Return to Sender

by Ashlyn Kane

  He followed Jonah around the room as Jonah inspected each dog, watching as he greeted each mutt, telling them they were adorable and listing all their qualities to Emerson. Emerson grinned, pleased by Jonah’s obvious enjoyment. Emerson was pretty sure that his surprise would go over well.

  Emerson didn’t often try to surprise Jonah; he wasn’t a man prone to launching them, unlike Jonah, who had a tendency to come home with surprises of various sizes and nature daily. Jonah had a tendency to walk through the front door and open conversations by saying things like: “I bought you a present today. Don’t you arch your eyebrow at me, Em; I can buy you presents if I want to. Okay, so it’s not so much a present for you, as it is a present for us. But I did buy it with you in mind—all you. See, I was in Forbidden Fruit buying flavored lube when I suddenly thought to myself that we’ve never tried any of the other varied products that they sell at their fine establishment.”

  Emerson blushed just at the memory of Jonah saying this to him. Jonah had said it all like he had decided to pick up gummy worms while he was buying milk and eggs at the grocery store. Emerson had choked on his tea.

  “Anyway,” Jonah had continued after cheerfully pounding Emerson on the back a few times. “So there I was staring at their selection when it occurred to me that now that you’re used to having me inside you, we really should try something new and exciting. Long story short, I bought you a vibrator.” Jonah had looked overwhelmingly pleased with himself. Emerson had had little to say to that in response. He had been pretty sure that saying either of his first two thoughts (But vibrators are for girls! or You want to stick something that vibrates up my ass?) was out of the question. Besides, he didn’t want to hear a mocking Jonah rant about feminism and equality. He settled for the third option of: “Um, why?”

  Jonah had stared at him for a moment. “Because vibrators are awesome?”

  No, Emerson had wanted more of an explanation than that. He arched his eyebrows and waited.

  Jonah sighed. “Because you want to know what it feels like to have one against your prostate?”

  Emerson still hadn’t been convinced.

  Then Jonah had stepped up toward him and wrapped both arms around his body. “Okay, how about it’s something that I really want to do with you because I’m pretty sure it will be amazingly hot, and I can’t wait to see how much it turns you on and gets you off.”

  Emerson wasn’t sure what had swayed him: the argument or the feeling of Jonah’s arms wrapped around his body, which was so distracting that he forgot to argue and just leaned into Jonah’s touch. Really, it was neither here nor there, because an hour later Emerson had found himself lying naked in bed with an equally naked Jonah lying on top of him and a new sex toy pressing into his body. Really, Emerson’s life could have been worse.

  “Ooh, Em, this one lost its tail!” Emerson jerked as he was brought back to the present. He blushed when he realized just what he was recalling and where. Jesus, that had been about two years ago now. Emerson supposed the high degree of surprise and embarrassment coupled with the fantastic sex afterward kept the memory fresh. Still…. Emerson shook the memories off and refocused on the here and now. This was not the time to be thinking about sex. Besides, he was likely to have plenty of opportunity for such considerations later tonight.

  When they reached the last cage, Jonah let out a soft “oh” of discovery. Behind the bars was a large, gray-faced dog. He looked somewhat like a Great Dane, though he was covered in curly hair. His nose was pressed to the gate, his eyes wide and imploring, and his tail gave tiny, cautious wags.

  “Hello there.” Jonah held his hand out so that the dog could sniff him. The mutt quickly sniffed Jonah’s hand, and his tail picked up speed.

  “Ah, so I see you’ve met Ringo,” said Samantha, returning to the room.

  “Ringo?” Emerson asked her, barely glancing at her, too captivated by Jonah.

  “Ringo?” Jonah was still looking at the dog, who, upon hearing his name, wagged his tail even harder. “Hi, Ringo. Aren’t you a pretty puppy! Yes you are—so gorgeous.” The puppy wagged his tail so hard that his whole back end began to shake.

  Emerson turned to look at Samantha once again. She smiled at him before rattling off the dog’s history.

  “Ringo’s a new addition. He’s a thirteen-month-old Poodle–Great Dane mix. His family brought him in when they realized how big he’d get. They already couldn’t keep up with his energy or his exercise needs.”

