“Not really, we talked about the game and the weather. He’s busy with cases, I’m busy at the bank and with Bates on the weekends, you know, nothing really.”
Garrett chuckled out loud, his thoughts once again on the dance floor, Eron’s strong arms guiding him, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so…loved. Eron didn’t care about his job, his car, or his house. Eron only cared about his happiness.
I love him. 9
July, 1967
Beneath the shade of Bates’ canopy, Garrett wiped the buffet with an old undershirt. The finish came alive as he applied the balm. The sideboard would look beautiful in the dining room of the inn he constantly imagined, loaded with giant dishes of eggs, sausage, bacon, and pancakes waiting for hungry guests to devour them.
As he worked, he counted the reasons he loved helping Bates on the weekends and bank holidays. The first reason was the quality. One couldn’t find this type of quality any more without paying a hefty price.