Page 30

“I don’t know why I am telling you things I would deny to anyone else.”

“Maybe because I’m inconsequential.”

Oscar takes a breath, but my own phone flashes, cutting him off. A video call, which I can sometimes deal with. But I’m not in the mood to squint at the screen or wait for hit-or-miss captions to pop up.

I reject the call and send Jekka a text instead.

Poet: later

A message flashes up from my sister a few seconds later.

Finch: Stop ignoring her. She only wants to know you’re not dead

Poet: she knows I’m not dead

Finch: Don’t be a little shit

I sigh and send Jekka the love she deserves. I’m not shocked when a message from Folk buzzes through, but I don’t read it. I toss my phone aside, unsurprised to find Oscar’s gaze on me.

He’s given me a lot today. I give him something back. “I make myself lonely on purpose so I don’t get in my head about why my parents think I can’t live by myself.”

“Do they really think that?” Oscar leans back on the apple crate, stretching in ways that have his shirt riding up and treating me to a view of toned and tanned abs dusted with dark body hair. “Or are they just missing you?”

Both. Of course it is. But I remember Folk leaving for war and my parents sucking it up. I remember Finch going to uni, and backpacking around Asia, and how proud they were waving her off. This doesn’t feel like that, but I don’t know how to explain it.

So I don’t.

I show Oscar the rest of the house instead, from the shiny new bathroom to the only inhabitable room upstairs. The one I’ll sleep in when the rains come tonight.

“There is no wall here,” Oscar observes. “You will not be cold?”

“I don’t mind being cold. Reminds me I’m alive.”

“Do you feel dead, Poet?”

Oscar’s on the other side of the room, studying the half collapsed wall that allows me to see over the farm from the bed I don’t have.

I go to him. Lay my hand on his chest again. And he knows what I want without me saying a word.

He wraps his lips around my name.

Then he does it again, deeper, and I regret not making that bed a priority.

“I don’t feel dead.” I press my palm harder against his firm flesh. “Just detached sometimes.”

Oscar says something, but I’m too busy fixating on his body to catch it. I raise my gaze, but get lost in the arch of his throat along the way.

His beard has the perfect fade. It’s the perfect colour too, rich brown with copper flecks. I want to touch it—I have touched it, one summer long gone and this summer. But though we’re practically welded together, a sense I need to tread softly washes over me.

I let my hand slide from Oscar’s chest.

He’s taller than me by a couple of inches and I love how his gaze simmers down at me. I’m less enamoured by the prospect of him stepping away.

But Oscar doesn’t step away. He takes a slow breath that travels through us both. Then he leans down as if he knows just where to stop before I can’t see his mouth anymore. “I’ve felt detached recently too. When Aras told me he saw new life on your farm, I didn’t take enough notice.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t think that.”

“Maybe not, but I was so tired for so long…I missed a lot.”