Just Like That - Cole McCade Page 0,9

to condensation like dewdrops, soaking it into his slacks. At times like this he often felt as if the threshold between one world and the next had somehow blurred. And if he looked hard enough, stared deep into the clouds weaving tendrils through and about the trees...

He might somehow see through to the other side.

But this morning there was nothing to see but his reflection, as he looked down into the water and watched the ripples spread while, one at a time, he plucked up clover flowers from the grassy shore and tossed them in. If he followed with the legend of Isabella of the Lake, he was supposed to weave the clovers into a crown for her to wear, down in the watery deeps.

Yet this morning, his mind wasn’t on Isabella.

It was on Summer Hemlock, and yesterday afternoon’s bizarre encounter.

Whatever had possessed such a shy, timid young man to actually kiss him—him, of all people?

And why, for just a moment, had something sparked inside him when he had neither needed nor wanted such things for nearly twenty years?

You are a case study in denial, Fox.

That was what the grief counselor had told him, a decade ago.

Then again, she’d also told him he was a pain in the ass, considering most psychotherapeutic methods didn’t work on someone who knew them by heart.

He plucked up another clover flower, its stem cool and crisp against his fingers as he began tying a delicate knot—only to still at the faint sound of footsteps at his back, rustling in the grass. Probably one of the boys; they liked to make wishes in the lake, throwing flower crowns down to Isabella and asking her for better grades on their midterms or for one of the students at the public school one town over to go out with them. Fox prepared himself to shut away behind the mantle of authority and excuse himself, drawing silence around him like a cloak.

Until a soft “Hey” murmured at his back, and Summer Hemlock sank down to the grass at his side.

Fox stiffened, eyeing Summer sidelong—but as always, Summer wasn’t looking at him. He never looked at anyone, and not for the first time Fox wondered just what had ingrained that particular behavior. That fear. For Fox direct eye contact had other implications, ones few around him understood...

But Summer seemed to be carrying some weight on his shoulders, that bowed his head and kept his eyes downcast.

Summer settled with one leg drawn up, draping his arm over it and leaning back on his other hand. He still wore the same close-fit T-shirt and jeans as yesterday, albeit as rumpled as his hair, and an odd, quiet little smile played about his lips even if it hardly reflected in pensive blue eyes that looked out across the lake as if he, too, could see something in the mist.

Fox looked away, letting the clover flower fall to the grass and leaning on his hands. “Mr. Hemlock,” he greeted. “I presume, since you’ve not changed your clothing, that you returned to fetch your personal effects.”

“No,” Summer answered quietly. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

Fox arched a brow. “For...?”

“You know what.” That smile strengthened, strangely cynical and self-mocking. “But you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” Summer turned his head toward Fox, almost but not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry for kissing you yesterday. I’m sorry for not asking first. I’m sorry for crossing your boundaries. And I’m sorry for running away.”

“I hardly expected you to be so forthright.”

“One brave thing per day, right?” Summer let out a breathless, shaky laugh. For all that he had grown into an athletic young man, there was a softness about him, a gentleness, that made every laugh, every gesture a thing of uncertain sweetness. “This was my brave thing. Apologizing to you. I’ll figure out what tomorrow’s is. And Monday’s...if I still have a job.”

Fox realized he’d been watching Summer—the way his lashes lowered to shade the oddly deep blue hue of his eyes, the nervous curl of square, strong fingers—and diverted his gaze to the lake, pressing his lips together. “Why would you not have a job?”

“Because what I did was an asshole move?”

“And I don’t have the authority to fire you. I’m tenured, not all-powerful.” With a sigh, Fox relented and added, “...but I hadn’t intended to discipline you in the first place. It was an impulsive kiss. Not the end of the world. And I should likely apologize as well, for