The Here and Now
Charlie: I think we’re underestimating this thing.
Tyler: Why do you say that?
Charlie: I just booked two full sleeves for that weekend.
Simon: Reservations for the bistro are maxed.
Bobby: Firefly has no idea what it’s gotten itself into.
Patrick: Gladys is going to lose her mind.
Nick: Does anybody have a spare harness?
Simon: No.
Jason: No.
Patrick: Sorry, only the one.
Seamus: I have a spare.
Patrick: Not shocked.
“Are you sure we’re allowed to be in here?”
I inhaled until my lungs ached. The interior of the mill smelled of burned lumber, rust, and dampness. I had only been inside once during my teen years. Back then, they hadn't converted one side of it into storefronts. With every breath, I could almost feel my body slipping through time.
I turned to Sammy and smiled. “This is Firefly. Nothing is off limits.”
He shut the door behind him while I stood in a ray of light coming through the wall of windows. The sunlight caught the edge of broken glass, casting multicolored slivers along the concrete floor. The grandeur and emptiness of the mill swallowed every scuff of the shoes as we walked.
Sammy stood at my side, taking it in.
Along one side, we could see the backside of walls that had been built for the shops. Even half a dozen buildings inside the mill didn’t fill the space. Only the machines embedded in the cement remained. The rest had been shipped off to parts unknown, leaving it a husk of its former glory.
“I can smell the wood,” he said.
I glanced down and inspected his ankles, disappointed that he traded his kittens for plain white socks. His red checkered button-down hugged his chest as if he had bought it a size too small. I almost hoped a button popped off and revealed a little more chest hair.
“It’s like stepping into history,” I said. “The mill shut down long before my time. I can’t imagine it filled with people doing… I don’t even know what people do in a mill.”
“That’s the feed for the planer.”
“The what for the what?”
I followed him as he walked toward one of the machines embedded in the concrete. His fingers wiped through the dust. I kept watching his face, trying to get a read on him. It wasn’t delight so much as awe. He had mentioned woodworking, but I thought he only meant small items.
“This would be where the lumber would get loaded and then cut into boards.” His knuckles rapped on the machine, producing a loud thunk. “I think.” He chuckled to himself. “I’ve only seen it in videos online.”
The room seemed to span forever. Giant wooden pillars shot up from the cement, holding up a ceiling two stories above us. In a town filled with small owner-run shops, seeing the monstrosity almost ran counter to the norm. Here, a giant rectangle served as a memorial for a time long since passed.
“Your dad wanted to turn this into a resort?”
We continued walking. Every time we passed a column, I caught his fingers drifting across the wood. A chill worked its way along my skin as I recalled the similar way he had touched my cheek. Part of me wanted to be the subject of his tactile fixation.
“He approached the town and made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”
“They refused.”
He chuckled. “I looked at the plans once. It would have been a spectacle. Imagine a posh lobby over there with old leather chairs. I thought it looked like the Four Seasons and a hunting lodge had a love child.”
“Were there antlers over—”
“The fireplace?” He nodded. “A genuine Maine moose. I think the model had a decorative rifle? I can’t remember how many rooms it had, but I bet most of Firefly could have fit inside it.”
“Sounds impressive.”
He shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong, yes, his designs are always impressive. He takes old buildings and revitalizes them.”
“But…”
He stopped and turned around. We hadn’t reached the middle of the mill, and yet it felt as if we had walked a block.
The emptiness made the size hard to gauge.
It almost had the same feeling as when we sat underneath the stars on my rock.
Instead of nature’s vastness, we shrank in this manmade structure.
Sammy’s expression turned neutral. “It wasn’t… It isn’t about helping the town. He would have built this grand thing, and it’d have become the town’s identity. Firefly wouldn’t exist, not like it does now. Its success would be entirely dependent on this thing.”
“Damned tourists.”
He smirked. “Damned tourist.”
I stepped into the minefield. We had discussed it briefly, but at this point, I figured it was safe to share baggage. Some of it, at least.
“Is that why you don’t want to take over the company?”
He shrugged. “I’ve thought about it. I’m being handed this company known for coming in like a wrecking ball and breathing life into communities. Right now, it’s self-serving.” He paused, and I wondered if the sentiment extended to his father as well. “What could I do with it?”
“Could you turn it into something… good?”
“Probably,” he said. Somewhere in the conversation, his expression grew heavy. He had decided about the company, but I suspected it wasn’t as easy as refusing the offer. “I’d be standing in his shadow.”
