Page 14 of One Hot Summer
I filled the hours with pointless tasks—reorganizing the spice rack, checking work emails I had no intention of answering, hand-washing the same glass twice. I puttered like a man twice my age, all because the alternative was pacing the hall outside his bedroom door, or worse, giving in to the thing I wanted and hated myself for wanting.
Just after eight I heard the floorboards creak overhead, followed by the rush of a faucet, and my body tensed as if preparing for battle. I retreated to the far side of the kitchen and busied myself by wiping down the counter.
A few seconds later, I heard his footsteps as he made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. He hesitated when he saw me, his eyes flicking around the room as if he wasn’t sure where to look.
“Morning,” he said tentatively.
“Morning,” I replied, pretending to scrub at an invisible spot.
I heard his soft shuffle as he crossed to the coffee pot, close enough I could smell the clean scent of his deodorant and a hint of his citrus shampoo. I focused on my breathing and counted to ten.
He poured himself a cup, leaned a hip against the counter, and tried to look casual. But it didn’t take a genius to spot the nervous fidget in his hands, the way he kept glancing at me in quick, rabbit-like flashes. “Sleep okay?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.
“Fine,” I lied. “You?”
He shrugged. “Took me a while, but yeah.” He sipped, then added, “You got any plans today?”
I shrugged right back. “Just catching up on some reading. Maybe do some work if I feel like it.” I was lying again. I hadn’t brought anything but a John Grisham paperback I’d picked up at the airport only to realize I’d already read it.
He nodded. Silence crackled between us. I kept my gaze fixed on the counter, willing him to get the message and go somewhere else. Instead, he hovered. After a minute, he said, “Look, about last night?—”
“Don’t,” I said, sharper than I intended. I glanced up in time to see him snap his mouth shut, his eyes wide. I immediately regretted it. “Sorry,” I muttered, trying to gentle my tone. “It’sjust… I don’t want to make things weird for you. For either of us.”
He nodded, but there was hurt in his eyes. “Okay,” he said, quieter this time. He retreated to the living room with his coffee and his laptop, and I felt like a piece of shit.
But I’d done the right thing, I told myself. Adam was Dalton’s best friend. The two of them were like brothers which practically made him family. I was supposed to be the adult, the one with self-control. Instead, I was the one who’d crossed the line. The one who’d let my attraction to him get the better of me. I told myself it was a fluke. A one-time thing. I’d just keep my head down, wait for the next two weeks to pass, and then never mention it again. Easy.
But then, five minutes later, I caught myself standing in the hallway, peering around the corner at Adam as he sat hunched over his laptop, one hand propping up his head. The sun poured in through the window, picking out every copper strand in his hair, and I had to physically force myself to look away.
I gave up my pretense in the kitchen and wandered outside, sinking onto the porch steps and letting the morning breeze clear my head. It helped. I stared into the tree line, watching one squirrel chase another up a branch. I stayed out there a long time. By the time I reentered the cabin, Adam was in the kitchen again, this time with a colander full of freshly washed strawberries. He didn’t see me right away. His mouth was set in a line of deep concentration as he sliced each berry. I watched as he popped one in his mouth, red juice staining his plump bottom lip, and I had to grip the back of a chair to stop myself from moving closer and tasting him for myself.
Sure, I was a healthy, single man with urges and needs. Since my divorce, I’d enjoyed the occasional hookup, slept with a few different men and women, but that had always been more about scratching an itch. Never had I wanted them,craved themtheway I did Adam. None of them had ever left me completely reeling after just one kiss. And it wasn’t only about this burning desire to see him naked, to feel his skin sliding against mine, to have him over me, under me, kneeling before me. No, this thing—whatever it was—went deeper than that because I genuinelylikedhim.
I liked talking with him, learning who he was and what he thought about any given topic. I liked his laugh, his smile, and the gentle blush he’d get whenever I teased him. I enjoyed cooking with him and sitting beside him out under the stars at night. But why did it have to be him? Out of all the people on this planet that I could have had this reaction to, why did it have to be my son’s best friend? My jaw clenched in frustration.
He must have sensed me, because he looked up and smiled—tentative, but real. “Hungry?” he asked. “I was gonna make French toast if you want some.”
I wanted to say no, that I’d eaten, but it was a lie and we both knew it. “That’d be great,” I heard myself say.
He gestured at a carton of eggs. “Wanna crack those for me?” I joined him, careful to keep a good foot of space between us at the counter. We worked in silence, but it felt stilted and awkward, our previously easy-going relationship gone.
The French toast was perfect—fluffy, golden, crisp at the edges. I ate slowly, buying time, unsure how to fill the space between us. Adam tried to make small talk—weather, bears, the Netflix queue he’d abandoned—but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it, and mine sure as hell wasn’t. After breakfast, I disappeared again, hoping a walk might clear my head but after an hour, I was no closer to figuring things out than I had been that morning.
I could have left, I realized. Booked a hotel in town, pretended I’d had an emergency call from the office. It would have been the smart thing. The responsible thing. But thethought of leaving him here alone made something twist in my gut. I couldn’t decide if it was guilt, or something closer to longing.
When I finally went back inside, the cabin was quiet. I called out but didn’t get a response. My heart hammered against my ribs, something akin to disappointment swirling inside my gut as I frantically checked every room. I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally spotted Adam on the back deck, curled up in one of the Adirondack chairs, his laptop perched across his lean thighs. The sunlight bathed his face in a warm glow, highlighting the gentle curve of his cheekbone and the fullness of his lips.
My breath caught in my throat as I remembered how those lips had felt against mine. I wanted nothing more than to go to him, to take him in my arms and kiss him senseless, consequences be damned. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
I must have made some sound because he stopped typing and lifted his head, a soft smile played at his lips. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I sat down in the chair next to him. He stretched, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a strip of tanned skin. I forced my eyes away. “Working on homework?” I asked, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.
“No, I actually finished all my assignments for the rest of the semester earlier this morning,” he assured me. “I’m glad you’re here though because I need to talk with you. I appreciate you letting me stay,” he began, sitting up straighter. “But I think I’m going to head on back to the city. I’ve been looking at flights and?—”
“No!” I interrupted, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. “You… you don’t have to leave. I don’t want you to feel like you have to go because of… what happened.”
Adam studied me for a long moment, his green eyes searching my face. “Are you sure? Because if you’reuncomfortable with me being here, I understand. I don’t want to make things weird.”
