Chapter 6 #4
They continued lobbing get-to-know-you questions at each other as they completed the next several holes. Rowan ended up getting stuck in a sand trap, and Milo gradually caught up with his score until they were neck and neck by the time they reached the sixth hole.
Milo’s pony was doing their best impression of a dressage performance: cantering, prancing, and jumping every time Rowan looked at them, complimented them on their horrible aim, or alluded to things they could do on future dates.
Friend dates, Milo tried to remind themself, but as the evening stretched on and the buttery-soft looking fabric of Rowan’s sweatshirt stretched across his back and large arms over and over again, Milo began to lose the fight.
Rowan was just so damn attractive, from his messy ginger bun, all the way down to his well-fitted jeans and fashionable shoes.
And he was sweet! Sweeter than Andrew had ever been, even right at the beginning when things had been good.
“Alright, Milo, if you can make this in less than four shots, you get to pick what we do next time,” Rowan said, tapping the end of his golf club against the sole of his shoe.
It reminded Milo of what some baseball players did when they were waiting to go up to bat. Milo wasn’t the biggest fan of baseball, but Ray loved watching for the “baseball butts.”
As Milo stepped up to the square and set up their ball, they wondered if Rowan had played baseball as a kid. Even though they’d been talking almost nonstop—or at least, Milo had been—it felt like the more they learned about the taller man, the more they still wanted to know.
Thus far, Milo had learned enough about the three other Rangecroft siblings they could probably pick them out of a lineup. It was as clear as day that Rowan loved his family. He complained about them a fair bit, too, but there was always raw, almost vulnerable affection in his tone as he did so.
Milo had originally compared it to how they talked about Ray and all his dating misadventures, but it was more like how they talked about Ethel and her wild and wacky pranks.
Just the day before, she’d ordered a pile of pizzas to be delivered during dinner time, and the staff had no choice but to distribute the pizzas to the residents to avoid them all going to waste.
While this was only mildly disruptive and almost sweet, her pranks made Milo nervous.
What would they do if she ever got kicked out of the retirement home?
There was no way Milo could live without her nearby, but they also didn’t have the funds or connections to find her somewhere else to live in the city.
The feeling Milo got in their chest—a sort of burning tightness—was almost exactly how Rowan looked when he spoke about his siblings.
It also looked suspiciously like the face Rowan made when Milo tripped over their own golf club.
“Please be careful,” Rowan said, stepping closer than he’d been all night.
Milo had no doubt that if they actually fell, Rowan would do everything in his power to catch them. Hell, he’d clearly been going in to shake Ray’s hand when they met, despite the tightness in his shoulders and the clench of his other fist.
Milo didn’t want to put him in that position. They loved watching Rowan’s spine relax throughout the game, loosening until he was bending and wiggling before every shot. Milo could easily picture his red-tailed hawk, shaking his tail and fluffing his wings.
“You better hope I trip,” Milo said, hopping from foot to foot but being more careful this time. “I’m about to win this game, and then we’re going to go on the wildest, most outlandish—”
They very nearly tripped again as they fought not to say the word “date.”
“Hangout?” Rowan offered, one large, red eyebrow raised.
“Excursion,” Milo said, twirling the golf club twice before grabbing it with both hands and swinging.
Somehow, the ball managed to smack into the opposing wall and roll right back to the starting square. Rowan roared with laughter and Milo tried to glare, but any negative emotion they had ever felt seemed to fall away at the sight of tears in the corners of Rowan’s eyes.
Milo’s pony threw their head back and neighed at the sky, a move they had never done for Andrew.
As Rowan fought to regain his composure, Milo could only smile back. “Do you—” Rowan cut himself off with another laugh, coughing a few times before clearing his throat. “Do you want a do-over?”
No, Milo didn’t want a do-over. They wanted to kiss this wonderful, ridiculous, beautiful man—but they would never do that, because not only was consent sexy, so was conversation and care.
The “triple C’s,” as Anabelle used to call it.
She had taught Milo everything they knew about friendships, partnerships, and dating, and even though she’d have had no way of knowing, she’d also taught Milo how to care for someone who was touch averse.
“I don’t need a do-over. I’m happy right where I am,” they said, and Rowan’s smile settled into something soft and warm.
That is, until Milo completely whiffed the ball again, and he doubled over laughing.