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“Uh-huh.” I laughed. “Still not happening. The thing is, other guys say they’re open to the idea of commitment when they really aren’t?—”
“Like certain assholes named Louis who show a blatant disregard of a key component of how you make your living,” he bit out. “You don’t fuck with a man’s career when he obviously puts his blood, sweat, and tears into it.”
Oscar’s angry defense warmed me through. “Right. And there are other guys who have the wrong idea about romance altogether. They think it’s childish and overly simplistic when it’s not.” I thought back to a scene from last night’s rehearsal dinner. “When Roman gave a toast for Scotty last night, I saw my friend Brant reach over to squeeze his wife’s hand like he knew exactly what Roman was talking about because he felt the same way. Brant and his wife shared this look, and I had to take a picture of it, to capture it, because it was…” I sighed. “It was magic. And I know their life isn’t sunshine and rainbows all day. They have a baby, so it’s probably mostly dirty diapers and interrupted sleep. They probably argue about whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher. But when they look back at that picture I took, they’ll remember why it’s worthwhile. They’ll remember that moment—how it felt to love and be loved so deeply they didn’t need words to express it. I’ve made it my mission to capture those moments for other people… and I want them for myself.”
Oscar reached for my hand and brought it up to his lips. The move surprised me.
“You’re a romantic,” he said with a tinge of gravel in his voice. “Nothing wrong with that. At the risk of repeating myself: never compromise on being loved, Hugh. You deserve to be cherished. You deserve the fairy tale.”
I felt my face heat at the soft press of his lips on my skin. “And what about you?” I asked with more heat than I expected. “Don’t you deserve it too?”
The tension in Oscar’s jaw took me by surprise. I knew it was a touchy subject, but I hadn’t known it would make him angry.
“There’s a difference between deserving and wanting,” he gritted out.
For all that Oscar remained a mystery in some ways, in other ways, the man was an open book.
And he was a truly terrible liar.
Instead of calling him on this lie, though, and telling Oscar he doth protest too much, I came at it from another angle. “Hmm. Back when we first met, you said you hadn’t given up on love, it had given up on you. So… how’d that happen? Why didn’t your relationships work out? Clearly, you weren’t dating commitment-phobic men.” I made a sweeping motion, encompassing the resort owned by James and Sawyer and the wedding for Roman and Scotty.
He threw up one hand and plastered on a fake-ass smile. “Oscar happened, darling. That’s the common denominator. I don’t know how to do relationships.”
I laughed. “Nope. I reject that. I reject your whole idea that only talented people can find love. You said last night that maybe you’ve never put your heart out there, but maybe you were being self-protective. Maybe the circumstances weren’t right?—”
He lifted a sculpted eyebrow. “Never right? With any of the men I’ve dated? I must be a rare and precious flower indeed. Wait until I tell Boone.”
I felt a familiar pinch in my chest at the name. Oscar sometimes talked about his childhood sweetheart like Boone was a mythical creature. Like, if Oscar hadn’t been able to make his relationship with Boone work, he should have known better than to try it with anyone else. To me, Boone sounded more like a man who hadn’t cared enough about Oscar to build a future with him. A cowboy unwilling to bend.
“You said Boone was the closest you came to love,” I asked cautiously. “Did he… break your heart?” Is that why you hold yourself back now?
Oscar looked genuinely perplexed. “Why would you ask that? I told you yesterday, it wasn’t?—”
“Because he was your childhood sweetheart,” I blurted. “You grew up together. He knew you before you were… Oscar Overton.” I said the name the way Rafa once said it, like Oscar was a luxury brand and not a human being.
“I see.” He nodded slowly. “There’s some truth to that. There was a time I considered him my first love. He was definitely the first man I tried to picture a future with. He’s the one I have the most history with. And I suppose there have been moments where I’ve thought, if neither of us got married, perhaps we’d spend our sunset years rocking together on his porch?—”
The coffee sat heavy on my stomach. “You?” I demanded. “On a ranch?—?”
“I grew up on a ranch, you remember. Admittedly, only as the housekeeper’s son, but I do still know how to ride a horse.”
“—in Texas?—”
“Boone’s ranch is in Wyoming,” he corrected.
“—at least a thousand miles from Leandro in SoHo, the only man you’ll trust to cut your hair?—”
Oscar smiled. “Well, I do have a plane.”
“—and the cell reception must be terrible?—”
“That wasn’t as much of a consideration until I started texting certain people all day and night.”
“—and you’d be miserable.”
“Not miserable,” he argued. He considered this for a moment, then added, “Probably. But in any case, it’s a moot point. Boone has Richard now. Don’t ask me how in the world a grumpy rancher ended up falling for a rich daddy’s boy, but the pissant prima donna was apparently born for ranch life. He’s rescuing animals or some such.” He rolled his eyes good-humoredly. “They’re madly in love. Whereas, to answer your question, Boone and I were not.”
“Oh.”
