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The power was still out the next morning, which meant no hot water, no coffee, and no chance to get Laurel back into the shower for a slow, sleepy repeat of the night before. Casey could survive without the coffee, and even without the morning sex, but pulling yesterday’s still-damp clothes on over his unwashed skin made him feel barely human. In the bathroom, he splashed his face and armpits with cold water, trying to at least be presentable enough for the drive. They would be in the car all day, and Casey was sure Laurel would take back all the sweet things he had said last night if they had to sit around smelling each other for six-plus hours.

Laurel didn’t seem bothered, though. Once they had stopped for coffee, he was perfectly content, sitting at attention in the front seat like a dog on a road trip, eyes alert and sparkling, watching the road as if every highway sign and fast food franchise was uniquely fascinating. The storm had passed, and the milky-white sky of early morning gave way to a collage of oranges and pinks and blues as the sun rose fully and the cloud cover burned off. It was slow going through central Florida, parts of the road closed off to flooding or accidents, but Casey wasn’t as frustrated by it as he could have been. Laurel made it easier, commenting on the scenery or singing along to the radio or making fun of the commercials and the prayer line stations. It was strangely effortless, talking with him. Being with him in general.

Traffic thinned as they approached the Florida-Georgia line, the landscape growing greener and more lush, the trees on either side of the interstate a blend of live oaks and palms. The highway was wide and flat, and Laurel must have noticed that Casey wasn’t exactly in a rush, because he said, “You can go faster than the speed limit, you know.”

“Yeah.” Casey felt his shoulders tense up. “I’m nervous about getting pulled over. I don’t really trust the police.”

“Why? Does Charles Jefferson Walker have a record?” His voice was teasing, but Casey felt a little prickle of guilt. Which was funny, because for a long time, he’d had himself convinced that he felt guilty about nothing. The world gave and took indiscriminately, and the only way to make sure you survived was to take back.

I don’t want you to do it anymore .

Casey wasn’t sure he wanted to do it anymore, either. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be a person who took, without regard for others.

“No,” he said, which was the truth. “But I don’t want to get one.” He didn’t really want to admit it to Laurel, but he had been massively stupid at Melody’s house. Between the cat allergies and the missed calls from Denise and the unwelcome memories of all the times his dad had attempted to detox, he had somehow forgotten to flush Melody’s drugs, stuffing them into his jacket instead, and now they were in the glove box. Getting pulled over could be very, very bad.

“It’s okay.” Laurel stretched, yawning. “I’m not exactly in a hurry to get home, either.” His shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of skin, and even though Casey’s tongue had been all over every inch of him last night, his mouth still watered, and his worries about the glove box winked out of existence. He would never get tired of looking at him.

“Laurel.” Casey was about to ask again if he was sure he wanted to go back. They could take a detour at least, stop in Savannah and walk hand-in-hand beneath the dangling arms of the live oaks. Anything to prolong this time together, before real life came rushing back in. But Laurel’s phone was ringing, and he had pulled it out to answer.

“My dad,” he said. “Do you mind?”

Casey shook his head. He stared resolutely out at the road, trying to look like he wasn’t listening in. Though of course he was. It was hard to catch anything, though, because Laurel was speaking some combination of English and French, and damn, if everyday Laurel was already as sweet and hot as fresh pecan pie, hearing him speak French was like putting ice cream on top. Casey’s palms felt a little sweaty on the wheel as Laurel’s tongue wrapped around the words.

“ Mais non, Dad , ce n'était pas un ouragan . C'était a tropical storm. No, I don’t know how you say it in French. Une … petite tempête tropicale. Tout va bien .” He shot Casey a smile, and Casey’s heart flip-flopped. “Actually, je suis avec … eh bien, ce n’est pas un ami. Mais j'espère qu’il sera un petit ami soon.”

The person on the other line said something loud and excited-sounding, and Laurel blushed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Il est très gentil. I’ll have to ask him. Okay. Okay, Dad. Je t’aime aussi. à bient?t .” He hung up, face still flushed. “Sorry about that,” he told Casey. “He gets worried about hurricanes. And his geography of the US is shaky, so he’s sure I’m in the middle of every single one, no matter where it is.”

“I didn’t know you spoke French.”

Laurel made a face. “At, like, a kindergarten level. I understand a lot more than I can speak.”

Casey shrugged. “Still sexy. Did you say you were with a friend?” He had been able to pick out that word, at least, or thought he had.

“Uh.” Laurel turned a little redder, and he fiddled with the air conditioning vent on the dashboard. “Not exactly. I said—I said you weren’t a friend. But that I hoped maybe you would be a boyfriend soon. Oh, and he wants to meet you now. Sorry.”

