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LUKE

NOVEMBER

“Luke, it’s barely gone five,” he says. “Corporate life can’t be that bad, can it?” He grabs a hard seltzer from the fridge and slides it across the coffee table.

I crack the can open. “Too many people are asking for too many things that aren’t my job.”

“Sounds like my research lab,” he mutters. “Anyway, give me ten minutes because I have to finish a write-up, but I won’t be long.”

At that, I pull out my phone, letting Stefano go back to his grad school work. While neither of us knows exactly what the other does, we’ve reached an understanding that he designs experiments, and I design pretty slides in PowerPoint.

He looks up a while later. “Do you have any plans tonight?” he asks. “I have to go to the lab and check on my cells, but I’ll be back at eight-ish.”

“Yeah, I’m meeting a work friend for happy hour, so I’ll be gone around the same time.”

“Work friend? What’s their name?”

“Emily. We work on the same team, and she’s based out of Montreal.”

A silly grin spreads across his face. “Oh, nice. Are you gonna try to tap that?”

I choke on my sip of seltzer and wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my sweater. “Yeah, of course, I’m straight now,” I deadpan. “Spending the past week with you has killed off my attraction to men.”

Stefano gasps. “Now that’s mean.” He throws a peanut at me, and I catch it before lobbing it right back at him. “Whatever. You can win back my love by inviting me to your cottage this weekend.”

I let out a strained chuckle. “You’re invited by default. My parents love you.”

“Awesome!” he says. “I’m always down to crash the Tremblay cotty.”

Laughing, I grab my jacket, slip my shoes on, and brace myself for the frigid early-winter air.

The bar where I’m meeting Emily isn’t far away, so I only spend a few minutes trying not to slip on ice.

I head inside and grab a small booth toward the front, and Emily arrives shortly after that, unzipping her gray jacket.

“Hi, Luke!” she says, ripping a red hat off of her brown hair.

“Hey, Emily.” I stand up and we share a corporate-friendly hug before settling into the booth. “Have you been here before?”

“Nah, I normally stick to my old haunts around campus. This is a little corporate for me.”

I nod, and we’re only given around thirty seconds to browse the menu before a tall server approaches, greets us with a cheery bonjour-hi, and prompts us to order.

Emily asks for a gin and tonic, and the server switches to English to confirm the brand of gin. Then she turns to me, and I order in French because, well, we’re in Montreal.

She leaves us and Emily narrows her eyes at me. “Since when could you speak French?” she asks.

“Since I was born? My dad is French. Quebecois, not French French. My last name is Tremblay, after all.”

“Huh, I lived here for four years and barely got to practice.” She sighs. “It won’t matter, though. I have to move to Toronto for work.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, that’s nice! You’re from the area, right?”

Emily’s expression tells me it’s anything but nice, at least for her.

“Guess why I have to move,” she says. “Our company, in all its competence, forgot to renew its accreditation with the accounting board here. I had a choice between Ontario and Alberta to keep getting the approved work experience I need for my license.”

My mouth hangs agape. “No. You’re kidding.”

She shakes her head. “Unfortunately not, and Toronto is less cold than Calgary, so I’m going back home.”

Emily’s glum announcement calls for another round, which comes out quickly. We move on, and at first, we do the usual small talk about work until Emily asks me if I drink beer to prove a point, or because I actually like the taste.

That loosens us up, and the conversation shifts.

We share crazy university stories and former roommate woes.

Then, out of nowhere, she assumes I was in a frat, which mildly intrigues me, and I’m about to defend myself when the server comes over and informs us that it’s last call for happy hour, so we ask for the bills.

The server returns to drop off the receipt, saying that we can pay through the QR code on the table and split however we want, which is convenient. Emily picks up the receipt first and frowns at it.

“Huh,” she says. “The waitress wrote her number on the bottom.”

I finish my drink and scan the payment code. “Oh, okay. For you?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Hey, I don’t know!” I shrug. “You two seemed friendly and stuff.” At least that’s how it looked to me.

She tosses the receipt over. “It says texte-moi on the bottom, you’re the only one who spoke French to her, and she kept twisting her hair when you were ordering. How the hell are you so blind?”

Staring at the piece of paper, I give myself a few seconds to think. “Emily,” I start. “I’m gay. That’s why I don’t look for those cues.”

Emily blinks at me a few times. “Huh,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “That checks out.”

I tilt my head in confusion.

