I fumbled for the phone on my nightstand in the half-darkness of my room, and answered without checking the caller. “Yeah?”

“Hey, Si. Did I wake you?”

Dare sounded surprised and I didn't blame him. I wasn’t really the kind of person who answered the phone on the first ring at sunrise on a Saturday morning. Then again, I didn’t usually spend most of a Friday night staring at my ceiling, so this had been a week of unusual experiences.

Two weeks, more like.

I cleared my throat. “Nah, I’m awake. There a problem? Need help?”

Herriman-Sizemore State Park, where Dare worked, was relatively small as state parks went and didn’t get a lot of tourists in the shoulder season before peak foliage hit. But every year, there were at least one or two people who wandered off a trail and were too tired, disoriented, or injured to make their way out again. When that happened, the state conservation folks, like Dare, would call in reinforcements from local police departments.

It was a sad thought that I actually wouldn’t mind if he was calling me out for something. I needed a distraction, and none of my usual methods were cutting it.

“Kinda. Actually, I was calling to see if I could talk you into grabbing breakfast with me this morning. I’ve been having a craving for the pancakes at Goode’s. Early bear season starts on Monday, and I feel the need to load up on carbs before I have to deal with that shit.”

I chuckled. “And to think, you could be working for the FBI right now if you’d just picked the right track out of college.”

“Yeah, right.” Dare sounded amused. “Then I’d be hunting serial killers. I doubt I’d be sleeping better at night.”

“Any word on the missing camper?” I asked.

“Meet me at Goode’s,” Dare insisted. “I’ll fill you in on what I know. And you can tell me what the hell is going on with you.”

I frowned and ran a hand through my hair, which was overdue for a cut. “There’s nothing going on with me.”

“Really? That's not what I've heard.”

I grimaced, though Dare couldn't see it. “Pretty sure I don’t want to know what you’ve heard.”

“I heard you haven’t made plans to come back to Camden and reschedule your date with Reggie Carbury.”

Carbury. That was his name. Like the chocolate, but not.

I’d considered calling him. Once. Last Saturday night. And then it had occurred to me that maybe I shouldn’t mess around with a guy if I couldn’t remember his last name, so I’d deleted Reggie’s number.

Look who was developing standards.

“It wasn’t a date,” I informed Dare. “I met Reggie for a hookup… and it wasn’t even that, in the end.”

“Pardon me,” Dare said. “I forget that for you dates and hookups are vastly different things. So, why haven’t you had a hookup re-do? Reggie’s cute. I see him around town sometimes. Seems like just your type.”

“My type?”

“Cute. Short. Smart. Interested in sex.”

This assessment felt vaguely insulting somehow, though it was accurate enough. “I just wasn’t into it, that’s all,” I told Dare. “There’s no deep secret here. We just didn’t mesh.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Dare said. “Carl was at The Dark Horse a couple weeks back and saw you and Reggie, quote, making eyes at one another like they was ready to fuck over the table.”

“Jesus.”

Dare chuckled. “And since the tables at the Horse are really fucking high, and that would not be remotely comfortable, I can only assume that means you two were very much into each other.”

I snorted. “Reggie was cute, like you said. But he got pissy when I got called out, and then… well. I realized I just wasn’t interested.”

“You,” Dare said skeptically. “You weren’t interested in a hot young teacher who’s interested in you? Because word around town is that he’s tried calling you several times and you haven’t returned his calls.”

“Fuck me,” I muttered. “And who told you that?”

“Jessica — she’s a teacher at Camden-O’Leary High — she heard it from Reggie himself, who was bitching in the break room about how you’d led him on.”

“What?” I was faintly outraged. “I did not!”

“She told Coach Simms,” Dare continued relentlessly, “and he mentioned it to his wife, Peggy, who’s one of our visitor’s center volunteers, so she mentioned it to me, likely because she assumes that every gay man knows every other gay man and can divine their inner thoughts and motivations.” He paused for air. “Which in this case, I’m pretty sure I can.”

