Chapter Two: Mr. Miracle Appears

Justin pulled out his cell phone at LaGuardia. It was approximately 30 minutes before pre-flight boarding, and he wanted to hear his lover's voice before he got on the plane for his business trip to Vermont.

"Hey, Sunshine!" The soft, drawling voice of Brian Kinney answered on the second ring. "I was just about to call you. Where are you? You usually call me before now."

"Hey." Justin had to swallow before he continued. He always was affected simply by hearing Brian's voice, but tonight for some reason he was feeling more sentimental than ever. Must be the season, he thought. "I would have called earlier, but I'm actually at the airport. I'm taking a business trip to Vermont to meet a possible buyer for some of my work."

"Really? That's good, isn't it? You don't sound too enthusiastic, Sunshine. Is something wrong?"

I never can fool you, can I, Bri? Justin took a deep breath. "I'm fine. It's just….I don't know. I should be really excited about this trip – I'm meeting with some owner of a lodge who might want to commission me for some artwork – but I'm not. Truth be told, Brian….I miss you," Justin added softly. He knew how Brian hated it when he got too "touchy-feely." But he couldn't help it – it was the truth.

Brian cleared his throat. "Well, you just go wow this property tycoon and be the best little artiste you can be…."

Justin sighed. Same old Brian Kinney operating manual. "Okay." Glancing up at the clock, Justin realized the plane would be boarding soon. "By the way, I'm still planning on coming back to Pittsburgh for Christmas. You promised to take a break from work while I'm there, remember?" Justin was hoping Brian wouldn't renege on his promise. He was looking forward too much to spending time with his lover.

"I remember, Sunshine. Debbie would have my balls if I go back on that promise. You really should stop telling your mom these things, though. You know it just gets back to Debbie, and she feels like she has to supervise my every fucking move to make sure I'm not mistreating her surrogate son," Brian chided.

"I'm sorry, Bri. But if I don't talk to my mom fairly regularly, she fantasizes that I'm being assaulted, robbed, or mugged somewhere on the big, bad streets of the big city. She asked me what my plans for Christmas were, so I had to tell her we would be spending time together so she didn't try to monopolize all my time. At least now that Tucker's in the picture, that tends to keep her occupied," Justin joked.

Just then, Justin heard the first call for boarding. Turning back to the phone, he regretfully explained, "Brian, they just announced boarding for the plane. I should be back in New York City sometime late tomorrow afternoon. I'll call you when I get back, okay?"

Brian smiled. "Okay, Sunshine. Have a good flight. And good luck. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Just before he ended the call, Justin had to say it. "I love you, Brian."

There was a brief pause before Brian softly said, "Ditto," before he hung up. Justin knew that would be the only version of "I love you" he would get from his lover tonight. Since the bombing at Babylon, Justin had never heard "those three words" spoken again from Brian's lips, unless you count the marriage proposal at Britin. Justin knew, though, that Brian loved him. He knew his lover well enough, though, to know how difficult it continued to be for him to express his feelings freely. Brian was always a much more demonstrative kind of person in expressing his love. Justin would have liked to hear the romantic words more often, but he was satisfied knowing that Brian DID love him.

Justin grabbed his portfolio and carryon bag as he walked to the gate to board.

Bennington, VT – 8:00 p.m.

Justin's stomach growled as he walked toward the lower level baggage claim leading to the exit doors. The only food offered on the plane was a small package of cookies, which he had stuffed in the pocket of his black linen pants earlier. Some snack, he thought sarcastically. I need some REAL food! He glanced around for a snack bar with no success.

Justin thought about what Ron had told him earlier when he handed him his itinerary. Oh, yeah, he remembered. He told me the owner would have some type of driver waiting for me with my name written on a card. I guess my stomach will have to wait, he smirked.

Looking around the suddenly busy baggage claim area, he finally spotted a uniformed, distinguished-looking man wearing what looked like a chauffeur's hat and holding up a sign with "Taylor" written on it. Suddenly feeling a little nervous about being in unfamiliar territory, he walked up to the man, trying to appear more confident that he actually felt.

