Epilogue
James
Crouching in front of the flower bed, James studied the rows of tulips, their pink, white, purple, and yellow bulbs swaying slightly with each light breeze, and he wondered which one he ought to pick to commemorate the sinking. James exhaled a soft sigh as he picked up the secateurs.
He could hardly believe that so many years had passed since he’d crossed the Atlantic.
Thinking back on his time on the Titanic, James couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t been transformational.
In practically every sense of the word. He’d found love while aboard that ill-fated ship.
He’d found love and friendship and the courage to ask for the life he wanted, too.
Working as a steward aboard that luxurious vessel had meant meeting Cassian, the man he loved more than anything in the world.
It had meant rekindling his love of life and of writing.
And it had meant refinding the pieces of himself that he’d once feared had been lost forever.
Being aboard that illustrious ship, sailing across the living infinite, had, in so many respects, saved James’s life.
But so many others who had been on that ship had lost everything. Reconciling the reality of what had happened that night with the fact that his current life had only been made possible because he’d been on the ship in the first place was still so impossible sometimes.
Yet, James was so very thankful for his life now. He and Cassian spent a lot of time together at the cottage, sometimes only for a few days here and there before Cassian returned to the city, but many times for much longer than that.
And James had made such wonderful friends on that voyage, all of whom were like family to him now.
Even Ethel’s mother, Helena, while not exactly like family in some ways, was still exceedingly kind to him, especially considering the fact that she probably suspected the truth about what was happening between him and Cassian behind closed doors.
Life at the cottage was more magical, more wonderful, than James could have ever imagined it would be.
He spent the bulk of his time writing stories and keeping the house.
And both of those things meant taking care of Cassian, too, in a way.
After all, Cassian had ridiculously high expectations when it came to how he liked his home.
And James knew how important and special it was that he was able to meet them. Or, more often than not, exceed them.
Even more spectacular, though, was Cassian’s love for James’s romantic adventure stories.
He was never not pestering James to write another one.
How bloody incredible it was for James to be able to feel as though he was caring for Cassian, even from afar, even while following his passion and scribbling in a notebook.
And whenever Cassian was with James at the cottage, then life was even more magical.
James was able to serve him and pamper him and even spoil him.
And in return, James received Cassian’s unending love and adoration, mostly in the form of kisses and cuddles and (often vigorous, but sometimes gentle) sex.
And sweet-but-strange cheek massages that never failed to make his heart flutter.
Not to mention the loveliest compliments and praise.
And presents like notebooks and pens and clothing and personal care products, though the latter weren’t always to his personal tastes, but to Cassian’s.
Even if other people might not recognize Cassian purchasing James a bow tie that he himself wanted to see James wear as an act of love, James knew that, for Cassian, it was.
Cassian’s selfish sweetness was precisely how he showed James that he cared.
And James absolutely loved how particular and possessive Cassian was.
All of Cassian’s selfish sweetness, from Cassian unexpectedly interrupting James in the middle of a chore for a session of sexual intimacy to Cassian choosing a particular shirt for James to wear because he thought that James might look cute in it, made James feel so perfectly cherished.
James was still smiling to himself as he moved to snip a yellow tulip when little Quinn came up behind him, his brown-blond hair a mess from running around.
Jacob Matthew Calbot III followed in short order, looking a little worse for wear compared to his cousin, probably because he was the more adventurous of the two.
“Can I pick the flower this year, Uncle James?” Quinn asked.
“You can each choose one, if you’d like,” James said with a warm smile.
“Do I have to?” Jacob asked, wrinkling his nose. “Flowers aren’t even interesting.”
James chuckled a little. “Of course you don’t have to,” he said. “But we planted them to honor your father. He loved flowers. Even though his father thought that he shouldn’t.”
Jacob pursed his lips, seemingly thinking this over.
“Alright,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll pick one.”
James handed him the secateurs. He snipped a pink one, seemingly at random.
Then, Quinn chose a yellow one, fretted that maybe he had chosen poorly, and picked a second, plumper one in case the first one was somehow insufficient.
Both boys handed their selections to James, who waved them off and then snipped a purple one.
Afterward, James started inside so that he could press them with the blotting paper. Just as he neared the house, he heard Cassian and John pull up in the car, and a smile split his face. Cassian hopped out first, and James hurried over to him.