“Stop, please. You remind me of my mother,” I grumbled. It was not a compliment. I sometimes forgot that Camden had its own gossip network that was at least as fast – and inaccurate – as O’Leary’s. “You were in the Air Force, you carry a gun, and you just managed to sound like Carolyn Sloane when she’s at MaryAnn’s getting her hair fixed.”

“I’ve always liked your mother,” Dare said sardonically.

“And what do you mean in this case you can?” I demanded. “I haven’t talked to you in almost two weeks.” Not since the night before Ev came to town. “What the hell do you think you know?”

“Goode’s Diner. Half an hour. Wear something pretty for me,” the asshole who used to be my friend said. I swore I could hear his smirk through the phone.

He disconnected the call and I flopped back on my pillow in the wrought-iron double bed, staring at the ceiling of what used to be my grandparents’ spare room and was now mine. Ceiling-staring was pretty much my hobby these days. It had gotten so that I knew where every tiny crack and bump was, even in the dark.

A chill breeze blew in through the open window, bringing with it the comforting smell of wood smoke, and I ran a hand idly over my bare chest. One of the neighbors had started up their wood-burning stove to combat the early-autumn cold snap — probably the Daleys across the street, since Mrs. Daley said the cold aggravated her arthritis, and Mr. Daley lived to keep his wife happy.

My grandparents had been like that. When my grandmother had stopped being able to bend down to weed her garden bed, my grandfather had done it for her. And when his cataracts had acted up, she’d gone out and gotten her license for the first time ever, at age seventy, so she could take over the driving. When I got old, would anyone care enough to step in and…

Oh. Oh, God. Ew. No. Vomit. I refused to sit and fret about fucking dying alone. I was thirty-eight, not eighty-three.

I had just reached a new low in a week of all-time lows.

Closer to two weeks, really.

Whatever.

I threw the faded quilt off me and forced myself into the bathroom to shower.

The whole cry-and-whine-because-the-cute-boy-doesn’t-love-me thing had never been my style, not in high school and sure as fuck not as an adult. I could honestly say I’d never wondered what they were doing when we weren’t together, or worried about whether they were happy, or gave a shit why they weren’t returning my many, many, many phone calls.

I’d never had a guy I’d been so hung up on, I’d been unable to swipe right on a hookup for over a week.

Nearly two.

If a hot guy wasn’t into me, which happened often enough, I’d simply find another one. Thanks to modern technology, my next hookup was only a swipe and a click away, after all. No wedding announcements, no broken promises, no matter what Reggie Chocolate-name said.

Then, I’d met Everett Maior, and suddenly I was the guy who was pining for someone. I didn’t fucking like it. Not one bit. It was goddamn inconvenient.

It wasn’t that I had feelings for Ev, obviously. I was still the same commitment-cautious person as ever and I barely knew the guy.

What I felt for Ev was a very specific craving. I mean, if a person planned to have one of Ash Martin’s famous tequila-lime cupcakes, and spent days fantasizing about exactly how that cupcake might taste and how delectable that cupcake would smell, it would be reasonable for them to be disappointed if they got to the bakery and found it was closed… for a fucking week. Or two. Right?

And would it make sense for that person to just go across the street to Goode’s and get a baked potato? Hell, no. Potatoes were tasty, and they might curb your hunger, but they wouldn’t be satisfying. You’d be thinking of the cupcake the whole time you were eating the potato, and that wouldn’t be fair to the potato, so…

Wow.

I was comparing men to potatoes.

Okay, maybe this was the new low.

I lathered my hair and turned the water up hot enough to scald the thoughts out of my brain.

I had no idea what had made Ev decide that I wasn’t a person worth knowing anymore. At first, I’d thought maybe he was horrified by Karen when he ran out of the bakery — not an uncommon reaction — or overwhelmed by so many new people, or genuinely concerned about Henry. But I’d tried to talk to him later that afternoon when he’d stopped by Julian’s clinic to pick up Daphne (after spending most of the day hanging out in Julian’s waiting room just for that purpose), and Ev wouldn’t even meet my eyes. He was back to being the same closed-off guy I’d found on the side of the road, only worse because this was a conscious retreat. He'd walled himself off from me, thoroughly and effectively.

