Chapter 11 Moses
MOSES
The meet-and-greet had gone better than I could have ever anticipated.
After years of avoiding Gomillion, of being the town pariah, I’d stood in the town square and been met not with scorn but with something approaching acceptance.
Some old wounds had begun to heal, and new connections had been forged.
Mayor Hayes’s unexpected quasi-apology still had me reeling, but in a way that felt strangely positive.
Now, as the sun set on what might have been the most transformative few days of my adult life, I found myself in my element, prepping my bar for a private celebration.
Bronwyn had graciously given me the keys and the night off from official duties, with a knowing look and strict instructions not to “mess up her inventory system.”
“You’re sure she won’t mind us being here after hours?” Rhett asked, lounging against the bar as I meticulously arranged glasses and selected bottles.
“She practically threw me out and told me not to come back until tomorrow afternoon,” I replied, placing a bottle of small-batch Kentucky bourbon next to an artisanal gin from the Pacific Northwest. “Said something about me being ‘insufferably mopey’ if I didn’t ‘properly celebrate surviving this week from hell.’”
Rhett laughed, the sound warming the empty space in a way the ambient lighting couldn’t. “I’ve known Bronwyn less than a week, and that already sounds exactly like her.”
“She’s nothing if not consistent,” I agreed, smiling as I worked. “She’s been my rock through all of this, the reunion, the revelation, everything.”
“I like her,” Rhett said simply. “She cares about you. Fiercely.”
“She does,” I nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude for my business partner and oldest friend. “Though she’d rather die than admit it.
I continued my preparations, setting out ingredients for cocktails with the same precision I applied to my professional mixology.
Tonight felt significant, a culmination of the past week’s revelations and reconnections, but also the beginning of something new.
Tomorrow, Rhett had promised to show me something that might “change how we think about the future.” The prospect both terrified and exhilarated me.
“What are you thinking about?” Rhett asked softly, watching me with those perceptive eyes that always seemed to see right through me.
“Tomorrow,” I admitted, pausing in my work. “Your mysterious surprise.”
He smiled, but didn’t offer any additional hints. “All will be revealed in due time. Tonight is about celebrating how far we’ve come this week.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” I teased, resuming my preparations. “Celebrating our survival?”
“Among other things,” he replied, his voice dropping to a register that sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. “I was thinking we could toast to second chances. To truths finally told. To twenty years of wanting finally satisfied.”
The deliberate heat in his words made my hands falter slightly as I measured bitters into a small crystal bottle. “Careful,” I warned, though there was no real caution in my tone. “Keep talking like that, and we might not make it to the actual drinks.”
“Would that be so terrible?” Rhett asked, moving around the bar to stand behind me, close enough that I could feel his warmth but not quite touching.
“Bronwyn would never forgive me if we desecrated her pristine bar top,” I replied, fighting to keep my voice steady despite his proximity.
Rhett chuckled, the sound low and intimate in the quiet space. “Fair point. I suppose we should at least start with the drinks you’ve gone to such trouble to prepare.”
I turned to face him, finding myself caught between his body and the bar, a position that felt both vulnerable and thrilling. “I’ve been told my Old Fashioneds are worth the wait.”
“I’ve never doubted it,” he murmured, his eyes dropping briefly to my lips before he stepped back, giving me space to finish my preparations. The momentary separation felt both like relief and loss.
I completed the cocktails with a flourish, garnishing each with a twist of orange peel and a Luxardo cherry. Handing one to Rhett, I raised my own in a toast.
“To unexpected reunions,” I offered.
“And to the courage to face the past,” Rhett added, clinking his glass against mine.
We sipped in appreciative silence, the complex flavors of bourbon, bitters, and sugar melding harmoniously on the palate. Rhett closed his eyes briefly, savoring the taste.
“This,” he declared, “is why you’re the mixologist and I’m just an architect.”
I laughed, pleased by his enjoyment. “Architecture and mixology aren’t so different. Both require precision, creativity, an understanding of how different elements work together to create something greater than the sum of their parts.”
“Poetic,” Rhett commented, taking another sip. “Though I’ve never had a building get me tipsy.”
