”

“Why?”

“The highest number of visitors— lots of people camping because we’re cheaper and less busy than Rocky Mountain National Park, and it’s also fire season, so there’s a chance the forest would deal with closures or we’d get called out to help with the fire management,” Davis explained.

“What can’t you do?” Jeremy asked, smiling at him. His gaze flicked down to his lips, skimmed over the stubble of his beard. wanted to kiss him, but he knew he had to be respectful of Davis’s boundaries on the forest property— no PDA in his office, and only in Davis’s cabin when the blinds were down.

“I was thinking that we’d send out most of the signage to a fabricator that my friend has used down in Denver. They can do a quick turnaround, so that’s one less thing that you have to worry about,” Jeremy said, turning back to business.

“That makes sense,” Davis said. “Somewhere on my computer, I have the national forest design guidelines for signage. I skimmed through it, and it seems like we have free rein of font and panel design.” Davis’ face turned an adorable shade of pink. “I, uh, mean you have free rein of design.” He gave a nervous cough “There’s a list of approved paint colors, too, for most of the major paint brands.” Davis quickly attempted to change the subject and began to tell Jeremy how he worked at the hardware store in his hometown in high school when Jeremy laid a gentle hand on his arm. A gentle redirection, Davis’ hazel eyes snapping to his own.

“Davis,” Jeremy said. “I was thinking that you could help with the signs.”

“How?”

“I’d like you to make them,” Jeremy continued, his long fingers tapping a delicate rhythm on Davis’s forearm. “Like the one you made for the trail. The one you took me on the day we met.”

“You remember that?” Davis whispered.

Jeremy smiled, soft and satisfied. “I was impressed. Here was this rugged beast of a man who was able to craft an exquisite design with his hands.” Jeremy slipped his palm down Davis’s forearm, leaving warm sparks in the wake, until he was able to interlace their fingers under Davis’s desk, hidden away from any eyes that could peek into his office. “And I like your hands.”

“You trust me?” Davis said. “With the sign?”

Jeremy shrugged casually. “It’s your forest.”

“Technically, they’re owned collectively by all United States citizens,” Davis replied, being intentionally difficult. Jeremy huffed an affectionate laugh. “So it’s your forest, too.”

“Our forest,” Jeremy said, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Do you have your wood burning stuff here? In our forest?”