I’d stopped by the hardware store. I’d taken to standing outside Fanaille every morning like a fucking stalker — and yes, I know just how uncool that was. Still, no dice. He’d nod and smile pleasantly enough, but he wouldn’t look at me, he looked through me. I had no idea how I’d pissed him off, and no clue how to make it better, or if I should even try.

So, as August had eased into September, as the nights had turned cooler and the kids being in school had brought a different rhythm to the town, I’d found I was really good at finally cleaning out my grandparents’ stuff from the attic above the garage, sorting it into a manageable pile of memorabilia, and a much larger bunch of furniture and shit that Marci had helped me cart off and donate to the charity rummage sale for the Pumpkin Fest.

I was good at working until my eyes bled, trying to track down what leads we had to find the missing camper— who seemed, indeed, to be really missing, given that he hadn't contacted his family — and covering shifts for Constantine, who seemed to be out sick more than he was working these days, which was a worry of its own.

I was good at ignoring Reggie’s countless calls and replying with terse, negative answers when he’d texted to reschedule our date, even though the poor guy couldn’t help being a potato.

What I was not good at, though, was ignoring Everett Maior. He’d become a fucking squatter in my brain, and I wanted to evict him.

I pulled on jeans, a t-shirt, and a Henley, along with my hiking boots, then made a slow walk down the driveway to start my truck. While the blowers took care of the early-morning condensation on the windshield, I looked back at my house and for maybe the first time ever, I really saw it.

It was a small house — a Cape Cod style, with white-painted shingles, black shutters, and dormer windows peeking out of the sharply slanted roof that my grandfather had built by hand back in the 50s. It had a white picket fence surrounding it on two sides, and a giant sugar maple out front that my grandmother planted right after my father was born. If you didn’t know the history of the place, though, maybe it’d be easy to assume it was hopelessly traditional. Mired in the past. I wondered what Ev saw when he looked at O’Leary.

God.

I was disgustingly into this guy, and I was never this way.

Evict. Exterminate. No más.

I pulled into a spot outside of Goode’s and physically restrained myself from looking two doors down at O’Leary Hardware. Wherever Ev was and whatever he was doing, it was none of my business.

I yanked open the diner door a little more roughly than I’d intended and stepped inside. Dare was already there, and he stood up to wave me over to his booth in the back.

I couldn’t help but smile as I got closer. The man looked like he’d walked out of a sporting-goods catalog. His dark brown hair was perfectly combed, and the sharp blade of his jaw was perfectly smooth — nothing less would do for Darius Turner. He wore a light-blue wool-blend t-shirt, ancient khaki cargo pants —the kind that would dry in ten seconds — and a huge, black hiking watch strapped to his wrist.

“What’s up, man?” he said, giving me a brief hug before sitting down again, facing the door.

“I love the look,” I told him, sliding onto the bench opposite him. “It’s very Boy-Scout-Den-Master-Daddy.”

He looked down at his t-shirt, pulling it away from his body, and lifted an eyebrow at me. “It’s hiking gear. Why do you always have to make it sound kinky?”

I shrugged and bit the inside of my cheek. “Some of us manage to hike in our sneakers and t-shirts, that’s all I’m saying. Low-key, you know?”

“Yeah, and it’s low-key people like you who make my life hell,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at me across the table. “Getting hypothermia and breaking your ankles in the backwoods.”

This argument was as old and familiar as the bacon-coffee scent of Goode’s, and I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to ground myself in this reality.

“I mean, if you need the gear, by all means wear it,” I allowed. “It’s just that some of us are… natural woodsmen, I guess?” I blinked innocently. “We don’t need all the extra accessories to do the job?”

