“No?” I ask.
“I don’t hide much.”
“That must be nice.”
“Not always.”
The answer surprises me. He keeps his gaze on the water. “People like a man who looks simple… easy to understand. They decide what you are before you open your mouth.”
“And what do they decide you are?”
His mouth curves without humor. “Temporary.”
The word slips into me like cold water. Temporary. I should like that word. Temporary is exactly what this should be. I am here for a short time. Hudson lives a life built around movement. I have a classroom, an apartment, parents who still think Harold was unfortunate but reasonable, and a long list of practical concerns waiting for me after summer break.
Temporary should be comforting. Instead, it feels like a warning.
“Are you?” I ask.
His eyes come back to mine. “To most people.”
“And to yourself?”
“I move with the seasons,” he says. “Cady Springs in summer. Warmer places when winter comes. Work where there’s water, trails, repairs, guiding. I don’t stay in one place year-round.”
“That sounds free,” I say, just like I did on the trail.
“You keep saying that like you’re not sure you’re allowed to want it,” he says.
I look down at my hands. “Maybe I’m not.”
“Who told you that?”
No one, yet everyone. Life dictated it in veiled ways with doctors in soft voices. My mother, with her safe hopes for me. Harold, with his careful love and endless postponements. And my own fear, which has been louder than all of them.
I pick at a loose thread on the hem of my shorts. “I built a life around being useful.”
Hudson says nothing. I keep going, because apparently the cliff jump knocked loose more than my common sense.
“I teach second grade. I love it. I really do. The kids are…” I smile despite the ache. “They’re messy, funny, exhausting and wonderful. They ask questions adults are too polite to ask. They forgive quickly. They notice everything. They think stickers are currency.”
Hudson’s mouth softens.
“I became a teacher because I wanted to,” I say. “But also because…” I shake my head. “Never mind.”
His voice stays gentle. “All right.”
That is worse than if he pushed.
I glance at him. “You’re not going to ask?”
“You’ll tell me if you want to.”
“Does that work on women?”
“What?”
“The whole patient, respectful alpha male thing.”
