They had quick showers, Archer threw a beach bag together, and they headed to the dining hall, where they packed up chicken sandwiches layered with extra avocado. They held hands on their way down to the main beach.

“We’re allowed to take boats out?” Archer asked, watching the guests enjoying themselves along the shore, a few kids splashing in the shallows as their parents looked on.

“Yeah, they usually don’t mind if staff have a boat or two out, as long as it’s not too busy.”

They clambered into a small rainbow-painted rowboat, laughing as they found their footing.

“When’s the last time you were in one of these?” Caleb asked as Archer frowned at the oar.

“Couldn’t even tell you,” Archer replied, giving it an experimental wiggle. “And I’ve never rowed one.”

“Never? Okay, the main thing is it’s important we stroke in sync.”

It took them a few lopsided circles, but it wasn’t long before the little boat was propelling straight through the glassy green water, the sun hot on their heads, and chickadees calling from the shore.

When they reached the middle of the lake, Archer paused to catch his breath. “Look,” he said, pointing up and shading his eyes. “A hawk.”

Caleb looked up, squinting. “An osprey, I think.”

“Beautiful.” They sat in silence for a moment, awed by the nature around them, then right as Archer opened his mouth to speak, Caleb snickered.

“Let me guess—you’re hungry?”

Archer chuckled. “You know me so well.”

They dug into their sandwiches, laughing and chatting, pointing out other birds they spotted, until they had polished off all the food. Archer packed up their garbage, then laid out the towels on top of the life jackets on the bottom of the boat. They curled up together, leaning back against one of the seats.

Archer’s eyes were just starting to close when his phone buzzed. A text from his dad. Hello? was all it said. He sighed.

“Who’s that?” Caleb mumbled.

“My dad, in all his passive-aggressive glory.”

Caleb took Archer’s phone from him and stuffed it into his bag, followed by his own phone. “Let’s relax for a bit.” His fingers drifted down to Archer’s waistband.

Archer let out a contented sigh and slid his hand under Caleb’s shirt. Great idea.

The time passed by quite pleasantly—Archer had had more action in the last twenty-four hours than he’d had the entire five months in New York—and, with Caleb’s head on his shoulder and a satisfaction deep in his bones, the gentle rocking lulled them both to sleep.

“Fuck!” Archer jolted awake in the boat and sat up in a panic, lurching Caleb off his shoulder. “Fuck! What time is it?” The sun flirted with the hilltops. He scrambled for his bag.

“Hmm?” Caleb rubbed his eyes.

“Shit, Caleb! It’s five thirty!”

“What? Shit.”