“Well, as it turns out, that’s really convenient,” Dare said. He grinned broadly. “Because I have just the job for a natural woodsman such as yourself.”

“I knew it!” I gasped in mock-outrage. “I knew you wouldn’t offer to treat me to breakfast for nothing.”

“First off,” Dare laughed. “I didn’t offer to treat you. And second…” He paused as Shane Goode stopped by our table with a pair of mugs and a carafe of coffee. “Oh. Hey, Shane.”

“Dare. Si.” Shane nodded and a strand of long, dark hair escaped the short ponytail at the back of his neck to fall across his face. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty well,” I said as Shane filled my mug and then Dare’s. “Except Dare’s about to rope me into a favor.”

Dare sighed. “The kind of favor that’s actually his job, so don’t feel too bad for him.” At Shane’s puzzled frown, Dare explained, “We had a camper go missing a couple of weeks back. I’m sure you heard about it. We’re heading up a little search party.”

Shane nodded. “Oh yeah. I heard. Kid from Philly, staying up at Frank’s place?”

“That’s the one,” Dare agreed.

“Karen Mitchener says he was murdered,” Shane said dubiously.

I groaned and rubbed my forehead. “Karen says a lot of things,” I reminded him. “There is absolutely no evidence to indicate that. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Shane gave me a relieved smile. “Yeah, okay.”

“I keep hoping we’ll get a call from his people saying he’s turned up somewhere, but time keeps passing and no one’s seen him.”

Shane’s mouth twisted. “Woods are dangerous,” he said with a shake of his head. “People who don’t know better shouldn’t be thundering around out there. They should mind their own business.”

I shrugged. “Frank wouldn’t earn much of a living if tourists didn’t come to town, though. Or Scarlet Maple Inn, with their weddings. Or Crabapple B-and-B.”

Shane looked totally unconcerned at that prospect. “Upsets the balance,” he insisted. “People leaving, people coming. Sometimes don’t it seem like it’d just be better if everyone stayed where they were meant to be?”

I blinked at his vehemence and exchanged a look with Dare, whose eyes had turned sympathetic. “Yeah, Shane,” he said carefully. “But sometimes people aren’t born where or who they were meant to be, and it takes time and a change of perspective to get them to the right place.”

“Or maybe they were in the right place all along and didn’t know it,” Shane countered. “Maybe they went looking for something they never needed at all.” He shook his head and smiled. “Anyway, I'm just rattling on. What can I get you? Molly’s got a gingerbread pancake recipe she’s been working on, or there’s a real nice hash and eggs.”

“You mean Diane?” I clarified.

“Uh, yeah,” he drawled, like this was obvious. “That’s what I said.”

I nodded slowly. “Right. Well, I’ll be adventurous today and try the gingerbread pancakes.”

“And Dare, you’ll have your usual? Four eggs scrambled with spinach, double bacon, and sausage?” Shane guessed.

“You’ve got it,” Dare agreed.

I wasn’t sure if they had menus here at the diner; if they did, I’d never seen them. But it hardly mattered when Shane had been working here long enough that he’d memorized orders for every person in town. He couldn’t have been more than thirty-two, just a little older than my brother would have been, but he had a sort of agelessness about him, a combination of childlike innocence and ancient weariness. He was an old, grief-ravaged soul in a young body.

“Gotcha. Be right out with them,” Shane said, giving us that same forced grin as he walked away.

“Poor bastard,” Dare said. His finger traced the edge of his coffee mug as he watched Shane retreat. “This time of year is always hard for him. And for you. What day was it again?”

I picked up my coffee and took a long sip. “The fourteenth,” I said. “Couple more weeks.” A couple of weeks until the twelfth anniversary of the car accident that killed Shane’s girlfriend Molly Burke and my little brother.

Dare nodded. “I sometimes forget it’s coming,” he said apologetically.

I huffed once. “You wanna know something terrible? So do I,” I admitted. “Last year, I didn’t remember until my mom called and asked if I was planning to meet them at the cemetery.”

