Page 80 of When the Smoke Clears

Men are machines with buttons to turn on and off their emotions and desires. Women are waves. Our feelings build over time and crash onto the shore, catching everyone around us off guard and pulling them into our depths until they’re drowning.

I look into a three-year-old Airstream in Hamilton and write the owner a check to hold it for me. Then I grab groceries on the way home. After I put everything away and game for two hours, Will comes down the stairs in jeans, messy hair, no shirt.

My avatar dies.

I quickly shut off the TV and stand. “Can I help you pack?”

He stops a few feet from the sofa and studies me before shaking his head.

“I bought an Airstream from a couple in Hamilton, and I’m already looking into trading in my car for a truck. So I can be out of here soon.” I shrug. “In case you rent this place to someone or a couple who don’t want any roommates.”

Will narrows his eyes for a second before returning a slow nod.

I try not to stare at his bare chest, but it’s not easy.

We should be able to pick up where we left off, but it never seems to work that way. Every time we have an “almost” moment, something erases it, and I feel like we’re always starting over.

Should I ask him what I tasted like on his lips?

“No rush,” he says, running a hand through his hair while continuing to the kitchen.

“I was serious when I said I could come to Somers for a day or longer if you need someone to . . .”

“To what?” he asks, standing in front of the open fridge for a few seconds before retrieving a package of turkey and a bottle of mayo.

“If you need a friend to talk to, I’m an excellent listener. Some people wait months for the chance to tell me their secrets and problems.”

“I can’t afford you.” He sets two slices of bread onto a plate.

“We could barter.”

“You’ve mentioned bartering before. I’m not sure what you’ll get from me, if you’re giving me free therapy.”

“Well, you said you’d be back here to visit. And they’re pouring the concrete for my barndominium next week, so before you know it, it will be constructed and ready for me to work on the inside. I could use help. And if you rent out your house and need a place to stay for a few days, you can stay with me.”

He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “In your Airstream?”

I press my lips together and nod, hands folded behind my back.

“You realize that I have lots of friends in Missoula who will let me stay in a spare bedroom.”

“You realize you had your fingers inside of me this morning.”

I have never seen Will blush—until now.

“The universe has decided we are a one-and-done,” I say.

Will checks his watch. “I have a few minutes now.”

“No way.” I laugh. “Your dad will call. Someone will barge into the house. It will start on fire. Something will happen. And my . . .” I think the word heart, but he doesn’t need to hear that a day before moving to Somers. “My body can’t handle any more teasing.”

“I understand,” he says with a sad smile, glancing at the floor for a few seconds before looking at me again. “Let me take you to dinner.”

It’s like he’s trying to sweep me off my feet without a broom. We are a self-contained fire destined to burn out. “You need to pack some things,” I say.

“We’ll do it when we get back.”

We?