Page 3 of One Hot Summer

As I pulled up to the cabin, I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me.

The place looked exactly as I remembered it—the sturdy log exterior, the wraparound porch, the floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the surrounding forest. I pulled up behind the house and was about to kill the engine when something registered in the periphery: a car already parked on the gravel.

For a few seconds, I just sat there, knuckles tight on the wheel, staring at the black sedan with Tennessee license plates.

I knew it wasn’t the cleaning crew because they always came on Tuesdays.

The most likely explanation was that some squatter or hiker who’d gotten the address wrong, but it was hard to shake the old habits of suspicion.

I popped the trunk, grabbed my bag, and started up the walk, senses sharpened.

The porch creaked under my feet as I made my way to the front door.

With one last look at the mystery car, I unlocked the door, heart thudding with that anxious energy you get right before a big meeting—or a fight.

Whoever it was, they were going to be in for a surprise.

The cabin had always been a sort of time capsule with new memories being added each year.

Dalton’s first fishing pole hanging on the wall, the largemouth bass he’d caught when he was twelve, mounted and displayed proudly above the mantel, every scent, every worn floorboard, every outdated knickknack fixed in place since my son was old enough to chase frogs down by the creek.

In many ways, this place felt like more of a home than my actual home in the city.

My boots echoed on the entry tile as I stepped inside, bag clutched in a white-knuckled grip, every sense on high alert.

A sound caught my attention. It was coming from upstairs, the distinct noise of a shower running.

My heart rate picked up as I realized that not only was someone nearby, but they were actually inside the cabin.

I set my bag down quietly and crept up the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky spots I’d memorized years ago. As I reached the top landing, the shower shut off. Muffled noises came from behind the closed bathroom door—the rustle of a towel, bare feet padding across tile.

I hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Should I announce my presence? Confront the intruder? Before I could decide, the bathroom door swung open and a guy stepped out, a towel slung low on his hips, water still glistening on his toned chest.

I froze, caught off guard by the sight of the half-naked young man before me.

My eyes couldn’t help but trace the droplets of water trailing down his lean torso.

He looked to be in his early twenties, with chestnut hair darkened by the shower and striking green eyes that were currently wide with shock.

“Mr. Price!” The gorgeous man blushed so hard I thought he might burst into flames. He clutched the towel tighter. “Oh my God—I—I didn’t know?—”

“Adam?” The name slipped out, as recognition finally set in. I’d met my son’s best friend a few times when I would go to pick Dalton up for dinner at his apartment, but we’d never really had a chance to talk. “What are you doing here?”

He shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “As you probably know, the city is as hot as ball—oons. As hot as balloons in the sun,” he finished lamely, his cheeks flushing an adorable shade of pink.

“It’s okay. You can say balls in front of me,” I said, fighting a grin.

If possible, he blushed even harder at that, his face turning a lovely crimson.

“Yeah, so anyway, Dalton told me before that I could use the cabin anytime I wanted since no one ever comes here. I wasn’t going to, but then the AC quit working in our building and well, here I am.

I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were planning on coming here.

” He trailed off, mortification written all over him.

The kid was six feet easy, all lean muscle and nervous energy, with the same bashful smile he’d had the other times I’d met him.

I tried to keep my eyes on his face, and not on the water droplets running in lazy lines down his chest. “No apology necessary,” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t realize myself that I’d be coming here. It was sort of a spur of the moment decision.”

He managed a soft smile, still hovering at the threshold of the bathroom like a cat that wanted out but wasn’t sure if the dog had left the room.

“Look, I don’t want to intrude,” he blurted.

“If you want me gone, I’ll—uh—I’ll pack up right now and find a motel.

Seriously, Mr. Price, it’s no big deal.”

I probably should have told him to go. I should have given him money to stay somewhere else and gotten on with my vacation.

But staring at Adam Ramsey, soaked and pink-faced and more earnest than any twenty-one-year-old had a right to be, I felt my irritation fade into something more complicated.

There was a rawness about him I remembered from Dalton’s stories, like the world had only half-finished sanding down his edges.

I let my shoulders drop. “Don’t be ridiculous. The place is big enough for both of us.”

He blinked. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Sure as hell beats staying alone in the city,” I said, surprised at how true it sounded.

He smiled for real this time, and my chest did an odd little flip. “Thanks, Mr. Price. Give me a few minutes and I’ll move all of my stuff to the guest room.”

“Griffin,” I corrected. “I think you’ve earned first-name privileges at this point.”

He ducked his head. “Right. Sorry. Griffin.”

He darted into the bedroom, door closing with a soft click.

I shook my head and made my way downstairs.

In the kitchen, I found the remains of Adam’s lunch—the crust of a sandwich, a bottle of store-brand root beer, and a stack of textbooks open on the dining table.

The sight of it all made me feel weirdly settled.

I poured myself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, listening to the creaks and sighs of the cabin.

Upstairs, a drawer opened and closed. A few moments later, Adam appeared, this time in a faded T-shirt and a pair of old sweatpants.

He’d managed to comb his hair into a semi-orderly mess.

The panic was gone, replaced by a wary sort of optimism.

He hovered at the foot of the stairs; hands tucked in his pockets. “Do you want me to stay out of your way? I can keep to the guest room if you want privacy.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Not at all. This cabin is meant to be enjoyed. Make yourself at home.”

Adam visibly relaxed, his shoulders loosening as a small smile tugged at his lips. “Thanks, that’s really nice of you.”

An awkward silence stretched between us. I racked my brain for something to say, feeling oddly off-balance. It had been a long time since I’d had to make small talk with someone who wasn’t a client or colleague.

“So, uh, how’s school going?” I asked lamely, wincing internally at how much I sounded like my own father.

“It’s good,” he replied, perking up a bit. “I’m actually taking some summer courses to try and graduate early. That’s partly why I came up here. I needed a quiet place to work without so many distractions.”

I nodded, impressed by his dedication. “That’s great. What are you studying?”

“Computer science,” he replied, his eyes lighting up. “I’m especially interested in AI and machine learning. It’s fascinating how computers can be taught to learn and make decisions on their own. They’re even using them to perform some surgeries.”

As he spoke, I found myself drawn in by his enthusiasm. There was something infectious about the way he talked, his hands gesturing animatedly as he explained concepts I only vaguely understood. “Sounds like you’ve found your passion,” I said, smiling. “That’s not always easy to do.”

His expression turned thoughtful. “Yeah, I feel lucky. I know a lot of people my age who are still trying to figure out what they want to do with their lives.”

An awkward silence fell between us again. I cleared my throat, searching for something else to say. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from your studies,” I said, gesturing to the textbooks on the table. “I should probably unpack and get settled in myself.”

Adam nodded, looking relieved to have an out from our awkward small talk.

“Right, of course. I’ll just… ” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards the living room.

As he moved past me, I caught a whiff of his shampoo—something woodsy and clean.

It stirred an unexpected flutter in my stomach that I quickly pushed aside.

This was my son’s best friend, for Christ’s sake. I needed to get a grip.

Grabbing my bag, I headed up to my bedroom. But as I started unpacking, I couldn’t stop thinking about my surprise guest downstairs. His presence in the cabin was unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. There was something refreshing about his youthful energy and enthusiasm.

As I hung up my clothes, I found myself wondering what it would be like to spend the next two weeks with him.

Would it be awkward? Or could we find some common ground?

I shook my head, trying to dispel those thoughts.

I was here to relax and recharge, not to socialize with my son’s best friend.

But a small part of me was grateful for the company, even if I’d never admit it out loud.