Chapter 15 Moses #2
“She would have loved you,” I told him with certainty. “She had a thing for tall, handsome men with strong convictions and kind eyes.”
“Sounds like you inherited her good taste,” Rhett teased gently, earning a small laugh from me despite the emotional setting.
We stood there for a few minutes longer, the rain falling softly around us, creating a private world beneath the shelter of the oak trees.
I felt a sense of peace settle over me, a closure I hadn’t realized I needed.
Coming here with Rhett, introducing him to the memory of my grandmother, felt like connecting two essential parts of myself that had long been separated.
“Thank you,” I said as we finally turned to leave. “For coming with me.”
“Thank you for sharing her with me,” Rhett replied simply.
The rain had lightened to a gentle mist by the time we returned to the hotel, our clothes damp but our spirits somehow lighter.
The emotional visit to the cemetery had shifted something in me, a final reconciliation with Gomillion, perhaps, or simply the acknowledgment that some connections never truly break, no matter the time or distance.
In our room, we began the final preparations for departure, checking drawers for forgotten items, organizing travel documents, the mundane rituals that marked the end of our time together. The clock on the nightstand seemed to move too quickly, minutes slipping away like water through cupped hands.
“Rhett,” I said suddenly, setting down the shirt I’d been folding. “I don’t want to leave like this.”
He looked up from his suitcase, concern etched in his features. “Like what?”
“Like we’re just going through the motions. Like this is just an ordinary departure.” I moved closer to him, needing the physical connection to express what words couldn’t quite capture. “We’ve spent twenty years apart. I don’t want to waste a single moment we have left today.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes, quickly followed by a heat that matched the growing urgency in my chest. He reached for me, his hands framing my face with a gentleness that belied the intensity in his gaze.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion and desire.
In answer, I kissed him, not the tender explorations of previous days but something deeper, more demanding. A physical manifestation of everything I couldn’t say about what this week had meant, what his return to my life signified.
Rhett responded immediately, matching my intensity with his own. His hands moved from my face to my shoulders, down my back, pulling me closer until there was no space between us. I could feel his heartbeat against my chest, rapid and strong, echoing my own.
We moved together toward the bed, shedding clothing with urgent hands. The rain continued outside, creating a rhythm that underscored our movements, a private soundtrack to this moment of connection before separation.
When we finally came together, skin against skin, it was with a tenderness that belied the initial urgency.
Rhett’s hands mapped my body as if memorizing every contour, every response.
I did the same, cataloging the familiar and the new, the strong planes of his chest, the sensitive spot at the base of his throat that made him gasp when kissed, the way his eyes darkened when I traced patterns across his skin.
“Stay with me,” he whispered against my neck, the double meaning clear in his voice. Stay present in this moment. Stay in my life beyond today.
“I’m here,” I promised, holding his gaze as we moved together. “I’m not going anywhere. Not really.”
Our bodies found a rhythm as natural as breathing, as inevitable as the tide. The physical pleasure was intense, but it was the emotional connection that threatened to overwhelm me, the sense of being truly seen, truly known, in a way I had experienced with no one else.
When release finally came, it was with an intensity that brought tears to my eyes, not from the physical sensation alone, but from the profound understanding that this man, this relationship, was worth whatever challenges lay ahead.
We clung to each other in the aftermath, breathing synchronized, heartbeats gradually slowing in tandem.
“I love you,” Rhett said softly, breaking the silence that had settled over us. “I don’t think I’ve said that explicitly yet, this week. But I do. I love you, Moses Morley. I think I always have.”
The simple declaration, delivered with such certainty, pierced something inside me, the last barrier of self-protection I’d maintained even as we’d grown closer throughout the week.
“I love you, too,” I replied, the words surprisingly easy once released. “I tried not to, for twenty years. Failed spectacularly.”
Rhett laughed, the sound vibrating against my chest where his head rested. “Thank goodness for that failure.”
We lay together as the rain continued outside, neither willing to be the first to move, to acknowledge that time was still passing, departure still approaching.
