Epilogue #2
He strolled away. Jesse continued to listen to his retreating footsteps while he finished his treat. Afterward, there was some commotion—sounds that suggested either Arthur or Patrick was knocking into a few things—as Arthur supposedly readied the rest of his surprise.
Minutes later, Arthur kissed Jesse on the cheek.
“Alright, Mr. O’Connor, you may open your eyes now.”
Jesse fluttered his eyes open. It took him a moment to understand what he was looking at. Feet away, next to the worktable, sat what looked like a Gordon Jobber.
But . . . not.
“Uhm . . .” Jesse blinked a few times. “Arthur, is that—”
“It is! It’s your Gordon Jobber! From the sketches you made!”
Jesse shook his head in bewilderment. “But I never finished them.”
“Oh, they were close enough,” Arthur said with a flippant flick of his wrist. He started toward it. “Let’s test it out!”
“Arthur, when I tell you that it wasn’t finished, what I mean is that it literally will not work,” Jesse remarked, following.
“Sure it will,” Arthur said, looking over his shoulder and smiling like the handsome, ridiculous fool that he was.
Jesse couldn’t help but laugh. Regardless of whether or not the press would work, it was an incredibly sweet gesture. Jesse began to inspect it.
“Did you commission it from a machine shop or something?”
“That’s exactly what I did,” Arthur said, unmistakable pride in his voice. He turned to Emma and wiggled his eyebrows in a playful manner. “Do you have the forme ready?”
“You know I do,” she said, heading over to one of the storage closets.
After a couple of seconds of rummaging, she returned holding a forme that she must have been hiding away for a while.
Jesse watched with intrigue as she set up the press while Arthur stood next to him bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.
Finally, once Emma was finished readying the ink, Arthur set a small stack of paper in the newly added tray—the one that Jesse had thought up.
Jesse pressed his lips together to hold in a chortle.
Unless Arthur or Giuseppe or someone else had thought of a way to remove the finished papers as they were inked, the only thing that would happen was that, as the machine ran, more and more papers would stack up on the bed, each top sheet smearing the ink of the previous one, thereby ruining the entirety of what they were trying to print.
Oh, Arthur would probably feel so foolish.
Sympathy pulled at Jesse’s heart, and he reached for Arthur’s hand.
“Thank you for this,” he said. “I love it. No matter what, I love it.”
Arthur smiled. “I think you’ll love it even more when you see how well it works.”
Jesse tried to smile in return as Arthur released his hand. Arthur walked over to the press and took hold of the wheel. He flicked his wrist to start it and pushed the pedal to the floor. Jesse’s stomach began to flutter as he watched the roller move the paper from the tray onto the bed.
Clang.
One sheet was finished. Sure enough, it stayed in the same spot on the bed.
But then, before Jesse could tell Arthur that it was still a sweet present, Arthur snatched the completed paper from the bed and flung it into the air.
Jesse’s eyebrows shot up and Arthur erupted with laughter.
Again and again, Arthur repeated this, flinging each and every one of the newly inked papers every which way.
“See, Mr. O’Connor?” Arthur teased, still laughing madly. “It works perfectly!”
One of the papers fluttered onto Jesse’s head, and he began laughing too.
“Jesus God,” he said, covering his face with his hands, his cheeks burning from both embarrassment and fondness as he watched Arthur behave like the excitable puppy he still so often was.
Jesse touched Arthur’s forearm, silently signaling him to stop.
Arthur stepped back from the press and turned to Jesse with a look of unbridled happiness.
Jesse placed his hands on Arthur’s hips. “I love you.”
Arthur mirrored his positioning, resting his hands on Jesse’s waist.
“I love you, too.”
“I can’t believe you wasted money on that.”
“Really? You can’t?”
“Alright, I can, but it’s still ridiculously silly of you.”
“I know.” Arthur knelt down and picked up a paper from the floor. “Did you happen to see what I printed?”
He held out the paper for Jesse to take. Jesse turned it around in his hands and studied it, his eyes widening with realization and stomach swooping when he saw what it was.
“It’s the first forme we ever made together.”
“Mm-hmm,” Arthur hummed. He tapped the spot with the error. “Four in a qack.”
Laughing, Jesse released the sheet of paper, letting it float to the floor.
He placed a hand on Arthur’s cheek and rubbed his thumb over the barely-there stubble.
Arthur’s beautiful blue eyes were shining with so much honest-to-God love, Jesse could hardly stand to keep looking in them.
Heat crept up the back of his neck the longer he tried.
Jesse reached up to run a hand through Arthur’s hair—now salt and pepper in color—and relished the feel of it moving through his fingers.
“So, my sweet Jesse, is owning your own print shop everything you hoped it would be?” Arthur asked.
Softly, Jesse replied, “It is.”
“And is our life together everything you hoped it would be?”
Jesse’s smile broadened. Life with Arthur had been nothing short of spectacular.
Despite the occasional monotony of working in the print shop, life with Arthur was never boring.
Whether they were munching on snacks and reading together in the library, enjoying too much wine on Saturday evenings, or traveling with their wonderful little family to Bar Harbor for a few weeks in the summertime, every single minute of it had been wonderful.
Jesse loved Arthur completely. And Arthur loved him completely in return.
“It is.”
Arthur hummed happily and nuzzled Jesse’s nose.
“Do you know why I had that incredible contraption made?” Arthur asked, nodding back toward the modified Jobber.
“Because you wanted to make me laugh?”
“Because I wanted to show you how perfect it was. Unfinished or not. Flaws and all. Imperfect though it may be. Just as you are perfect to me, my sweet Jesse. Unfinished schooling or not. Flaws and all. Imperfect though you may be.”
“Oh, sweet, beautiful man,” Jesse said. “You’re too much.”
Arthur chuckled. “I know I am.”
“Still, you are perfect to me, too, Arthur Albert Hughes.”
Smiling wistfully, Arthur swept a hand through Jesse’s hair. “I know that, too.”
Then, Jesse rose up onto the balls of his feet so that he could kiss the wonderful, ridiculous man with whom he had fallen in love.
And he knew that he was enough.