“Meet them at the cemetery? Do they still do that?”

“Oh, you know it. Every year. She’s called me twice already about this year’s tear-fest, but I haven’t called her back.”

Dare grimaced. “She shouldn’t guilt you into it, if you don’t want to go.”

“Eh. It’s fine. I’ll do my duty.” I laughed shortly. “Besides, guilt is the cornerstone of our relationship.”

“Sounds healthy.”

“I’m joking.” Mostly. “Losing Matty was hard for her. Different than it was for me. He was their great, shining hope, you know?”

Dare frowned. “And you weren’t? High school quarterback, Eagle Scout?”

“Gay,” I reminded him. “Determined to be a cop and not a financial analyst like my father.” I waved a hand in the air. “Not worth talking about that shit, though. Over and done now.”

But Dare’s frown didn’t subside. “Not if it’s still eating at you, it’s not. You think your parents care if you’re gay? I thought they were pretty cool?”

I shrugged. “We don't talk about it. Ever. But I figure there’s being pretty cool with the concept of people being gay, and pretty cool with your only son and legacy being gay. Two different things.”

“And they’re not okay with you?” he asked. “Because I think it’s bullshit to be cool about a hypothetical and then treat your own kid like…”

“Can we please drop it?” I interrupted.

“Fine.” Dare held up his hands in surrender. “Tell me about the guy.”

Excellent job exploring the full range of topics I do not want to discuss, Darius.

“What guy?” I hedged.

Dare sighed. “We’re gonna do this? Really? Henry Lattimer’s grandson Everett. That guy. The guy I’m pretty sure is the reason Reggie Carbury is never gonna hear from you again. The guy Ash Martin said you were laughing and flirting with at Fanaille a week ago.”

“Nearly two,” I corrected.

Dare smiled triumphantly and I winced.

“Uh huh.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Spill.”

I rolled my eyes and ignored him.

Dare rested his chin on his hand and stared at me.

I stared at the smooth tabletop.

Dare kicked my ankle hard, forcing me to look at him again.

“Fine!” I said, my resistance dissolving like chalk in the rain. I massaged my sore ankle and glared at him. “Fine. You win. Ev’s a decent guy. He’s hot as fuck. Seems nice. I was into him. He’s not into me, though, which is sadly not a crime in New York State.”

Dare frowned. “You sure?”

“I know, right?” I widened my eyes. “Seems like it should be, but I looked it up just in case.”

Dare groaned. “Not that, asshole. Are you sure he’s not into you?”

“Given the number of times I’ve called, visited, and accosted him over the past two weeks? Yeah, it’s a safe bet.” I grabbed a napkin from the silver dispenser on the edge of the table and unfolded it in front of me. “Short of arresting him and locking him up, I’ve exhausted all options to get him to talk to me.”

“Interesting,” Dare said.

“What?”

“I dunno.” Dare shrugged. “Cal said the guy was putting out a strong interested vibe. Maybe he’s fighting it.”

“Oh, and now Caelan James is an expert on these things?” I rubbed a hand over my forehead. “And people seriously wonder why I take steps to keep my personal life personal? Cal says he’s into me, Ash says I’m into Ev. Jesus. It’s like being in high school, but with legal booze and no summers off.”

Dare looked down at the table and pursed his lips like he was trying not to smile.

“So, okay, given that I’m already getting chewed up by the O’Leary gossip mill, tell me. What’s his deal?” I tore my napkin into rectangles and then the rectangles into squares.

“Who, Ev?”

My turn to raise my eyebrow. Dare chuckled.

“I haven’t the first clue. If he has a deal, it’s not something the fine folks of O’Leary know about. Yet.” Dare narrowed his eyes at me speculatively. “You could always ask him.”

“Uh, you recall the part from a minute ago where I’ve been trying to talk to him and he’s done everything but get a restraining order to avoid me?”

My asshole friend snickered. “That bad, huh?”

I wadded up my napkin and threw it at him so it landed on the table like so much confetti. “Yeah. That bad.”