“A—” It felt like someone had just released a flock of birds inside Casey’s chest, and his fingers were trembling, and he had to remind himself that he was still driving and that he couldn’t just gaze across the cab at Laurel for the foreseeable future. “A boyfriend, huh?” he said finally. “Are you sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Laurel’s face was open, earnest, and Casey felt sure he would never deserve someone like him. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m scared as hell. But that doesn’t mean I’m not sure.”

“What about my past?”

Laurel shrugged. “People can change. You’ll find a better way to make money, I know it.”

Casey shook his head. “Life isn’t as easy as you think.”

“Then let me make it easier. I can help you. Not,” he added quickly, “as a sugar daddy. Just as—a safety net. It seems like you’ve never had one.”

He hadn’t, and he hadn’t ever really had a boyfriend, either. Casey had spent his whole life wanting nicer things, wanting what other people had, but he’d never dared to want love. He thought of what Laurel had said in the hotel room, and his heart squeezed. He wondered if he had meant it. He wondered if it would last.

Casey cleared his throat. “I have to be honest, Laurel. I have no idea how to be in a relationship. I don’t even know where to start.”

Laurel plucked Casey’s hand off of the steering wheel, kissed the back of it. “Let’s start at the beginning. As Julie Andrews says, it’s a very good place to start. I want to go on a date with you. Multiple dates, actually. I want to show you all of my favorite places.”

“In Bonard?” Casey’s chest felt like it was full of glitter, but he forced himself to be practical. “What about all the gossip? What about your mom?”

“What about it?” Laurel shrugged, a careless grin on his face, that one tooth catching on his lower lip, and, at least for that moment, all of Casey’s reservations melted away, replaced by a shivery sense of exhilaration. “I don’t really care anymore. I’m done worrying about what people think.”

*

For their first date, they really did go back to the beginning, taking a trip to Abernathy Farms’ annual harvest festival. It was warmer than usual for early October, hay bales baking in the sun, the goats in the petting zoo chewing lethargically at broken-open pumpkins. Had it really only been a number of weeks—eight, or maybe ten?—since Laurel had been out here with Casey the last time, the two of them crammed into the back of a golf cart, resentment and lust simmering between them as their thighs brushed? It felt like years had passed since then, but the Halloween decor all over the property told Laurel that it was, somehow, still Fall. The spooky skeletons and bloody scarecrows set up around the property looked comically out-of-place against the sparkling blue of the sky and the still-green fields of crops. Hordes of sweaty children, many of them in costume, drunk on apple cider, kettle corn, and the novelty of it all, chased each other and climbed on the piles of pumpkins. There was a giant, “haunted” bounce house set up, and a fun slide that Casey definitely exceeded the height limit for. Which was too bad, because Laurel would have forced him to go down it otherwise. He was still kind of tempted to try to talk him into visiting the face-painting booth.

“God, there’s a lot of people here,” Casey said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I mean, if you want privacy, we could get lost in the corn maze and make out.”

“Uh, no. Sounds scratchy and uncomfortable. Ooh, they have caramel apples!” Casey pointed in excitement at a hand-painted sign on the side of the barn. “Will you share one with me?”

“Sure, go get us one.” Laurel watched him walk away, eyes lingering appreciatively on his tall, slim figure. Casey’s hair gleamed in the sunlight, nearly as bright as the white of his jacket. His eyes were hidden behind designer sunglasses, and he looked elegant, enigmatic. Untouchable. Laurel felt a little thrill, knowing that no one else here had any idea what lay beneath the surface of him.

It was so nice, admiring him from afar and knowing he was coming back. Being with Casey felt comfortable , in a way no other hookup or relationship or situationship had. When Laurel had been in love before, it had been stars and sunsets and secrets and extremes, but this was like the beach on a sunny day, easy and soothing. He knew he probably shouldn’t even be thinking of love this early on, should be protecting his heart, but apparently he wasn’t great at that. Never had been, really. Didn’t want to be.

The line was long, and eventually Laurel lost sight of Casey. He pulled out his phone to pass the time. Nothing from Denise, but that would probably change as soon as the wheels of the town gossip mill started turning. As far as Laurel knew, she wasn’t even aware that he’d been out of town at all, and now that he was back, he and Casey hadn’t made any grand announcements. They were just—together, and people could draw whatever conclusions they wanted. Laurel had already noticed Sarah Ann Copeland here with her grandchildren. She was staring at him with a look of incomprehension, probably already formulating what she’d say to all the church ladies. Laurel waved at her cheerily. She pressed her lips together, not returning the gesture.

Yeah. So it was probably a matter of hours before Denise started blowing up his phone. Laurel saw Casey returning from the concessions booth, a caramel apple in one hand, and thought for a moment about grabbing him around the waist and bending him back in a big, cinematic kiss. Maybe also grabbing a handful of his ass, just to make it extra obvious. But there were kids around, after all.

“That was awkward,” Casey said. “No one in line would talk to me. I can’t tell if it’s because of the whole getting fired thing, or because I’m here with you.”