"Uh, my name is Justin Taylor. Are you looking for me?"

An unexpected British accent responded to his question. "Yes, Sir. If you would please follow me, Mr. Miracle is waiting for you at the lodge. May I take your bag, sir?"

"Thank you, uh…."

"You can just call me George, sir," he said politely as he took the bag Justin offered him.

"Thank you, George. I'll hold on to the portfolio, if you don't mind." Justin always felt possessive of his artwork. Maybe it was because he worked so hard on all his pieces, he wanted to make sure he had control of them at all times.

"Very good, sir. If you will please follow me?" As he walked toward the exit, Justin trailed closely behind. He was anxious to meet this "Mr. Miracle." The sooner he met with him, the sooner he could get back to NYC and then on to Pittsburgh and, more importantly, Brian.

George led him directly outside the exit, where a long, black limousine was waiting by the curb. Walking up to the back door, George opened it, instructing Justin to get in.

Justin had to admit he was impressed. He had never been in a limousine before. This would be a new experience for him. Of course, his stomach was also asking him, Don't these things normally carry a well-stocked bar? Hopefully, that includes food, too, he chuckled to himself.

As the limo slowed pulled away from the curb and Justin made himself comfortable, he discovered he was right – it was an epicurean's dream: a small, built-in refrigerator with all kinds of beverages, and a swing-out tray with every imaginable variety of petit-fours. In fact, it was as if this "Mr. Miracle" had read his mind, because he noticed many of his favorites among the offerings.

Helping himself to a scotch and a couple of chocolate cream-filled cakes, Justin leaned back in the leather seat and allowed his mind to wander. It seemed like so long ago that he and Brian had said goodbye at the loft and he had left to pursue his dream to be a famous artist in the Big Apple. And he had to admit, the attention he and his art had received in the relatively short time he had been on his own was exciting and fulfilling, at least from an intellectual standpoint. He had managed to sell several of his paintings for thousands of dollars each, and the art critic from New Yorker magazine had even featured him prominently in a article a few months ago on hot, new emerging artists. It was very gratifying for his career, but at what cost? Now that he had achieved this recognition, why did he still feel so empty inside?

Justin's thoughts turned back to his surroundings as he noticed the limo made a right turn onto a private paved lane. A pair of wrought iron gates with the words Dorset Inn in ornate script stood at the beginning of the drive. The gates automatically swung open at the limo's approach. Old-fashioned gas lamps hugged both sides of the long drive. They were decorated in observance of the season with small white twinkling lights wrapped around each post.

The limo continued for approximately ½ mile before it slowed and pulled up in front of an impressive, two-story, white colonial building with thick, tall pillars. The black-shuttered windows and imposing black double doors were festooned with large lighted wreaths, and several large evergreen trees on the front lawn were decorated profusely with the same white, twinkling lights that adorned the gas lamp posts. Justin was entranced – he thought it was a scene right out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

George stepped out the driver's seat and opened the door for his passenger. "Here we are, Sir. I will bring in your bag if you want to check in."

Justin grabbed his artist's portfolio lying on the seat beside him and took a deep breath. Wow, he thought. This is beautiful. If the inside is as fantastic as the outside, I could really be inspired to create some incredible artwork for this place. Stepping outside, he walked slowly toward the front doors, where a white-gloved doorman with a long, black coat greeted him. "Mr. Taylor? Welcome to the Dorset Inn," he said politely as he opened the doors for Justin.

Justin did not have much time to ponder how the doorman knew who he was as he stepped into the ornate lobby, because at that moment his breath was taken away by the gorgeous vision standing at the top landing of the dual winding staircase. The brown-haired, hazel-eyed man staring down at was wearing a black Armani suit and an almost shy smile. In his long, elegant right hand he clutched a single, long-stemmed red rose.