{Kadee}

It was a lot to ask from her parents—to trust her to drive alone for 10 hours round-trip and stay overnight with a guy and a woman her parents didn't know. She had to promise to check in every two hours by text, to pack her mace and whistle, to not talk to strangers on the road or pick up hitchhikers. ("Honestly Mumma, no one does that.") Finally, her father said quietly, "We trust you, Kamiko." He murmured to her mother, but in English so she could understand. "We raised them for this. To go."

"I'll be back on Sunday," Kadee said, and she couldn't stop the grin from breaking over her face.

On Saturday, she woke up way earlier than she'd ever get up for school, to shower and blow dry and braid her hair. She put on a minimal amount of makeup, and her favorite jeans—the ones that were too worn to wear to school but fit her perfectly. Her stomach was all butterflies and she couldn't eat anything. She made herself a smoothie and didn't stop once on the road, singing along with the radio to keep from thinking too hard about how the weekend might go. She was sure of just one thing: she'd been given a second chance, and she wasn't messing it up this time.

It was only mid-morning when her tires bumped into the lane Cary had described to her. She pulled slowly into the yard, taking in the cabin crouched on the edge of the trees, and the barns and outbuildings joined by fences in various states of disrepair. The first thing that struck her when she stepped out of her car was the quiet. It filled her ears and her chest with a big breath of pine-scented air. She could hear the wind moving the trees behind the house, and the drone of insects in the grass and wildflowers growing along the lane.

She looked down at her flats, dainty and bright in the clods of dirt, with a flash of regret. Definitely not the right shoes for today.

The screen door smacked and Cary's boots clattered down the steps. He pulled up a little ways away, his hands closed at his sides, looking sideways at her. She'd forgotten how wary he could be—how flat his face was when he was uncertain or afraid.

She flashed him a smile, her hands on her hips. "Hey, handsome." Her stomach was a flock of butterflies the size of swallows.

"Didn't expect you so soon." His voice was a little gruff, like he hadn't used it much yet today. Before she could answer, he hunched his shoulders and headed back up the stairs. "You want some coffee? Lunch?" He held the screen door open, looking back at her. The morning light had painted him all honey and rose, softening the bruise above his eye and the hard lines of his face. She wanted to put her arms around his faded quilted jacket and hold him tight—but she always wanted that. She wasn't making a move today until she was sure it was what he wanted too. This was her new leaf.

She smoothed her braid and passed beside him, glancing up through her lashes as she went by. He was looking down at her, and the corners of his mouth lifted when their eyes met. Like maybe she mattered to him too.

She prowled around the living room while he cracked eggs at the stove—really, the whole house was just one room—lifting dusty books off their stacks and prodding a heap of screws and bolts on the end table next to the ancient couch.

"Where's your aunt?" she asked.

"Probably in the barns. She gave me the day off."

Kadee leaned against the fridge, looking around the little kitchen. There were two mismatched wooden chairs at the table, and a wooden crate was standing on its end to make a third seat. "It's smaller than I pictured it," she said frankly.

Cary lifted his head and his expression was light and relaxed as he glanced around. "It's big enough. We're mostly outside, or in the barns."

She watched his hands work, feeling his eyes on her now and then. She'd also forgotten how quiet he could be—and for once, she didn't feel like filling the quiet with words. It wrapped around them, comfortable as his flannel jacket.

There was a little bang at the back door and a dog click-clacked toward them, his mouth open in a grin and his plumed tail waving.

"Where you been?" Cary asked, mussing up its ears. "We have a visitor."

Bemused, Kadee let the dog poke its nose into her hand before it went to the large tin bowl by the sink and drank noisily.

"Excuse me," Cary said softly, and she got out of his way. He hunted in the fridge and came out with a mess of tomatoes and onions and a glass jar of milk. Kadee pulled out one of the chairs to sit at the table, eyeing the jar while Cary cooked. All the milk she'd ever drank had came from a carton in the store, pasteurized and dated with a best-before date.

Cary set a blackened kettle on the stove, pushed a mountain of eggs onto two plates, and brought them to the table. When he sat, he put his hand out toward her, and she checked his face quickly. He made that small, uncertain smile again, and she put her hand in his, her fingertips tingling against his calloused palm.

He bent his head and closed his eyes. "Thanks, God, for this food and that Kadee got here safe."

Quickly, she bowed her own head. He was holding her hand tightly, and it felt like the hug she'd wanted when she pulled up here. "Spread your tent of peace and love over us and Tru today. And Jon. Amen."

As he let go, his fingers grazed the skin on her wrist and her stomach heated. Settle down, she told her body firmly. Today is not about you.

Cary ate quickly, talking between bites. "Jon's gone. Back with his parents. Pete came for him yesterday."