“Never thought I’d see the day.” Dare gave me a soft smile like I’d done something cute. “Si Sloane, falling for someone.”

I scowled. “Please. It’s not that. Dude, I barely know the guy. It’s just annoying when someone seems like they might be into you one minute, and the next they’re just… gone.”

“Ahhh, so it’s the mystery you like,” Dare said, nodding. “This makes more sense. It’s rare that you have to work for it.”

That’s because I never wanted someone enough to work for it, I thought but didn’t say.

I sipped my coffee so I didn’t have to answer and leaned back in the seat, staring at the wall over Dare’s head and pretending I couldn’t hear him chuckle.

The bell above the front door chimed behind me and Shane greeted some newcomers.

“Explain to me about the search party for the missing camper,” I said, changing the subject. “I’d think at this point it’d be more like a recovery operation? Unless you think he’s lasted out there for two weeks somehow?”

Dare shook his head, but before he could speak, a sight behind me caught his attention and he studiously looked down at the ground, fighting laughter.

“No, I will not sit near the front door, Everett, and I will not sit at the counter. I didn’t just come here for the damn pancakes, I came here to socialize. That’s an ancient custom we used to practice in the days before your FaceThing.”

I turned around, eyes open wide and mouth open wider.

Henry Lattimer was hobbling toward the back of the restaurant on one crutch and Ev — red-faced and unhappy — trailed behind him. Hen’s face lit up when he saw we’d noticed him.

“Ah! There we are! Silas and Dare!” He thumped closer, which seemed to involve him planting the crutch and leaping in a way that couldn’t be healthy for a man his age. “Just the men I wanted to speak to.”

“Hen,” I said. “Doing better?”

“Better?” He waved this away. “I’m fine. Been fine.” He glared at Ev. “Just need some bacon and pancakes.”

I looked up at Ev because it would have been rude not to.

It would.

Similarly, it was only because I was a trained law enforcement officer that I noticed the way his dark curls hung over his forehead, all sexy-messy, and how his tight jeans and t-shirt hugged his body, making him look even leaner and more supple than I’d remembered.

“Ev.” I said it low and friendly, trying to make it an acknowledgement and not an invitation, but he sucked in a deep breath like I’d attacked him or something.

I couldn’t win with this guy. I turned my attention to Dare, who was scratching his forehead and studiously not looking at us.

Henry grabbed a chair from a nearby table and turned it around to place it at the open end of our booth. He seated himself with a sigh and propped his foot up on the seat next to me. “Ahhh. That’s the ticket.”

I glared across the table at Dare, who was fighting laughter and failing miserably.

“Dare, this is Everett. Henry’s grandson,” I said pointedly, since it was clear no one else was going to perform introductions. “Ev, this is Dare Turner. He's a conservation officer.”

Dare smiled. “Welcome to O’Leary, Everett.”

Ev lifted his chin. “Nice to meet you.” He looked around at the dozen empty booths in the restaurant. His shoulders slumped.

“Don’t just stand there like a bump on a log, Everett. Sit down, sit down. Dare doesn’t bite.”

Dare took the hint and pushed over. Ev gritted his teeth and sat, giving Dare an apologetic smile.

“Football tomorrow, boys?” Henry asked without preamble.

“Yep. Like every Sunday,” Dare confirmed. “This week we’re meeting at the bar. Be at Hoff’s at one.”

“I will. Ev will too, not that he’s a football fan. Gotta make sure I don’t eat anything delicious, you know,” Hen grumbled.

“Yes, the fun police never take a day off.” Ev rolled his eyes. “Football. That’s the one with the black and white balls and the nets, right? Where they run, run, run and kick, kick, kick?” He mimed the motions with his fingers while the three of us stared at him. “Gooooooal!” he whisper-yelled, shaking his hands like a jazz performer.

Hen groaned in disgust and Dare snorted, but I noticed the way Ev’s mouth twitched as he tried to control his laughter, and damn if I didn’t like him more for the way he baited his grandfather… and the rest of us.

