Several loons paddle in a gaggle, creating complicated V ripples in the sun-stained lake. Geese honk overhead.

There’s nothing to say for a moment. We just sit, and somehow, inch by impossible inch, Nadia seems to slouch closer and closer to me. Until she’s nearly against me. My heart is beating, hard. I want to curl my arm, let it drape around her. Maybe she feels it, maybe I let it slump lower a little, I don’t know.

She looks at me, and in this light her eyes seem lit from within, star-shine jewels of iridescent green. Smoothed by olive skin, her high cheekbones now seem elegant and exotic. Her hair is the purply gloss black of a raven’s wing in the summer sun, long and thick and shimmering, loose and twisted to fall over one shoulder. Her lips are plump, red, damp.

God, she’s beautiful.

My eyes must show my thoughts.

“Nathan, I…” she murmurs, and her voice catches.

She shoots to her feet, pauses, staring at the last sip of wine in her glass. Shakes her head, and sets the glass on the arm of the bench.

“I…I have to go.” She swallows, refusing to look at me. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”

And she’s gone, speed walking around the side of the building to her little red convertible, the black top forward and closed. She’s in, the engine starting with a smooth purr, and then she’s squealing out of the parking lot too fast. She had two glasses of wine spaced out over a meal and more than an hour, so that’s not an issue.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. Sigh harshly, head in my hands.

What went wrong?

Maybe, though, it’s more of a question of what went right: too right, too soon.

That’s a cruel joke, if that’s what it is.

Learn me, Find You

I can’t breathe properly. My lungs won’t open all the way. My hands shake, and I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles hurt.

I don’t know how I get back to the cabin. I don’t remember the drive, and I’m not sure how I even know the way back. But here I am, skidding to a stop beside the cabin. I’m on the porch before I realize I didn’t even turn the car off. I go back, press the button to shut off the motor, close the car door, and barely make inside before I start sobbing. Not even sure why. I’m up against the door of the cabin, the wood pressing against my forehead. Hand on the knob. Shaking. Sobbing.

Why am I so upset?

It’s too much to figure out.