Love Finds a Home: Sweet with heat gay romance (Home in Hollyridge Book 3)

by Elle Keaton

  Elliot sat down then immediately stood again to lift the flower arrangement out of the way, setting it on a long low cabinet behind him.

  “Elliot,” Nancy said.

  “Mom,” replied Elliot as he sat back down.

  That pretty much set the tone for dinner. And the food was—Wyatt felt guilty thinking it—terrible. Mushy carrots, dry chicken breast that may have been marinated but perhaps not, a salad consisting of only lettuce. It made him wonder what the Meyer boys had eaten growing up and how they’d both managed to grow as big as they were.

  Wyatt decided at that moment he would be doing something about the Thursday holiday. The history behind Thanksgiving was not something he celebrated, but he loved the family time. Before his grandparents had passed and his aunts and uncles had moved away from Hollyridge, Thanksgiving had been a huge Reeser family get-together. It had been loud with people talking over each other and spilling out into the living room because there was not enough space. He had fond memories of sitting at the kids’ table with his cousins, drinking juice from wine glasses and eating until his stomach hurt.

  Dinner conversation at the Meyers’ was the most passive-aggressive experience Wyatt had ever endured. Comments about college and the future, not one question about Bennett's life, or any attempt to get to know him. He supposed he was glad Mr. and Mrs. Meyer pretended as if he wasn’t eating their food as he sat next to their son. Every once in a while, Elliot would catch his eye and shake his head. Bennett’s hand spent a lot of time on Wyatt’s thigh.

  After dessert, which Wyatt couldn’t actually identify, he decided he’d had enough. Enough of bland nothing-and-everything conversation. Not one time had the Meyers asked Bennett how harvest had gone, how the winery was doing, if he’d done anything interesting, how he and Wyatt had met. Elliot did his best to steer the conversation, but Nancy just talked over his comments and ignored Bennett and Wyatt as best she could.

  “Boys, are you interested in a scotch? I have a nice bottle waiting for us.” Wes asked.

  Wyatt stood and began collecting the dessert plates. “No, we’ve got to get home and feed our puppy. He doesn’t like to be left alone for too long.”

  “A puppy?” Nancy asked. “Isn’t a puppy permanent? A real responsibility?”

  Wyatt stopped in mid-plate-grab. “Excuse me?”

  “I think what Nancy means,” Bennett’s dad began, “is that a puppy—”

  Wyatt set the plate back down and Bennett gripped the back of his knee, in warning or support, Wyatt didn’t know which. He stared hard at Nancy Meyer and then at Wes Meyer. “I think you are trying to insinuate that Bennett and I are just a flash in the pan, a hookup or something. You hope that Bennett will go back to being the son you want, that you won’t have to acknowledge Bennett is gay or dyslexic—or both—neither of which he can control. You want Bennett to stay in his quiet sad place because it means he’s not rocking your boat.

  “Listen to my words: Bennett and I are together. As in TOGETHER. We have a puppy and we live together in Bennett’s house where you have never bothered to visit. A puppy is permanent because Bennett and I are permanent. Is everything clear to you now?”

  Snatching the last plate from in front of Mr. Meyer, he smacked it on top of the pile. “And while I appreciate the invitation—we appreciate the invitation—we will not be staying for scotch. I hate scotch and I don’t feel like pretending I do just to make you like me. Also, don’t expect us Thursday, we’ll be spending it with our real family.”

  With the stack of plates in his hands, he marched out of the dining room and into the kitchen and, because his mother taught him to, he rinsed and stacked them in the dishwasher. There was murmuring from the dining room, but Wyatt couldn’t hear what was being said. Frankly, he didn’t care.

  Elliot came into the kitchen just as Wyatt was closing the dishwasher door. “Can you get our coats?” Wyatt asked. He did not want to stay here one minute longer than he had to.

  “Sure, I’ll walk out with you. Bennett wants to talk to the ‘rents for a minute.”

  Wyatt moved to storm back in the dining room, but Elliot caught his arm, stopping him. “Let him, he needs to do this. I doubt it will take long.”

  Ten

  Bennett

  Bennett found Wyatt and Elliot outside on the front porch waiting for him. As he shut the door, they stopped talking and Elliot held his parka out to him. It was cold, and he wondered idly if they were going to have an early snow this year.