Eventually, though, reality reasserted itself in the form of a gentle alarm from Rhett’s phone, the reminder he’d set to ensure we wouldn’t lose track of time completely.
With reluctance, we separated, moving to shower and dress for the journey ahead. There was a new quality to our interactions now, a certainty, a foundation that hadn’t quite been there before. The declarations of love, the physical connection, had cemented something that had been building all week.
As we carried our luggage down to the parking lot, the rain had stopped, leaving behind that peculiar fresh scent that follows a steady downpour.
Our cars sat side by side, his rental that would be returned in Boston, my own vehicle that had brought me from Atlanta a week earlier.
The stark reminder of our separate destinations.
“So,” Rhett said, standing between the cars, his hands in his pockets in a gesture that seemed almost shy. “This is it. For now.”
“For now,” I emphasized, stepping closer to him. “Three months. Weekly video calls. Visit me whenever he can. And then a decision.”
He nodded, his expression a mixture of determination and vulnerability that made my heart ache with tenderness. “It’s a good plan. Solid. Practical.”
“Very us,” I agreed with a small smile.
“I’ll call when I stop for the night,” he promised. “Let you know where I am.”
“Same,” I replied. “And I’ll send you that link to the property listing so you can forward it to your real estate contact.”
We were back to logistics, to practical details, avoiding the emotional weight of the moment. But beneath the mundane exchange lay the deeper current of what we’d shared, what we’d promised each other.
Finally, there was nothing left to say, no reason to delay the inevitable. I stepped forward, closing the distance between us one last time. The kiss we shared was both promise and farewell, heavy with meaning yet lightened by the certainty that this was not an ending but a brief intermission.
“Drive safely,” I murmured as we separated.
“You too,” he replied, his hand lingering on my arm as if reluctant to break the final contact.
Then we were in our separate cars, starting engines, preparing to head in opposite directions, he north toward Boston, me south toward Atlanta. Through the windows, we exchanged one last look, one last smile, before putting our vehicles in gear and pulling away from the hotel.
In my rearview mirror, I watched his car turn onto the main road, heading toward the interstate that would take him away from Gomillion, away from me. A familiar ache bloomed in my chest, the pain of separation that I remembered all too well from twenty years ago.
But this time, it was different. This time, there were no secrets between us, no misunderstandings, no force driving us apart against our will. This time, the separation was temporary, a necessary step in building something lasting and real.
As I drove through Gomillion one last time, past the landmarks that had featured so prominently in our story: the school, the town square, Timbers modern and creative, I imagined it reflecting its owner’s personality.
“Especially my apartment,” he agreed, his voice dropping to a register that sent a pleasant shiver through me despite the physical distance already growing between us. “My very private, very well-soundproofed apartment.”
I laughed, the ache in my chest easing as we fell into the comfortable banter that had always come naturally to us. “I’ll book a flight as soon as I get home. Send you the details.”
“I’ll be waiting,” he promised. “Drive safely, Moses. Call me when you stop.”
“I will,” I assured him. “Love you.”
The words still felt new on my tongue, but it felt right, as if they had been waiting all these years to be spoken.
“Love you, too,” he replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
As we ended the call, I turned on the radio, settling in for the long drive ahead. The music filled the car, upbeat and optimistic, matching my mood despite the rain that had begun to fall again.
Three months would pass quickly, I knew it would.
And then decisions would need to be made, practical challenges faced, compromises negotiated.
But for the first time in twenty years, I was moving toward something rather than away from it: toward love, toward truth, toward the life I wanted rather than the one circumstances had dictated.
The road to Atlanta stretched before me, but it was no longer the only path I could imagine. There was Boston now, and potentially a countryside home in Carolina, and whatever other possibilities might emerge as Rhett, and I charted this new course together.
As I merged onto the interstate, leaving Gomillion firmly behind, I felt a sense of rightness settle over me. Whatever came next, whatever decisions awaited, whatever challenges emerged, I would face them openly, honestly, with both feet planted firmly in the future rather than the past.
And I wouldn’t be facing them alone.