1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Greg

“I’m getting too old for this, you know.”

Greg Westin grinned as he set down the last print to be packed. “Well, if you’re getting too old, what does that make me? Ancient?” He twisted his head around and glanced over his shoulder, reaching up to shield his eyes from the sunlight streaming in through the open doors of the small cargo trailer. His husband, Allen, stopped just at the entrance of the trailer and set down the box he’d been carrying, grunting slightly as he straightened back up.

“I believe the correct terminology is ‘old geezer.’ Or at least, that’s what Tina’s daughter called you last time we visited.”

Greg laughed and ran his hand through his graying hair. “I thought ‘old geezers’ had to be at least sixty. I’ve still got four years to go.” He shook his head, still grinning, then motioned to the box Allen had set down. “That the last one? ”

“Yeah,” Allen said. “Faye and Ron asked if we’d be staying for dinner, but I told them we were probably going to try to catch the late ferry since that storm’s supposed to be coming in tomorrow. I’d rather be home than trying to drive through it.”

With a nod, Greg turned and stepped over to the edge of the trailer, peeking out and up at the early evening sky—still clear and blue and sunny. It was beautiful, as late August days tended to be in Friday Harbor. But Allen was right—a huge storm was supposed to pass through tomorrow, and he’d much rather be snugly at home in North Bend, with everything safely unpacked into his studio, than worrying about the weather.

Greg hopped off the back of the trailer, and Allen leaned against him and closed his eyes. “Sorry it was such a long day,” Greg said quietly. He pressed a light kiss to Allen’s forehead. “And I’m sorry for the quick up and back. It’s much more fun when we get to spend a few days up here.”

The wrinkles around Allen’s eyes creased as he smiled. “Next time. And we should come for vacation, not work. Maybe I’ll even make you leave your camera at home.”

“Oooh, what a threat!” Greg laughed, wrapping his arms around his husband’s waist, and Allen lifted his head up, his gray-blue eyes now sparkling with silliness.

“Think about it. When’s the last time you’ve gone anywhere just to go? When’s the last time we’ve gone anywhere not for one of your work things?” Allen’s smile faded into a frown, and he shook his head. “I didn’t mean for that to come out how it did. I meant it as a joke.”

Greg had known that, but he still had to swallow back his guilt. It was true. They traveled for him to photograph places. They traveled together, that is, or he traveled alone, since Allen worked five or sometimes six days a week at the North Bend Library. In fact, the last time they’d gone on a vacation that wasn’t for his work or for a wedding or funeral had been over five years ago, when they’d celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary.

He loved photography, which was good, because he’d made a very successful career out of it, but it was much too easy to get caught up in trying to capture just the right view at just the right moment or trying to find the most impressive landscape in the most difficult-to-reach location, nearly always somewhere off the beaten path. It could sometimes make him forget everything else, become a bit obsessed, neglect his other obligations. Including his husband.

Allen had always been infinitely supportive, of course. In the thirty-three years that they’d known each other, Allen had never once complained about the extra time Greg always packed into their trips so he could explore and find the next great place he wanted to photograph. Just like he hadn’t complained when Greg had renovated their garage into his photography studio, and when Greg had needed to spend large amounts of their money on new equipment—cameras, lenses, printers. Allen had even helped design and build the modifications to their cargo trailer to make packing and unpacking for trade and art shows easier. And he had accompanied Greg every time, to every show.

It wasn’t a one-way street. Greg had been equally as supportive of Allen’s passions and career as well. They wouldn’t have made it this long and still have the incredible relationship they did otherwise. But sometimes—like now—Greg was reminded of just how much his career had taken over their lives.

Greg vowed silently that he’d make it up to Allen as soon as possible and worked a careful smile onto his face. Then he bent down to press a light kiss to his husband’s lips.

“You’re right. We should come up here just for a vacation. Maybe later in the year?” When Allen nodded a quiet agreement, Greg looked back into the trailer briefly. Everything was in its place but not secured yet, so he still had some work to do.

“Why don’t I finish packing, and you go see if Darryl’s got any more of those boxes of strawberries left?” he suggested. “Then we can get going and hopefully catch that ferry. It leaves at seven thirty, right?”

With a nod, Allen stepped away from Greg, scratching his beard. “Seven thirty, yeah,” he said. He glanced back toward where the other booths from the Friday Harbor Farmers’ Market were still being packed up and then grinned. “Darryl’s still here, good. Those strawberries—so sweet this year!”

Greg bent over and picked up the box Allen had set down a few minutes ago, and when he straightened back up, Allen was watching him with a gentle expression. “What is it, darling?”

But Allen just shook his head, smiled softly, and leaned in to kiss Greg again. “Nothing at all. You’re just looking quite handsome in your old age,” Allen teased. He planted another kiss on Greg’s lips and then turned and headed off toward Darryl’s red pickup truck, which was parked on the other side of the small courtyard where their booth had been.

Laughing to himself, Greg hefted the box into the trailer, hopped back in, and continued packing up.

***

The drive to the wharf was short, and Greg listened as Allen talked quietly about his final preparations for the event he was hosting at the library on Sunday—the last in a series of open-library summer literacy events where children from North Bend and other surrounding communities were invited to come share and exchange books, read aloud to the group, and participate in games and activities.

Thankfully, they managed a spot on the next ferry back to Anacortes, and about an hour and a half later, Greg pulled their small SUV out onto the highway, headed east toward I-5. The roads were clear, and all the light from the day had just finished disappearing below the horizon.

