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He tried to sink further into his mattress to shield himself from making a decision, but physics insisted on continuing to exist.

“I’m right there with you, Robolad.”

Bren flipped onto his side and A.J. matched the curve of him as he was pulled close.

“I just want to be with you.” He looked at the ceiling as a floorboard creaked above them. “Without my parents being, like, three feet away.”

“Hotel?”

A.J. snorted.

“On New Year’s Eve? That’d be like trying to sleep through an earthquake.”

“Oh, you were plannin’ on sleepin’?” Bren said, rocking his hips hard enough that the bed shook.

It settled beneath them once Bren’s joints behaved themselves, leaving A.J. to ask himself how he was supposed to get by without this boy for the next six months.

“Hey, what about your cabin?”

“What about it?”

Even without turning to look at him, A.J. could tell Bren had raised an eyebrow.

“Oh! I mean . . .” He’d been planning to take Bren there. The fantasy had always been a summer thing, but why the hell not? “Mr. Genius with the genius ideas.”

Bren pushed himself up so the bed rocked again, eyes gleaming. “When do we leave?”

36

When Arlo had first mentioned his family’s cabin at a lake, Bren’s mind had jumped straight to a log cabin complete with a chimney and an old stump out front to split firewood. It was a surprise, then, when after a three-hour drive that should have taken one and a half, they slid to a stop beside a snow-covered bungalow that made Bren’s original idea feel cutting edge.

“Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like ancient cabin.” Arlo pulled the parking brake and grabbed their duffle bags from the back seat. “Alright. As few trips as possible.”

Bren grabbed his share of their things and flung himself out into the flurry of snow a second after Arlo. He would have sprinted to the door if not for the shin-high drifts between him and his goal—that and the fact that Arlo had the key.

They managed to shut the door behind them without letting too much winter in, leaving them alone in a darkened room that looked like it had fallen out of the 1800s. It was hard to tell for sure, but the lights on the walls looked like they ran from propane rather than electricity.

“I hate to ask, but can you go grab the cooler and battery packs from the trunk?” Arlo asked.

Bren made a sound as he shook his head, and Arlo laughed.

“It’s either that or build the fire,” he said, pointing to an old wood-burning stove in the centre of a wall. “It’s wood, not turf.”

Bren would have whinged if it was any warmer inside than out, but he did as he was asked. When he’d lugged everything into the rundown bungalow, Arlo had coaxed a wreath of flames to catch below a stack of kindling.

“Let me give you the grand tour,” he said, his hands rubbing his arms.

“Maybe movin’ will help the place warm up faster,” Bren replied, trying not to notice how cute Arlo’s cold-kissed cheeks looked.

The lad scooped up the box of matches from beside the stove and climbed on top of an old brown armrest like it was totally normal. He struck a match and, when he turned a knob on the side of a pair of soot-stained lamps, it lit the room with a dull yellow glow.

“Kitchen, dining, living room.”

He hopped off the chair to point to the far corner where a small strip of countertop ran into an old gas stove. His breath clouded in front of him. Next to the stove was a chipped laminate table and four chairs.

“And this is the loft,” he said, pointing above the door they’d come through.

A U-shaped staircase rose to a second floor that spanned a third of the ceiling space. From down here, it looked like there were a couple of chairs and a sofa in front of a huge triangular window that overlooked the expansive back lot.