Home Early
Patrick loosened the tie he'd worn to work for his first
day. He'd eventually have a uniform, but they weren't ready yet and his
predecessor had not been the same size. He'd managed to get away early, what
with it being Valentine's Day. Everyone who wasn't on duty had left even before
he did, so while he felt a little guilty at leaving, it wasn't enough to keep
him there.
He climbed the steps to Mikhail's little apartment,
surprised to see the light on through the window. He opened the door. "Lyosha?"
Mikhail's bit back a curse as he heard Patrick's voice. He
hadn't expected his lover to arrive home for at least another hour, and the
apartment wasn't ready for him yet. He set down the candle he had been trying
to fit into a clear glass as a holder and stepped in front of the table,
blocking it with his body. "Patya. Is all well? I had thought you would be
later, your first day as sheriff." He pushed a wave of hair off his
forehead, thinking he should have gotten it cut before now, but he had not found
the time.
"It's Valentine's Day," Patrick said.
"Everyone left early. It would have made them look bad if I'd
stayed." He glanced at the candle in Mikhail's hand. "I can leave
again if you want me to."
"Was foolish idea," Mikhail said as he stepped forward
to take Patrick into his arms. What more did he need than this? But he had
wanted to offer Patrick something more, some way to show him how much the
sacrifices he had made, leaving his family and his career in Chicago, meant to
Mikhail. "Everyone at work talk about Valentine's Day, about plans for
romantic evening with wives or girlfriends." He shrugged and bent to brush
Patrick's lips. "I thought to try, but seems I am not very good at
romance."
Patrick shook his head in automatic denial as he leaned into
Mikhail's embrace. "I think you're very good at romance. You thought to do
something for me. I don't need it to be perfect, Lyosha. I need it to be you. I
love you, remember?"
"People at work told me candlelight, flowers, soft
music." Mikhail turned Patrick in his arms enough to let him see the
cellophane-wrapped bouquet of dark red roses on the table. "I thought to
find some music once the table was ready, but...."
Patrick smiled. "You set the table. I'll find some
music." He had the perfect CD somewhere in the boxes he'd brought from
Chicago. He just had to find it.
By the time Patrick returned from the bedroom, Mikhail had
arranged the roses in an empty glass jar in the center of the table and opened
the bottle of wine he had set in the refrigerator to chill. The candlelight
softened the tiny kitchen and glinted off the glasses as he filled them and
offered one to Patrick.
Patrick took the glass and lifted it in a silent toast.
"Here's to many more years of being romantic together."