“Honestly, I kind of suspected. You’re the only finance bro I’ve ever met who actually makes eye contact when talking to me instead of staring at my rack.”

“Please don’t call me a finance bro.”

“Okay, whatever you say, finance bro .” She snickers when I groan. “Anyway, it was amazing catching up, but I’m visiting my parents tomorrow, and I have an early train to Hamilton.”

“Makes sense, I won’t keep you. It was great to finally meet in person,” I say as we make our way out of the bar. We split up; Emily heads back to her place, and I go back to Stefano’s.

The apartment is empty when I arrive, so Stefano must still be at the lab. This is the first time in a week that I’m coming back to nobody, and the pang of loneliness that hits cuts through to the core.

It’s fine. I’m used to it.

Stefano and I wrap up our work early the next day and drive over to my family’s cottage in the Laurentides region, around two and a half hours away from Montreal.

My parents are coming all the way from Toronto, so we beat them there.

It’s a typical place for the region—large-ish with wood-clad walls and access to the water. A true home away from home.

“Alright, you know the drill,” I tell Stefano as we walk in. “Guest room is upstairs, don’t use all the hot water, and don’t get drunk on the boat.”

We aren’t taking the boat out. It’s November and neither of us have any desire to experience frostbite, but you never know.

My parents arrive while we’re upstairs, and we go to help them unload the car.

They immediately refuse and shut the trunk, with Mom taking us inside and pouring us drinks before heading back out.

The sun is setting, and I settle onto the couch that faces the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Out of instinct, I whip my phone out to send Erik a picture of my scotch and the lake.

Chilling at the family cottage

How’s your night going?

Even though it’s been a month since he left, we text and call all the time.

Nothing too serious, but he tells me about his new team, I tell him about work, and the two of us talk about our lives outside of our jobs.

If anything, it’s nice to have another friend.

His texts are exactly zero percent flirty, so even though I still like him way too much, the lack of interest on his end will hopefully rub off on me.

Then my heart does a little flip as soon as his name pops up on my screen. Stupid, dumbass heart.

Nice

I’m at a cottage too

(PHOTO RECEIVED)

It’s a selfie, one that makes me malfunction.

His face basks in an orange glow, probably from a fire, which gives his skin a golden hue that brings out those piercing blue eyes.

He’s kept his facial hair—it’s trimmed to a tidy layer of stubble which accentuates how unfairly handsome he is.

And that same shy smirk is playing on his lips, bringing the whole cozy, toque-wearing look together.

What I’d give to be there with him right now.

Damnit, I keep going through cycles of thinking that I’m about to get over Erik, only to fall for him even harder three seconds later.

“Who are you texting, buddy?” Stefano cuts in, and I immediately lock my phone. He sits down next to me on the arm of the couch, squeezing my shoulders. “You’re smiling like a lil’ cutie pie.”

I shrug his hands off. “Nobody.”

Stefano stares at me, his expression blank. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

My poker face is terrible on the best of days, and today isn’t one of those, so I huff out a laugh. “Fine, I’m texting some guy I was talking to a while back.” Mindlessly, I swipe my phone open, and Erik’s ridiculous smoldering face fills my screen for the whole world to see.

Stefano coughs mid-breath. “Jesus Christ, that’s him? Nice job, buddy.”

“He moved across the world,” I deadpan.

“Oh, shit,” Stefano says. “You liked him?”

“I still like him.”

“Damn, you’re fucked, man.” Stefano winces as he recoils. “If only you could see the cute little smile you have…”

“Ugh, I know I’m screwed.”

Mom sticks her head around the corner. “Luke, what’s wrong? Why are you screwed?”

I’m about to reply, but Stefano beats me to it. “Boy problems. It’s an emergency.”

“Boy problems” and “emergency” don’t belong in the same sentence. What am I, fifteen?

“Same guy?” she asks.

“Bro, you told your parents about him?” Stefano backhands my chest.

Sighing, I prepare myself for an onslaught of well-meaning but unnecessary questions. “I did. Erik isn’t coming back, and nothing is gonna happen between us.” Hopefully that shuts the topic down.

It doesn’t. Mom fixes me with a sympathetic expression. “Oh no, you’re still not over him?”

“Trust me, I’d get over him if he had the personality of a rock. The problem is that he doesn’t. He’s being all cute without even trying.”

Stefano cocks an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I don’t know, it’s probably nothing, but he went on a hike one day and then texted me about it, saying it reminded him of one time we went to a forest together.”