How to Say I Do

by Tal Bauer

Tell me: what the hell are you doing here?” I arched my eyebrows toward our empty plates, the burgers he’d demolished, and the three left-behind fries all lost and lonely. I was taking care of him, clearly, because no one in eighteen hundred miles had stepped up before me.

We must have looked like quite the couple. I loved it. The feel of holding another man in public and having someone special to care for, to have in your arms, and to focus all your little attentions and fondness on. Another big first: my first time looking very gay in public.

I couldn’t stop his world from ending, but maybe I could stop it from rattling around so much.

do you or don’t you let your heart run free, Wyatt?

God, Wyatt, I think that was the worst day of my life, and it could have ended up a lot fucking worse if you hadn’t stepped in to take care of me.”

Fuck the tears. I thrust up my chin. “I think we should celebrate.” Up went my champagne flute. “To you. And to ‘our’ honeymoon.” Wyatt laughed. “To ‘our’ honeymoon.” We drank, and our eyes locked above the rims of our glasses.

“My memories from yesterday are mostly a blur, but I remember all the parts with you.”

None of the small-town boys interested me.

He made me feel sixteen again, heady and breathless and losing myself in daydreams and fantasies. I was gone.

I could have made my excuses and said a polite goodnight and taken myself off to bed, and this would have been over and done with. I certainly didn’t need to walk him back to his villa. Or ask him what we’d be doing tomorrow, all the while holding my breath and crossing my fingers and toes that he’d want to keep honeymooning with me.

It was enough, I thought, to fall in love, even though he wouldn’t fall, too. It was enough to go a little crazy inside myself, and to feel like the world had lit on fire, and for these few days, to pretend that anything was possible.

“What’s wrong with a straw hat? Doesn’t it cover my neck?” “It does, sure, but a real cowboy hat is made of felt.” I rubbed my fingers around the brim of mine. Noël rolled his eyes. “Don’t you worry, I’ll get you a good one someday.”

A wave rose and wrapped around his waist. I watched salt bubbles pop at hips and stuffed back my jealousy at inanimate water particles. Instead of wishing I were sea foam, I followed him, laying on my side with my head in my palm.

“I loved him. And you loved her. That’s enough to change you.”

“Are you one of those who believe something good comes out of all bad things? That there’s a life lesson everywhere we look?” “Nah. Sometimes things just really, really suck.”

There he was, my hidden Noël, the jewel gleaming at the center of his bruise. He seemed so suddenly vulnerable, unprepared to feel this viciously on our little beach. I couldn’t help it. I laced our fingers together as another wave slipped up our thighs.

Noël looked so triumphant straddling me, pinning my wrists over my head with the shape of him outlined by the sky. It was the kind of moment from MTV music videos and Hollywood romances, where the hero and heroine are locked in a setup for a perfect first kiss. I could picture it, my big hands crawling up Noël’s back and pulling him in. I’d rise to meet him halfway. I’d want to taste his kiss so badly that I wouldn’t want to wait. He’d whisper my name, and he’d think I’ve never, and, But I want this, and he’d say, Kiss me, Wyatt, and I would.

Feet over my head. My dreams were soaring for the moon. Anything could happen here. I could fall in love. Maybe I already had.

didn’t want this day to ever end. I was greedy for more time. My problems the last hour had felt immense. How did I ask him to stay with me, to not leave, to spend the rest of today, this evening, tonight, and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow at my side?

In fact, I wanted everything. I wanted his sharp edges and the teased-out laughs. I wanted to watch his eyes glitter, then turn mischievous or soft or startled, doe-eyed or wondrous or uncertain. He was like a top that spun and spun, and I was dizzy with him.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Noël’s expression turned playful, both demure and diamond-strong at once. No wonder celebrities signed with him. I’d have followed him off the edge of the planet.

Instead of speaking, I held out my golden plumeria, twirling the stem between my thumb and forefinger. “Howdy.” You’re beautiful.

He laughed, and our eyes met and held, and then I almost walked us face-first into the wall.

I got to tick off another item from my Noël bucket list when I slid his chair out for him. He hit me with his dazzling smile again. I wanted to do a thousand ridiculous things to keep him looking at me like that.

He took it slowly, savoring each mouthful the way a good wine is meant to be enjoyed. Every time his glass touched his lips, something inside me sighed. By the time he got to describing hints of chocolate and honey, I was nothing more than vapor. Effervescent, from my toes to my hat and everywhere in between.

Lord, I was gone for this man. Pure gone, and you couldn’t have beaten my soul back into my body with a baseball bat, or nailed my heart down when it started to run.

