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“Aus!”

“Something’s going on between the two of you!” he whispered.

My lack of response and stupid smile were all the answers he needed.

“Oh my God, Dalton. Tell me everything!”

“Later!” I fired off.

But of course, I did share what was going on with Austin before winter break ended, even going so far as to tell him how happy I was, something I hadn’t shared with Turner at that point. Our time alone together was generally put to much better use than chatting about feelings. We’d spent most nights together in Turner’s little apartment, and we may not have talked about what would happen when I went back to school, but I knew what I wanted. The thing I’d always wanted. I wanted him.

Anita and Wyatt left after Christmas, and it became much easier for Turner and me to spend time together. Time in the toy store, and in the unfinished shop next door, and as many stolen hours as we could find up in his apartment. I have such fond memories of cooking cheap pasta and covering it in jars of prepared sauce, both of us in nothing but loose-fitting shorts, neither of us minding the draftiness of that apartment. The cadence of the ocean was our constant companion.

We found it hard to keep our hands off each other, even when we were working or cooking, and even, I’d noticed, when it didn’t lead to something more.

Despite the fact that I was preparing to leave for college a few weeks later, I was on cloud nine, waking up most mornings in Turner’s oceanfront bedroom.

We’d taken to perfecting morning blow jobs, whichever one of us woke up first waking the other one with their mouth after Turner told me how hot the idea of waking up with his cock in my mouth would be.

I’d only ever fooled around with Austin, and that had been years ago, but I really enjoyed honing my skills with Turner. I’d finished him off that last morning before I left for school, too turned on to wait for him to return the favor. Instead, I rose to my knees, the sheet falling behind me as I chased my own pleasure, Turner’s eyes never leaving me. The desire I felt for him reflected right back at me. It was perfect.

When I finished, I dropped down and kissed him lazily for a few minutes, and I remember feeling like I could have done so for hours more, but Turner pulled away, muttering the word “bathroom” as he abruptly worked himself out from underneath me.

He’d made breakfast that last morning, cooking where we usually just poured some cereal before starting our day. He’d insisted I not help, guiding me to sit at the counter that separated his little kitchen from the living room. He placed a cup of coffee in front of me while simultaneously pushing my shoulder until I sat. The sound of the waves washing ashore filled the room with a peaceful rhythm as I watched Turner pull bacon, eggs, and even vegetables out of his ancient refrigerator. I took a sip of coffee, which tasted delicious. I thought about it and said out loud, “Almond milk, no sugar.”

“Huh?”

“This coffee is perfect. Thank you.” I nodded my chin toward the BT&G mug sitting next to him on the counter. “You like yours with a big splash of that almond milk and nothing else, right?” His smile seemed a little sad as he nodded in affirmation but didn’t respond otherwise. He turned back to the counter and started cracking eggs into a bowl.

“You’re cooking?” I said, mostly to fill the silence.

“It’s your last day. I just thought … Are omelets okay?” Turner sounded so serious.

“I mean, they’re no Sugar-O’s, but they’ll do.” I remember that getting a laugh out of him, but then he went quiet as he cooked, until he set a messy mix of eggs and chopped vegetables in front of me.

“More like scrambled eggs with veggies, I guess. I’m still learning. I mean, you’ve seen. I mostly have frozen meals or stuff out of jars if Anita doesn’t cook for me. I really want to learn how to someday, though. I never cooked at home, it wasn’t something menfolk did in our community, and I’ve just not gotten around to learning since I’ve been here.”

“That sounds like a good goal, but you’re going to be so busy with the new store and everything, especially without Anita here. So maybe focus on, like, one or two things.” I grabbed my phone and searched until I found a video tutorial on how to make a vegetable omelet. Then I found one for a basic pasta sauce. I sent them to Turner’s phone. When I put my phone back down, I rested my hand on his thigh, loving that I could touch him skin to skin there in the privacy of his oceanfront apartment.

I squeezed and said, “I can’t wait for you to make breakfast for me again when I come home …” I did finish the sentence, saying, “after my internship,” but Turner had jumped up, his stool scraping the floor and drowning out the words I said more softly, surprised at Turner’s reaction.

He scooped up his plate, which wasn’t yet empty, and placed it in the sink, staying there with his back to me, his arms griping the edge of the counter tightly.

“Turner?”

What he said next I mostly remember in snippets, the ebb and flow of the ocean muffling words that I didn’t want to hear or understand. His emotions escalating with every point he made, Turner talked about our ages, and about Brett, and about my future and my travels. I think he even mentioned Austin and our feelings for each other. He called himself an unnecessary distraction. That I remember clearly, and that he insisted college was a time for exploration.

I let him get it all out, his rambling string of thoughts and emotions, then I asked again.

“Turner?”

“Think about it, Dalton! What are we even doing here? I can’t make you breakfast next summer; I can’t ever make you breakfast again. This was just … I don’t know, a moment out of time. A … a winter break. You have your life, your big, amazing life that’s going to take you … hell, that’s already taken you to the ends of the earth. And college is a time for exploring, for figuring out who … I mean, what you really want, for sowing wild oats!”

Turner was pushing me away, and I was so hurt and confused by it that I couldn’t stop what I said next. “Like you did when you were in school?” I spat out even though I had no right to be retroactively angry or to judge him at all.

“Yes! Exactly like I did. I wasn’t tied down by anything back then, and I think that was really important. You shouldn’t be tied down either!” He stuttered a little on the next part. “Neither … neither of us should be.”

All of our conversations up until that point, and I mean all of them from the day we’d met years before, had been wonderful. At least that’s how I would describe them. Whether we were joking or chatting, or if he was just asking me to pass him a toy while we worked downstairs, or asking me if Brett was around when he’d stopped by the house. Never once had we been upset with each other. Sure, I’d been embarrassed when I’d kissed him two years before, but he’d been nothing but kind and gentle about it, and I’m sure he would have continued to be if I hadn't hightailed it out of the toy store and run away that night.