“Good morning, my James,” Cassian said, pulling James in by his lapels for a quick kiss.
“Nine days and fifteen hours this time,” James lamented, nuzzling Cassian’s nose. “And somehow, I think I missed you more than ever.”
“You will never not count, will you?” Cassian asked through a laugh.
“Nope. Never.”
Cassian hummed and swept a hand through James’s hair. Afterward, he stroked one of James’s cheeks with his thumb.
“I missed you, too.”
John came up beside them.
“How’s Ethel? Did the children behave?” he asked, his eyebrows pinching.
James smiled reassuringly.
“Quinn, yes, probably too well. Jacob, mostly, though when Ingrid comes by later, Ethel has instructed that we are supposed to report back that her son has been nothing short of angelic, and Thomas, not so much, but he’s only three and therefore, I cannot bring myself to blame him for his .
. . crying. Lots of crying. Over everything from an improperly cut piece of fruit to being handed the wrong color block. ”
Laughing a little, John cringed.
“Oh, poor Ethel,” he said.
“Maggie and I have been helping,” James reminded him. “Maggie is with Thomas on a stroll right now, in fact, and Quinn and Jacob were running around out here moments ago. I bet Ethel is having a nap.”
“Good. Because she’s been exhausted lately,” John said, running a hand through his hair.
“It reminds me of how she was when we found out about Thomas.” His eyes flew wide.
“Oh no.” He cupped his hands over his mouth.
“God, no. Not another one. Not so soon.” He lowered his voice.
“Do you think we’re having another one?”
“I believe I’m not supposed to tell you, but yes, Ethel thinks it’s likely.” James cringed. “Sorry.”
Cassian let out a laugh and clapped John on the shoulder.
“Keep this up, Mr. Quinn, and James and I will be forced to separate you two.”
John blew out a breath. “I promise, Cassian, I’m not intentionally—”
“I’m mostly only kidding,” Cassian replied, rolling his eyes playfully. “Really, though, maybe, maybe, slow down a little bit considering how precarious our situation is.”
“Yes. Of course. Done. I shall purchase the, uhm, the, well, the—”
Cassian held up his hand, cutting him off. His face reddened a little.
“I know what you’re referring to, John. You need not embarrass yourself any further.”
“Thank you,” John replied, his cheeks reddening too. He nodded toward the house. “I should bring the bags inside. And see if Ethel might confess the news to me.”
“Act surprised, if you can,” James said.
“Yes, I will. I promise.”
John fetched a couple of bags from the car and then left for the house, stopping to chat with Quinn and Jacob on the way. Cassian and James looked at each other.
“Ethel will know that I let it slip, won’t she?” James asked.
“Indeed,” Cassian said. “Poor John cannot keep his poker hands a secret. He will not succeed in keeping this a secret, either.”
James crinkled his nose. “Do you think she’ll kill me?”
“I think she might be too exhausted to manage it,” Cassian said with a chuckle. He placed his hands on James’s hips. “If she tries, though, I promise that I’ll protect you.”
“Thank you.”
James kissed him and then held up the flowers.
“I need to press these,” he said.
Cassian let out a small, sorrowful-sounding sigh. “Yes, it’s that time of year, isn’t it?”
Together, they started up the walkway to the cottage.
“Jacob and Quinn helped this time, which was sweet,” James said.
“Did Quinn pick an extra bulb because he couldn’t make up his mind about which one was better?” Cassian asked, nodding at the flowers clutched in James’s hands.
“More or less,” James said.
Chortling, Cassian shook his head.
When they neared the door, Jacob sprinted past them into the house, and then Quinn stopped next to Cassian. He looked up at Cassian expectantly. Cassian knelt down.
“Good morning, Quinn,” he said. “Were you well behaved for everyone while your father and I were in the city?”
“I think so?” Quinn said. Cassian crooked an eyebrow. “I mean, yes. Yes, sir.”
Cassian’s mouth curled into a little smile for a fraction of a second before he seemed to force it away. Fondness swirled in James’s chest, and he had to press his lips together to keep himself from smiling too much.
“Did you help Uncle James choose a flower for the book this year?” he asked, and Quinn nodded. “But I see four of them. Why are there so many?”
