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Ron parks his car in front of the big house at the end of the road and just looks for a minute. It's got a fresh coat of paint (pale blue), and on the porch there's a line of rocking chairs (yellow), and the front door looks sturdy and safe. He squeezes his hands on the steering wheel as a breeze flutters the curtains in the big picture windows on either side of the door, and then he musters himself and gets out of the car.
He gets his suitcase from the backseat and walks up to the front door. The wide sidewalk is lined with tulips (red and purple) and the lawn is bright spring green, dotted with tiny white flowers. Ron thinks of the scene in the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy opens the door and it's all bright colors. That's how he feels as he walks up the three stairs to the porch. Like he's sepia-toned and staring at the brightness of an entirely new world.
There's a bell, so he pushes it. He hears the chime echo. It's a few moments before someone answers the door. It's Carwood, and he looks surprised before he smiles in that warm way he has.
"Captain Speirs, Sir," he greets. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Lipton," Ron says, though he wants to say Carwood. He's never said it out loud to the man himself, though he's repeated the name when he's read it at the end of his letters. "I was hoping you'd be glad to see me."
"Of course I am," Carwood says and takes a step back. He gestures for Ron to step inside. Ron steps into a large foyer. There's a coat rack to the left, and Ron takes off his hat. Carwood holds up a hand before Ron can set it on the stand. "Oh, no, not there. That's for guests. Come on, let me take you through."
Ron follows along as Carwood leads him through a parlor, then a dining room, then a kitchen. Then one more door, and he steps into a cozy living room with a window seat looking over a backyard vegetable garden. This time, when Ron moves to hang his hat on the coat rack, Carwood doesn't stop him.
"The only entrance to this part of the house is down the alley," Carwood says, "but you have to know it's there to really spot it."
"So, you weren't subtly telling me I'm not welcome?" Ron asks, and Carwood's small, sweet smile makes him catch his breath.
"I think my letters answer that question," Carwood says.
...should visit Huntington, we'll go fishing…
...see the house; I just repainted it. It looks quite sharp if I say so myself…
...stop by any time, Ron. I will happily make up a bed in the big house, or you can stay in mine. I hope that's clear enough…
...love you like I love this old house; I want to have you near so I can check on you, make sure you're not creaking or leaking or falling apart. Perhaps that's not as romantic as I want it to sound, but I do it mean it in a desperately romantic way…
"Your letters were very clear," Ron agrees. "I hope mine were as well."
Carwood nods and chews on his bottom lip for a moment. "They're lovely," he says. "I treasure them." He reaches for Ron's suitcase, and their hands touch as he takes it from Ron's grip. "I can make up the guest room. Won't take a minute. Or you could stay with me."
"I'd like to stay with you," Ron answers without fear. "Carwood," he adds because he needs to say it out loud to his face, to watch Carwood's small smile widen.
"I'd like you to stay, Ron," Carwood replies, and he reaches out his free hand to grab one of Ron's. He tugs.
Ron sways towards him, and he closes his eyes when Carwood kisses his cheek. "Carwood," he says again.
Carwood touches their mouths together. "Welcome to Huntington, Ron," he says, and steals a second kiss. "Please make yourself at home."