At Long Last

too warm. A day like this was exactly why he planned on living in Morro Bay some day.
    "So, how often do you come here?" Preston asked as they exited a shop of colorful kites and flags.
    "It's been a while, actually. But before I left for New York I used to come pretty often. Three or four times a year."
    Preston glanced up at the sky, his expression nonchalant. "With somebody?"
    Scotty smiled a little. "Once with a guy, yeah. And twice with a female friend. But most of the time just me. I love it here."
    Preston grinned. "I can tell. You're very enthusiastic."
    He felt his cheeks heat a little and knew he was blushing. But, damn, he could be a geek. And he hated that about himself.
    Covering his embarrassment, Scotty headed into the next gift shop. It was filled with statues of whales and dolphins and even a few paintings of sea life. At the back of the shop stood a very tall, thin dark haired woman talking with a couple. He guessed her to be the proprietor.
    He walked over to a painting hanging on the wall. Scotty recognized it as the work of a famous sea life artist. The price tag had been placed on a card at the corner of the painting.
    Preston came up behind him. "Nice. Thinking of buying it?"
    "I don't know. I like it, but it's pretty expensive. I don't even have a place yet to hang it." Scotty grabbed Preston's hand and pulled him along to the painting next to it. Without even really thinking about it, he threaded his fingers through Preston's. "What about this one? I like this one, too. It's about fifty bucks less."
    "Hmm."
    "Hello there." A woman's voice sounded from just a few feet away.
    Scotty turned to greet the tall dark haired woman he'd seen earlier. "Hi."
    "Can I help you...two?" She paused just a bit before adding "two," her gaze darting to their entwined hands.
    Preston shrank back a step and wrenched his hand out of Scotty's hard enough to sting. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He backed even farther away from Scotty, putting more distance between them and pretending to be studying a display of postcards.
    For a moment Scotty felt physically ill. His stomach twisted, sunk. Tears pricked his eyes unexpectedly at the snub.
    The woman's eyes widened, obviously catching Preston's odd reaction. "Would you like me to show you all the paintings we have of that artist?" she asked, politely.
    His knees wobbled a little. He didn't even want to look in Preston's direction. He knew he was probably being unfair. But fuck, he did not want to go down the road of hiding who he was again.
    "Um, no, thank you. I'm only looking," Scotty croaked out hoarsely. He didn't want to be rude, but he didn't want the woman to see him cry. He smiled, or at least he hoped it was a smile, and turned away. He had to get out of the shop. Without looking around to see where Preston had wandered off to, Scotty walked out of the shop and halfway down the street before he stopped.
    He took a deep, fortifying breath and glanced around at the shoppers around him. No one paid any attention to him. He sat down on a nearby bench to wait for Preston.
    Okay, so maybe he was overreacting. It wouldn't be the first time. Some of his friends back in high school called him a drama queen even. But he couldn't shake the despair looming over him at the moment. Deep inside, he knew. Preston wasn't going to accept being gay. And he sure would never accept Scotty as his boyfriend.
    "Hey, you okay?" Preston asked, approaching him. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his jeans. Probably afraid Scotty would try to hold his hand again.
    Scotty looked away. "I have a headache."
    Preston sat down. "Oh? I'm sorry. When did you get a headache?"
    "Just a few minutes ago. It's pretty bad. I think I'm going to go back to the room and lay down." He stood up and turned in the direction of the motel.
    "All right. I'll come with you."
    "No," Scotty said quickly. "I don't want to spoil the day for you. You stay here. I'll--I'll see you later."
    He practically ran away. Cowardly, maybe. But he hurried to the motel, never even looking back. When he got there, he saw that it was a little after four. Instead of heading to the room, Scotty went into the lobby and grabbed a plastic glass of white wine and sat down at a little bistro table.
    He wondered if he should go to the front desk and tell them they were leaving in the morning instead of staying a second night. He definitely had lost all enthusiasm for being there. So much for the stupid dream of