“I, uhm, I couldn’t choose,” the boy said, somewhat sheepishly, lowering his head. “Can’t I put in both?”
Cassian hummed, and Quinn perked up a little, looking hopeful.
“I think you should choose your favorite,” Cassian finally said.
Quinn’s shoulders slumped, and he frowned at the walkway.
Cassian lifted the boy’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“You will not choose incorrectly, Quinny. Have some confidence in yourself. You are a Livingston.” Cassian paused and looked over to catch James’s eye.
James knew what he wanted straightaway and held out the flowers as Cassian released Quinn’s face.
“I want you to pick your favorite one for my friend Mr. Jacob Calbot. And then I want you to bring the other one to your mother. You can tell her that Uncle James means to say that he’s sorry for his big mouth. ”
Quinn reeled back and looked up at James.
“But Uncle James can’t change his mouth. And it really isn’t that big, is it?”
James tried to stifle a laugh and let out a snort instead. Cassian had to purse his lips, too, for a moment, to contain his laughter.
“Your mother will know what I mean,” Cassian said.
Quinn began to poke at his own mouth.
“Will mine be too big as well someday?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with worry.
“Quinny,” Cassian said curtly. “Confidence, please.”
“Does that mean that my mouth won’t—”
“No. Your mouth is fine. And it will continue to be fine,” Cassian said with a bemused look. He pointed to the flowers. “Choose.”
After a few seconds of deliberation, Quinn pointed to one of the two yellow tulips.
“Mmm . . . that one can go in the book, I think,” he said hesitantly.
“Good boy,” Cassian said. Quinn plucked the other flower out of James’s hand. And Cassian motioned into the house. “Run along.”
He went off into the house. Letting out a groan mixed with a laugh, Cassian pushed himself to stand. James began to laugh, too.
“Oh, poor Quinn,” James said. “Indecisive to his core.”
“He’s a lot like John, isn’t he?” Cassian mused. “Gentle and softspoken. Just a smidge of a worrier as well.”
James smiled warmly. “He is.”
“He’s like you, too, in that way.”
“Yes, too bad he’s named after you, though,” James said. “You and John, I mean.”
“Meanwhile, Ethel and John chose Thomas’s name to honor you, and—”
“—and here he comes out almost as demanding as you,” James finished.
“James, please,” Cassian said with a light scoff. “I’m not more demanding than a three-year-old.”
“Aren’t you, though?” James asked, crooking a teasing eyebrow.
Abruptly, Cassian took hold of James’s shirt and yanked him close.
“You’d like to see how demanding I can be, hm?” he asked in a husky tone.
His whispered voice sent a shiver of excitement up James’s spine.
“Yes, please,” James said.
Cassian wet his lips and hummed.
“Tonight,” he said simply.
James lunged forward and caught Cassian’s mouth in a fiercely passionate kiss. Once they parted, Cassian encouraged James into the house with a playful shove.
“In the meantime, James, you can press the flowers into Jacob’s book,” Cassian said, following him. “Afterward, I’d like—”
“Brandy?”
“Yes,” Cassian said. “Also—”
“Your slippers,” James finished for him. “I know.”
Cassian hummed happily. “Exceptional service. As always.”
When they neared the library, Cassian squeezed James’s rear end as he walked past. James smiled to himself as he watched Cassian collapse onto the sofa with a sigh.
Immediately, Quinn came up to chat with him some more.
Because as intimidating as Cassian sometimes was, Quinn still loved him.
Soon enough, little Jacob joined them too.
James fetched the blotting paper from the kitchen and then returned to press the flowers with a couple of heavy books.
Once he was finished, he looked up and caught Cassian’s eye.
Cassian threw him a wink, and James’s stomach fluttered.
Several long, wonderful seconds passed like this, with the two of them looking lovingly into each other’s eyes while the boys chattered nearby, first to Cassian (though he clearly wasn’t listening very well) and then to each other.
All the while, James thought of nothing except for how lucky he was.
And then, Cassian crooked an eyebrow and said, “James, my brandy?”
James shook his head.
“Right. Sorry,” he said.
And then he hurried off to fetch his favorite person in the whole world his favorite liquor and favorite pair of slippers, feeling cherished and treasured and loved.