Page 26 of One Hot Summer

ADAM

The first thing I packed in the kitchen was a chipped mug I’d rescued from a Goodwill store our sophomore year—a tacky white one with a rainbow-colored unicorn on the front and the words I’M SO HORNY sprawled across the top in bright green font.

I liked the humor, but also that it held more than two cups at a time.

Now, I was wrapping it in three layers of bubble wrap and trying to ignore how much my hands were shaking.

The rest of my life, such as it was, was stacked around me in the world’s shittiest cardboard fort: two suitcases of clothes, three laundry baskets of books, an assortment of cables and chargers that might as well have been a snake pit, and a single sad box labeled “MEMORIES” in Dalton’s terrible Sharpie handwriting.

If you’d asked me two months ago, I would have said I could move out with a single duffel and my phone charger.

Turns out, I’d collected more things throughout my years there than I’d thought.

Dalton swept into the living room like he was on a reality show, arms full of hangers and dry-cleaning bags. “Jesus, Adam, is all this coming with you? Please tell me you’re not packing the broken crockpot.”

“It’s vintage,” I protested, shoving the mug deep into the box. “And yes, I’m bringing it. Griffin cooks, you know. He’ll appreciate it.”

Dalton shot me a look. “Did you seriously just refer to my dad by his first name in the context of domestic bliss? Wow. This is even worse than I thought.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, very maturely rolling my eyes. “Would you prefer I call him ‘Mr. Price’ like we’re in a porno?”

Dalton groaned so loudly I thought our neighbor might start banging on the wall.

“Please, don’t ever say that to me again.

I mean it. There are ground rules for you and my dad.

Rule one: no calling him sexy in my presence.

Ever! Rule two: no talking about his… assets.

Rule three: no details, period. I don’t want to know if he leaves his socks on or if he’s into weird—” He gagged, literally gagged, and fanned himself with a handful of bubble wrap.

I grinned. “If it helps, I think he’s still kind of sensitive about dating someone his son’s age. Maybe don’t tease him too much. He’s delicate.”

“Delicate?” Dalton started stacking my books into a second box, dropping them in with unnecessary force. “That man once ran a half-marathon on a sprained ankle and then walked home because he ‘didn’t trust the shuttle service.’ I think you could light him on fire and he’d be fine.”

“He’s not invincible. He just pretends to be,” I said, grabbing a roll of tape and doing battle with the end for a good thirty seconds before giving up and using my teeth.

Dalton watched this with open amusement, then sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter. “So, how are you feeling? About moving in with him. Nervous? Excited? Ready to realize you’ve signed up for a life of alphabetized spice racks and early morning jogs?”

“God,” I said, “I hope he doesn’t expect me to jog with him every morning. He gets up before sunrise!” I joked.

The truth was, I had thought about it. All of it.

For weeks, my brain had been running endless scenarios: how it would feel to wake up next to Griffin every day, to blend our lives together, to learn how to fold the corners on his fancy fitted sheets or hang my towel next to his on the rack.

It felt like someone else’s life, some sort of fantasy. But it was happening. For real. Today.

“I’m excited,” I said, and it was true. My hands were still shaking, but now it felt more like anticipation than panic.

He finished with the box, taped it shut, and tossed the tape back at me. “You know, I was kind of worried for a minute that things would get weird after…” He let the sentence dangle, like a participle in the void.

“Yeah. Me too.” I glanced at the sparse walls where a few framed photos of the two of us still remained. “But I’m glad it didn’t.”

Dalton shrugged, a little awkward, and started packing up the utensils from the kitchen drawer. “Honestly? I think you’re good for him. For both of us.”

“Wow, high praise coming from Dalton Price,” I deadpanned.

He made a face. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” I said, then reached for my phone, almost on reflex.

Griffin had been texting me all morning asking for updates on the packing, reminders to eat something, and a positively mouthwatering selfie of him stretched across his bed with the text “Thinking about all the things I’m going to do to you in here” that made me blush every time I opened it.

I thumbed a quick update: “Packing progress: 67%. Emotional progress: ??? %.” Griffin texted back immediately with a thumbs-up emoji and a winking face. It was so endearing and so completely unlike the stiff, reserved man I’d met months ago that I wanted to melt.

Dalton watched the exchange with a knowing smirk. “You two are insufferable. I’m going to have to start charging you rent for all the hearts-and-stars residue you’re leaving in the air.”

“Please, like you and your last five partners weren’t just as bad. I distinctly remember you once buying an edible arrangement for someone you’d only known for three weeks. And then eating all the fruit yourself when they dumped you.”

He looked offended. “That’s a vicious rumor.”

“I was there. You finished the entire melon bouquet and then threw up in the bathroom.”

He thought about it, then conceded. “Okay, fair. But I maintain my dignity.”

I laughed, the sound echoing in the almost-empty apartment.

For a second, the echo sounded like a goodbye, and my chest squeezed a little.

I’d spent so long dreaming of this moment that it was weird to feel even a twinge of regret about leaving.

But this place had been the closest thing to a home I’d ever had.

I pushed the thought aside. There’d be time for nostalgia later, maybe, or not.

