“This is not the end yet,” she said. “They’ll get louder over the next week or two. And then… Oh, this is…” She swallowed, pressed fingers to her mouth, and he wondered if she was going to cry. “And then they’re gone. Seventeen years before we see these guys again.” She grabbed his hand, squeezed, and he could barely even understand the level of emotion this woman felt over something so…so inconsequential. So annoying as these loud-ass insects taking over the night—and more than a little real estate inside his brain.
“Not the most pleasant sound I’ve ever heard. So fu—so damned loud,” he said.
He hated how disappointed she looked at his words, hated even more the way she took her hand away from his, leaving him bereft. For those few seconds when she’d touched him, the noise hadn’t been quite so bad. Like a Mute button, she’d staved off the panic.
He wished she would do it again.
* * *
“Loud? Yes, I suppose they are,” George agreed.
Loud? It was beautiful.
He looked away from her in a way that smacked of avoidance. “How can you even sleep here? I need the A/C on just to drown out the night noises, and now this… Man. I’d go crazy.”
“Oh, I…I like it.” And here it was again, that moment when George realized she wasn’t quite the norm. “Let’s go back in.”
He followed her inside, and they sat and picked up where they’d left off. Only George felt the tiniest bit crushed. She shouldn’t, of course. It was stupid to think anyone would understand her excitement at such silly things.
They sat at the table, a little too close, a little awkward. Leonard hopped right back up onto Andrew’s lap, and George shook her head.
“He’s really into you.”
Andrew shrugged, looking, if she wasn’t mistaken, a little sheepish. Was that a flush on his cheeks? He took a bite of trout, and the flush deepened. His eyes rose to hers.
“This is—oh God—this is amazing. Best thing I’ve had.”
She laughed.
“I’m serious, what did you do to make this so…” He chewed, groaned a little, and swallowed, taking another bite and then another. “This has more…flavor than anything I’ve eaten in months.”
She shook her head and took a bite of her own. “It’s just trout, you know. It’s local, from over in Madison County, but nothing special. I guess the butter’s local too, so maybe that’s what you like about it? Fresh ingredients, I suppose?”
“You’re an amazing cook. That’s what it is.”
It was her turn to blush. Compliments made her feel awkward, and rather than continue to endure his, she deflected. “Sorry about going overboard outside with the cicadas. I…I get worked up about that stuff. I guess I’m just a hippy at heart.” She waved her hand in the air. “It’s…it’s the magic of it. Of these creatures. Of the world, you know?” He didn’t. She could tell, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “They spend seventeen years underground and then, all together, they come out. As one. They sing their song, and they slough off their shells and journey up into the trees. A long, arduous climb. All in the service of nature. Propagation. Beautiful, lovely, natural. This is the world around us. This is beauty.” Lord, how lame. But it was true. And George couldn’t ignore something that moved her so very much.
“I guess I…I see what you mean.”
“Yeah.” She took a bite, not tasting the food anymore. “I’m sorry.”
“What? What for?”
“I get excited. About things.”
“No, it’s fine.” He took a swig of beer, his eyes on the bottle in his hand and then, suddenly, unexpectedly, on hers. “It’s actually refreshing. I mean, you are. Refreshing or… I’ve seen a lot of pretty nasty shit.”
She nodded, waiting for more.
“So you…you’re like this breath of fresh air. Like this clean, perfect, sweet person.”
“Um. No, that I am not.”
“Whatever you are, I’m afraid I’ll…” Another swig, and Leonard the antisocial cat fell from his lap as Clay stood. He towered above her, big and overwhelming. “I gotta go, George. This was—I kid you not—amazing. Best meal I’ve ever had. I just can’t… I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry. No, don’t—”
“Look, you’re a… You’re a real nice lady, all right? I just… I don’t… You don’t deserve this.”
