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Joel was contractually obligatedto watch the swarm of cicada costumes parading before him in the hotel ballroom. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off the fetching photographer flitting just outside the stage lights, crouching down or hopping on chairs to get the best angle.

Danny Fucking Evans, in the flesh. He and Joel had connected like they’d been separated seventeen minutes instead of seventeen years. How was that even possible?

The old Joel would’ve seen it as a sign they were destined to be together, but that wasn’t how love worked. A relationship was built a day at a time, sometimes with great effort and heartache. Love wasn’t meant to be easy.

Lust, on the other hand…well, that was as automatic as breathing or eating or avoiding predators.

Something nudged his arm. Joel blinked himself back to reality.

“What’s with the three red dots?” The judge beside him pointed her sparkly purple pen at the person crossing the stage. “In the middle of its forehead.”

“Those are ocelli—simple eyes—mostly used for sensing light and maintaining flight stability. The big bulging ones are compound eyes.” He jotted an appreciative note on the entrant’s score sheet and gave it high marks for authenticity.

It was a crying shame he had to judge these glorious costumes on anatomical correctness, but it was his job to find flaws. Most were too brightly colored, or their antennae were too long, or—total rookie move—their legs were attached to the abdomen instead of the thorax.

At least he didn’t have to apply the same standard to the kids’ costumes, which were too cute to nitpick. Along with the baby bumblebee he’d seen in the lobby, there were three tots dressed as ladybugs, two as fireflies, and one young boy who was either a cockroach or an earwig. Either way, that kid got high marks for being a maverick.

After the contest, Joel waited at the judges’ table while Dan photographed the winners on the other side of the stage. Posing them together looked like a challenge, what with all their wings clashing, but Dan maneuvered them into place with relative ease.

Watching him work was a bit too enjoyable, so Joel pulled his phone from his blazer pocket, turned it on, and hit speed dial 2.

“Hey, babe.” Sam’s voice rose over the background chatter on his end.

“You still at the country club?”

“In the bar. I shot two-under today.”

“Fantastic. Say hi to everyone for me.” Not that he was friends with Sam’s golf buddies.

“Hang on a sec.” The phone muffled. “Can we get another round? Thanks, man.” Sam returned to Joel. “Sorry, it’s always insane here on Saturdays.”

“My talk went well.”

“Great! I was going to ask.”

Maybe so, maybe not. “Anyway, I’ve decided to take the free hotel room the convention offered. Looks like some good parties here tonight, and I’d rather not be stuck drinking soda just so I can drive.”

“Cool, cool. Have fun.” Sam’s voice had a sing-song, almost daring quality. “I mean it,” he added, his tone sobering. “You deserve to let off a little steam and enjoy yourself.”

Sam’s meaning rang clear: Do what you want. I don’t need to know, just like you don’t need to know what I do when I’m away.

“Yeah.” Joel cleared his throat. “Don’t forget to give Maisie her antibiotic before bed and at breakfast. The Pill Pockets are in the?—”

“The dog drawer. I know. Love ya!”

“Love you, too,” he said, though Sam was already gone. He lowered the phone into his lap and pressed the hang-up button with the softest touch possible. The screen glowed brighter for a few moments, then faded to gray.

As he snapped the phone shut, it rang again, making him jump. Maybe Sam was calling back to ask him to come home tonight.

MOMappeared on the screen. He answered. “Hey!”

“Hi, hon. How’d your talk go?”

“It was packed. With a great audience. And the projector actually worked this time!”

She laughed. “Always a bonus. Did Sam come see your talk?”

“Nah, he had a, uh, a work thing.”

“You mean he had to golf.”

“Golf is work. It fortifies his relationships with business contacts.” Ugh, that sounded even more ridiculous out of his mouth than Sam’s. “You’ll never believe who is here. Remember Danny Evans, the exterminator’s son?”

She drew in a dramatic breath. “Oh, that poor boy. Of course I remember. Does he live in the area now?”

“Not even close.” Joel looked across the room just as Dan looked up from his camera at him.

That smile—the one that still made Joel’s heart go haywire—seemed to come easier now than when they were kids. Dan had found his place in the world, instead of leading the malaise-y, wayfaring life Joel had imagined for him all these years.

“Joel?” Mom’s voice prodded him through the phone.

“Huh?”

“I asked what brought him here.”

Dan was heading his way, still smiling.

