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Artair took Luca’s hand, staring deep into his eyes. There was no doubt in those perfect irises. No second guessing. “I could never, ever get tired of this place, Luca.”
The door clicked closed just after dawn.
Luca felt like more ceremony was warranted. Some trill of trumpets. Some ten-cannon salute.
But there wasn’t even a lock to turn. Nor was there anything left to warrant a delay.
The boards were up over the windows. Artair had cut a thick layer of grass for mulch over the garden beds. The hive was ready for their nine-month absence. They’d returned the camping gear to the more sheltered part of the winter ranger’s cabin. They’d cleared coals and flattened ditches. They’d bid farewell to Sandy—who’d rung Luca’s parents and confirmed that they’d collect the two of them at dusk at the trail head.
“They sounded eager to meet your new friend,” she’d said. “And remember to put your applications in on time next year.”
And then . . . that was it.
Luca’s duties at Bleeding Heart Tower were done.
His fingers lingered on the doorknob, as if holding on to the season past. A large part of him didn’t want to leave. It would be strange to return to a world of people after three months gone. Of locks and cars and busy streets. Of having to wear clothes in public and not being able to just wander off in any direction that took his fancy. Of having the mobile phone in his pocket beeping. Of having to worry about times and places and events.
And yet, the metal warmed in his hand. As if reminding him that it wouldn’t be long until he returned. As if reminding him that he wouldn’t be departing alone.
By his ear, Artair hummed an overly sad tune, wrapping him in an embrace from behind.
“Douche,” laughed Luca, reaching around and grabbing the man’s ass. “If you’re going to play a parting song, at least get out the guitar.”
“But I just packed it! And for the first time all season, we actually have a deadline.”
“Yeah,” said Luca with a deep sigh. “How long until dusk.”
Artair raised his wrist, looking disdainfully at the watch he hadn’t worn all season. “Fifteen hours.”
Luca paused, running his hands over the soft and inviting curves. “And remind me—how long’s the hike?”
Artair was skilled at this game, sliding a slow tongue along Luca’s ear. “We’re professional hikers now. I think we could knock it off in fourteen?”
“Well,” said Luca. “We could probably spare a little time.”
Epilogue
FESTIVE NIGHTS
The March sunset was crisp, adding a contrasting warmth to Luca’s steaming drink.
He reclined into the downy hill, so much calmer than the rock-music sweat boxes he’d attended in college. Instead of some overcrowded field, this place was more like a glorious maze, with secrets around every curious twist.
As he sipped the hot chocolate—complete with the double marshmallows he would not be telling Artair about—Luca took stock of the seven months that had passed since they’d left Bleeding Heart Tower.
After hearing that he’d failed his pledge, the Gazette had refused to even read his story. What followed was a hundred fruitless pitches to other traditional publishers, all the way from Los Angeles to Chicago.
In the end, Luca had finally sold his story to Ponderosa. It was an upstart website run by a Katy Loch, a crazy-eyed tech savant that Luca had met by accident in a San Francisco dive bar while visiting Artair’s family.
Katy was... well, insane was probably the best word to describe her. Insane and driven and totally fearless. Someone who was creating a sweet new approach to the whole news making paradigm, party peeps!
Rather than selling physical magazines or newspapers, her goal was to create something fully online—and fully out of reach of the Federal Communications Commission, which had zero power over the internet. But she didn’t want to build some boring blog. No, she wanted an integrated thought space that catered to educated, affluent and upwardly mobile twenty-somethings from San Francisco to Vancouver. An audience that was socially conscious. Environmental. Engaged. And above all, sex positive.
The result was a website full of warm-toned photos in muted plaids. Heavily pierced girls holding boutique beers by autumnal lakes. And lots of articles like Twenty Ways to Reduce Your Carbon Footprint this Burning Man.
It was the kind of website that practically no one had heard of, but everyone who had was the right kind of person. Trend leaders. Innovators. Thinkers. The kind of people with architectural hair and thousand-dollar shoes. The kind of people who’d approached Luca in their dozens over the last month, recognizing his face and praising his writing.
Luca still had no idea how the site made money. Judging by the payoff he’d received, there was a good chance that it didn’t. His check was an absolute pittance compared to what the Gazette originally offered. So little that he had to keep hunting down odd jobs bartending and working in cafés wherever they went.
