Augustus nodded. "I asked ar-round. There are two c-c-cars we can l-look at this aftern-noon."
Quentin raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You set that up already?"
Augustus shrugged. "I knew it would b-b-be a p-priority for you, and I f-figured I would know m-more about what car w-would be b-b-best than you." Suddenly he appeared worried, and he shuffled his feet as he said, "I didn't overs-s-step, d-did I?"
Quentin considered it. With anyone else, he would have labeled it overstepping. He didn't like it when others made decisions for him without consulting him. But it felt different in this case. Augustus was right that he had known it would be a priority for Quentin, and he was also on the money that he knew far more about cars than Quentin did. The only worry he had was that he hadn't told him his budget.
"You didn't, but everything I've seen so far was outside of my budget."
That resulted in another shrug from Augustus, and this time, Quentin wasn't so easily persuaded to overlook him taking the initiative. "The cars we’ll be looking at are within my budget, right?"
Augustus cast his eyes down now, shuffling his feet again. How it was possible for a man who in theory appeared as menacing as this guy did to look so adorable, Quentin would never understand. "They're s-s-safe cars. G-good c-cars."
Quentin narrowed his eyes. "I'm sure they are, but that doesn't tell me if they’re within my price range. What good is it going to do me to see a car I can’t afford? I'm on a tight budget for the next few months, and there's only so much money for transportation, considering what I'll have to pay for lodging and food."
"Ab-bout that,” Augustus said and then fell silent.
Quentin wasn't sure if he needed time to find the words or the courage, but he waited until Augustus spoke again.
"You said your research p-project was in N-n-northern L-lake. That's a thirty-m-minute drive f-from here."
"Only thirty minutes?" Quentin asked, surprised.
Augustus looked up, then nodded. "There's a d-direct road from F-f-frostville to Northern L-lake. We happen to be on the s-s-same country road."
That was much closer than Quentin had expected it to be. He thought it would've been at least a forty-five-minute drive, if not a full hour. That made it only slightly farther out than the lodging he'd found.
Wait, was Augustus going where Quentin thought he was going with this? Was he suggesting for him to stay here rather than pay for an Airbnb? His first instinct was to say nothing and wait if Augustus would offer. It would be presumptuous of him to bring this up and possibly put Augustus in a position where he had to offer now, even though it hadn't been his intention. After all, Augustus hadn't actually said the words. It was purely Quentin's interpretation. Maybe even speculation.
But then Quentin reconsidered. If this thing between him and Augustus, whatever it was, was growing in the direction he wanted it to go, communication would be key. He had to learn to suck it up and be direct, no matter how scary it was.
"Are you implying I could stay with you?" he asked softly.
Augustus nodded. "If you w-want. I wouldn't ch-ch-charge you anything, so you would have the m-money to b-buy a better car. A s-s-safe car, a dep-p-pendable one that will l-last you through the winter. I w-would cook for you, and you wouldn't have to p-p-pay me anything for it. You know I l-like cooking for you. And we would have t-t-time t-to…" He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "To be tog-g-gether. To spend t-t-time together. If that's what you w-w-want."
It was probably the longest speech Augustus had made so far, and every word wriggled its way deep into Quentin's heart. He'd had some smooth-talking admirers over the years, good-looking guys who had praised him with silky words, with effortless compliments. They'd commented on his looks, his body, his witty sense of humor, all with the goal to get in bed with him.
But not once had he been as touched by a proposal as the one Augustus had made just now, halting and stammering and fighting for every word. Somehow, it meant so much more than all the perfectly delivered compliments he'd ever gotten. It made his answer so incredibly easy.
"Okay," he said. "I'll stay."
Augustus’s eyes widened, and the softest gasp fell from his lips as if he couldn't believe what Quentin had just said. “S-serious?"
Quentin smiled at him. "Serious."
"I thought I w-would have to conv-vince you."
Quentin leaned in for another kiss, his eyes sparkling. "I recognize a good proposal when I hear one."
The sheer joy on Augustus's face warmed his belly, stirring something in his heart he’d never felt before. But before he could say anything, the sound of car tires on the snow made them both turn around.
“C-customer," Augustus said, all joy disappearing from his face.
And Quentin, who had planned to get back inside as quickly as humanly possible to prevent transforming into a snowman, took Augustus’s hand, sensing the tightness in his body and the stress on his face.
"I'm here," he said simply, and the way Augustus squeezed his hand confirmed he'd made the right call.
17
Augustus spent the whole morning clearing the junkyard of snow, at least where the snow hindered his work. Business had been slow, luckily, most folks in town too busy to dig themselves out to ask for his help with anything else. That wouldn’t last, but at least it had given him the opportunity to get his workplace back in order.
The only customer had been Huey, a friend of his grandpa, who had shown up when Quentin had still been out. He was one of the few men in town who was still nice to him. Augustus had introduced him to Quentin, and old Huey had barely batted an eye, god bless him. Then again, Huey’s daughter was married to a woman, so he hadn’t expected much else from the man.
He’d saved as many of his sculptures as he could, and Quentin had helped carry them into another shed, where they had covered them with tarp, since he wasn’t entirely sure that roof would hold. After that, he’d taken out the chain saw and had cut the big branch that had crushed his workshop. It had taken him well over an hour to cut the damn thing into pieces, then haul them off to the side with his truck. At least he’d have firewood for next winter.
Quentin had gone back inside at Augustus’s urging. He appreciated him being outside by his side, but he’d seen the slow, painful movements. Quentin hadn’t recovered from the day before. Augustus had been on his own for years, so he didn’t need him. Oh, he needed him on a different level, but not for the practical, physical stuff.
When he walked in around noon, Quentin had installed himself at the kitchen table with his laptop, looking ten kinds of adorable and nerdy with a pair of glasses. Augustus stopped, this strange emotion welling up inside him, soft and warm but so big it took his breath away. He was so beautiful, Quentin. Like an otherworldly creature, precious and perfect.
He smiled at himself. Look at him, all going gooey inside. Give him a few more seconds, and he’d be spouting poetry or some shit. Quentin did that to him. He made Augustus feel so much more than he’d ever thought himself capable of. Moreover, Augustus liked it. He liked how he was so much more aware of his own body, of his emotions, of this need inside him to please Quentin.