“Dan’s here for work.” The statement tasted dubious. Something didn’t quite add up. “Gotta go, Mom. Love-you-bye!” He shut his phone and dropped it into his blazer pocket.

“Amazing!” Dan spread his arms as he reached the judges’ table. “That grand-prize winner, the one with with all the segments in that black neoprene? She spent almost a year on that costume.”

“Yes, excellent exoskeleton. Spiracles and everything.”

“I got some great shots. I’ll show you over dinner.” Dan beckoned him. “That’s a hint to feed me.”

“Coming.” Joel picked up his laptop case. “Let me drop this off at my room.”

Dan did a double take. “You’re staying here tonight? I thought you lived nearby.”

“Free hotel room is one of the perks of being a Science Guest of Honor.” He avoided Dan’s eyes. “I need to check in, though, so tell your stomach to hold its horses.”

They went to the front desk, where they were greeted by a blonde-ponytailed receptionist who looked young enough to be one of Joel’s freshman biology students.

“Yes, I see your complimentary room in our system,” said the girl—Caitlin, her name tag read. She glanced at Dan, then asked Joel, “How many beds would you like?”

“Just one. I’m alone. He’s not my—he’s not with me. Not that there’d be anything wrong with that, of course.” He pressed his lips together to shut himself up.

“One king-size bed, then.” Caitlin looked like she was trying not to roll her eyes. “Smoking or nonsmoking?”

“Non, please.” He ran a finger under the collar of his Oxford shirt. Why did he still have to fear being judged for sharing a bed with a man? Old habits, groomed by old prejudice that could rear its head anytime, died hard.

They squeezed through the crowded hallway—clearly there was more than one convention at this hotel on Memorial Day weekend—and into an even more crowded elevator, forcing them to squish together as it ascended. On Joel’s left stood a tall man wearing a plumed tricorn hat, tall black boots, and a long red tunic cinched with a sash. Between the clothes, the black wig, and matching fake mustache, he looked like a hookless Captain Hook. His female companion wore a similar outfit, mostly in brown and without the facial hair.

Dan nodded to the couple. “Love your pirate costumes.”

“We’re privateers!” they snapped in unison. A somewhat more subtly costumed guy at the front of the elevator turned and glared daggers at Dan.

“Sorry,” he said. “My mistake.”

The woman muttered a curse under her breath.

Joel studied the numbers above the door, biting the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face.

The doors slid open at their floor. He and Dan oozed out of the elevator, already laughing as they crossed the threshold.

“Oh my God,” Joel said, clutching his laptop bag against his stomach.

“What the fuck is a privateer?” Dan asked as they staggered down the hall, drunk on absurdity.

“Basically, a pirate with a government contract.”

“Well, then the government should’ve added a no-looking-like-pirates clause.”

This made Joel laugh harder. “Don’t mock, man. Privateers helped win the War of 1812. Show some gratitude!”

Thanks to his journal, Joel remembered most details about their day together in 1987. But mere words couldn’t preserve the sound of Dan’s high-pitched, infectious laughter. Hearing it again whisked Joel back to their sweltering, messy meadow.

They found his room, which contained all the usual items: TV, coffee maker, armchair, tiny round table, desk with an allegedly ergonomic chair…

…and that promised king-size bed.

“Where’s the rest of your stuff?” Dan asked as Joel laid his laptop case on the desk.

“In my car. I didn’t have time to check in this morning, so I’ll just—” He turned and nearly collided with Dan. “Sorry!”

“It’s okay.” Dan was studying the large photo above the desk. In the picture, a blue-and-white beach umbrella was planted on the sun-baked shore. A single bare leg of indeterminate gender extended out from the umbrella’s shade, toes buried in the sand. “Are we near the ocean?”

“About two and a half hours away.” Joel removed his blazer and hung it on the back of the chair, taking a surreptitious sniff to make sure his deodorant was working. “More like four hours this weekend with holiday traffic.”

“Too bad.”

An awkward silence fell as the bed seemed to expand in Joel’s peripheral vision.

He rolled up his sleeves for some much-needed air. “Think I’ll change my shirt and shoes when we get to the car so I don’t look too professorial out on the town. Do you want to leave your camera here?”

Wait, did that sound like he was offering Dan an excuse to come back to his room later?

Dan started to take the case off his shoulder, then paused, perhaps thinking the same thing. “Will there be cicadas where we’re going?”

“There’s a restaurant five minutes away where there’ll be tons.”

