Page 38 of The Forbidden Summer
He looks up at me with curious doe eyes. “W-what about you?”
Me? Shit. This was enough for me to live on for a lifetime.
“Next time, maybe.” I let out a soft chuckle, trying to make the moment lighter. “Don’t worry about me, Van. I have everything I need right here.”
I squeeze him tighter, like I’m holding on to the very essence of him. My fingers dig into his skin just a little, as if trying to root myself in the reality of what we’ve finally let ourselves feel. Then, I press a kiss to his head, letting my lips rest there, buried in his hair, as if I never want to leave.
His warmth against me is enough to quiet all the chaos in my mind. He’s everything I need.
Van
It starts with me hauling a thick-ass log out of the pile behind the cabin and deciding that it needs a littlesculptural flair. What kind of flair? Obviously, something phallic. Something bold. Something that would make Père sigh and rub his temples.
I plant the log upright, pick up the chainsaw, and fire it up. At first, I’m just trying to get the general shape. But by the time I’ve carved out a defined head and, uh, supporting structures, I’m standing there sweaty, shirtless, and undeniably proud of what I’ve created.
That’s about when I hear the screen door slam behind me.
“What in God’s name are you doing to that log?” Père calls.
I glance over my shoulder, saw balanced on one shoulder like I’m Paul Bunyan’s horny little cousin. “Art,” I say, sliding my safety glasses up on my head.
He walks closer, takes one look, and stops dead in his tracks.
“Van. That is not art. That’s a public indecency waiting to happen.”
“It’ssymbolic,” I say, wiping sweat off my brow and gesturing toward the log. “Represents primal masculinity. Natural virility. Power and?—”
“It looks like a dick.” He folds his arms, trying to glare, but there’s a twitch in the corner of his mouth. “A very large,veinyone.”
“I was going for realism.”
He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose.Mission accomplished!“You can’t just be out here wielding a chainsaw like that. What if someone drives up?”
Is he for real? “Out here?” I glance around at nothing but trees for miles. “They’ll applaud the craftsmanship.”
“Can I ask what inspired this?”
I set the saw down with a dramatic thunk, lean one elbow against the log like it’s a piece of fine sculpture, and flash him my most shameless grin. “Would you believe… nature? The raw beauty of the forest. The sacred geometry of life.”
Père cocks a brow. “The sacred geometry of life has balls now?”
I shrug. “Depends on your perspective.”
He walks a slow circle around my masterpiece, arms folded, that half-annoyed, half-amused look he gets when he’s tryingvery hardnot to laugh. “You do realize this thing is anatomically… aggressive, right?”
“Thank you,” I say, pleased.
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Oh, it was. Deep down. You’re impressed.”
He stops in front of me, eyes flicking from the sculpture to my face. “I’m horrified.”
“Impressedandhorrified,” I correct, stepping a little closer, voice dropping. “The ideal reaction.”
His mouth twitches again, but he fights the smile. “You’re a menace.”
“And yet, here you are.”
