Chapter 1: The Accidental Encounter
The guest room at the Hartman’s place was always my favorite. It felt less like a room and more like a burrow, sunk a couple of steps down from the main hallway, with these huge windows that were always draped in heavy, wine-colored velvet. Mom called it cozy; Dad called it dated. To me, it just felt separate. My own world for the summer.
I heaved my duffel bag onto the four-poster bed, the old frame groaning in protest. Dust motes swirled in the slants of late afternoon sun cutting through the gaps in the curtains. It was dead quiet. Uncle Mark was probably still at the office, and Auntie Alice… well, her car was in the driveway, but the house had that still, waiting quality.
I’d just turned eighteen. The whole drive up, I’d felt this buzzing in my veins, a sense that this summer, stuck housesitting for my parents’ friends while they toured Tuscany, was supposed to be something. A prologue. I wasn’t sure to what, but the air felt different. Thicker.
I peeled off my shirt, sticky from the drive, and tossed it toward the bag. The mirror on the dresser showed a familiar reflection—maybe a little broader in the shoulders than last year, but still all angles and restless energy. I was digging in the duffel for a clean tee when the floorboard in the hallway creaked.
The door, which I’d left slightly ajar, swung inward.
“Danny? I thought I heard you pull—oh.”
Auntie Alice froze in the doorway, one hand on the knob. Her breath made a soft, catching sound. She was holding a stack of fresh towels, her knuckles white against the terry cloth.
She looked younger than thirty. Petite, with a cap of glossy black hair and these big, round glasses that magnified her eyes. She was wearing a simple linen dress, and she stood perfectly still, like a bird that had stumbled into a room with a cat.
“Sorry!” she finally blurted, but she didn’t move. Her eyes, behind those lenses, didn’t dart away either. They traveled a quick, unmistakable path from my face down to my chest, then back up. A flush crept up her neck, painting her throat a soft pink. “I—I should have knocked.”
“It’s okay,” I said. My voice came out quieter than I’d intended. I didn’t grab for a shirt. I just stood there, letting the cool air from the hallway brush my skin, watching her watch me. A weird, confident calm settled over me. This wasn’t the flustered, mom-like Auntie Alice who’d made me peanut butter sandwiches when I was twelve. This was someone else.
The silence stretched. It wasn’t awkward anymore; it was charged, full of the hum of the old refrigerator down the hall and the distant sound of a lawnmower.
“I brought you towels,” she said, her voice a little faint. She gestured with the stack, as if I might have missed them.
“Thanks.”
She finally took a step into the room, placing the towels carefully at the foot of the bed. Her movements were deliberate. When she straightened, her gaze landed on me again, and this time, she didn’t look away. “You’ve… filled out. Since last summer.”
“I go to the gym some,” I shrugged, playing it casual. Inside, my heart was doing a slow, heavy thump against my ribs.
“It shows.” The words left her lips and seemed to surprise her. She pressed them together, adjusting her glasses—a nervous tic. “Mark won’t be home for dinner. He’s working late. Again. It’s just… it’ll just be us. I defrosted some lasagna.”
“Sounds good.”
Another pause. The golden, filtered light caught the silver in her glasses frames and the delicate chain at her neck. She was standing close enough that I could smell her perfume—something clean and lemony, with a deeper, warmer note underneath. It was nothing like the sugary scents of the girls at school.
“Well,” she said, brushing invisible lint from her dress. “Make yourself at home. Obviously.”
She turned to leave, her shoulders tense. As she reached the doorway, she glanced back over her shoulder. A quick, fleeting look that held a thousand unsaid things—curiosity, a hint of shame, a spark of something much brighter and more dangerous. Then she was gone, her footsteps retreating quickly down the hall.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. The room felt different. The air was warmer. I looked at the rumpled shirt in my hand, then tossed it aside onto a chair. I didn’t get dressed right away.
A slow smile spread across my face. I looked at the empty doorway, then at my own reflection in the mirror.
Yeah. This summer was definitely going to be something.