Chapter 12 Moses
MOSES
Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of Moses’s apartment, casting warm patterns across the rumpled sheets.
I’d been awake for nearly an hour, watching Moses sleep beside me, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his curls tumbled across the pillow, the peaceful expression that made him look younger, unburdened by the weight of secrets finally told.
Today was the day I would show him the property I’d been considering, a tangible step toward a future I’d only dared to imagine until recently.
I was nervous, more nervous than I’d been presenting multimillion-dollar designs to demanding clients.
This wasn’t just about a house; it was about what the house represented: commitment, intention, possibility.
Moses stirred, his eyes blinking open slowly. When his gaze found mine, his lips curved into a sleepy smile that sent warmth cascading through my chest.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “How long have you been watching me?”
“Not long,” I lied, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep well?”
“Well…,” he admitted, stretching languidly beneath the sheets. “Of what was left of the night.”
“I don’t recall hearing any complaints,” I teased, trailing my fingers along his arm.
He caught my hand, bringing it to his lips. “None whatsoever. In fact, I might be amenable to a repeat performance.”
The temptation to stay in bed all day, exploring this newfound intimacy, was strong. But I had plans for today, important ones. “We have a house to visit, remember?”
A flicker of nervousness crossed his features before he nodded. “Right. The mysterious property. What time is our appointment?”
“Eleven,” I replied, checking the bedside clock. “Which gives us just enough time for breakfast and a shower before we need to hit the road.”
“Separate showers,” Moses clarified with a knowing look. “Otherwise, we’ll never make it to this appointment.”
I laughed, acknowledging the truth in his observation. “Your self-control is admirable.”
“Hardly,” he snorted, sliding out of bed and reaching for his discarded clothes. “It’s pure self-preservation. I have plans for you later that require energy.”
His casual promise sent a pleasant shiver down my spine, but I forced myself to focus on the day ahead. Too much was riding on it to be distracted, even by the alluring sight of Moses in nothing but hastily pulled-on boxers.
We managed to get ready with minimal distractions, though the shared intimacy of moving around each other in the small apartment, passing coffee cups, borrowing toiletries, the casual domesticity of it all, felt significant in its own right.
By ten-thirty, we were in my rental car, heading out of Gomillion toward the rolling countryside that surrounded the small town.
“So,” Moses said as we left the town limits behind, “are you going to tell me more about this place, or is it still top secret?”
I considered how much to reveal, wanting him to experience the property without preconceptions but also wanting to prepare him somewhat.
“It’s an old farmhouse, mid-1800s, fully renovated about ten years ago.
Five acres, mainly wooded. A small caretaker’s cottage on the property that could be rented out or used as a guest house. ”
Moses nodded, absorbing this information. “And you found this... when, exactly?”
“I’ve been watching the market in this area for a while,” I admitted. “Not actively searching but keeping an eye out for properties with potential. This one came up three months ago, right around when the reunion invitations went out. The timing felt... significant.”
“Three months ago,” he repeated, a note of surprise in his voice. “You were thinking about a property here before you even knew if I’d be at the reunion? Before we reconnected?”
I kept my eyes on the winding country road, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “I suppose I was. It wasn’t a conscious plan, more of a... possibility I couldn’t quite let go of. The idea that maybe, if we did reconnect...”
I trailed off, uncertain how to articulate the complex mix of hope and doubt that had accompanied my decision to consider a property in the area. Moses was quiet for a long moment, processing.
“That’s...quite a leap of faith,” he finally said, his voice soft with something that might have been a wonder.
“Or delusion,” I offered with a self-deprecating laugh. “I wasn’t sure which, to be honest.”
Moses reached across the console, his hand finding mine. “Faith,” he decided firmly. “Definitely faith.”
The simple reassurance steadied me as we continued down increasingly rural roads, the landscape shifting from small farms to more heavily wooded areas. After about fifteen minutes, I slowed the car, turning onto a gravel drive that wound through a stand of ancient oaks.
“We’re here,” I announced, feeling a flutter of nerves as the house came into view around the final bend.
