"Your stoic presence is very valuable. Janet looked genuinely intimidated. She's the head of the PTA, so that's actually quite an accomplishment."
I'd been the subject of town speculation for fifteen years as the reclusive beekeeper on the mountain, the man who'd appeared out of nowhere with a baby niece and no explanation. I'd grown used to the whispers, the careful distance people kept, the way conversations died when I walked into the hardware store.
Apparently, I'd finally done something interesting enough to warrant updated rumors.
The whispers followed us through the gymnasium like a current.
"...didn't think he even knew how to smile..."
"...her sister died, you know, hiking accident, and now this..."
"...that little girl needs stability, not some..."
I turned my head slightly toward one particularly loud cluster, and the whispers died abruptly. Four women suddenly became very interested in examining apple cider labels.
But the damage was done. I saw Emma's smile become fixed, her laughter arriving a beat too late. She subtly increased the space between us when we passed certain clusters of watchful parents, her hand dropping from where it had been resting near my elbow.
It shouldn't have bothered me. I'd spent fifteen years not caring what people thought.
But watching her dim herself because of me felt like swallowing glass.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly as we examined the pumpkin weigh-in results, Sarah having run off to find her friend Tommy.
"For what?"
"The attention. The gossip. Being associated with the town recluse." I kept my voice low. "You have a reputation here. A career. I shouldn't have?—"
"Cole." She cut me off, turning to face me fully. Her expression was fierce, determined. "I'm a grown woman. I can handle a little small-town speculation."
"Still. You shouldn't have to?—"
"The town recluse has an excellent taste in pumpkins." She pointed at a massive, lopsided specimen that looked like it had given up on conventional gourd beauty standards. "That one's my favorite. Very characterful."
"It looks like it's melting."
"Character, Cole. Learn to appreciate the character."
Despite everything, I felt my mouth twitch toward a smile.
By the time we collected a sugar-hyped Sarah and her glitter-covered art projects, my head was pounding with the effort of sustained human interaction. The gymnasium felt suffocating; it was too warm, too bright, too full of curious eyes and whispered speculation.
I needed air. Space. Stars.
We walked to my truck in the cool darkness of the parking lot, Sarah skipping ahead with a paper plate of cookies she'd somehow acquired. Away from the fluorescent lights and the watching crowd, Emma visibly relaxed. Her shoulders dropped. Her smile lost its tight edges.
I opened the passenger door for her, then heard myself ask: "Want to see the stars from my place? Zero light pollution up there."
Those words hung in the night air between us. I hadn't planned to say them. They'd just... escaped.
She paused, one hand on the doorframe, her face half-illuminated by the parking lot lights. "You're inviting me to your mountain again?"
"I'm inviting you to look at the sky. The mountain is incidental."
"Incidental mountains." A slow smile spread across her face. "That's a new phrase."
"I'm very linguistically creative."
"Clearly." She held my gaze for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. A decision being made. "I'd like that. Very much."