  “So they just gave him away?” Jonah looked aghast. “But he’s a sweetheart! And you know he just wants to be a good boy, you can just tell. Yes, you can. You are such a good boy, aren’t you Ringo? Yes you are!”

  Emerson rolled his eyes as Jonah resumed talking baby talk to the dog.

  “Can we get a closer look?” Emerson asked under his breath to Samantha. She grinned at him.

  She walked to the cage door and unlocked the gate. “How would you like to say hello to Jonah, huh, Ringo?”

  Ringo came bounding out of the cage and went straight for Jonah. “Oh, aren’t you wonderful.” Jonah went down to his knees and ran both hands over Ringo’s head and then down his body. Emerson didn’t try to fight the grin as he watched Jonah coo at the dog.

  “Em, he’s a sweetheart!” Jonah said, looking up.

  “Yeah, so I see.” Emerson walked over and crouched down next to them. The dog turned to him and sniffed Emerson’s hands and then face. Emerson scratched his ears and was delighted by the way the dog leaned into it. “He is a sweetie,” Emerson confirmed.

  “He’s not just a sweetie—he’s wonderful, aren’t you, Ringo?” Ringo turned to Jonah and licked his face.

  Emerson had been right—Jonah was definitely falling in love with this one.

  “I think this is the one,” Emerson said to the girl.

  “The one what?” Jonah asked absently as he continued to pet Ringo. Both man and dog were still happily occupied with cuddles.

  “The one that we’re taking home.”

  Jonah’s head snapped up. “What?”

  “I think he’d do well in our family, don’t you?”

  “Are you serious?”

  Emerson nodded. “Well we do have that new house with a yard. It would be a shame to let that go to waste.”

  Jonah grinned. “A puppy? Really? You’re getting me a puppy?”

  Emerson nodded again. This time Jonah let out a whoop of delight and launched himself to his feet. Suddenly he was on Emerson, his hands holding Emerson’s head steady as Jonah plundered his mouth. Emerson happily submitted, vaguely aware of the girl saying, “I’ll just go start the paperwork.”

  “You got me a puppy,” Jonah mumbled against his mouth.

  “Hm?” Emerson hummed dazedly. “Well, technically I didn’t get it yet,” he pointed out.

  “Don’t care. A puppy.” Jonah jumped suddenly, and then looked down. Emerson followed his gaze to see that Ringo’s head was resting on Jonah’s hip as he stared up at them imploringly.

  “Did you just poke me with your nose?” Jonah asked him. Ringo didn’t answer. “He poked me in the hip with his nose,” Jonah said.

  Emerson looked down at Ringo and laughed. “He poked you?”

  “Yes,” Jonah nodded. “Are you sad about being ignored, sweetie?” Jonah moved one large hand to stroke it over Ringo’s head. “Look at those sad puppy eyes.”

  “They look strangely familiar,” Emerson said with a smirk. “Good match for you.”

  Jonah smiled. “Yeah, I think he’s a good match for us. He’ll fit right in at our house.”

  “I have no doubt. I think he’ll be happy to join you every morning on your runs.” Emerson pressed himself closer. “There is also evening walks, just the three of us.”

  Jonah grinned, delighted at the thought. “Emerson. You bought me a puppy.” Jonah turned to the dog once again. “You’re my puppy now, aren’t you, Ringo?” Emerson couldn’t help but smile as Jonah unwound his arms from him and took a s
tep toward the dog.

  Oh yeah, Ringo was going to fit in just fine with their family. Emerson was sure that he wasn’t going to regret this surprise. Taking a step closer, he knelt down to say hello to their new puppy once again.

  §

  JONAH brushed the dust off the tops of the parcels and put the box back in the closet. He’d had them wrapped for weeks, but they’d been lost in the move, victims of poorly labeled boxes. Jonah wasn’t used to moving with so much stuff, and he’d been looking for them for weeks. Five minutes ago, with the backyard full of well-wishers at Emerson’s—now very belated, due to the insanity of the move—birthday party, inspiration had struck, and Jonah had finally located the correct box in the back of an upstairs closet.

  Closing the door to the office behind him, Jonah trudged back down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he stuck his head out the back door.

  “Emma, your mutt is trying to molest Hayley.”

