Page 20 of One Hot Summer
At the Cades Cove loop, we parked and started walking the trail. The air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and wood smoke. We visited old log cabins, their roofs slumping under the weight of all their years. Griffin explained how the settlers builtthem, how the chimneys were hand-laid stone, how the wood had to be replaced every couple of decades to keep the rain out.
He lingered over the details, eyes lighting up when he talked about the past. I watched his hands, the way he traced the grooves in the wood, the way he pointed out initials carved into a beam, as if he could feel the ghosts of everyone who’d ever lived here.
“Is it weird that I like this stuff?” I asked, as we ducked under a low-hanging branch.
“Weird? No. It’s nice to have someone to share it with. Most people don’t seem to care much about this type of history.”
“I do,” I said, and I meant it.
He looked at me, and for a moment, it felt like he might say something important. Instead, he just smiled. “I know.”
We left the cabins behind and wandered toward the old Methodist church at the far end of the loop. The white paint was peeling, but the inside was tidy—rows of narrow benches facing a hand-built pulpit. Griffin sat down and patted the space beside him.
I joined him, the stillness of the church settling around us like dust. “You ever go to church?” I asked, quietly.
He laughed, short and sharp. “Once in a while, growing up. My mom insisted. But I think she just wanted us to sit still for an hour.”
“That’s right. You have siblings, don’t you? I think I remember Dalton mentioning… an aunt and an uncle?”
Griffin flashed a bright smile at the mention of his family. “Yes, one of each. I’m the middle child. Greg’s a year older than me and Shannon’s a year younger. Being that close in age, we were always each other’s best friends, sticking up for each other when needed but also getting into lots of trouble together. Our poor mother had her hands full.”
I smiled wistfully, trying to imagine what growing up like that would have been like—someone always having your back, always feeling safe and loved even when you made mistakes. “Are you still close with them?”
He nodded. “We are. Although, I don’t get to see them as often as I’d like. Greg is an engineer, living in Wisconsin with his wife and three kids. Shannon and her wife live in San Francisco where they both practice law. They’re hoping to start a family soon.”
“Wow! Sounds like you all turned out alright. Your mother must be very proud.”
“She was,” he said corrected gently, staring off in the distance as if caught in some memory. “Despite the grief we often caused her, our mother was our biggest cheerleader. We lost her and our father several years ago. Her to cancer and him to a heart attack.”
I reached for him without thinking, hoping to offer some sort of comfort. My hand landed on his thigh, and I could feel the strong play of muscle underneath the surface, the soft hairs tickling the palm of my hand. “I’m so sorry.” Griffin stared down at my hand for a moment before covering it with his own, but instead of pushing me away, he laced our fingers together.
We sat that way for a while, sunlight leaking in through the dusty windows. My mind kept drifting to last night, to the way his mouth had tasted, to the filthy things he’d whispered against my skin. I wanted to kiss him again, to feel his tongue swirling with mine, but I didn’t dare. Not here, not with the ghosts of a hundred dead parishioners staring us down.
When we stepped back outside, the day had gotten hot. Sweat prickled the back of my neck, but I was enjoying myself too much to complain. We wandered off the main loop and into a field, the trail nearly invisible under the grass. A sudden flurry ofmovement caught my attention—a pair of wild turkeys strutting through a patch of ferns. I elbowed Griffin, pointing.
He grinned and pulled me down, crouching low. “Move slow,” he whispered. “If you spook them, they’ll be gone.”
I tried to mimic his stance, but I ended up falling forward, nearly face-planting in the dirt. He caught my arm, steadying me, his palm warm through the fabric of my sleeve. We froze, staring at each other, inches apart. I could smell him—sun and sweat and something sharp, like cedar.
He squeezed my arm once before letting go, a silent apology. We watched the turkeys until they drifted out of sight, then kept walking. The path narrowed, forcing us closer together. At one point, our hands brushed and neither of us moved away.
The next time it happened, his fingers wrapped around mine, and my stomach swooped with joy, thrilled that he clearly wasn’t pulling away from me after the night we’d shared. We walked like that, hand in hand, until we reached a wooden bench under a stand of sycamores. We sat down, both of us breathing a little harder than the hike warranted.
Griffin rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the ground. “I’m sorry about this morning,” he said. “If I was acting weird, I mean.”
I shook my head. “You weren’t. Or, if you were, it was only because I was.”
He glanced at me, a crooked smile on his lips. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined spending my vacation.”
“Me either,” I admitted, and laughed. “It’s better.”
He considered that. “You know, I’ve gone out with a few people since the divorce, tried to find someone I could connect with, only none of them ever felt right. There was always something off, something missing. But with you, I just feel… happy. I know this situation is far from ideal, and I definitely don’t want to hurt my son, but I like being with you, Adam.”
My throat went tight. “I like being with you too.”
He put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in, not quite a hug, but not nothing. We sat there a while, letting the wind ruffle our hair, the world spinning on without us. Eventually, my stomach growled loud enough to break the spell.
Griffin snorted. “C’mon. Let’s get you fed before someone mistakes you for a hungry bear.”
