Page 21 of Again, In Autumn

She says, “Listen, babe, you’re going to be Katie’s date, you’ll have to take that up with her.”

As Francesca walks off, my smile fades.

Date.

It’s been a while since I’ve been on an actual date, but even longer since I’ve been on one in Loxley.

Watching my sister mosey around the kitchen, I remember the day after I saw Adam in the grocery store, day three of our summer vacation. David had told me Adam was looking for me that morning, that I would find him in his workshop garage.

He wanted to ask me something.

Chapter Six

Our two houses were separated by an expanse of woods, but a path had been laid by the old neighbors, a retired couple who used our dock to paddle board and kayak.

Adam’s dad and new step-mother took residence a month before we arrived. Heddy met them, explained that they would be coming and going all summer, that they bought the property as an investment and planned to use it solely as a vacation home. She did not mention, or they did not, the presence of an eighteen-year-old crooner who showed up in the yard that first day looking to make friends with David.

He got more than he bargained for.

On that third summer day, I had carefully walked across the trees to Adam, at his behest, knowing nothing about the people living in the house. It felt like trespassing. When I saw the gray shirt covering his back, I called out.

He spun around and I stopped walking, taken aback by the mask and protective eyewear covering his face. Adam quickly took them off, and said, “Hi. Sorry, I was working.”

I looked anywhere but his captivating smile: the stool he sat on, the table in front of him, the tools plugged into an electrical socket on the wall. He grasped something small in his fist.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I carve stones,” he said with a shrug, like it was the most normal hobby and I must know a million people who do that.

As of that moment, I knew one single person – him. When I made that fact obvious, he invited me over to the table.

He explained, “My dad moved my tools up here from the city, he’s going to let me keep it all here.”

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Kennesaw.”

He didn’t ask me the same question. I learned later that he already knew what high school I went to, where I was going to college, where I hung out with my friends. He’d asked David all the questions, and he’d memorized the answers. We found parts of our lives that overlapped.

Adam held the stone in front of me, turning it back and forth, showing off the intricate swirling design he had etched. I noticed how closely he stood to me, our elbows bumping.

I had no reason to feel anything but physical attraction, but even in those early days, his closeness clawed deeper inside me than surface-level interest.

Adam had all of the confidence in the world. He wasn’t a shell masking an inner truth. He just was, an absence of mystery and ambiguity, so completely honest and sure of himself and pure that his soul could pierce even the most solid fortress.

“Wow,” I mused, running my finger over the bumps and ridges. I tried to keep neutral. Unaffected. “You did this? That’s really cool.”

I felt his eyes on me. When I looked up, he smiled and said, “It’s something I like to do. What do you like to do for fun?”

“I bake.” I crossed my arms and surveyed the workshop, taking a casual step back. He waited for more. “I take Amber for walks. I like to read magazines. I watch Bravo.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“TV that rots my brain,” I admit.

“Oh…I don’t watch much TV,” he says. I felt instantly confused. He might as well have tried to explain quantum physics to me.

I gawked, “Why not?”

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