The kettle hummed, and she watched him get up and pour coffee into two enamel mugs. Now that Pete had resigned, there didn't seem to be any reason for Cary not to come back to the city too and live with the Whites again. "What about you?"

His eyes were dark as he held out her steaming cup. "I wasn't invited." He turned and lifted the lid on a stoneware crock. "Sugar?"

She got up to add it herself, conscious of the brush of his arm against her shoulder.

He hunched his shoulders, scooping sugar into his own cup. "I fucked a lot up for the Whites. So—I get it. They just want what's best for Jon now."

"There's no way they think you're not good for Jon. Do they?" she asked.

He shrugged a shoulder against his ear. "They gave him a phone. He's allowed to call." He flicked her a glance, his face tight and unhappy. "Did your parents give you a hard time about coming to see me?"

Kadee clasped her hands around the warmth of her mug, dimpling her cheek. "A little. They wanted to make sure I was safe on the road. And that—we weren't sleeping together here."

It hung in the air, weightier than she had meant it to be. Cary fitted the lid on the crock, turning it with care so the glaze pattern matched. "Are we?" he asked in a low voice. He lifted his eyes to hers, so dark she couldn't tell the pupil from the iris.

A swirl of emotions caught her unexpectedly. If this had been a weekend with any other guy, it wouldn't even have been a question. Of course they were, that was the point of getting away alone together.

Some of that must have shown in her face, because his throat moved, swallowing. "You've come a long way outta your way for me. I'll be fine with whatever you want."

She put her hand gently on his cheek and he hid his eyes, his hands tightening on the counter. She touched her thumb to where his mouth tucked in—where he was biting his cheek like he was afraid. His words said one thing and his body told her another. She sighed softly and took her hand off his skin. It might be a long wait before he wanted this for himself and not just for her, to make her happy.

She tidied the collar of his flannel jacket. "I did come a long way out of my way," she said lightly. "I hope you appreciate how trashed my shoes are going to be because I spent the weekend tramping around the country with you." He was looking at her through those eyelashes and she shrugged with a laugh. "Please, Cary. Sex has so much baggage. I'm more than fine if we just hang out."

His eyebrows flicked up, color slowly coming back into his face. "Aunt Tru says there's kittens in the loft to play with, if we can find 'em."

Her mouth dropped open. "Oh. My. God. I will take kittens over orgasms any day. Any. Day."

His eyes disappeared in his soundless laugh, and he put his hand over his mouth like he needed to wipe it off. "It's so good to see you, Kadee."

She put her arm around his ribs, hugging him sideways, hard, just for a second. "I know. You really are shit at talking on phones."

He pulled her into a proper hug, her face smushed against his flannel jacket, his lips pressing against the top of her hair. He didn't say anything, but she was warm right down to her toes with the feeling that she'd done the right thing for him and he cared about her.

"Now," she said, pulling back and narrowing her eyes at him. "Take me to kittens."

She could honestly say she'd never had a day like it. They spent the rest of the morning hunting through the barns. Once they started looking, she realized there were cats everywhere—disappearing under crates, or rounding the corner of buildings. Cary's aunt met them in the yard, squinting at her. Kadee couldn't help squinting back and mentally plucking her eyebrows. Tru joined the hunt, uncovering a nest of wriggling, pointy-eared furballs in under 20 minutes. She watched with satisfaction as Kadee cooed, holding first one tiny, warm body to her cheek, then another.

"I want them all," Kadee said to Cary, who held up his hands in surrender.

"I'll get a box," he said. "You can tell your parents."

They spent the afternoon in the haymow, Kadee curled around the kittens until the queen-cat marched up with her tail raised in an exclamation point and took her place to regally nurse the babies. Kadee leaned back against Cary's shoulder, watching the kittens knead their tiny paws against their mother's furry belly.

"I want to be a mom," she said, and felt his stomach shake with his soundless laugh.

"You gotta know: babies are not kittens," he said. "First of all—no fur. Second—diapers." She tipped her head back to glare at him, and he kissed her quickly, right on her forehead. "Just saying. Kittens are better."

In the afternoon, they found Tru calmly presiding over the murder of one of her chickens, blood and feathers all over her kitchen table. Kadee gave a little shriek and a laugh and had to leave the room.

Cary took her hiking all over Tru's fields and bush, as puzzled by the names of trees or birds as she was. Kadee knew she was going back to the city in less than 24 hours—but she could feel Cary working to learn the land, the names of things and how they worked.

"You fit here," she told him, and he ducked his head, his lips curling in a smile.

In a little grove of saplings, grey-green and slender, he tugged her close to kiss her, out of sight of anyone. She wrapped her arms around him, kneading her fingers into his back through his shirt. They held each other longer than they kissed, the hum of insects and the smell of leaves around them.

"Thank you for coming." His words murmured against her hair. "I can't lose any more people."