“Then you haven’t been in the right buildings,” I countered, enjoying the easy banter between us. This, perhaps more than anything, had been what I’d missed in our years apart, the effortless connection, the way conversation flowed between us like water finding its natural course.
We settled into the comfortable leather sofa in the corner of the bar, close enough that our knees touched.
The space around us was dim, lit only by the soft ambient lights behind the bar and a few candles I’d placed on tables.
Outside, Gomillion had gone quiet, the small town settling into evening stillness.
“It’s strange,” I mused, swirling the amber liquid in my glass, “how different everything looks now compared to a week ago. Same town, same bar, same people, but it all feels... shifted somehow.”
“Perspective changes everything,” Rhett agreed. “A week ago, I was dreading this reunion, expecting it to be a superficial parade of false nostalgia and carefully curated life updates.”
“And instead?”
“Instead, it became about truth. Reconciliation. Second chances.” His eyes met mine, earnest and warm. “Finding you again.”
The simple sincerity in his voice touched something deep within me. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to find me,” I admitted. “After what you believed I’d done, after how I left things...”
“I was angry for a long time,” Rhett acknowledged. “Hurt. Confused. But there was always a part of me that couldn’t quite believe the story. The Moses I knew wouldn’t have destroyed something that mattered to the town, wouldn’t have thrown away everything we had without reason.”
“And yet I did leave,” I pointed out softly. “I could have reached out over the years, tried to explain, but I didn’t.”
“Why not?” he asked, the question gentle rather than accusatory. “Even after Soren was gone, even when you were established in Atlanta with your own business?”
It was a fair question; one I’d asked myself countless times.
“Fear,” I said finally. “Not just of rejection, but of disrupting the life I’d built.
I’d convinced myself that what we had was teenage intensity, not meant to last. That you’d moved on, found someone else, someone who didn’t come with my baggage. ”
“There were others,” Rhett admitted, his voice soft with remembered emotions. “Relationships that should have worked on paper but never quite felt right. Something was always missing.”
“For me too,” I confessed. “I dated in Atlanta, men, women, people who were kind, interesting and attractive. But there was always a part of me that stayed closed off, that couldn’t or wouldn’t fully connect.”
“And now?” he asked, setting his empty glass on the coffee table, his full attention on me.
I considered the question, feeling its weight, its importance. “Now I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for twenty years, and I’m finally learning to breathe again.”
Rhett’s smile was slow and intimate, warming me from the inside out. He reached out, taking my glass and setting it beside his own before capturing my hand in his. “I know exactly what you mean.”
The touch of his skin against mine; simple, chaste even, sent electricity coursing through me. Twenty years melted away, and I was eighteen again, dizzy with the thrill of first love, yet also firmly in the present, a man who knew what he wanted and was finally ready to reach for it.
“Rhett,” I began, not entirely sure what I wanted to say, only knowing that I needed to bridge the small remaining distance between us.
He saved me from having to find the words, leaning forward to capture my lips with his own. The kiss began gently; a question, an invitation that I answered by sliding my hand to the nape of his neck, drawing him closer.
What started as tenderness quickly evolved into something more urgent, years of longing and separation fueling our desire.
His hands found their way under my shirt, warm palms skimming over skin that seemed to ignite at his touch.
I responded in kind, tugging at his clothing with an impatience that might have embarrassed me under different circumstances.
“We should..." I gasped as his mouth found a particularly sensitive spot beneath my ear.
“Yes,” he agreed, though neither of us had clarified what we should do. Move to my apartment upstairs? Stop before things progressed too far in a public venue, even one that was closed for the night?
The decision was made for us when the sound of a door opening shattered the moment. We broke apart, startled, as Bronwyn’s voice rang out from the entrance.
“Relax, it’s just me,” she called, deliberately making noise as she entered. “I forgot my laptop. Please tell me you’re both fully clothed.”
“Jesus, Bronwyn,” I muttered, heat flooding my face as Rhett and I hastily straightened our rumpled clothing. “A little warning next time?”
She appeared at the edge of the bar area, laptop bag in hand, her expression amused but not unkind. “I texted you,” she pointed out. “Three times. Not my fault you were too occupied to check your phone.”