  “Well, big brother?” Elliot probed, not subtle at all.

  Bennett shrugged into his jacket. “I doubt anything I said will stick but at least I’ve had my say.”

  Wyatt glanced at Bennett, even as he texted someone, fingers flying. He scowled, and Bennett wanted to kiss the expression off his face. Wyatt should always be laughing and smiling, the scowling left for Bennett.

  “We’re having Thanksgiving at our house,” he announced fiercely. “I refuse to let them ruin the day.”

  “Oh, we are, are we?” Bennett suppressed a grin. He loved it when Wyatt got feisty.

  “Yes, we are. Feel free to invite your parents, but we are not coming here.” He looked back down at his phone muttering, “Catered shit, what the ever-loving hell.”

  Bennett met Elliot’s amused glance.

  “I think he’s good for you,” Elliot said.

  “Yeah,” Bennett agreed, “he is.”

  Apparently having people over for Thanksgiving meant Wyatt had to start cooking on Tuesday. Wyatt knew his way around a kitchen but during harvest they’d lived on pizza and sandwiches; he was very excited to be cooking a big meal for his friends and family.

  Wyatt texted his mother so many times Monday evening that Tuesday morning Bennett drove into town to fetch her, figuring it was possible Wyatt might use up his unlimited texting. And Mariah Reeser was thrilled to be spending time with her son. Bennett felt bad they hadn’t had her out before, but it had been a busy, long harvest.

  Mariah was just like Wyatt, dark hair and olive-toned skin, except in miniature. She even talked like him, hands swooping all over the place like drunk birds. She hugged Bennett the minute she realized who was standing at her front door, turning to grab her purse from a table behind her. It was hard not to compare Wyatt’s mom— “Call me Mariah, honey”— to his own parents and find the senior Meyers lacking.

  Wyatt had had an apple-blueberry pie in the oven and had been busy putting together another crust so he couldn’t leave the house when Bennett left to pick up Mariah. Instead, Bennett had brought Wicket along for the drive in to Hollyridge; the puppy was definitely underfoot while Wyatt cooked.

  “Oh, he is sooo cute!” Mariah exclaimed as Wicket wiggled like mad and tried to kiss her face when Bennett helped her climb into the cab.

  “Crud,” Bennett said. “I just remembered you’re allergic! I’m so sorry. Um…” Bennett cast around, trying to come up with a solution so Mariah wouldn’t be covered with dog while they drove back out to his place. Their place.

  “Oh, no, I’m not allergic to dogs. Who told you that?” A knowing smile crossed her face. “Wyatt told you I was allergic, didn’t he? That boy is a rascal.” She shook her head.

  He was indeed a rascal, and Bennett couldn’t wait to call him out. He wondered what incredible justification Wyatt was going to come up with.

  “Don’t be mad at him,” Mariah continued. “He’d been trying to get you to look at him for so long. I think this was his Hail Mary or whatever it’s called when you try to score at the last minute.”

  “I’m not mad. You knew?” Bennett asked as he pulled away from the curb.

  “Are you kidding? The very first day he met you, he came home and told me he’d met the man he was going to marry. That was over three years ago. And I know he hasn’t dated anyone since.”

  Bennett remembered with clarity the first time he’d met Wyatt. He’d known, too, that he wanted him, but he’d pushed his feelings aside and tried to stomp them ou
t of existence. Wyatt had only been eighteen, and for some reason that had felt like an insurmountable gap. Bennett had felt old and dried out, where Wyatt was a young vibrant man who had the world at his fingertips. He didn’t need bummer Bennett bringing him down.

  “He was persistent. Got what he wanted, didn’t he?”

  Bennett nodded. “He did. I hope he’s happy because I’m not letting him go.”

  It had taken Bennett longer than it should have and, maybe, he’d forced Wyatt to resort to desperate measures, but now Bennett couldn’t imagine his life without Wyatt or Wicket playing starring roles.

  Unlike the Sunday dinner, Thanksgiving was full to bursting with laughter, noise, and amazing smells wafting from the kitchen. Zach and Jeff showed up with Jura—a godsend because it gave Wicket something to do besides search for scraps. Glancing around, Bennett didn’t think there’d ever been this many people in his house before. It felt good.

