The Crab Boat – Part 2: Long Light

The season ended at the end of August, and the skipper took the Mary Ellen into a quiet cove for a celebration.

There was a fire on the beach, a pot of stew, a fiddle, and a dozen weathered fishermen singing old songs off-key. Liam, brown from the sun and noticeably broader, sat on a rock with a plate in his lap and a grin he couldn't stop.

"You've done well," said the skipper, clapping his shoulder. "You'll be back next year."

"I think I will."

Josh was at the water's edge, skimming stones in the long amber light. Liam went down to him. The sea was calm, the sky pink and violet, the shoreline gilded.

"You're going back," said Josh. "To Toronto."

"For September. To pack."

"And then?"

"I was going to ask if I could stay." Liam's voice shook. "If there's a place."

Josh turned. His grey eyes were open, clear and shaken. "There's always a place."

"Can I ask you something?" said Liam.

"Yes."

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes," said Josh, very softly. "And if you say stop, you must haul the pots alone in a November gale."

"That's an awful punishment."

"It's a fair one."

Liam kissed him, gently, one cold hand rising to his bearded cheek. Josh kissed him back with a slow, grave sweetness, his rough hands cupping Liam's jaw, the taste of tea and woodsmoke between them. The fire crackled on the beach behind them, and the fiddle struck up something slow and bright.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Josh.

"Green," said Liam. "Very green."

In May, he came back with a bag, a bike and a better pair of oilskins. The Mary Ellen had a new name on her stern, in small neat letters: Mary Ellen & Liam's Luck.

More gay romance stories: Morning Run · Night Telescope · The Tailor's Apprentice