Page 30

WEDNESDAY

“Scorza di Limone”

Amalfi’s morning air is so cool and crisp it lures me from bed to the balcony.

Cam is already awake, shirtless, sipping a cappuccino and dunking a biscotti into the rich liquid.

A gauze of soft clouds encases the sky, but a warm yellow from the sun peeks through. A few anchored rowboats dance atop the waves as fishermen with beards and brown hats hope for a good catch.

I lean against the doorframe and take in the view.

“Morning, beautiful.” Cam stands to hug me. His teal-and-gray-striped linen pajama pants flap in the breeze. “It’s a literal dream, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. What did you wanna do today? We have a free day. I was thinking we could go into town to meet local woodworkers—”

Cam rolls his eyes. “Sounds boring.”

Startled by his admission, I say nothing. Am I too boring for him?

“JK, JK,” Cam says. “Sounds like a blast.” He avoids looking at me. Nonno always told me when people avoid direct eye contact, they’re lying.

“Nah, it’s fine,” I say. “I do have some stuff to square with Sienna, and Topher asked me to help plan something for Sienna with Fielder, so maybe—”

“Can we have one day where we don’t talk about Fielder?” He tips the rest of the cappuccino into his mouth in one swift gulp, and his nostrils flare.

“I thought you two were cool?” I ask.

“I’m fine, it’s just a lot, being around him. All day, all night. Watching him laugh with your parents. They love him. I don’t think your mom has said two words to me.”

“She doesn’t know you, Cam.” I wince.

“I know you guys have history, but . . .” He takes a deep breath. “Whatever. I just don’t trust him.”

“You don’t know him, Cam.”

Nothing hammers my wood quite like someone going after someone I lo—

I catch myself.

Anyway. I can say whatever I want about Fielder, but if someone else says a word, it makes me want to take a sledgehammer to a cinder block. I grind my jaw and ask myself what Nonno would do. He’d center himself and listen .

“I know what you told me for months. How he spent so much time on his phone that he ignored you. How he blocked you so you couldn’t even talk to him.

I was there for you, remember? You don’t have Clock or anything, so you wouldn’t know, but he’s using you for likes.

” He grabs his phone and taps the screen until he pulls up Fielder’s channel, flashing me the screen.

“Watch the last two. At least read the comments. Apparently, you two were a hot commodity once upon a time. You didn’t tell me that. ”

“I don’t need to. Whatever Fielder posts has nothing to do with me.

” I never cared about being on @LemonAtFirstSight, and I don’t care now.

It made Fielder happy, excited, and if the comments are blowing up from something involving me, let them.

“The comment section is not real life, and I feel bad for the people who live there.”

He scoffs.

“How deep of a dive did you do?” I ask.

“Deep enough to know his fans love Rickder-Fieldy content.” His face scrunches, and his eyes go glassy.

“The comment section noticed you in the background of his latest, and the way he edited it really makes it seem like he’s hinting at something.

I think he’s using you being here to help boost his Clock videos.

” Cam’s hands are shaking as he sets his phone down in front of me.

“Guess they don’t know Fielder wrecked you. ”

“I know you’re looking out for me,” I say, “but—”

“I don’t want him using you.”

“Don’t you think I can decide that for myself?”

“You don’t seem to have the best judgment,” Cam says through gritted teeth.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He crosses his arms. “I’m sick of feeling like I’m second to Fielder.”

“When do I—”

“This whole week, I’ve heard stories from your family how you and Fielder used to be this iconic couple.

” Cam’s pacing back and forth, and he looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

“I’ve seen it for myself on Clock, too. I get it, there’s history.

” I grab his hands and lead him to the café table by the balcony railing where I sit him down.

“I see how you’ve acted just leading up to coming here, knowing you’d be around Fielder.

You were together for your entire lives basically.

But we’ve been together for six months, and you won’t even properly have a conversation where we define our relationship. ” His legs are shaking restlessly.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, are we actually boyfriends?”

“I call you my boyfriend,” I say.

“That’s not the same,” Cam says. “And you know it. Every time I ask you if we can, like, define our relationship, you say, ‘We’re dating.’ ”

I nod. “We’re dating, yeah.”

My heart is beating out of my chest. I’ve avoided this for months because it’s a scary conversation I’ve not been ready for.

Defining our relationship with a label beyond “dating” terrifies me because it means having to open myself up to getting hurt again.

Or worse, being the one who does the hurting. Maybe that makes me a coward.

Actually, I know it does.

