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“Of course.”
Artair sighed heavily, clutching the sleeping fox closer on his lap. “The truth is... I didn’t have any plans for how long I’d be camping. Because that’s not how I planned to spend my summer.”
“Really? What were you going to do instead?”
The guilt in Artair’s gaze was so heavy now that it made Luca’s head spun.
And then it hit him.
Artair’s familiarity with these wilds.
His knowledge of the cabin and its contents.
Sandy’s questions about whether Artair had stayed.
The way Artair had arrived on this mountain on the very first day of summer.
The way everything here seemed so established and ready to be occupied!
“Oh shit,” whispered Luca. “This is your tower.”
Artair at least had the decency to look embarrassed, sinking farther into the chair. “I mean, technically it’s the Government’s tow?—”
“So all of this is yours?” Luca interrupted, flailing his arms around the room. “Your books. Your posters. Your typewriter. Your rugs. Your garden and beehives and sheds?”
Bowie snorted awake at Luca’s raised voice, wandering from Artair’s lap onto the bed.
Artair tapped his finger’s together, the blush spreading all the way up to his temple, half-covered in a messy flop of hair. “I can’t claim the typewriter. That’s been here since the thirties, apparently.”
Luca’s eye twitched, trying hard to not get mad. Or, more accurately, trying not to show it. “But the rest is yours?”
“Yeah . . . Kind of . . . ?”
“How long?”
Artair stared up at the wood-beam ceiling, still pounding with rain. “Hmmm?”
“Oh no, the cute and innocent act won’t save you. How many summers did you live in this tower for?”
“Gosh, it’s so hard to remember.”
“Artair!”
“Ummm . . . six?”
“Six!?”
“You said you wouldn’t get mad!”
“Why... how... when...” Luca shook his head, trying to force the burning questions into an orderly queue. “Why didn’t you say something when you first saw me?”
“I dunno, it all seemed kinda obvious?”
“This is the opposite of obvious.”
Artair raised his hands, like he was trying to calm a charging bull. “Look, the Forest Service has been saying for years that they’ll switch to an annual application for fire watches. And they never did—they just let whoever currently staffs the tower have it again and again until they retire or resign. I had no idea that they’d finally followed through. I just turned up at the start of the summer like I normally would. And when I saw you here, it was pretty clear what had happened.”
“How could you not know about the changes? Sandy must have told you? You’ve known her for six years, right?”
