Bishop: A True Lover's Story

“I hope you like them. I made three different designs to fit a mid-range budget.” Bishop eased around the bench seat and set the pad in front of them, flipping past several pages before he stopped. “I took what you said about Fall. And wanting to grill outdoors, maybe entertain sometimes. Then you want a kind of cozy area for you to read.”

“Yeah.” Edison sighed, staring at the large piece of paper that showed a lawn that was fresh, modern and so full of brilliant color that he couldn’t believe his eyes. There was no freaking way that Bishop was turning that wildlife refuge he had in his backyard into the gorgeous scene he saw before him. But that was his big weeping willow tree at the end of the property that hung over the back fence, now looking like a shady oasis. It was clear that the picture had been hand-drawn with color pencils, but the definition and detail were so clear that from a distance it could’ve been mistaken for a photograph. Edison could make out the different kinds of plants Bishop had chosen, most of them with auburn, deep greens, and orange and red foliage. There was a stone path that wove between rows of pretty orange flowers leading to his shed, so he no longer had to walk in the grass if he wanted to go in it. Which, on the paper, was immaculately cut into one of those checkered designs he’d seen around luxury homes. His grill was repositioned to another side of the porch and Bishop had added a dark wood awning onto the fence, so he’d have shade when he cooked. There was a gray stone enclosure around his cooking area with more plants and bushes added along the sides, making it look like one of those setups on the outdoor cooking show he watched. Bishop had even drawn the flames licking into the air and smoke rising from the grill.

But his favorite by far was the oversized plush lounge chair and new patio set he saw surrounding a medium-sized fire pit. It wasn’t one that’d appear to cost a small fortune, but was just perfect for him. And just as he’d asked there were a couple of speakers set up around the porch, but they weren’t disguised as stones, they were owls. Edison chuckled. That’s brilliant! Owls were nocturnal birds of prey—they’d scare away any creepies trying to make their way onto his porch at night while he was lost in a novel. When he was able to pull his eyes away from the sketch, he saw Bishop watching him as intensely as always.

“You like it?”

Edison wanted to sink to the floor at the sound of that darn voice. Oh, heck yes. I like everything. I like you! He wanted to holler, but he played it as cool as could, although he was beyond impressed.

“Bishop,” he breathed. “I can’t believe this. Your drawing is beautiful, but to think you thought of this from looking at that,” Edison pointed to his open patio doors. “Is unbelievable. You are so talented.”

Edison couldn’t tell if Bishop was blushing, because his skin was too tanned and his stubble too dark. But the way his gaze darted over the drawing, then to Edison’s face was telling. Bishop wanted him to like his work, wanted him to love it. Just like he wanted Bishop to love his cooking.

“I have a couple more.” Bishop’s knee bounced underneath the table as he flipped to the next page.

Edison gasped. It was the same concept, except with different patio sets and different flower options. The lines were still as sleek and complicated as the first possibility. Then Bishop flipped another page. Just as elaborate and intricate as the others. He shook his head, smiling over at this amazing man. “How do I possibly choose?”

Bishop licked his lips and Edison felt his smile fade as he stared at Bishop’s full mouth, wondering what it’d be like to kiss him.

“You don’t have to pick right now. There’s a lot to be done before I’ll get to buying the flowers and so forth.”

“Wow.” Edison flipped back to the first one. “I think I’ll go with this one. Yes. This one.”

“This is the first one I drew.”

Edison smiled. “I like the colors. In November it’ll be real nice, won’t it? Once it’s all in bloom.”

“Yes. It will.”

“Right in time for Thanksgiving. That was my pop’s favorite holiday.” Edison pfft’d and rolled his eyes. “Mine too.”

“Mine too,” Bishop added. “I’ve been to one or two Thanksgiving dinners in my day.”

Only a couple. Edison didn’t probe. But that sounded sad, and he wondered more about Bishop’s family. He had a dad he was close enough to work with and a best friend he called brother. Why’d he sound so alone?