He glanced over at his passenger and grinned. Allen’s eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the headrest, and his mouth parted slightly in his sleep. Greg had to resist the urge to reach over and push Allen’s hair back off his forehead—those few strands that always wanted to fall down almost over his eyes. But he didn’t want to wake his husband, and so he kept both hands on the steering wheel and focused his attention on the road ahead again.

The drive wasn’t terribly long, and he pulled up in front of their house just after ten thirty. The slight jostle of the SUV as he stopped woke up Allen, who groaned and stretched.

“Home already? Aw, shoot, I slept the whole way? You should have woken me up.”

Greg just laughed lightly. “You looked like you needed the rest,” he said, and Allen grimaced but then shrugged.

“I’ll let Beans out in the back and then open the garage door,” Allen suggested, unbuckling his seat belt. “Shouldn’t take us too long to unload—”

“I’ll handle it tonight, darling,” Greg cut in. Normally they would work together to unload all of Greg’s prints and equipment, and it would only take them about fifteen minutes or so. But he’d seen Allen’s exhaustion earlier, and tonight, it just didn’t feel right to ask more of his husband.

Allen looked poised to argue, his eyes narrowed slightly as he seemed to study Greg. His expression tightened before he nodded in agreement. “Okay, but you’ll come straight to bed, right? No... getting distracted by something in your studio or sitting down at your computer to edit some of those photos you took Thursday night or—or anything?”

“Of course,” Greg promised, though his stomach clenched at the immediate relief he saw in his husband’s eyes.

“Good.” Allen smiled, and then, as though he could tell the direction of Greg’s thoughts and wanted to redirect him, Allen leaned in until his lips were just about half an inch from Greg’s. “Because I want to cuddle with you tonight,” he whispered, his voice low and husky.

The familiar tug of desire made Greg groan, and he reached up to cup Allen’s cheek, then closed the rest of the distance between them so their lips met. It was a deeper kiss than the quick, light ones they’d shared earlier, and when Allen’s hand settled high on Greg’s thigh, he groaned again and pulled back, breathing heavily.

“Give me a minute to put Beans out back,” Allen said, slightly breathless himself, and Greg just nodded. Allen’s hand then left his thigh, and Greg leaned his head back against the headrest for a moment as he listened to Allen open the door and exit the SUV.

When the passenger door shut, he opened his eyes and watched his husband tread stiffly up the driveway and along the front walkway and then disappear into the house a moment later. He sat there for just another minute or two, tracking Allen’s path through the house as windows lit up one by one. Muffled barking, followed by the sound of the back door opening and closing called him to action, and Greg blinked to reset himself and put the SUV back into drive. He pulled forward a bit and then expertly backed the trailer up into the driveway, stopping with the rear of the trailer only a foot or so from the garage door just as it began to rise.

By the time he parked and hopped out, Allen was at the back of the trailer, unlocking it and starting to open up the rear doors. Greg almost laughed, almost made some teasing comment about Allen being a stubborn old man. But when he saw his husband’s tired eyes, he just shook his head.

“You go rest. Please,” he said, setting his hand lightly over Allen’s on the handle. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Despite Allen’s obvious exhaustion, Greg still expected pushback. They always did this part together, after all. So he was quite surprised when Allen just nodded.

“Okay, okay. I’ll text Joe and let him know we’re home so he doesn’t come over to check on Beanie in the morning. And you’ll be up soon?”

“I promise,” Greg said, and he leaned over and brushed a gentle kiss on Allen’s cheek.

The next half hour or so went by slowly as Greg unpacked the trailer, putting everything away carefully and setting aside the pieces that had sold so he could pack them up to ship or deliver them the following week. All the while, he heard noises from the house—Allen’s voice calling their dog, Beans, in from the backyard; some noises from the kitchen; then the creaking overhead from their second-floor bedroom and telltale sounds of the shower turning on and then off a little bit later.

By the time he was all finished and the trailer was parked back in its spot along the side of the house, it was well after eleven, and the house had been quiet for some time. He shut the garage door behind himself and glanced at his small studio. His eyes were immediately drawn to his camera case, which he’d set in its place on his desk.

The sunset Thursday evening. That was what he’d photographed when they’d arrived in Friday Harbor. There had been just enough wisps of clouds in the sky, tinted orange and pink, and the light had reflected off the water. It was a view he’d seen often enough, but for whatever reason, on Thursday evening, it had held some sort of enchantment to it, and he hadn’t been able to resist .

Just like he couldn’t quite resist now. A quick look, just two minutes. Just to remind him of the beauty. Then he’d edit the photos tomorrow.

He stepped over to his desk, but as he reached out for the camera case, his eyes drifted to the framed photo sitting next to his computer, and his hand paused. Allen’s kind gray-blue eyes smiled back at him, and Greg inhaled sharply.

“My love,” he whispered, and he reached out and ran his fingers along the edge of the frame. It was really nothing fancy—just a selfie of the two of them at the top of Shriner Peak in Mount Rainier National Park. He’d taken it with his cell phone nearly three years ago. The view behind them wasn’t even great—fog and clouds obstructed what should have been a phenomenal view of Mount Rainier itself off in the distance. But in all of the more than thirty years he’d been hiking and photographing people and places and landscapes, it was his favorite photo.

His arm was looped loosely around Allen’s shoulders, and his head was tilted sideways just enough so it touched Allen’s. Allen’s smile was bright and carefree.

Greg’s heart stuttered, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Then he blew out a short breath, turned, and headed inside, flipping off the light switch behind him.

The photos would wait until morning.