“Then I’ll bring it with me.” Dan nestled the camera case against his side and gave Joel that smile again. “You never know what I might capture.”

Noneof the streets in this town of Columbia—a “planned community,” according to Joel—were the least bit straight, so by the time they arrived at the lakeside restaurant, Dan had completely lost his sense of direction.

At least he was in good hands—metaphorically speaking, of course.

Beside him, one of Joel’s non-metaphorical hands maneuvered the steering wheel as he parked, while the other flicked off the stereo and air conditioner with nimble fingers.

Dan looked away. No use thinking about Joel’s hands. They were off limits, along with the rest of his body, the top half of which was now contained in a slim-fit, violet-print, button-down shirt that definitely didn’t look professorial.

So Joel had a boyfriend. Fine. It wasn’t his body Dan had driven across the country for, it was…

It was for all of him.

“Told you we were close.”

Dan looked at him. “Close to what?”

“The restaurant, doofus.” Joel grinned as he turned off the ignition. “I would never steer your stomach wrong.”

As they walked toward the lake, Dan said, “The cicadas were a lot louder earlier.”

“Most of them stop singing after five or so. But on hot days like this, a few will keep calling until sunset, which is in about an hour.”

The scent of burgers arrived on the breeze, making Dan’s stomach growl. “The golden hour.”

“Huh?”

“Before sunset and after sunrise. The light is redder and softer. Shadows are longer but not as dark.” He patted his camera case, where he’d tucked Joel’s birthday present into the outside pocket. “Best time for this.”

Joel beamed at him. Damn, if only he’d had his camera out to capture that look.

They arrived at the building beside the tree-lined lake. The brew-pub hostess greeted them at the door with a smile.

“I assume you want to eat inside?” she asked. “What with…” she waved a pair of menus at the treetops “…all that?”

“Up to you, dude,” Joel said.

Dan turned to the shady patio full of empty, umbrella’d tables. “It’s a beautiful night.”

Joel pumped his fist. “Correct answer!”

The hostess cast an uneasy glance upward as she led them to one of the tables.

Dan pulled out a chair and sat down. “The cicadas’ll be going to bed soon,” he told her.

“Just knowing they’re out there, lurking in the trees…” She dumped their menus on the table and hurried away. “Your waiter will be right with you!”

Joel sat beside him. “Worse comes to worst, we’ll be serenaded over dinner. And if better comes to best…” He crossed one leg over the other and nudged Dan’s knee with his toe.

For once it wasn’t Joel’s flirting that snagged Dan’s attention. “‘If better comes to best.’ Where’s that line from?”

“From you. You said it back in ’87, and we agreed we’d try to make it a thing. Hasn’t worked yet, but I still say it. People give me the weirdest looks, and then I have to explain?—”

“I totally forgot about that.” Dan mouthed the line silently. What else had he forgotten about that day?

The waiter appeared and took their beer order—half pints, since Joel was driving and Dan was maintaining sobriety solidarity.

Then they were alone. Just two guys, a beautiful lake, and a million randy insects.

Joel tapped the table. “Only problem with sitting outside is it makes me want to smoke.”

“Me too.” Dan unzipped his camera case and started pulling out equipment, in case he saw something worth shooting (besides Joel). “It’s fucked-up that fresh air makes me want to pull toxic chemicals into my lungs.”

“I quit after college. My grandfather died of lung cancer, and?—”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It happened way before I was born. I’m named after him—well, him and the prophet. Anyway, that’s why Mom went into pulmonology. About ten years ago I finally realized how awful it would be for her to lose her father and son to lung disease.”

“I quit too. Seventh time was a charm.”

“Eighth for me.” Joel tapped the table again, then rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “We are not smoking tonight. Whatever else we do, we’re not doing that.”

“Deal.” Dan opened his menu to avoid Joel’s eyes. What did he mean by, Whatever else we do? That phrase held so many possibilities. But if Joel was in a relationship…

The waiter returned with their beers and took their dinner orders. As he left, Joel raised his glass to Dan. “To the cicadas.”

“To the cicadas.” He clinked his glass against Joel’s, then sipped the cloudy wheat ale that had a German name he’d already forgotten. It was like drinking a loaf of fresh bread.

As if beckoned by the toast, a pair of cicadas landed on the pavement between the patio and the grassy hill sloping down to the lake. One of the bugs tumbled onto its back and lay there, its chirp sounding like a skipping record.