  “He is not a mutt,” Jonah protested. Between Eve, Zack, Greg, Hayley, and Ringo, the small yard was pretty full. Sure enough, Ringo was doing his best to bury his nose in Hayley’s crotch. “Anyway, that puts him firmly in the majority.”

  Hayley didn’t seem to mind too much anyway, the way she was laughing and running her fingers through his fur. “Nice, Jonah.”

  He grinned. “Any time. Em, can I talk to you inside for a sec?”

  “Sure.” Emerson handed his barbecue tongs off to Greg and kicked off his sandals at the back step before closing the door behind him. “What’s up?”

  “Got something for you,” Jonah said a little sheepishly.

  Emerson took them both, running a finger along the dust-smudged wrapping paper. “But you already gave me my birthday present.”

  “These are sort of just-because presents,” he explained. Though that wasn’t precisely true either. It wasn’t like he’d gone out and bought them. “Not even real presents, really.”

  “Stop trying to take them back,” Emerson scolded with laughter in his eyes. “Which one should I open first?”

  “Big one first.”

  “Predictable.” Smiling, Emerson ran his thumb under the tape and began peeling the edges open. “Should I guess what it is?”

  “You should open it faster,” Jonah groused good-naturedly. He wanted to see Emerson’s face when he realized what it was.

  Emerson glanced up at him from under his lashes, coy. “I could put it off ’til later, if you like,” he offered innocently, holding out the present for Jonah to take back.

  Some of Jonah’s anguish must have shown on his face, because Emerson took pity on him then and finished with the wrapping paper. He ran his hand reverently over the smooth cover of the book, tracing the names at the bottom before carefully opening it, caressing first the rendering of the canine Jonah and then each individual page with something bordering on worship. Then he closed it up and hugged it to his chest for a brief moment before setting it on the paper on the kitchen counter and flinging himself at Jonah.

  I am getting laid so hard tonight, Jonah thought smugly as Emerson’s mouth crashed against his own.

  Eventually Emerson seemed to realize that they still had guests and, thus, could be interrupted at any moment, so he pulled away, the apples of his cheeks stained bright pink. “When did this come? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

  “Before we moved,” Jonah admitted.

  “Jonah!”

  “I was going to give it to you on your birthday!” he defended. “But then I lost the box.”

  “I don’t know how you managed on your own for three years,” Emerson said with a smile and a shake of his head. Then he looked back at the book Jonah had written, the one Emerson had spent intermittent months of his life illustrating. Somehow they’d forgotten about it for more than a year, and after that they discovered just how difficult it was to find a publisher for a children’s book that already had illustrations. “Only three more weeks.” Then it would be on bookshelves around the country. Jonah himself could hardly believe it, and he already had three titles in print.

  “I know.” Having Emerson’s name beside his on the cover was so much more satisfying.

  “I don’t know how you’re going to top that,” Emerson commented, fidgeting with the smaller package before peeling away the first piece of tape.

  Jonah was going to comment that he had his ways, but then Emerson finished unwrapping the tattered red Moleskine, so well-used now that it barely closed, glued-in keepsakes sticking out where they’d come unfolded. Emerson looked up, obviously intrigued. “Jonah, is this—”

  “The notebook you mailed me from San Antonio. Yeah.”

  “You kept it?”

  Jonah huffed. That was a stupid question. “Emerson. Obviously I kept it. It was from you.”

  “No, but I mean—” Emerson opened the cover, his eyes taking in the first page, where Jonah had glued the card he’d mailed with it. “You were supposed to write in it.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Jonah’s lips. “I did.”

  And he had—short notes, rambling epics, the occasional doodle or pasted-in memory—for close to five years. Then, just after the deal on the house went through, he ran out of room. But that was okay. By then Jonah had said pretty much everything he’d ever need to say.

  Emerson,

  This is probably not what you envisioned when you bought me this, but I can’t help but hope that you don’t mind, because if I don’t find some way to tell you this I’m going to lose my mind.

  I’m tired of editing the letters I send you, of scouring my own words and trying so hard to make sure I don’t accidentally spill my heart all over the page. I should be able to tell you anything, but even though sometimes I think—hope—that you might feel the same, I can’t make myself take the risk, and it’s killing me.