“So!” Hen’s eyes flared. “Tell me all about this missing camper! John Whatshisface.”

Dare and I exchanged a look. The trick to police work in O’Leary, or any town around here, really, was that nothing stayed secret for very long. The town was too tight-knit for that. It also meant that crimes didn’t stay hidden either, so kind of a double-edged sword.

“Carpenter. His name’s John Carpenter. And we’re getting together a search party today,” Dare said. “Volunteers.” He smiled smugly at me. “And voluntolds.”

“Searching for what?” Hen demanded. “A body? If the kid’s out there, he’s dead.”

Ev made a soft noise of discomfort.

“What? It’s true,” Hen said. “Ask them.”

Dare sucked his teeth. “Based on what Myrna and Frank reported, and what we heard from John Carpenter’s family down in Pennsylvania, the kid wouldn’t have survived long in the backcountry on his own. We found his car parked up north of Herriman Wilds - a wilderness area on the eastern edge of the park,” he explained to Ev. “There’s a sizable parking area and a campground there, but it’s not uncommon for people to just hike the five miles or so through the woods to one of the other, smaller campgrounds.”

Ev nodded. “And that’s where the camper was staying?”

“Yeah. At Pickett’s Campground,” Dare confirmed. “Just south of town.”

“Is it possible he grabbed his gear and hiked back out the way he came in?” I asked. “Or went up to Lake Loughton for a while?”

“Possible he headed out to do that,” Dare said. “But he never made it. I’ve had the folks from our department combing the trails for any sign. Hiked to and from The Wilds myself last week and again this week, just in case. Had Jonas and Rachel doing the same up by the lake, and I even had Elliot Marks go halfway up Jane’s Peak. No luck. I’m thinking what I need is a bunch of people who’ll check closer to Carpenter’s last known location. See if we can find any of his equipment, or a sign of where he might have left the marked trails.”

Diane Perkins sashayed up to the table, her red hair coiled in a bun atop her head, and her arms overflowing with plates. “I’ve got your pancakes, Si, and eggs for Dare. The usual pancakes and bacon for you, Henry. And Ev, honey, I took a guess that you might like pancakes, as well.”

Ev smiled softly, like he was surprised she’d thought to bring him anything at all. “Thanks, Diane.”

She nodded, smiling down at all of us. Her gaze seemed to linger extra-long over Henry, though. And the man who couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut suddenly seemed to find the platter of pancakes fascinating. He fiddled with his fork and said nothing, not even a thank you.

Diane sighed. “Well. You need anything else, you holler.”

“Coffee?” Ev said. “Please?”

“Sure thing,” Diane said. “Cup for you, Henry?”

Hen blushed and nodded without looking up, and Ev’s amused eyes met mine across the table before his gaze skittered away.

“So when you say you want the search party checking out Carpenter’s last location, you mean out by the campgrounds?” I asked. “Just spreading out in a radius?”

“Well, mostly inward toward the park,” Dare said. “Since I doubt he headed toward O’Leary. But yeah.”

“You’re starting a search party?” Diane interrupted. “You need volunteers?”

“Yeah,” Dare said. “Later today. You free?”

Diane smiled. “Oh, not me, kiddo. But I’ll let Shane and Jamie know.”

“Great.” Dare turned to Ev. “How about you, Everett? Wanna volunteer?”

Ev coughed on a bite of his pancake. “I wanna say yes, but I’m pretty sure you’d end up with a missing camper and a missing art teacher,” he said. “I’m pretty hopeless at orienteering, or whatever you call it.”

God, he was so fucking cute when he wasn’t trying to be cute.

“Best way to learn is by getting out there,” Hen said. “Gotta be brave. Can’t live your life being scared.”

Ev’s cheeks flamed and he stared at his grandfather incredulously. “You want me to get out there and get lost in the fucking woods? As a test of my bravery?”

I bit into a slice of bacon with more force than necessary.

