Page 35 of Until the Storm Breaks
Calvin doesn’t answer. The silence stretches uncomfortably.
“We should do a reading together when you’re back home in Seattle,” Adrian says to Calvin, apparently unbothered by the tension. “Could be good exposure. Remind people you still exist in the literary world.”
Back home in Seattle. Like Calvin’s just passing through. Which he is, but hearing it stated so plainly, so casually, makes my heart twist.
“I’ll think about it,” Calvin says, his tone making it clear he won’t.
Adrian steps down the porch stairs slowly, like he’s reluctant to leave. He pauses next to Calvin and claps him on the shoulder in that way men do when they’re pretending to be friends. “Don’t think too long. Summer’s short. And these small-town interludes, they’re just intermissions, aren’t they? Real life’s waiting back in the city. Tenure committees don’t care about your summer vacation stories.”
He turns back to me with that too-bright smile, eyes doing another quick inventory like he’s cataloging details for later. “Lovely meeting you, Maren. I’m sure we’ll see each other around. The Black Lantern, you said? I’ll have to stop by. Sample the local culture. Maybe I’ll bring my notebook, capture some authentic dialogue.”
The way he says ‘local culture’ makes me want to throw my coffee mug at his perfectly styled head. But I just smile tightly,the customer service smile that means ‘please leave immediately,’ and watch him walk away, already pulling out his phone.
Calvin stays at the bottom of my steps, looking like he wants to apologize for Adrian’s entire existence, for poetry, for the concept of summer rentals.
Adrian gets into his car, a pristine white Audi that looks absolutely ridiculous parked on our gravel drive, like a swan in a parking lot. He gives us a little wave before driving off, probably already composing verses about his authentic rural encounter with the quaint local bar owner.
Calvin and I look at each other, suddenly very alone.
“He seems...” I search for words that aren’t profane.
“Like an ass.” Calvin says, his tone matter-of-fact.
The bluntness surprises a laugh out of me. “I was going to be nicer about it.”
“Why? He’s exhausting. I’m gonna kill whatever busybody told him I was home. And where to find me.” Calvin runs a hand through his dark hair as he watches Adrian drive away, and it falls in perfect disarray. Between that, his worn sweatshirt, and the stubble across his sharp jaw, it’s ridiculous how attractive he is without even trying.
The silence stretches. Last night pulses between us like a living thing. I can feel myself being pulled toward him like he’s gravity and I’m running out of resistance.
“I should go,” I blurt out, the words tumbling awkwardly. “Payroll day.”
“Maren, about last night?—”
“Thanks for the help with the bar yesterday. Really.” I cut him off. I can’t let him finish that sentence.
He looks at me for a long moment, and I can see him deciding whether to push or let it go. There’s heat in his gaze, frustration too. He looks at me like he’s thinking about finishing what we almost started last night, right here on my porch in broad daylight where anyone could see.
“Yeah,” he says finally, voice rougher than it was a minute ago. “No problem.”
I throb between my legs. He’s not even touching me and my traitorous body is already desperate for him.
I escape inside before my body wins this fight, lean against the door breathing hard.
This is getting out of hand.
CHAPTER 10
CALVIN
I’ve been working on the sunroom since seven this morning. The temperature’s mild but I’m sweating from moving lumber and prying out old boards. Each piece I remove shows solid structure underneath. Good bones, Mom would say. Just needs new life breathed into it.
Dad added this room when we were kids. A reading room for Mom, he’d said, though we all knew it was really because she’d mentioned once how nice it would be to have morning coffee surrounded by windows. He spent every weekend that summer out here with me and Theo “helping,” which mostly meant fetching tools and causing mayhem. Mom would bring lemonade and watch from the doorway, smiling at the chaos.
The storm last year blew out two of the east windows. Dominic had them boarded up right away, but the water damage was already done. Stained walls, warped floorboards, window frames soft with rot. Another room in the house slowly giving up.
Now I’m replacing those boards one by one, watching thesunroom transform back into the place where Mom spent every morning with her books and coffee. She’d sit in that old wicker chair, the one that’s still in the garage because I can’t bring myself to throw it out. Always reading a book from the library, mysteries mostly. She said they were puzzles that promised solutions, unlike real life.
I set the hammer down and take a drink of water. The house feels too quiet without her puttering around.