“Yeah, we do seem to be getting carefully ignored,” Laurel agreed. He couldn’t really bring himself to care. Honestly, it was kind of nice not to have to make empty conversation with anyone. The sun was warm on his back, and he was enjoying being here with Casey, smelling caramel and tartness from the apple and watching his eyelashes flutter happily as he took a bite. “Melody said she’d be here. Should we try to find her?”

“Mm-hm. Here.” Casey handed him the apple. “You finish it.”

“You had like two bites.”

“That’s all I wanted.”

“Fine.” He wished Casey would eat more, but he wasn’t going to push. Not now, at least. “But when we go to Belgium, I’m making you try everything. Even if I have to force-feed it to you.”

“God, you make it sound so dirty,” Casey said with a sly smile.

“It will be. Absolute debaucherous filth.”

“Debaucherous?” Casey gave him a skeptical look. “That’s not a word.”

Laurel grinned, taking out his phone. “Look it up. I dare you. The winner gets to—“

“Laurel, hey!” It was Melody, waving from one of the covered picnic tables nearby. She was sitting with Kierra Nelson and a girl who looked fresh out of high school, and there was a shopping basket full of pumpkins at her side.

“I’m getting into baking,” she explained once they had reached her. “And maybe making pumpkin butter. And I guess whatever else you can do with pumpkins. I’m frickin’ bored, is what I’m saying.”

“Well, you look amazing.” Laurel gave her a hug. He was glad to see that sobriety hadn’t influenced her sartorial sense. The boot had come off her foot, and she was in mirrored sunglasses, a denim halter dress, and strappy heels, looking like she’d stepped out of an early-2000s music video.

“So do you two. It’s nice to see you again, Casey.” Melody smiled up at him, a little shyly. Clapping her hands, she said, “Oh! Introductions. This is Kierra Nelson, the librarian at the high school. And this is Lydia Callaway. We’re part of the same volunteer group.”

Lydia gave them a tight smile but didn’t say anything. Her shoulders were hunched, fingers glued to her phone. Laurel was pretty sure she was Birdie Callaway’s niece, though she’d been much younger the last time he’d seen her.

“Casey, I’m glad to finally meet you,” said Kierra. “I hear you’re into floral arrangements. Have you read The Language of Flowers ? It’s really fascinating.”

“No, I, um—“ he looked surprised, like he hadn’t expected anyone to actually care about his interests, and it made Laurel a little sad. “What’s it about?”

“Oh, the Victorians,” Kierra said knowingly. “So, you know. Weird shit.”

Before they could stay and chat more, though, Melody grabbed his arm, tugging on it. “Laurel, come on. I need help loading these pumpkins into my car.”

“You’re leaving already?” he asked. He wanted to stay, if only for Casey’s sake. He liked seeing him engaged, liked the way his face lit up when he talked about flowers Laurel couldn’t name and colors he couldn’t see. But Melody was already halfway across the field, and he had no choice but to follow. In her heels, pushing a cart full of pumpkins with the corn maze as a backdrop, she looked like a particularly silly fashion campaign.

“Yeah, Kierra and Lydia have stuff to work on. And I think Howie is here. I saw his car out in the parking lot, and I don’t want to run into him.”

“I saw it too,” Casey said, catching up to them. “He has a vintage Chevy Camaro, right?”

“What?” Laurel looked at him in surprise. “Since when do you know about classic cars?”

Casey shrugged. “I saw it outside the hotel and recognized the make and model. My dad had one for a while. They’re surprisingly easy to break into.”

“Interesting.” Melody pursed her lips.

“Oh my God,” Laurel said. He had wanted Casey and Melody to get along, but the idea of them teaming up was a little bit terrifying. “Don’t get any ideas,” he told her.

“I’m just saying.” Casey was the picture of innocence in his white suit jacket, a neutral expression on his face, but right then, he felt like Laurel’s own personal, very tempting shoulder devil. “It wouldn’t be too hard to put some raw shrimp in the heating vents. Or ground hamburger under the seat covers.”

“I like the way you think.” Melody smiled, pressing the key fob for her own car. The trunk swung open. “But no, I’m going to let karma take care of Howie. I think, I hope , that—” She bit her lip and grabbed a pumpkin. “You know what, never mind. I don’t want to jinx it. Do y’all want to help me make some pumpkin bread?”

Laurel held up his hands. “Oh no. You know I don’t cook.”

“I can make boxed Mac n’ cheese,” Casey added. “That’s it.”

Melody rolled her eyes. “It’s really not that hard. And it’s surprisingly cathartic to crack a pumpkin open with a meat cleaver. But I get it, you two need your alone time.” She winked. “Give me a call if you ever want a third wheel, though. Casey, Laurel’s never let me meet anyone he’s dated, and I’ve been saving up embarrassing stories for years .”