Our vibe has definitely evaporated. “I should go. I promised Autumn I’d also bring home maple donuts.”
“From the Maple Factory?” Chase asks and I nod and give his shoulder a small squeeze as I pass. “Still want me? To come over tomorrow night?”
I glance back over my shoulder. He looks remorseful and a little bit guilty and a whole lot lost. All of that swirling on his face makes him look younger too and it hits me that, when it comes to being comfortable in your own skin, I’m the veteran. He’s the rookie. This suave, smooth, confident, intelligent, and capable guy is like me at Vino and Veritas — a bumbling klutz.
“Bowen, I really am sorry,” he whispers.
That whole thing sucked, yes, but I can’t help but believe him now. But, he’s allowed to screw up. And he has a lot at stake and I knew what I was signing on for. “Yeah. I do want you to come over tomorrow.”
His shoulders sag a little in relief. “See you then.”
I wink at him and leave the pool. I head to the changing room and tug off my bathing suit and throw on dry clothes. I skip the shower because I’m just going to get sweaty and dirty on the farm anyway. I can shower after a long day of seeding. But even though I have four messages on my phone from Autumn and Woody both reminding me about the maple donuts and how fast they run out, I take a minute before I leave the community center to peek back into the pool and watch Chase swim laps.
He’s doing butterfly in the far lane, his body cresting the water and diving back under rhythmically. Every muscle is taut and bulging at the same time. When he gets to the end he pops up and shoves his soaking hair back with his hand as water slips down his broad chest. I smile. He looks like that capable, confident guy I was in awe of when we met.
This too shall pass, I think as I make my way out of the community center. He’ll find his way and conquer this coming out thing the same way he’s conquered everything else in life, with ease. I’ll be there right beside him, making sure of it.
When I get to the Maple Factory I don’t see any maple donuts in the case but I ask if there’s any in the back. The guy behind the counter actually chuckles. “It’s almost noon. We run out of these things by ten on a bad day.”
Shit.
But the guy speaks again as I turn to leave. “Unless… are you Bowen Whitlock?”
I nod.
“Oh yeah. Then we’ve got your six in the back for you,” he says, and I am beyond confused. “Some guy called and paid for them and told us to hold them for you.”
“Was his name Chase?”
“Yep,” the guys says, emerging from the back with a small box and a slip of paper. “Sorry he wanted us to give you a dozen but we only have six left.”
“Six is plenty. Thank you,” I say, taking the box, the sugary maple scent wafting out of it even though it’s closed.
“Don’t thank me,” the guy calls after me. “Thank him.”
“Oh I will,” I say to myself, not him, as the door closes behind me and I make my way back to my car with a smile from ear to ear.
I carefully put the box on the passenger seat and am just buckling up my seatbelt when my phone rings. It’s Autumn. I hit answer. “I got the donuts. Relax. I’m on my way now.”
“The police are here,” she says, her voice shaking so badly everything inside me turns to ice. “And they’re looking for you.”
20
BOWEN
The sight of the police cruisers in front of my house as I pull up the drive has me gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. My heart is beating erratically, and I feel cold and yet I’m sweating. I get out of the car and my legs feel shaky as I approach the porch where an officer stands talking with Woody.
Woody sees me over the officer’s shoulder. “You okay?”
I swallow but my throat feels like it’s coated in dust. “What’s going on?”
My voice is distorted, even to my own ears. Woody steps around the police officer, his blond brow pinched. He’s wearing pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt and that somehow increases the panic collapsing down on my chest, making it hard to breath.
“Bowen Whitlock?”
It’s Matt Lockheed. I went to school with him. He was in Autumn’s class. Why is he acting like he doesn’t know me? Is that some kind of bullshit police protocol? “You know it’s me.”
“I think you need to sit down,” Woody tells me, his voice soft and low, the way Mom used to talk to me when I got the flu and was laid up at home.
