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“I’ll come with you.” Poet repeats my words from this morning.

Aras responds before I can, and climbs up Poet’s leg and into his arms.

Poet regards my son with an expression I can’t quite decipher. So I stop trying and we leave the beach together, though I don’t miss the filthy wink Sev sends my way.

I ignore it and walk ahead of Aras and Poet, shielding them from the strengthening wind, making the weakest attempt on earth not to listen to the very serious discussion they are having about the summer camp trip Aras is going on tomorrow—to the Natural History Museum in London. Aras is excited about the T-rex, and the giant tree slice, which surprised me until I remembered how much time he’s spent with Poet in the orchard.

“The rings in tree trunks are birthdays,” Poet tells him. “Will you tell me how old you think that sequoia is when you get back?”

Aras agrees and they return to talking about the T-rex.

I go back to eavesdropping. To listening to Poet pay attention to every word Aras says, even as they circle back to dinosaurs three times over.

Reverent patience.

I didn’t know it could be so attractive in a man. I never knew to look for it. But I am looking now—listening—with admiration, longing, and dread in my heart, and I do not know why.

We reach Hanna’s house and I take Aras inside.

When I come out, Poet is sitting on his fence, his face to the wicked sea breeze, waiting for me, his features almost too wise and glorious to bear. “What are you in your feelings about?”

I brace my arms on the fence. “It is that obvious?”

“To me. Can’t speak for anyone else.”

“Okay…I am worried about how much Aras likes you. He knows we are very close. It is only a matter of time before he asks me if we are like River and Rubi, or Jack and Sol.”

Poet is quiet a long moment. But not forever. “We’ve talked about this before. I wondered when it would come up again.”

“You did?”

He nods. “Aras matters to me. It makes sense that you’d notice.”

“And that is what scares me. When you say things like this. You are so…” I can’t find the word. No English I can find is enough. Not for him. Still, I try again. “I spent so long thinking about you. Even when I was dying in the ocean, I hear your voice, I feel you…you are on my mind. And now you fit into my existence so easily. I see you with my friends, with Aras, and it’s so perfect I cannot tell if it’s incredibly stupid.”

Poet’s smile is gentle.

Which doesn’t help.

Despite myself, I laugh.

Then I stop. “What if this doesn’t work out?”

He follows my gaze across the lane to Hanna’s blue house, to Aras’s window and his night light glowing in the dark. “For what it’s worth, if you ever didn’t want me in your bed anymore, nothing else would have to change.”

I’m too frayed to know what he means.

He looks back at me. “You don’t owe me anything, especially if you’re not sure you even want it, but Aras won’t lose me regardless of what you decide.”

“Really?”

“I’d never hurt your son, Oscar. It’s not in my DNA to cast a child aside because they aren’t convenient anymore.”

I know that. I know it. Just like I know I’ve offended him—I’ve upset him. But that isn’t what terrifies me.

What terrifies me is how wholeheartedly I believe every word he says and I don’t know how to convey that to Poet without contradicting what I’ve already said.

Poet studies me a long moment. As though he can see every thought and feeling I’ve ever had. Then he leans in and kisses me as another gust of wind batters us.