337 A.M. — Wednesday, September 12
WINSLOW
Winslow sat in the armchair in the corner of the room, near the foot of the bed.
His eyes grew heavy as he gazed at Miguel, who was fast asleep on his back, his lips slightly parted.
He wanted to drink in the sight of that beautiful man for as long as possible, but he knew it would only be another minute or two now.
If he waited much longer, he’d lose his battle and drift off.
His mind wandered to his last conversation with Miguel, when they were wrapped in each other’s arms. “I can’t believe you forgave me so quickly. I am the luckiest man to ever have lived.”
“Not really. If I keep forgiving you, you’ll be stuck with me forever.”
“Good, because that’s what I want.” Miguel’s smile faded, and he turned onto his side to face Winslow. “We can make it work, right? When I’m in Canada?”
“Of course. So long as you don’t fall for some burly lumberjack with maple syrup for cologne.”
Chuckling, Miguel said, “All those empty carbs? Never.”
“Says the man who devoured an entire plate of truffles three nights ago.”
“I’m only human, man. They were Knipschildt's.”
Winslow laughed. “I’ll concede the point.”
Miguel put on a formal British accent. “You’ll concede, will you?”
Doing a terrible Cuban American accent, Winslow said, “Yes, I will.”
They both started laughing, the way two people sharing pillow talk do—quietly and filled with pure bliss only they would know. Winslow tucked his lips between his teeth for a second. “That was awful, wasn’t it? Forget I did that.”
“Oh no, I will never forget that. I will, however, force you to do it as a party trick from now on.”
Winslow laughed, his cheeks feeling warm with slight embarrassment at the idea, before he realized that there would be no more party tricks.
No more parties. Just this moment right here.
The last one. He closed his eyes, knowing that if he kept them open, they would fill with tears and Miguel would know something was wrong.
He felt Miguel give him a kiss on the forehead. “It’s late. We should get some sleep before we have to wake to whatever fresh hell my boss has planned for us tomorrow.”
“Yes, we should,” Winslow answered, opening his eyes again.
Miguel yawned and lowered his eyelids, snuggling the side of his face into his pillow. “He really is awful, isn’t he?”
“The worst.”
Winslow’s head dipped and he jerked it back up.
Time to go. Before the staff woke to prepare for the day.
He stood and crossed to the bed, placing a hand ever so gently on Miguel’s head, feeling the warmth that was the love of his life.
He wouldn’t bend down to kiss him. He couldn’t risk it.
He whispered to him so quietly, there was almost no sound at all. “I love you.”
He walked over to the desk and scrawled a note.
Too hot to sleep. I’m going to try on a chaise by the pool.
— W
Nothing sentimental. Otherwise Miguel would know.
He was much smarter than people gave him credit for, but his smarts were of the emotional kind.
He left the note on his pillow and made his way to the door, turning back for one last glance.
He told himself that Miguel would be all right.
It would take time, but not long from now, he would find someone else and begin a new life.
A much better one than what he would have had with a dying, soon-to-be-disgraced old man.