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Burne called the instant Devon shut the fridge. As if he knew. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.”
Idle, casual, warming up: but this was good, this fit, like words on a page, a sheet in an envelope, made for each other. Devon wandered toward his sofa, rolled onto it, gazed out the big floor-to-ceiling glass at the paint box sunset. Fuchsia, crimson, cactus-rose. Pewter grey-blue in the water, a contrast.
He said, “How’s your grad student?”
“Oh, fantastic, Mike’s smarter than everyone, and he’s got so much data on lichen growth rates he’s exploding with it. I’m sorry I was busy all afternoon; had an online department meeting about classes for next year.”
“Oh. Are you back in the classroom? On campus?”
“Not in the fall; got sabbatical leave to finish processing all this and hopefully publish. I do start teaching again in the spring semester, though.”
“You’ll be so happy to be teaching. New minds, new students…especially after having been away, I’d think. You love introducing people to it. Your loves.”
Burne made a sound, happy. “Guess I do. Thank you for the art, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”
“It’s not done. But I wanted to show you.”
“Show me all your acts of genius. I want them all. The motion’s fantastic, the wind on the waves, and then you’ve got that rose border, and it really is like…fantasy. A fairytale.”
“Oh. I—that’s—thank you.”
“Thankyou, seriously.”
With that answer, that compliment sending heat all through his bones, Devon couldn’t not say the words. “You’re not teaching until spring, you said. So you’re…relatively flexible, for the next few months?”
“I mean, I’ve promised to go see my brother at some point, and I’ve got data to analyze and an article to write, but, yeah, I’m…pretty flexible.” Burne’s breathing had sharpened. “If there was, y’know. Anything else I might…need to do.”
“And so…” Devon grabbed a fold of blanket. Pleated blue-black knit stripes between nervous fingers. “If you…that is, would you…I offered to show you my house, sometime…”
“I’ve got about two weeks left here.” Hushed, as if Burne were standing in a cathedral. Reverent.
“I know you’ll want to go home, first—”
“It’s just a tiny townhouse, it’s—”
“I meant, if you want to see your family?”
“But,” Burne blurted out, “I want to see you!”
Devon took that statement in. It simmered like caramel in his chest. “Then…whenever you want, just tell me in advance, at least a few hours…you could come up to see me? At the house, I mean?” He could have offered to go elsewhere, to meet elsewhere; he would if Burne made that counter-offer. Less controlled in terms of environment, but he’d try.
“Yes,” Burne said instantly, “oh fuck yes, Devon, I—oh, wait, I didn’t mean fuck, there—”
“Why not?”
“You—I mean, I—”
“Oh, I can. I promise.”
Burne made a heartfelt noise.
“In case you were wondering,” Devon said. “Picturing me in bed and all.”
“Devon,” Burne said. “Devon, I—yes. I want to—so much, if you would want—”
“Yes. Please.”