The farmhouse stood on a gentle rise, its white clapboard exterior gleaming in the late morning sun.
A deep porch wrapped around three sides, dotted with rocking chairs and hanging plants.
The renovations had been tasteful, preserving the historical character while incorporating modern necessities.
Behind the main house, partially visible through the trees, sat a smaller structure, the caretaker’s cottage I’d mentioned.
Moses was silent as I parked in front of the house, his expression unreadable. I resisted the urge to fill the silence with nervous chatter, allowing him to take in the property at his own pace.
“It’s beautiful,” he finally said, his eyes taking in every detail. “Peaceful.”
“The real estate agent left the key under the mat,” I explained, gesturing toward the porch. “We have the place to ourselves for the viewing.”
Moses nodded, opening his car door with a deliberate movement that suggested he was steadying himself. I followed suit, meeting him at the front of the car. Together, we walked up the gravel path to the porch steps, the crunch of stone beneath our feet the only sound in the rural quiet.
The key was where the agent had promised, and the heavy wooden door swung open with a gentle creak to reveal the interior.
The entryway opened into a spacious living room with original hardwood floors, a stone fireplace dominating one wall.
Large windows allowed natural light to flood the space, highlighting the craftsmanship of the exposed beams and built-in bookshelves.
“The previous owners were a retired professor and his wife,” I explained as Moses wandered further in, taking everything in with an architect’s appreciation for detail.
“They did most of the renovations themselves, preserving as much of the original character as possible while updating the essentials. New plumbing, electrical, a proper central heating and cooling system.”
Moses nodded, running his hand along the smooth surface of a built-in bookshelf. “They did beautiful work.”
I watched him explore, a sense of rightness settling over me as he moved through the space.
He belonged here, among the warm woods and soft light, in a way I hadn’t fully anticipated.
I could see him mixing drinks at the kitchen island, curled up with a book by the fireplace, his curls catching the morning light as we shared coffee on the porch.
“What are you thinking?” I asked when he paused at one of the windows, looking out at the property beyond.
Moses turned, his expression thoughtful. “I’m thinking it suits you. The blend of historical and modern, the attention to detail, the sense of solidity. It feels like a place built to last.”
Something in his phrasing caught me, not that it suited us, but that it suited me. I tried not to read too much into the distinction.
“Let me show you the rest,” I suggested, leading him through the kitchen with its updated appliances and original cabinetry, past a small study that could serve as a home office, and up the stairs to the second floor.
The main bedroom was spacious yet cozy, with windows on two walls offering views of the surrounding woods. An en-suite bathroom had been added during the renovations, featuring a clawfoot tub and separate shower. Two smaller bedrooms shared a second bathroom across the hall.
“Perfect for guests,” I commented as we explored the additional rooms. “Or a home office, if the downstairs study isn’t enough space.”
Moses nodded, his fingers trailing along the doorframe of one of the smaller rooms. “It’s a lot of house for a weekend place,” he observed neutrally.
“True,” I acknowledged, sensing the unspoken question beneath his comment. “But it offers flexibility. For now, it could be a meeting point, a retreat. In the future... who knows?”
Moses met my eyes, understanding the implication. “Who knows,” he echoed, neither accepting nor rejecting the possibility I’d laid before him.
We continued the tour, exploring the porch that wrapped around the house, the small but well-maintained garden, and finally the caretaker’s cottage, a charming one-bedroom structure with its own small kitchen and living area.
“The cottage could generate some rental income,” I explained as we walked back toward the main house. “There’s a market for weekend rentals in the area, people looking for quiet getaways. Or it could be a workspace, a studio for you to experiment with new gin formulations, perhaps.”
Moses raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised that I’d considered how the property might accommodate his professional interests. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“I’ve tried,” I admitted. “But ultimately, what matters is how you feel about it. If it’s too much, too soon, or just not right, I need you to be honest.”
We had circled back to the front porch, where two Adirondack chairs offered the perfect vantage point to take in the property. Moses settled into one, and I took the other, both of us looking out at the landscape before us.