“No, of course not,” Hen barked, like that wasn’t what he’d just implied. “Si will go with you.”

The bacon became stuck in my windpipe and Henry had to lean over and thump me on the back before I could stop choking. “I don’t know if…” I croaked at the exact same time Everett said, “Oh, I wouldn’t want Si to have to…”

But Dare, my former best friend spoke over both of us.

“I think that’s a great idea, Henry! Best way for Ev to really get acclimated to the town. Plus, it’s supposed to be a real pretty day.”

“And who’ll be watching you while I’m out proving my manhood in the woods?” Ev demanded. He turned to me and scowled, pointing at Henry. “Do you know what I’ve already caught him doing this morning? Climbing a fucking ladder in the shop. On his crutch. And yes that’s one crutch, singular, because unlike a normal human, he won’t baby himself by using two.”

“I don’t need you smothering me.”

“Then why did you have me come here?” Ev demanded, brandishing his fork in the air. “Why the hell did you want me to uproot my whole damn life to come help you if all you want is for me to leave you alone, or to listen to how Diane Perkins does everything right?”

Henry’s eyes narrowed and he looked around like he wondered if Diane might have overheard. “I said help, Everett. Not smother. I appreciate you coming here, but I don’t need you watching me twenty-four hours a day. I’ve got a life to lead. You’d best go out and get your own.”

Ev’s face blanched. He put his fork down on the edge of his plate with a click.

Henry floundered, his mouth opening and closing for a moment like a fish. He scowled. “Now, you know I didn’t mean it that way, Everett. Don’t take it wrong.”

I didn’t get exactly how Hen’s words had hurt him, only that they had. Ev looked so vulnerable in that moment, as if he couldn’t decide whether he should kill or cry. Seeing him like that made me feel protective in a way I never had before.

“How about you make the effort to say things the right way, then, Henry?” I said it mildly enough, but the look I gave Henry wasn’t mild at all. “How about you man up and do better than a half-assed apology, if you misspoke?”

Henry’s head went back and he looked at me appraisingly for a second. Then he nodded slowly.

“Si’s right,” he said. Ev lifted his eyes, but not to his grandfather. Instead, that bright green gaze locked on me, and I couldn’t move. “I’m sorry, Everett. I just meant that I want you to get out and do things for yourself. Don’t worry about me so much.”

Ev nodded, then took a deep, shuddering breath. “Alright,” he said softly. Then he gave me a small smile that shocked the shit out of me. “And I’ll go with you, Si. If you’d like the company.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Of course.”

Just like the first night we'd met, seeing Ev's smile was like winning a prize. It was a chink in the wall he'd built between us, which was thrilling. But I was glad no one at this table could read my mind, or know how monumental this felt, because I was also scared as fuck.

Getting something you really wanted was always such a let-down that way. I liked focusing on the goal of attaining a thing, putting in the work, thinking of the whys and hows. All the calm, logical bits I could survey like The Terminator, and figure out how to attack and destroy. All the parts I could control.

But once I'd attained something, it became… I dunno. Terrifying, really. How did you keep a thing? How did you hold it? And when you inevitably lost it, how did you deal with the shitty feeling of being reminded daily, by the whispers and kind looks of the people all around you, that you'd once had it and now you didn't anymore? Sometimes it was just better not to want things.

But I wasn't sure how not to want Ev.

The little seed of attraction had sprouted into a fucking tree of fascination, like all of my attempts to shut it down and deny its existence had acted like water and sunlight, just making the roots burrow deeper.

And that smile…

Well. That smile made the terror nearly worthwhile.

“So, I’ll pick you up at eleven?” I said, super-casual, like I didn't give a shit either way.

“Sure,” he agreed.

“It’s a date,” Dare said, giving me a way-too-knowing glance over the edge of his coffee cup. “Isn’t it, Si?”

A date, not a hookup, Dare meant. An important distinction.

“Yeah,” I said, giving Ev what I hoped was an easy smile. “It is.”