Maybe this was what it was supposed to feel like when things finally started going right.

Dalton came over and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, don’t get all weird on me. You’ll see me all the time. I still plan to mooch off your boyfriend every chance I get.”

I laughed, but it came out watery. “I know. I just… you’re my best friend, man. The only one who stuck around.”

“Yeah, well, someone’s had to keep you from drinking expired milk and picking fights with the neighbor’s cat,” he said, voice gentler than I’d ever heard it.

I blinked, because for some reason this made me want to cry, and I wasn’t about to give Dalton that kind of ammunition. “Shut up,” I said, then punched him in the arm.

He grinned, unbothered. “I’m going to miss you, too, you big sap.”

We finished the last of the packing in a blur.

He loaded the heavier boxes into his car, while I did a final lap, poking into the bathroom cabinet for hidden razors and half-empty toothpaste tubes, running my hand inside drawers for missed keys or phone chargers.

The apartment felt bigger and emptier than ever, sunlight spilling in from the fire escape and painting bright stripes across the dusty floors.

I stood in the doorway, looking back at the tiny apartment that had been my only safe haven for so long.

Now, that haven was wherever Griffin was.

Dalton walked up beside me and said, “Well, Roomie, looks like this is it.”

I turned and pulled him into a hug. “You’re always welcome wherever I am. And not just because I’m living with your dad, but because you’re my brother. You know that, right?”

He hugged back, hard. “Don’t make me regret saying this, but I’m happy for you, Adam.

For both of you.” He looked down at his feet, then back up, eyes uncharacteristically gentle.

“If it had to be anyone, I’m glad it’s you.

I haven’t seen my dad this happy in… well, ever. And it’s all because of you.”

I wanted to laugh it off, toss him a snarky comeback, but the words caught me off guard. My throat closed up. “Dalton—” I started, but he waved it away.

“Don’t get all emotional on me, I’ll break out in hives,” he said, but his voice shook just a little. “Just—take care of him, okay? And yourself.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything. He clapped me on the shoulder, then, reverting back to form, added, “But don’t get cocky. I’m still the favorite.”

I found my voice. “Dude, you’re not even the favorite when you’re not competing against anyone.”

He rolled his eyes, then grinned. “Bet I still get the best Christmas presents.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, man,” I said, smiling so hard it hurt.

Down on the street, Dalton revved the engine while I took one last look up at our old windows.

They reflected nothing but sky and sun, empty as a blank sheet.

It was over. A whole era, packed into boxes and carried out in the back seat of my best friend’s Civic.

I turned my attention to the windshield, keeping my eyes forward.

The next chapter was waiting for me, and I couldn’t wait to watch the story unfold.

Griffin’s condo was a world away from anything I’d ever called home: floor-to-ceiling windows, oak floors you could see your reflection in, a kitchen stocked with actual knives instead of a plastic spork collection.

Everywhere I looked tonight there was evidence of our lives merging together—my video game collection on his console, a framed photo of the two of us above the TV, a stack of my paperbacks already wedged haphazardly onto his precisely ordered shelf.

Dalton made a show of stacking the last box in the foyer and then plopping down on the couch, legs splayed. “So, this is how the other half lives,” he joked.

I snorted and flopped beside him. “You should know seeing as how you grew up with all this.”

He nodded solemnly, the teasing faded, and he just looked at me, really looked. “You’re gonna be good here,” he said. “Promise me you won’t be a stranger. You might be dating my dad, but you’ll always be my best friend.”

“Promise,” I said, and meant it.

A little later, after we’d downed pizza and sodas, Dalton stood to go, patting me on the shoulder with a quick, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Actually, scratch that, you probably already have. Just don’t set the kitchen on fire. My dad’s blood pressure can’t take it.”

I shoved him, but he yanked me back for a quick hug. He hugged Griffin too, and then he was gone. For a minute, it was weirdly quiet. The only sound was the city, humming behind double panes of glass.

Griffin pulled me into his arms. He looked tired, but the good kind—the kind that came from a full day of real, honest living.

His shirt was open at the throat, and there was a hint of stubble along his jaw, the sort of imperfection I would have died to touch even a month ago.

I reached up, framed his face with both hands, and just stared for a moment, because I could.

“You sure about this?” I whispered. “About all of it. Living together… me?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Adam, I have never been surer of anything in my life.”

The words hit me so hard it almost knocked the air out of me. I swallowed, unsure how to respond, so I just pressed my forehead to his and let the silence fill in the rest. After a long minute, I broke the spell. “So, what do we do now?”

He smiled, slow and warm, and pulled me onto the couch, lowering me gently until we were both sprawled out in a tangle of limbs. “Now,” he said, brushing a strand of hair out of my eyes, “we live.”

I grinned. “That’s it? Just… live?”

He nodded. “Happily. Together.”

I bit my lip. “Forever?”

He nodded again and then started kissing my face in rapid-fire succession: temple, cheek, nose, the spot right by my ear that made me snort with laughter. “You’re such a dork,” I said, and he only grinned wider.

“And you love it,” he countered, before kissing me again, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that made the rest of the world fade to white noise. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t waiting for disaster. I was just… happy.