“It’s all terribly romantic,” Hudson commented. “Fated lovers. Howling wolves. Spanish sailors. A pirate story. All it needs is a ghost.”

Ben turned and walked away from the edge of the cliff, along the path that led to the forest of cypress and scrub pine. Hudson followed him. As they walked, monarch butterflies fluttered up from the grass like tiny explosions of fireworks.

“The trouble with romance is that it becomes something else,” Ben said as they walked. “Sea wolves become ordinary wolves. A pirate story becomes required reading. The fated lovers turn into a bickering couple who blame each other for everything they’ve given up to be together.”

“Sounds like you’ve been burned,” Hudson remarked, then regretted having said it. “Sorry,” he apologized.

“Don’t be,” said Ben. “It’s a natural assumption. But really it’s just a scientific observation. Romance is an impermanence. It can’t be measured.”

“But you know when you feel it,” Hudson objected. “And you know when it’s gone.”

“Or maybe you just think it’s there in the first place,” said Ben. “By the way, what did you think of Angela?”

“Angela?” said Hudson, taken aback for a moment. “She was nice. Why?”

“She hasn’t stopped talking about you since we had dinner the other night,” Ben told him. “I think she might be interested in seeing you again.”

Hudson walked a few paces, trying to decide how to respond to this news. “I thought you didn’t believe in romance,” he said finally.

“I don’t believe in God either,” said Ben. “But that doesn’t stop millions of other people from believing in him.”

They stepped into the forest, and immediately the air was cooler, as if the cypress trees caught the wind in their arms and held it there, the branches twisting into their strange shapes from the force of the battle. Hudson picked at a beard of gray-green moss that hung down. It crumbled in his hands, and he let the pieces fall to the ground.

“I don’t think Angela would be very happy with me,” he told Ben.

“Why’s that?” Ben asked.

“Because I like boys,” said Hudson. When Ben stopped and looked at him he corrected himself. “Not boys as in boys,” he said. “Boys as in men. It’s just that most men act like boys, so ...” His voice trailed off as he realized he was babbling.

“You mean you’re gay,” Ben said.

“That’s what I’m trying to say, yes,” said Hudson.

Ben seemed to think for a moment. “In that case, I think you’re probably right about Angela,” he said, as if he’d come to a conclusion about some problem that had been troubling him. “It wouldn’t be very convenient, her having a gay boyfriend. Well, not in the romance department anyway.”

“No,” Hudson said. “Probably not.”