She laughed, the sound warm in the cool evening air. I found myself smiling back, surprising myself.
We stood there in the soft golden glow of the porch light, the crisp October air swirling between us. I was suddenly, acutelyaware of the goodbye protocol. A handshake felt absurdly formal after sharing a meal at her table, after all the confessions exchanged on her porch over these past weeks. But a hug, that was territory loaded with meaning and risk.
I saw her extend her right hand, polite and proper and safe.
At the exact same moment, my body moved on some instinct deeper than conscious thought, leaning in for what I intended as a quick, casual, one-armed hug.
The result was complete chaos.
My left arm went around her shoulders just as her extended hand thumped awkwardly against my ribcage. We both froze, trapped in a bizarre, ungainly half-embrace, half-handshake. I could feel the softness of her sweater beneath my arm, smell vanilla and warm chili spices lingering in her hair.
Smooth, Cole. Very smooth. Definitely not the most awkward moment of your entire adult life.
From beside us, Sarah let out a bright, surprised giggle that echoed in the quiet night.
The tension shattered instantly. Emma laughed softly against my shoulder, and I felt my own chest rumble with an answering chuckle, the awkwardness melting into something genuine and shared. We disentangled carefully, both of us flushed, both smiling.
"Sorry," I managed. "I'm not good at?—"
"Goodbyes?"
"Anything involving basic social coordination."
"I thought it was charming, actually." Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Very you."
"Awkward is very me?"
"Genuine is very you. The awkward part is just an endearing bonus."
Sarah tugged my hand insistently. "Uncle C, I'm sleepy."
"Right. We should go." I looked at Emma one last time, trying to memorize her face in the porch light. "Thank you. For tonight."
"Anytime," she said softly, and I thought I heard the echo of hope and invitation in that single word. Anytime you want to cross this line. Anytime you want to stay.
I buckled a drowsy Sarah into her car seat and drove away from the golden circle of Emma's porch light. The mountain road was dark, a tunnel cutting through sentinel pines. Sarah was completely asleep within minutes, her head lolling gently against the car seat.
The truck cab was quiet, but my mind was absolutely roaring.
I wasn't just looking forward to next Saturday's tutoring session anymore. The anticipation had transformed into something different, deeper, more dangerous. I was imagining Saturdays that didn't end with awkward hybrid goodbyes. Saturdays where dinner together was the plan, not a surprised afterthought. Saturdays where that chaotic, laughing, almost-hug could become something more intentional, more real.
The memory of her home played on constant repeat behind my eyes, the warmth, the care, the simple, profound joy of a shared meal around a table with flower-painted plates. A taste of a life I hadn't even known I was starving for.
As I navigated the final steep switchback up to my own dark, silent cabin, the truth settled over me with quiet, terrifying finality.
The mountain, my fortress, my safe and solitary kingdom, didn't feel enough anymore. It felt like exactly what it was: empty. And that emptiness had a new, specific, aching shape, the shape of yellow curtains and checkered tablecloths and the sound of a woman's warm laughter mingling with a child's delighted giggles.
Suddenly, the vast wild space around me felt like a loneliness I could no longer bear.
8.Emma
The text arrived on Thursday afternoon, a single line that made my heart stutter.
Cole
Sarah wants to show you her secret creek. Easy trail, I promise. This evening?
Easy trail. I'd heard that before. From Lily.It's an easy one, Em, you'll love the view!Her definition of "easy" had always been dangerously flexible.
