Page 63 of The Party Plot
“Well, good,” Casey said. “I didn’t want to either.”
“Venice does sound nice, though,” Laurel sitting down next to him and taking his hand. Casey leaned against his shoulder, cautiously. “Or just, anywhere that’s not here. I feel like we might not exactly be welcome in town, after this all blows over.”
“Fine with me. Where will we go?”
Laurel shrugged, not really caring as long as Casey was with him. “Anywhere. Spain. England. Canada. Wherever you want.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Want to open a flower shop and have lots of hot working-class sex?”
Casey raised Laurel’s hand to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. “Sounds perfect.”
Epilogue: Four Months Later
It was the most romantic day of the year, and Casey was spending it with sore wrists, cramped fingers, and scratches all over his hands. He guessed it came with the territory, though; florists didn’t really get to enjoy Valentine’s Day, just like bartenders probably hated New Year’s Eve and retail workers dreaded Black Friday. It still felt a little strange to think of himself as a florist, and sometimes he wasn’t quite sure he deserved it. He was working out of their apartment for now, until a brick-and-mortar location opened up in the right neighborhood. The kitchen counter was covered in petals and leaves, and there were stray pieces of wire and tape scattered all over the floor. He would have to clean the house before Laurel came home, make himself presentable. Laurel had said they would celebrate for real tomorrow, and knowing him, he had probably planned something elaborate. Still, Casey was hoping for a little bit of romance on the actual holiday. He felt like he deserved it, after all the hours of arranging stems in vases and trimming leaves and handwriting sappy messages on cards and getting poked in the fingers.
Really, though, he couldn’t complain, despite the soreness in his hands. Rain was pattering down outside, the sky gray and overcast, and the little kitchenette was quiet and cozy. Peaceful. Laurel didn’t like the dreary weather, but Casey kind of did—although maybe it was just the novelty of it. Everything about Vancouver still had an air of novelty; they’d only been here three months, after Casey had finally gotten his passport. He liked the city so far. It was vibrant and busy, all sleek skyscrapers and glittering water, the North Shore Mountains at its back. There hadn’t been much time to explore, but they were slowly getting out on weekends, trying new restaurants and visiting cafes and museums. They had gone to Banff with Melody and Chip for Christmas, although none of them skied, and the snow had been magical, the soaring, icy peaks like nothing he had ever seen before.
It was nice to have Melody close. Chip had stayed in Charleston, where he had a successful practice and, apparently, a mysterious new older girlfriend who was an accomplished lawyer herself. Melody had finally gotten out of town, though. She’d sold her condo, and she and her cat had ended up just over the border, in Washington State. She was taking community college classes and doing a lot of yoga, and she’d gotten really into CBD tinctures and pottery. It sounded a little woo-woo, but it seemed to work for her. At the very least, it was better than being in Bonard. Even though Howie was currently in prison awaiting multiple trials, his family wasn’t, and they blamed Melody and apparently Casey for everything. After Casey had pressed charges, Howie had been drug tested, and the results had led to a search of his personal effects, including his car. Now he was facing charges for possession and assault on top of enticing a minor. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, Casey thought, stabbing a rose stem into a vase with a pleased little smile. The scandal had cost Wayon Bonard his congressional campaign and deeply embarrassed the family, and Lavinia Bonard seemed to hold him personally responsible for it. (Which maybe he was, a little bit. No regrets.) Denise was also furious at Casey for turning her son against her, and furious at both of them for ruining her party. She had even texted Laurel blaming him for the food poisoning several people had gotten from eating warm, hours-old seafood. That had been the final push he’d needed to block her number.