I’d rested my arm around the back of his chair at some point during our last glass of wine. I couldn’t remember doing it. It just seemed like holding on to Noël was the most natural thing in the world. He was loose and relaxed, one leg crossed as he slanted into me.

“This is so wonderful,” Noël breathed. “I’m actually having the best honeymoon.” Him in my arms, his cheek brushing my collarbone. The night smelled like secret gardens, sun-ripened grapes, and bubbles bursting like fireworks. “I’m having a pretty good time on our honeymoon, too.” He laughed. His whole body went into it, and his hand stretched toward mine as his fingers brushed my wrist. Electric zings danced through my veins. Never end. Never, ever end.

His big blues looked up at me over the rims of his aviators. “I feel like I’m intruding.” His cheeks ballooned, and he blew out a fast breath. “I feel like I’m being desperate.” ”You’re not. At all.” If anyone was desperate, it was me. “My family is going to love you. Can I introduce you? Please?”

“He’s just a friend, Liam.” We’re actually on our honeymoon.

I took his hand. There was no reality down here. Underwater, I could take his hand and it could mean something, as long as we were cocooned in this world. It was just us and this deep silence. We hung there in the blue, outside of time and consequence. His hand squeezed mine.

It was indescribable, these feelings Noël sparked inside me. I wanted to crawl into his lap and cradle his face in my hands, look into his eyes and whisper, Where have you been all my life?

I held him beneath all those glittering constellations, and as the tide rolled in, I wished on every shooting star I saw that this little moment could grow into forever.

“Wyatt’s never been like this, you know. You’re someone special.” I’ve never been like this, either, I wanted to tell him. I don’t know what’s happening.

Would Wyatt's kiss taste like adoration if I dared to find out?

His large palm on the small of my back, mine resting on the solidity of his chest. Face to face, his breath on my lips, the heat of his skin so vibrant it was like standing in the middle of a flame. I had no more answers for myself now than I’d had hours before.

“Wyatt, kiss me.” My lips moved against his as I spoke. He stopped dancing like his feet had turned to stone, and his hands rose and cradled my face. He searched my gaze for a single moment before he leaned in and seized my lips with his own.

Wyatt tasted like sea salt and waves, chapped lips, and the coconut margarita he’d had earlier. Like promises and patience and the way he’d touched his fingers to his hat brim when he’d said “Howdy” in Dallas. Like sweetness and adoration and the first blush of falling in love.

Fuck, I wanted him inside me. His tongue, his fingers, even his dick. All of him. I wanted him to burn me up from the inside, take me, change me, and leave me breathless and tearing at sheets long destroyed.

We fell asleep like that, clinging to each other, sticky, come-covered, sweat-soaked, not saying a word. There was a spell between us, and it seemed like speaking would shatter it, or would let the real world come creeping back in. Not that, anything but that; I wanted to stay in this bed forever with him.

“Hey, cowboy,” I purred. His slow smile unfurled like warm butter, lopsided and tenderhearted. “Hey there, beautiful.”

The night faded into starlight, and when the slow songs came on, Wyatt cradled my hand and kissed my sea-turtles ring.

I wanted, no, needed more. I was trying to climb him and fuck him and kiss him all at once, and I wanted him to fuck me and fill me up, own me. “Wyatt, fuck—”

He dropped tiny kisses all over me, covering my forehead and my temples and my cheeks, moving from my ear to my jaw to my lips. He gazed at me like I had climbed into the sky and hung the sun just for him. If I could have, I would. I would have done anything for him in that moment. Hammer stars to the night sky or gather the ocean into a jar and give it to him to keep.

Nothing existed beyond his touch and the starlit glitter of his eyes.

Our hands found each other behind his back. He was still wearing his sea-turtles ring. The heat from it, from his skin, from the sun, from us holding hands all day, felt like a brand against me.

The candlelight flickering in his ocean eyes, the sea foam hugging our ankles. All that champagne and starlight, and the music rolling on the waves. This was a love story, our love story. His sea-turtles ring caught on the callouses of my palms, a physical reminder of putting that band on him. Even if it was only a tourist trinket, and even that was just gold leaf painted on tin, the moment when he’d held out his hand had happened. We had happened.

I was in love. Heartbreakingly and profoundly in love. I loved him, I did, even in such a short time. I knew it wasn’t supposed to be possible. What did I honestly know about Noël? Well, I knew enough, I thought. I knew I wanted forever.

I tried to merge our souls, making love while he breathed my name.

“I need you again,” Noël whispered pleaded into my kiss. “Wyatt, please.” He never needed to beg. I’d make love to him forever, any time he asked for it. I’d love him until the end of time.