  There was more to celebrate today than their patchwork family and friends. Mariah had good news about her MS. While it wasn’t going away, her symptoms had responded well to a newer medication and she would be going back to work after the holidays. Wyatt had cried when she shared the information. Wyatt was never afraid to show exactly how he felt; this was just one of the many things Bennett loved about him—how honest he was with his feelings.

  He was leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and the living room, a glass of dark luscious Caesura cabernet in his hand. Almost everyone else was packed in the kitchen as if there were no other rooms in the house. He liked it.

  “Our kitchen is still in stasis,” Jeff commented, eyeing his fiancé, “as in it’s the same as it was when I moved in.”

  Zach had his arm wrapped around Jeff’s waist and pulled him closer to kiss him on the side of the head. “We’re getting there.”

  Jeff’s twin brothers had made the trip from Seattle. Currently Wyatt and Jordan were on the other side of the kitchen debating the merits of salted versus unsalted butter. The other twin, Jason, was playing with the dogs in the living room.

  There was a knock on the front door. As Jason was closest, he dropped the ball and crossed to open it.

  “I’m here!” Elliot called out in a sing-song voice. “I didn’t bother bringing any wine, but I did find a six pack of cider from Ugly Apple, that’s like wine, isn’t it?”

  His brother bypassed Jason and marched into the kitchen, headed directly for the refrigerator.

  “It’s full. Put it out back where it will stay cold,” Bennett suggested.

  Elliot spun around to head toward the door, his gaze landing first on Wyatt and then Jordan where they were now arguing about stuffing, then back out to the living room where Jason was back to playing tug of war. Elliot stopped moving, his eyes widened in what Bennett recognized as surprise. Just as quickly Elliot shuttered his gaze and moved past the self-appointed sous-chefs and official head chef, Mariah Reeser. Opening the back door, he stepped out into the small mudroom but didn’t come back inside right away. Bennett could see his dark figure through the kitchen window.

  Wicket raced past Bennett’s ankles and into the kitchen, an orange ball gripped between his teeth, with Jura right behind him. Sprinting around the farm table Bennett had set up in the center of the kitchen, Wicket ran to hide under the stool Mariah was perched on. Jura slid to a stop, his tail wagging wildly as he tried to steal the ball back from the white ball of fluff.

  “Wyatt, I can’t believe you told Bennett I was allergic to dogs.” Mariah chuckled as she watched the dog’s antics.

  Wyatt stiffened and Bennett grinned. He hadn’t said anything to Wyatt about that little deception, figuring it didn’t matter. Wyatt really had been forced to use underhanded tactics in order for Bennett to open his eyes.

  “What?” asked Jordan, glancing between Wyatt and Bennett.

  Wyatt turned around with a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes at the same time. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the kitchen counter.

  “I may have inferred Mom was allergic to dogs.”

  “Inferred?” Bennett snorted.

  “Okay, yeah, I told Bennett Mom was allergic. But it is true that we can’t have pets in our apartment. And, dammit, I couldn’t figure out how to get Bennett to stop treating me like his little brother.”

  Elliot chose that moment to come back into the kitchen. “I can assure you he treats me entirely differently.”

  Everyone laughed, a sound that distracted Jura so Wicket dashed back out to the living room, the ball still tight in his jaw.

  “Well, until I snuck Wicket in under his defenses, Bennett acted like I was a little brother—thank f-heck he doesn’t anymore.” Wyatt had his hands on his hips and wore an apron he’d found somewhere that had May the Forks Be with You printed across the front. “There’s only so much a man can take before he cracks. And it worked, didn’t it?”

  Everyone laughed. Wyatt looked so… cute, all fierce and flashing eyes with his hands on his hips, Bennett couldn’t help himself. He left his post at the kitchen entry and crossed to where Wyatt stood, his gaze locked on Wyatt’s as he moved closer until he was standing in front of his boyfriend.

  Wyatt had a defiant and slightly defensive expression on his face that Bennett wanted to make disappear. With everyone watching, with his kitchen full of people, their friends and Wyatt’s mom, Bennett took one of Wyatt’s smaller more delicate hands in his own, running his thumb across his knuckles.