The change of scenery had been good for them both so far. Casey’s business was growing, and Laurel had picked up a part-time job as a vocal coach. He didn’t really need to work, since he still had a trust fund from his dad, but it kept him busy doing something he loved. Plus, it got him out of the house when Casey was working. They were still getting used to living together. Casey loved waking up tangled in Laurel’s arms, loved brushing his hair back from his forehead and kissing him awake, loved hearing him sing in the shower every morning. He didn’t necessarily love having Laurel breathe down his neck while he was putting together floral arrangements—though he had to admit, all of his questions about flower varieties were oddly charming. And sooner or later, one of them would have to learn how to cook. Living off of takeout was too bougie for Casey’s tastes, and he had gained fifteen pounds (fifteen pounds!) since getting together with Laurel. Apparently that was what happened when your boyfriend reminded you to eat dinner. And bought you cheesecake and chocolate truffles and gelato all the time. Laurel said the weight looked good on him. His therapist said that his need to have control over his weight and his skin stemmed from his wounded inner child. Which was also a little woo-woo, but maybe kind of true. He was working on it. Along with some other things.
Casey’s work phone was ringing, and he groaned internally, expecting another last-minute bouquet order. People really needed to get better at planning things in advance. Forcing pleasantness into his voice, he answered, “You’ve reached Sunny’s Flowers.” (Somehow Laurel had talked him into naming the business after his childhood horse.) “How can I help you today?”
“Hey, I’m calling because I need some advice about what to get my boyfriend for Valentine’s Day.”
Casey felt his face break into a grin. It was Laurel, and apparently he was up to something. “Hmm,” he said, keeping his tone neutral. “Well, if I were him, I would probably want a nice dinner and a blow job.”
“Oh, well that’s a given. But I wanted to do something special. He’s been working really hard lately, and I want to show him how proud I am. And this is our first Valentine’s Day together, so I want it to be unforgettable.”
Casey’s heart clenched, and he felt warmth bloom in his chest. It was so strange, and so lovely, to have someone be proud of him. He still wasn’t always sure how to respond when Laurel said something sweet and genuine, so he settled for humor, saying, “I don’t know. Your blow jobs are pretty unforgettable.”
Laurel laughed. “What about a trip? Do you think he’d like a trip somewhere?”
“A trip where? Laurel, what are you up to?” There was the sound of keys jingling at the front door, and then Laurel was coming into the apartment, his hair rain-soaked, his eyes bright, phone still to his ear.
“I don’t know,” he said, hanging up. “Maybe Belgium?”
Casey crossed his arms. “That’smy present? Meeting your dad?”
“Notjustthat. We could go to Bruges. See a bunch of castles. Do a chocolate tour. Ride horses again…” Laurel shrugged, a hopeful smile on his face.
“Horses again? Whose Valentine’s Day present is this?”
“I did mention the chocolate tour, right? And there are waffles.”
Really, Casey couldn’t even pretend to be irritated. He would do anything, go anywhere, for this man. And anyway, staying at an estate in the Belgian countryside wouldn’t exactly be a chore. Neither would meeting his dad. They had already said hi over FaceTime, but they’d barely been able to understand each other. It would be good to see him in person, to get to know more about where Laurel had come from, and what had shaped the man he was. Casey was still learning about him, and he was greedy for every piece of knowledge he could get. And chocolate and waffles didn’t sound too bad, either.
“I think I’d like that,” Casey said honestly.
“Really?” Laurel was gazing at him, and Casey was surprised to see that his eyes were slightly wet.
“Really.” Crossing the room, he pulled him into an embrace, kissing a raindrop off the tip of his nose. It still felt surreal that he was allowed to do that, that Laurel was his. He thought about the hotel bar in Las Vegas, Laurel sliding into the seat next to him, unwelcome, annoyingly beautiful, his smile bright and slightly devious. “You know, less than a year ago, you were begging me to ruin your life.”
“I was not begging,” Laurel said against his shoulder. He pulled back, studying Casey’s face, and there was a hint of that same deviousness in his expression. “It was really more of a challenge.”
“Huh.” Casey raised an eyebrow. “Well, challenge accepted, I guess. Because now you’re stuck with me.”
“That’s okay. You’re not ruining it. You’re just making it better.”
“Oh my God.” Casey groaned, rolling his eyes, but secretly he was a little pleased.
“Sorry,” Laurel said, looking anything but. “Too sentimental?”
“Just sentimental enough.” He kissed his forehead, and then his nose again, just for good measure. Just because he could. “Now seriously, where are you taking me for dinner?”
