I couldn’t ask you to make that leap without looking, not after being together only four months, not after all you’d been through in the past.” He tightened his grip. “It needed to be you asking me.”
Fergus had to admit John was right. “If you’d asked, I would’ve said yes.”
“Aye, after you panicked and came up with a million reasons to say no.”
“Okay, okay.” Fergus kissed him. “Shall we go downstairs and share our news with more strangers?”
“Considering they’ll want to to celebrate with a twenty-threesome, I think I’d rather go home. With you, of course.”
“Me too. With you.”
As they walked hand-in-hand back to the lockers, Fergus said, “It’s early yet. Abebi won’t leave for work until ten, so we’ll need to be quiet.”
“I hate being quiet. I especially hate you being quiet.” John opened his locker and picked up an ivory-linen business card that had been slipped inside. “Ooh, our Jacuzzi friend’s wedding-planner sister. Those lads were a hoot, weren’t they? Thought they were gonnae break into a three-part aria when we told them we were engaged.” He reached for his shirt, then stopped. “You know, instead of going home, we could have dinner out.”
“Good idea.” Fergus hadn’t eaten much today, due to nerves, and now he was starving.
“Also?” John twirled the keychain around his finger. “There are some fine jewelers in this vicinity. We could look at rings,” he added in a singsong voice.
Fergus’s breath stopped. They were really doing this. “That sounds…amazing.”
“We don’t have to buy anything tonight. Just look. For fun.”
“Of course. But if we do find the perfect wedding bands—”
“Or if there’s a sale—”
“There’s no point waiting.”
“Do you mean that?” John took Fergus’s hand. “About not waiting?”
“Well, same-sex marriage won’t be legal in Scotland until the thirty-first of December.”
“Aye.” John kissed Fergus’s knuckles. “Marry me on Hogmanay?”
Fergus’s head felt like it would spin off his shoulders. “That’s two months from now. Can we plan a wedding that fast? The venue, the officiant, the photographer—”
“I don’t know.” John flourished the wedding planner’s business card between his two middle fingers. “But I bet she does.”
= = =
After eating dinner at the dark, cozy restaurant where they’d spent their first date, John and Fergus bought the perfect wedding bands from the third jeweler they visited. At the first two shops, they’d argued over styles—Fergus wanting a trendy dark titanium and John preferring good old-fashioned yellow gold—until John suggested they each get their own ring instead of compromising on one that neither of them loved. He was relieved when Fergus agreed, and they both thought it an apt metaphor for their relationship.
The jeweler commented that Fergus and John were the youngest gay fiancés she’d seen, implying they were too young, too daft to know what they were doing. But her observation didn’t dim John’s certainty. Their trip to the bathhouse had convinced him he and Fergus were ready for anything.
Arriving home just after ten, they found the place empty, their flatmate already away to work.
Fergus took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack inside the door. “Fancy a glass of wine?”
“You’re kidding, right? We’ve been putting this off for five hours, and you want to have a drink?”
“I just thought it might—” Fergus wiped his hands on his shirt. “If we’re nervous at all…”
“I am nervous.” John headed for the bedroom, glad he didn’t need to hide his worry that without a condom he’d come in seconds flat. “That’s why we need to start pronto.”
Fergus followed him, then ducked into the bathroom. “I’ll just be a second.”
As John undressed, he took a moment to admire the wee office space Fergus had arranged for him in the corner of the bedroom. A new bookshelf formed
Fergus had to admit John was right. “If you’d asked, I would’ve said yes.”
“Aye, after you panicked and came up with a million reasons to say no.”
“Okay, okay.” Fergus kissed him. “Shall we go downstairs and share our news with more strangers?”
“Considering they’ll want to to celebrate with a twenty-threesome, I think I’d rather go home. With you, of course.”
“Me too. With you.”
As they walked hand-in-hand back to the lockers, Fergus said, “It’s early yet. Abebi won’t leave for work until ten, so we’ll need to be quiet.”
“I hate being quiet. I especially hate you being quiet.” John opened his locker and picked up an ivory-linen business card that had been slipped inside. “Ooh, our Jacuzzi friend’s wedding-planner sister. Those lads were a hoot, weren’t they? Thought they were gonnae break into a three-part aria when we told them we were engaged.” He reached for his shirt, then stopped. “You know, instead of going home, we could have dinner out.”
“Good idea.” Fergus hadn’t eaten much today, due to nerves, and now he was starving.
“Also?” John twirled the keychain around his finger. “There are some fine jewelers in this vicinity. We could look at rings,” he added in a singsong voice.
Fergus’s breath stopped. They were really doing this. “That sounds…amazing.”
“We don’t have to buy anything tonight. Just look. For fun.”
“Of course. But if we do find the perfect wedding bands—”
“Or if there’s a sale—”
“There’s no point waiting.”
“Do you mean that?” John took Fergus’s hand. “About not waiting?”
“Well, same-sex marriage won’t be legal in Scotland until the thirty-first of December.”
“Aye.” John kissed Fergus’s knuckles. “Marry me on Hogmanay?”
Fergus’s head felt like it would spin off his shoulders. “That’s two months from now. Can we plan a wedding that fast? The venue, the officiant, the photographer—”
“I don’t know.” John flourished the wedding planner’s business card between his two middle fingers. “But I bet she does.”
= = =
After eating dinner at the dark, cozy restaurant where they’d spent their first date, John and Fergus bought the perfect wedding bands from the third jeweler they visited. At the first two shops, they’d argued over styles—Fergus wanting a trendy dark titanium and John preferring good old-fashioned yellow gold—until John suggested they each get their own ring instead of compromising on one that neither of them loved. He was relieved when Fergus agreed, and they both thought it an apt metaphor for their relationship.
The jeweler commented that Fergus and John were the youngest gay fiancés she’d seen, implying they were too young, too daft to know what they were doing. But her observation didn’t dim John’s certainty. Their trip to the bathhouse had convinced him he and Fergus were ready for anything.
Arriving home just after ten, they found the place empty, their flatmate already away to work.
Fergus took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack inside the door. “Fancy a glass of wine?”
“You’re kidding, right? We’ve been putting this off for five hours, and you want to have a drink?”
“I just thought it might—” Fergus wiped his hands on his shirt. “If we’re nervous at all…”
“I am nervous.” John headed for the bedroom, glad he didn’t need to hide his worry that without a condom he’d come in seconds flat. “That’s why we need to start pronto.”
Fergus followed him, then ducked into the bathroom. “I’ll just be a second.”
As John undressed, he took a moment to admire the wee office space Fergus had arranged for him in the corner of the bedroom. A new bookshelf formed
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