Chapter 8
Drew
He was beginning to learn his way around Orion without the use of a GPS.
It wasn’t a large town, and it was laid out intuitively: the streets formed a grid, spreading out from the town square.
The area by the harbor and closer to the Lake wasn’t in a grid, but as long as you knew where the Lake was, you couldn’t get too lost. Drew had his favorite places in town by now.
He liked Dune Grass Coffee Roasters. The baristas there knew him by name—his first name, at least. He knew all their names, too, and made sure to tip well each time.
They didn’t know who he was, but it was clear they had their theories.
None of them had asked him anything directly, but they saw how much he tipped.
They clearly thought he was some sort of undercover celebrity.
He was attractive and discreet and was friendly but did not flirt.
Orion had two bookstores, one for new books and one for used.
Drew had become a regular customer at both.
After his workout in the morning, and after getting his coffee at Dune Grass, he went to one of the bookstores and browsed for half an hour before picking up a paperback or two.
He talked to whichever cashier was working, friendly but never giving away any information about himself.
They liked him because he was friendly and bought books.
He liked to read, but rarely had time during the season. Mostly, he listened to audiobooks when he was running or at the gym. He staunchly believed that audiobooks counted as reading, but he preferred the feel of a physical book in his hand.
He wasn’t precious about what he read. He would read nonfiction, classics, literary, and commercial books of any genre.
He read anything that caught his interest, but he preferred contemporary commercial fiction.
He didn’t believe that it was of any less value than literary fiction.
So far, since coming to Orion, he had breezed through two books by Danielle Steel, three by John Grisham, spent his mornings picking away at East of Eden, and his evenings working his way through a heavy tome on astrology, which he had picked up after Gabriel had mentioned knowledge of it.
Drew generally didn’t give credit to astrological beliefs, but he was enjoying the book and learning a lot from it.
He was beginning to think that maybe some of his opinions about astrology and other forms of mysticism were a little close-minded.
He had also sampled several restaurants, getting his lunch somewhere else each day.
He preferred the places that had outdoor seating, because the weather in northern Michigan was so pleasant.
It was warm, but never too hot to be in the sun.
He had spent one day at the Lake and enjoyed it.
The beaches were different from the tropical escapes he was used to, but reminded him of the North Atlantic beaches he had grown up near in New England.
One place he had not yet visited, but he wanted to, was Turtle Dunes State Park.
He was glad that Gabriel had reached out about visiting it together.
He was eager to see Gabriel again and to see if the spark he had sensed would be there again.
He hoped that it would, and he thought it was likely.
They texted every day, a few long messages describing their days.
Texting wasn’t the same as talking in person, but Gabriel seemed just as genuine and personable in his messages as he had when they’d had face-to-face conversations.
He’d gotten up early this morning, done a short strength workout in the gym in his rental house, and then gone for a five-mile run around Orion. His knee felt fine.
On his run, he saw some people he recognized.
He waved to one of the baristas from Dune Grass, who was out walking her dog with someone Drew assumed was her partner.
She waved back. Her name was Glenna, and she had long blonde hair and multiple nose rings.
She seemed very cool, and Drew had made it a mission to be her friend, if he could find a way to do this without revealing his identity.
Her partner was handsome and wore swim shorts.
People tended to turn and stare when he ran past. He preferred running shirtless, and he knew he was attractive. He had the body of a professional athlete. He ate well and took care of himself, and it showed. Already, he was developing a nice summer tan, and he was proud of how he looked.
There were plenty of other tourists in the town, but Orion was small, and Drew knew people talked.
He wondered if any of them were talking about him, the mysterious stranger who was renting a house by the beach and who was so friendly to the locals, but who gave out no information about himself.
He liked to think they were intrigued, but he hoped they wouldn’t get nosy.
After his run, he drank a bottle of cold water and ate a cup of Greek yogurt with honey and some local blueberries. He texted Gabriel his address, but it was still only 7:30 in the morning, and he hoped that Gabriel was still asleep. It sounded like it had been a long, difficult week at camp.
He took a quick shower, dressed in light summer clothes, and drove to his favorite market.
He purchased what he needed for the breakfast he wanted to cook, and was back at his house by 8:30.
This would give him plenty of time to start cooking before Gabriel arrived, and the house would be full of good smells when Gabriel walked through the door.
He had found a record player in the house, with a well-stocked record cabinet. The Aaldenkamps had good taste in music, with a preference for the folk singers of the 1960s and 1970s, which favored Drew’s tastes as well. He put on a Joni Mitchell record and got to work in the kitchen.
A text at 8:50 told him that Gabriel was awake, showered, and on his way. It also contained a desperate plea for coffee, and Drew messaged back, letting Gabriel know that he already brewed a pot and was just waiting to pour two mugs. Gabriel thanked him profusely and said he would see him soon.
Drew’s mother had instilled in him a love of cooking, but she hadn’t been an adventurous cook.
On Drew’s summers off, when he wasn’t traveling to a beach or a resort somewhere, getting tan in a tiny swimsuit and having clandestine relationships with other men, he taught himself to cook.
He had bought many cookbooks and watched cooking shows often in the evenings.
He had even taken some in-person classes and had hired a personal chef not to cook for him, but to teach him.
Her name was Daphne, she was from Provence, and she specialized in good French food.
For breakfast that morning, he wanted something simple and classic that tasted good and would sustain them for the day. He had also picked up some supplies at the market to pack a picnic, but he didn’t want to risk them getting hungry. Both he and Gabriel had large appetites and enjoyed good food.
Drew was cooking traditional French omelets for breakfast. He was waiting to whisk and cook the eggs until Gabriel arrived; French omelets were best served immediately and fresh.
While waiting, he had sautéed strips of mushrooms, dripping with butter, and had roasted tiny diced potatoes with more butter and plenty of herbs.
He had toasted a baguette and was keeping it warm in the oven, wrapped in foil.
There was brie and fresh ham to go with the bread.
He had a white ceramic bowl of strawberries and blueberries, all locally grown and picked, waiting on the long wooden table in the kitchen when the doorbell rang, letting Drew know that Gabriel had arrived.
He wiped his hands, draped his towel over his shoulder, and poured a mug of coffee before walking to the door.
Gabriel smiled at him when Drew opened the door. He wore simple black swim trunks that hit his mid-thigh, and a cream-colored T-shirt. He carried a canvas bag over one shoulder, and a pair of sunglasses hung on his collar. He was very tan, and his hair was blonder from the sun.
“Coffee,” Drew said, extending the mug with a broad smile.
“You, sir, are a saint.” Gabriel took the coffee gratefully.
“I didn’t know if you’d want cream or sugar. There’s some in the kitchen.”
“Black is good. Anything is better than the sludge we brew at camp.” He took a long sip of the coffee and had a visible reaction of pleasure.
“Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning to you, too. Thanks for having me over for breakfast. It smells wonderful.”
They went to the kitchen, where Gabriel sat at the bar, and Drew fetched the bowl of berries.
“To snack on while I finish cooking,” he explained.
“What are you making?”
“French omelets. I hope you like eggs.”
“Love them.”
“Excellent.” Drew poured himself a cup of coffee and drank a sip before getting a mixing bowl, a rubber whisk, and the carton of eggs from the fridge.
He set up so that he was facing Gabriel while he cracked eggs into the bowl and added coarse sea salt, white pepper, freshly chopped chives, and parsley.
He melted butter in the pan and then whisked everything together until the eggs were smooth, then added the silky mixture to the pan. He watched it carefully while they talked.