“Should we rescue it?” he asked Joel.

“Give it a minute. They can flip themselves over with their wings.”

The restaurant door opened, and a thirty-something couple with two young boys came out.

“Beautiful night,” the woman said to the man. “Wish we could’ve eaten outside.” She spied Dan and Joel. “Hi there.”

Dan smiled back at her. “How’s it going?”

“Wait!” Joel leaped up from his chair, its metal feet squonking on the patio floor.

One of the kids squealed. Dan turned to the pavement, where the older boy, maybe seven, was bouncing on his toes, arms raised like Rocky Balboa.

“I got one!” the boy called out. “Dad, I got one!”

“Good job, Trevor,” the father said. “One down, two trillion to go.”

“Gross, Trevor.” The mother put her hands on her hips. “Scrape the bottom of your shoe in the grass before you get in the car.”

“Please stop.” Joel stood, palms out, between the kids and the remaining cicada. The bug that had tumbled onto its back was now a black and orange smear against the boardwalk.

Dan picked up his camera and attached the telephoto macro lens. The grooves of the mount slid into place with a palpable snick. He upped the shutter speed and set both elbows on the table to reduce blur.

“We don’t need to kill them,” Joel told the boys, his voice softening. “They’re harmless. Plus, they’re magical.” He scooped up the live cicada and cradled it in his outstretched hands. “They’ve lived underground for seventeen years. That’s longer than you’ve been alive. But now that they’ve got wings, they’ll only live for a few more weeks. That’s like a blink of an eye to you and me.”

Dan peered through the camera. Trevor’s little brother stretched out a tentative finger to stroke a translucent wing. Dan took several razor-sharp closeups of the cicada framed by two large hands and one small one.

“What do they eat under the ground?” the boy asked Joel.

“Good question. Have you ever had maple syrup?”

“On pancakes!”

“Well, that’s basically what cicadas eat when they’re kids. They drink sap from tree roots, but only little bitty sips, so it doesn’t hurt the trees. Just like taking sap for syrup doesn’t hurt the maple trees.”

“Okay, boys, time for ice cream!” the woman called out.

As the noisy family retreated, Dan kept his camera focused on Joel’s hands. They cradled the cicada like a rare treasure, as if it weren’t identical to its gazillion cousins in the trees around them.

Joel brought the bug closer to his face, appearing to whisper to it. Dan took several more shots.

Finally Joel looked at him. “What are you doing?”

Capturing beauty. “My job.” Snap-snap.

“If I’d known I’d be a pinup boy, I’d have changed into something flashier.”

“You look perfect.” Whoa, easy there. Dan lowered the camera. “That one’s not singing. Is it a female?”

“Probably, since it didn’t squawk when I picked it up.” Joel gently took the bug between his fingertips and turned it over. “There’s her ovipositor. Funnily enough, to the untrained eye it looks kinda like a penis.”

“You think the one who got squashed was her mate?”

“Maybe. Hopefully they already did the deed, so his life wasn’t in vain. If not, she’ll find someone else to flick her wings at.”

How romantic.

Joel placed the cicada back in his palm. “I’m surprised those boys’ parents were so chill. Most people get huffy when you tell their kids what to do.”

Snap-snap.“You’re probably the least scary-looking adult they’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks, I guess?” Joel spread his fingers as the bug explored the base of his thumb. “I wanted to tell them about the boy in Cincinnati who lost a foot trying to kick a cicada into a lawn mower.”

“What, really?”

“Technically his foot was cut, not cut off. But the lesson’s the same: Don’t pick on those smaller than you.”

Dan’s hands clenched on the camera. Joel was no doubt speaking from experience. If Dad had taken over custody instead of dying, then Dan could’ve spent his senior year at Joel’s school. He could’ve protected Joel. He would’ve.

“Time to let this little girl go,” Joel said. “Do you want a takeoff shot?”

“Yeah, hold on.” He exchanged the macro lens for a standard 50mm prime. “Go for it.”

Joel lowered his hands, then swept them upward, catapulting the cicada into the air.

Snap-snap-snap.

With a whir of wings, she zoomed off toward the nearest tree.

“Did you get it flying away?” Joel asked.

“Nope.” He’d stayed focused on Joel in his fly-be-free pose. “It went too fast.”

“Hmm.” Joel looked off in the direction of the cicada’s flight. “Story of their lives.”