“That really sucks, Ric.” Cam buries his face in his hands. “I deserve more than that. I want you to be my boyfriend . Exclusively, in definition and promise.”

“Cam . . .” I take his hands, pry them off his face so I can see him. But I can’t do more.

His eyes are splotchy and red. “I want to occupy the same spot as Fielder in your mind. If I can’t, let me go.”

After a few minutes of silence, he says, “I think I’m going to go into town by myself. Maybe hit the public beach. You go to the woodshop. I think doing this separately today is a good idea. Gives us both time to think.”

After a long hot shower, I emerge ready to take on the day, heading up to see Vincenze about getting into town by myself.

Running my hands through my long hair, I shake out the remaining moisture like a dog when I run into Tyler, who asks what I’m doing today.

When I tell him I’m heading into town and ask if he wants to join, he leans in close.

“Keep a secret?” Rocking back and forth excitedly on his heels, he looks like a giddy kid. “I got a date!”

My brows arch. “Monroe.”

Color drains from his already pale face.

“Worst kept secret ever. You’re all over her.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only to people with eyes.”

“Oh, okay.” He scrunches his face. “Wait.”

We both laugh.

“She’s a goddess, dude,” I say, having known Monroe since Sienna was a college freshman at FIT and Monroe was her roommate.

“Smart as hell, probably more than all of us combined. And she’s an artist .

Like, a real visionary.” Monroe has what it takes to become world-famous.

Her designs are bonkers. Avant-garde. I admire her.

Plus, she’s always been a great, loyal friend to Sienna.

When I came out to Sienna, they both invited me to the city and Monroe introduced me to her twin sister, Joey, and Joey’s girlfriend, and her best friends Carey and Phoebe.

Meeting so many LGBTQ + people and seeing them thrive was something I’ll never forget.

I already had so much exposure, from Fielder and Benny, but it never gets old meeting new people who are authentically themselves. “Don’t mess this up.”

“Any advice?” he asks.

“For dating a girl?” My face scrunches. “Fresh out of tips. Though I did give pointers to some guys on the football team.”

“You played football?”

“For five seconds.” I air-measure myself against him. “Don’t know if you can tell, but I was a bit of a runt.” That gets a laugh. I learned a long time ago that short jokes got me far. “I got pummeled. Hated every game. I played tennis and swam. Varsity captain.”

“Small but mighty,” Tyler says.

“Small but mighty.” I flex my biceps, and Tyler feels them.

“This feels very gay.” Monroe appears from around a blind corner, Fielder in tow.

She’s wearing skintight black jeans with snakeskin boots and a vintage flowy, oversized resort-style button-down with a vibrant 1970s maximalist–pop art alligator print.

Her bright pink lips and a slick cat eye complete the look.

She contrasts Tyler in his baby-blue shorts that come just above his knee and a short-sleeve plain-as-hell Target button-down that’s buttoned up too high.

I reach over and swiftly unbutton a few until his collarbone and the upper part of his pecs show.

“Quick hands,” Tyler says.

I crack my knuckles.

“Hey,” Fielder says, and my mouth goes dry. “How’d you sleep?”

I shrug. “Meh. You?” I hate small talk. Fielder and I never had that.

From the moment we met, we never ran out of things to talk about.

Back then it was all about LEGO sets, Adventure Time , Star Wars: The Clone Wars , Pokémon , or, thanks to my dad, Jurassic Park (which scared the hell out of Fielder).

We teeter on the heels of everything unspoken between us until the silence becomes too much for Monroe.

“This is awkward,” she says.

“We should, um, probably head out,” Tyler says. “I asked Vin-cenze to get us a golf cart to go into town.”

“What a knight in shining polyblend.” She slaps his shoulder and Tyler blushes.

“Mind if I hitch a ride with you guys?” I ask. “I wanted to hit a woodshop or two Niccolò told me about yesterday.”

Tyler looks to Fielder like I wasn’t supposed to ask such a thing.

“No, sorry, no room at the inn,” Monroe says. “But I think Fielder got a cart. Maybe you can ride with him?”

“You’re going into town?” I ask him, my chest fluttering. Nerves or—

“I want to interview Niccolò Avello for my Clock channel. A three-part series I have in mind for . . . something.” He squints as he does when he rambles and reveals more than he wants to.

“Mind if I . . . ?”

“Absolutely!” Fielder says excitedly. Then, switching to a breezy tone, he coos, “Or whatever. No big. I can spare a seat.”

“Right,” I say, looking between the three of them.