  Emerson turned the page.

  Leaving you was a mistake.

  Skipping ahead a few pages, he came across a page torn from a magazine, Jonah’s short story entry and the accompanying photograph Emerson had taken. A postcard from Grand Teton National park that just said, “Wish you were here.” One of Natalie’s blackmail pictures of Emerson passed out at his desk. A childish drawing of a turkey labeled “Harper.” Then: The problem with Elijah is that he isn’t you.

  It went on and on. A crumpled plane ticket. A washed-out Sno Cone wrapper from the ballpark they’d played on as kids. A snapshot of Emerson at a museum in San Francisco, half out of focus, and one of the view from the roof of Jonah’s apartment building. Every one of Emerson’s letters, with what Jonah had wanted to say scrawled in the margins.

  The picture of them from the photo booth at Xie’s wedding, drunk and flushing and in love.

  Jonah’s heart beat a little faster. Tucked in at the end of the book was the listing from the sale of the house, Xie’s sales pitch highlighted in blue at the bottom:

  Warm, well-kept, two-and-a-half storey in a friendly neighborhood. A modern kitchen and open concept main floor make this house perfect for entertaining. Character and built-ins abound. Upstairs features three bedrooms with en suite master bath.

  Jonah had been there when she’d written it up—a formality, since they’d already told her they were going to make an offer—and she’d looked up at him with a wicked smile before she penned the last line.

  Perfect for growing families.

  Emerson closed the book again before he could get to that, and Jonah let out a long breath. There would be plenty of time for that later.

  Emerson swallowed, brushing his thumb over the stained cover. “Jonah, I….” Then he looked up, eyes bright, and Jonah had half a second to brace himself before he was caught up in a fierce hug and a sweet, lingering kiss. “Thank you,” Emerson breathed, knocking their foreheads together just slightly. Then he laughed a little, choked-off and almost annoyed. “Though, seriously, next time you want to give me something like this?”

  “Hmm?” Jonah asked.

  Emerson drew back
far enough to poke him in the chest playfully. “Don’t wait until we have company!”

  Jonah peeked over the top of Emerson’s head just in time to see Zack mouth, “Get a room!” through the patio door. He grinned sheepishly. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Then he looked back down at Emerson.

  “So. How about we get back outside? Your friends are waiting for you to celebrate your birthday.”

  “Yeah.” Emerson rubbed both hands over his face. “Right. I’m going to bring my new book outside.”

  Jonah smirked. “Showing off?”

  “More like I have to show them something, or they will all think you dragged me in here for a quickie.”

  Emerson turned to make for the door, but Jonah caught him around the waist before he could take a step. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

  Emerson’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I didn’t say you hadn’t.” Then he tapped Jonah in the chest with the Moleskine. Jonah’s hands came up to catch it automatically as Emerson leaned in with a conspiratorial look and a slight flush. “But if you can wait ’til we’re alone, I’ll make it worth your while.” With a quick peck to Jonah’s lips, he picked up the children’s book and turned to go back outside, a pronounced bounce in his step.

  Well, hell. Who was Jonah to turn down an offer like that? Grinning, he followed his boyfriend out into the yard. Life was good.

  About the Author

  Like many romance authors in her genre, in real life ASHLYN KANE is an overeducated, overworked, underpaid twenty-something. Writing provides a welcome distraction from her disgust with the job market, as well as a means to help buy shiny new windows for the house she just purchased with her shiny new husband.

  When she’s not getting up at stupid hours of the day to go to her so-called “real jobs,” she can usually be found either at the gym or parked in front of her MacBook, chatting with her various co-authors and trying to create the kinds of dynamic characters she always ends up falling in love with.

  MORGAN JAMES started writing fiction before she could spell it. It was in high school that she started writing her first novel about a gay character, and she thanks the Internet for helping her realize that didn’t make her crazy. Coincidentally, she also thanks the Internet for the role it plays in her long distance friendship with Ashlyn Kane. Geek, artist, archer, and fangirl, Morgan tends to while away free hours with imaginary worlds and people on pages and screens—it’s an addiction. She lives in Ontario with her family and is the personal slave of three cats and a poodle (who isn’t named Ringo, but who does like to poke).