It wasn’t just about inheriting the company; it was about his father’s legacy. Sammy wanted to be his own man. It might be different circumstances, but I understood being pulled in two directions. I bumped my shoulder against his, trying to break the tension.
“I understand that.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I know what I want to tell him. I just… things are already rough between us.” He wanted approval, a confirmation that he had found success in his father’s eyes. My heart broke for him. “This won’t end well.”
I couldn’t leave him hanging, not as the storm clouds closed in above him. I took him by the arm as if I were escorting him to a gala. His body tensed, startled by the gesture.
“I promised a picnic.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Here?”
“Sort of.”
“But first…” My fingers balled into fists, nails biting into my palm. “I need to apologize for last night.”
“I had fun,” he admitted. “Your friends are great.”
“The mood at the end,” I said. He nodded, acknowledging the moment. “I’m sort of dealing with a thing. It sort of—”
“It’s okay,” he said. “We all have our things.”
“Still. I’m sorry.”
He flashed a smile. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “As soon as I sort it out in my head.”
“Well, you know where to find me.”
I wanted to tackle him with a hug. After he told me about his father, I felt I owed him an honest discussion. The lack of history between us made talking to him easier, as if it didn’t come with assumptions and expectations. I needed to stop treading water and pick a direction.
Further into the mill, there remained stacked furniture and long-forgotten filing cabinets. We wove through them as we approached the stairs. He froze, stopping me dead in my tracks. The metal railing didn’t look safe, but climbing to the roof had become a teenage rite of passage. He’d be safe.
“I know,” I said, “I have a thing for heights.”
He didn’t respond. Letting go, he squeezed between two oversized tables. He vanished behind the cabinets. Loud clanking filled the air, and I worried something had fallen on him. It’d be a horrible date if it ended in a trip to the emergency room.
“Are you—”
He emerged holding two thick pieces of wood. Setting them down on the table, he leaned in for a closer inspection. “White pine,” he said as if it meant something. “Aged white pine.” Nope, his explanations weren’t helping.
“Yay? I’m excited for you.”
He laughed. “It’s the Rolls Royce of wood. Perfect for carving.”
“Oh! I knew that.” I had no idea. “What would you make?”
He stood up, fingers running through his beard. “I’d be scared. That’s not something you just play with.”
“Isn’t playing with wood kind of your thing?”
It started as a snort and turned into a full-body laugh. His shaking belly made me smile. When he paused, trying to catch his breath, I couldn’t help but join in. There was an ease to this thing between us. The unanswered questions, the insecurities, they drowned under the weight of our laughter.
“I needed that.” Me too. Sammy eyed the stairs. “Okay, let’s go on another one of your questionable treks.”
I bowed and gestured to the stairs. “Up we go.”
“They’re obsessed.”
Sammy sat upright on the blanket, crossing his legs. He gripped his belly and gave it a gentle shake. For a second, his shirt hiked up high enough to see the hair underneath.
“I’m getting fatter by the day.”
“It looks good on you.” I let out a low whistle. “They do love their sweets.”
His cheeks blushed.
For the last hour, we rummaged through the picnic basket, pulling out the many things Rose had packed for our date. If I didn’t know better, it was less a picnic basket and more of a survival stash that could keep us fed for a week.
I eyed the unopened can of Moxie on the edge of the blanket. She had packed it, and I offered, but he begged me to throw it away. We’d have to move on to the next town-approved initiation methods. We’d bring him into the fold one way or another.
“Okay, I swear.” I reached into the basket. “One more thing you have to try.”
“Fattening me up?” He winked. “Somebody likes a man with a belly.”
“Damn straight,” I said. “More to grab onto.” I let the smirk set in. The corner of my lip curled, channeling every ounce of lust I could muster. I hoped it shimmered and gave away the things I’d like to do to him before the night ended.
I pulled out a Tupperware container and popped the lid. Inside were two whoopie pies. I broke it in half and offered him a piece. “Whoopie pies are kind of our thing. I think they’re fresh from No Big Whoop.”
He didn’t waste time biting into it. He let out a low moan. Before he swallowed the first mouthful, he pushed the rest in. Cheeks full, he smiled. His eyes rolled back in his head as he continued. They were delicious, but I didn’t know if they deserved an impending orgasm.
“I’m going to need a box of these before I leave.”