“Dylan? I’ve gotta go.” Harry squashed down the lid on his suitcase and ran the zipper around it. “Did you move your car?”
From somewhere else in the house, Dylan called, “You want me to move it again?”
“What?” Harry hefted his suitcase and left the bedroom.
“I moved my car from behind yours the last time you asked. Do you want me to--”
Heading down the stairs, Harry mumbled, “All you had to do was tell me you did it already.”
“I did, hon.”
Dylan leaned against the wall beside the front door. He’d pushed up the sleeves of his sweater, putting his tattoos on display. Crazy-kinky, auburn hair down over his shoulders and a beard reaching for his navel, Dylan looked like trouble on a Viking level. There was even a twinkle in his blue eyes that said he might poke at Harry’s last nerve just for the fun of it.
Harry set his suitcase down and sighed. No stupid fights. Not right before he was set to leave on a stupider visit to a client who couldn’t make a decision without extensive hand-holding.
“Okay,” Harry said. “I guess I didn’t hear you.”
Dylan shrugged, the line of his mouth disappearing behind the hair on his face.
“You’re starting to disappear in all that hair.” Harry blinked at himself. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
But Dylan gave a laugh and came over to cup Harry’s cheeks and peck his lips. “Have a safe trip. Call me when you get in. And I’ll see you Saturday.”
Harry frowned. “Tomorrow. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, but we agreed to spend the night before apart.”
“Night before?” Harry’s whole body jolted as he remembered. “Oh, shit, we’re getting married on Saturday.”
Dylan’s bushy eyebrows sprang upward and his mouth popped open. Clearly he hadn’t forgotten.
How the hell had Harry nearly managed to? His wedding! There had been nonstop talk and planning for months. And he really did want to get married. He did! What was wrong with him?
“I’m so sorry.” He closed his eyes and ducked his head.
Familiar hands made him look up again. “Just meet me at the chapel on Saturday, okay?”
“Yes. Completely, yes.”
So Dylan kissed him again and shuffled him out the door. Harry didn’t want to go even more than before. He hadn’t broken anything between them, had he?
Saturday morning arrived and Harry stood in a little side room off the main chapel fussing with his cufflinks. He was still anxious about his monumental screw-up. Yes, he and Dylan had talked and texted while he was away, and he knew Dylan was here right now… But, damn, that was one hell of a massive mistake on his part.
He had to make sure he didn’t ever get so wrapped up in his own stuff that he forgot something like that ever again. He wasn’t going to be one of those guys who forgot their anniversary. Nope, not him. This was the day he’d be better.
Music started up outside in the chapel. That was his cue. With a deep, steadying breath, Harry opened the door and walked out.
And stopped dead in his tracks when he got a look at the man striding out to meet him from the other side of the chapel.
Harry’s heartbeat tripled and he rested a hand over it absently as he kept on staring. He remembered this Dylan. It was the guy he’d fallen so hard and fast for four years ago. Fashionable stubble hugged his cheeks and his crazy hair was fastened at the base of his neck to show off the cut of his jaw and the width of his shoulders. Black tux, white shirt, devilish grin, and Harry felt himself falling all over again.
Harry squinted and shook his head slightly because, obviously, that was Dylan and they were here to get married so, yes, Dylan was his man. Had always been his.
He’d forgotten that too.
Not just how beautiful Dylan was, but that he was a man who volunteered at a youth crisis center, painted portraits when he had the time, and always held down the fort whenever Harry suddenly had to travel. Dylan was a caregiver. He looked like a cage-fighter, but he made sure Harry ate right and exercised, bought him little gifts just because, made love passionately, and never ever forgot…about…
Harry took a shaky breath and gulped, realizing with a flush that tears were cascading down his face. He wiped them away even as he stared into blue eyes.
“You’re beautiful. I love you so much. Please marry me forever.”
Dylan’s smile was quick and sweet. He held out his hand. “That’s why we’re here.”
Harry took Dylan’s hand and held tight. As they walked forward, he realized Dylan had come all the way over to meet him just outside his door. There was a buzz among the guests—who knew how long Harry had been standing there crying—but Harry didn’t look at them. He was silently watching his husband-to-be and mentally rewriting his vows. He had a lot of promises to make, like really seeing Dylan and everything he did every day for the rest of his life.
Missy Welsh writes gay, bi, and trans erotic m/m romance short stories, novellas, and novels.