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My plan was to spend the summer without a man, completely and utterly celibate—all to secure an opportunity that no young journalist would ever willingly decline.
Luca’s gaze wandered outside. Artair was running around after Bowie, playing tug-of-war with an old shirt. Beyond, the trees swayed softly, and the sun shined. A passing cloud cast shifting shapes over the wide, green landscape.
There was no clock to this place. No deadline or place to be. Because even if the summer drifted to a close, they would not.
Luca smiled at the steel, the words weightless against his fingertips.
Thankfully, I failed.
The last weeks of summer passed in a halcyon glow—long days in water and fields and lost among the conifers. Endless nights of glowing embers and hot embraces. Hours filled with nonsense and laughter and a growing, comfortable presence.
Artair tended to the gardens and filled the breeze with lullabies. Luca stood watch over the forests and wrote page after honest page.
Hours turned into weeks, blurring happily together until neither could name the day.
Tuesday?
Saturday?
It didn’t matter.
Not out here.
Not so long as they were together.
One night, late with chatter and full with freshly roasted vegetables, they spoke of where they might go next.
The Northeast, maybe. Massachusetts was apparently great. Thanksgiving in Plymouth. Halloween in Salem. Christmas in Boston.
Or maybe they’d stay in the Northwest. Artair had only visited Portland a few times, but he thought it might suit his vibe.
Or maybe they’d just make it up as they went along. Soon, the whole country would be packed with pumpkin shows and farmers’ markets and beer festivals, all needing a guitarist in the corner to set the mood.
Luca would write during the day. Barkeep or barista or wait tables at night. Make enough money to eat and sleep. Enough to give him the space to discover what was truly out there.
The narrow wisdom that he’d built from his tiny corner of the country was that no one would buy his writing. That no one could buy it.
And maybe that would prove correct.
Or, then again, maybe it wouldn’t?
But the only way of knowing was to explore. To head out into the great unknown, heart in hand and risk at the ready.
And there was no one more perfect to break down the stale expectations of normal, to tear open doorways into the impossible paradise beyond the mainstream, than Artair—his incredible partner on the adventure.
Bowie disappeared a few days before the summer ended. That would have devastated Luca if Artair hadn’t given him warning.
“He did the same thing last year,” Artair had said a week prior, while the fox was snoring on his back between the two of them. “Somewhere out there, he’s probably got a mom and a dad and siblings and a big winter to prepare for.”
Luca had patted behind the canine’s pointy ears extra hard at that, relishing the familiar purr. “So, he’s just taking a summer vacation when he comes to visit?”
Artair ran a seductive hand over his bare chest. “Can you blame him?”
Luca laughed. “And you don’t miss him throughout the year?”
“Yeah, of course. But I know I’ll see him again next summer. Then, he can hear all of my new stories.”
There was a pause before Luca spoke again—a weight of meaning beyond the moment. “And if you don’t get to see him again? What if you get tired of this place and you want something new and just... just decide not to come back?”