  “Wyatt Reeser,” Bennett began, staring into his boyfriend’s brown eyes, so dark they were almost, but not quite, black, “would you do the honor of officially moving in with me? My house is only a home when you share it with me. Until you stormed into my life, I wasn’t truly living. You make everything better, brighter, more colorful, even taste better.”

  “That’s because you can’t boil water,” Wyatt grumbled, but his eyes were suspiciously moist. Bennett lifted his free hand, stroking Wyatt’s cheek before clasping his other hand.

  “So, Mr. Big Talker, you want to make this official? Me and you, in front of all these people?”

  Wyatt opened his mouth and shut it, instead nodding his head.

  “What? Have I rendered you speechless?” Bennett teased. “What did you say?”

  Their guests were quiet, waiting for Wyatt’s reply. Just at that moment, the front door opened again and by the greeting from Jura and Wicket, Bennett figured it must be Jaime and Dag. Bennett had invited them at the last minute; the more the merrier, right?

  Jaime took in the quiet tableau while Dag set down a casserole dish he’d been carrying onto the counter.

  “What did we miss?” she demanded.

  “Bennett just asked Wyatt to officially move in with him,” Jordan answered. “Wyatt has been stunned into silence.”

  Jaime snorted. “Of course he wants to, he just thought it was going to take him a lot longer to wear Bennett down.”

  “Hey!” Wyatt exclaimed.

  She raised an imperious blond eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

  “No. And, yes, Bennett Meyer.” Wyatt looked back at him, his eyes full of emotion. “I will officially move in with you.”

  Bennett couldn’t resist, he leaned in and kissed Wyatt, lingering for a moment longer than was good for polite company.

  Into Wyatt’s ear he whispered, “I love you, Wyatt Reeser.”

  The rising flush on Wyatt’s cheeks was all the answer he needed.

  A timer beeped and Wyatt jumped as if he’d been electrocuted. “Crap, the pie crust.”

  And with that, the moment was over. Everyone started talking again.

  Elliot came over and whacked Bennett on the back, “Good job, big brother. Wyatt is good for you.”

  They were all sitting around Bennett’s dining room table—a piece of furniture he never thought he’d use but had come with the house—when there was another tentative knock on the door. Bennett glanced at Wyatt, who simply shrugged, so Bennett shoved his chair away from th
e table and went to see who it was.

  He was surprised to see his parents waiting on the front porch. Bennett had invited them on Wyatt’s suggestion, feeling like it was an effort he needed to make, but he hadn’t expected them to come. He’d made sure they understood that if they came there would be no negative conversation, they would be expected to treat his friends and his boyfriend with the courtesy they deserved.

  Wyatt spoke from behind him. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Meyer. Come inside, we’ve already sat down, but we can make space. Nancy, may I take your coat?” Trust Wyatt to just welcome the extra guests and try to make them comfortable even if he didn’t like them.

  In the end they had to drag a second smaller table into the dining room. Elliot, Jason, and Jordan crammed themselves around it. As Elliot was bigger than Bennett, it was a bit comical seeing him shoulder to shoulder with the twins; the three joked that they’d been relegated to the kids’ table.

  Bennett’s parents sat together, between him and Jaime. Wyatt was on Bennett’s other side, with one hand on Bennett’s thigh for most of dinner. It was comforting, although Bennett didn’t need it. His parents behaved, but if his mom had thought sitting next to Jaime, instead of Mariah Reeser or Wyatt, meant she could be her passive-aggressive self, she was entirely wrong.

  “Jaime, I’m surprised to see you here,” Bennett’s mom said.

  Bennett sighed and Wyatt’s grip tightened on Bennett’s thigh. Bennett was surprised he didn’t have a permanent Wyatt handprint on that thigh. He smiled slightly.

  Jaime, who’d been about to take a sip of wine put it back down on the table. “Oh? Why?” Her voice had the slightest edge to it.

  Nancy Meyer, while perhaps not the most emotionally aware person in Hollyridge, seemed to hear the underlying tone. Her gaze darted around the table. After half an hour of laughter and conversation, the room fell quiet, everyone waiting for Nancy’s answer. Except for Bennett’s father who appeared to be oblivious, instead busy slathering butter onto a flakey buttermilk biscuit.