Page 18 of The Spirit of Love
“Like?”
I think about this for a moment. “Like the first sunset of daylight saving time from my balcony in Venice. Or catching a fly ball on the intramural baseball team my friends finally convinced me to join. Really luxurious shower gel. The symphony—”
“I’ve never been to the symphony.”
“You’d love the symphony.”
“What else?” Sam leans closer.
“Great books.”
“Authors. Titles. Go.”
“Really?”
“My TBR list needs to know.”
I smile and close my eyes. “Lucille Clifton and Colette. Jia Tolentino and Madeline Miller. Elaine Pagels. Riane Eisler—”
I stop when I hear the scratching of a pencil. I look over and he’s holding a pad. “Are you…taking notes?”
“It’s not every day I rescue someone like you.”
I tilt my head. “What are you doing out here by yourself, Sam?”
“What do you mean?”
“Most guys your age—”
“Which is?” he asks playfully.
“Twenty-two?”
“Twenty-three.”
“I found that to be an awkward age,” I say.
“I’m okay with it,” he says.
“But don’t you want to be in bars with single women, saying things like, ‘How can you afford yourself?’ ”
“I don’t get it,” Sam says.
“ ’Cause you’re sofine.”
Sam winces. “Wait—finelike being charged a fine? Has someone used that line on you?”
“Never mind,” I say. “But even if Search and Rescue is your calling, why do it in total isolation? Seems a little heavy on the search and a little light on the rescue.”
“Yet here we are.” Sam gives me a wink.
I reach for my viewfinder, but it’s in Sam’s bathroom, not around my neck. I’d like to lift it up right now and study him with no distractions. There’s a dusting of freckles on his nose I hadn’t noticed until now. He has a slight overbite that’s only visible when he’s not talking, and his feet, propped up on the coffee table, are more attractive than any feet I’ve ever seen.
“When I first came here,” he says, “I had all these questions. I thought being in nature might answer them.”
“How’s it going? Have you found any answers?”
“It’s more like the questions have receded.”
