Chapter 33
They’d walked over from the hotel, and the distance wasn’t far, only a street or two; the night twinkled with diamond mist, and cobblestone streets welcomed footsteps, and crowded shops and pubs stretched upward in historic contentment. The village became a postcard, a sculpture, a model of English country life; Colby fit right in, laughing too and walking just as quickly as Jason. The mist decorated his hair, his eyelashes, the black leather sleeve of his jacket.
Jason wanted to peel every layer off him, and then maybe decorate him in other things. More leather. Or cream.
Up in Colby’s room—their room—under sloping wood beams and the approval of the weather, he buried hands in Colby’s hair and kissed him, deep but more gently than he’d thought he would. Something about the moment. The snowglobe fairytale scene. The courage in Colby’s sharing of himself.