SEASONAL
ELLIOT
Three weeks in, I'd stopped going back to my cabin most nights.
It wasn't planned. Wasn't discussed. Just happened naturally, after the first night, then the second, until staying at Pat's became the default and leaving became the exception.
My toothbrush appeared next to hers in the bathroom.
My clothes mixed with hers in the laundry.
My coffee mug claimed space in her cabinet.
Small things. Domestic things. Things that shouldn't have mattered but somehow did.
It was late July now, and the heat had settled in thick and relentless. We'd gotten into a rhythm: I'd take my trail assignment in the morning, she'd work dispatch, and we'd meet back at her place in the evening, too hot to do anything but strip down and wade into the lake until the sun set.
Then we'd go inside and find other ways to cool off.
Tonight, we were floating on our backs in the shallow water, stars overhead, the heat finally breaking into something bearable.
"How much longer do you have?" Pat asked quietly.
I didn't need to ask what she meant. "Six weeks. Maybe seven if they need extra coverage."
"And then?"
"Back to Spokane. School starts first week of September."
She was quiet for a long moment, just floating. Then: "Do you like teaching?"
"It's fine."
"That's not an answer."
"It pays the bills. Keeps me busy. Gives me summers off."
"But do you like it?"
I thought about it. Really thought. "I used to. When I first started. But now it just feels like... going through the motions."
"Then why keep doing it?"
"Because it's stable. Predictable. Safe."
"Safe is overrated."
"Is it?"
"Yeah." She turned her head to look at me, water lapping at her shoulders. "Safe is what you do when you're afraid of wanting more."
That hit closer than I wanted to admit.
"What about you?" I asked. "You ever think about leaving Bitterroot?"
"No."
"Not even for something better?"
"There isn't anything better. Not for me." She said it with such certainty. "I like my job. I'm good at it. I have a house on the lake and people I care about and a life that makes sense."
"Sounds nice."
"It is." She paused. "Except for the part where the people I care about leave every September."
My chest tightened. "Pat..."
"I'm not trying to guilt you. I'm just stating facts." She started wading toward shore, and I followed. "You're seasonal. That's the deal. I knew that going in."
We climbed out and sat on the small dock, legs dangling, water dripping off us in the warm night air.
"You've done this before," I said. Not a question.
"What?"
"Summer relationships. With seasonal staff."
She was quiet for a beat too long. "Once. A few years ago."
"What happened?"
"He left. Promised he'd come back. Didn't." She shrugged like it didn't matter, but I heard the weight underneath. "It's fine. I learned my lesson."
"Which is?"
"Don't expect people to choose this place over their real lives."
"Pat..."
"It's okay, Elliot. Really." She looked at me, and even in the dark I could see her expression, open, honest, resigned. "I'm not asking you to stay. I'm not asking for promises. I just want to enjoy what we have while we have it."
"And when I leave?"
"Then you leave. And I'll be fine."
"Will you?"
"I always am."
But I heard the lie in it. Saw the way she held herself a little too carefully, like admitting she wanted more would break something fragile between us.
She wasn't afraid of commitment.
She was afraid of being left again.
And I was about to do exactly that in six weeks.
The realization settled over me like cold water.
"Come here," I said.
She moved into my arms, and I held her close, chin resting on top of her head, feeling her breathe.
"I don't want this to end," I said quietly.
"I know."
"But I don't know how to make it not end."
"You don't have to figure it out tonight."
"What if I can't figure it out at all?"
She pulled back enough to look at me. "Then we'll deal with it when we have to. Not before."
"You're very practical."
"I'm a realist." She kissed me softly. "And right now, the reality is that you're here. With me. And I'm not wasting time worrying about September when it's still July."
"Pat..."
"Stop." She pressed her fingers to my lips. "Stop thinking so hard. Stop trying to solve everything. Just be here."
So I did.
Kissed her until thinking stopped being an option. Carried her inside and made love to her slow and careful, like I was trying to memorize every sound, every touch, every moment.
Afterward, we lay tangled together in her bed, windows open, lake breeze finally cooling the room.
"Elliot?" she murmured against my chest.
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you're here."
"Me too."
"Even though it's temporary?"
"Especially because it's temporary."
She lifted her head. "What does that mean?"
"It means if this were permanent, I'd probably find a way to mess it up. But because it's just summer, I get to be the version of myself I actually like."
"And who's that?"
"The guy who lives on a lake and does work that matters and wakes up next to you."
Her expression softened. "That guy's pretty great."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She settled back against me. "I wish I could keep him."
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
Because part of me wished she could too.
The next morning, I woke before her, rare, since she usually had the early shift, and lay there watching her sleep.
Hair spread across the pillow. Face relaxed, peaceful. One hand tucked under her cheek.
Beautiful.
I'd thought it before, but it hit different in the morning light. More real. More undeniable.
I didn't want to leave in September.
The thought crystallized slowly, inevitable as sunrise.
I didn't want to go back to Spokane, to a job that felt hollow, to a house that had never really been home.
I wanted this. Her. The lake. Work that used my body and my brain and made me feel useful.
I wanted to stay.
She stirred, eyes blinking open, and smiled when she saw me watching.
"Morning," she murmured.
"Morning."
"You're thinking too loud."
"Sorry."
"Don't be." She stretched, arching against me. "What are you thinking about?"
I should've deflected. Should've made a joke or changed the subject.
Instead, I said, "Staying."
She went very still. "Staying?"
"Yeah."
"For how long?"
"Permanently."
She sat up, pulling the sheet with her, eyes wide. "Elliot..."
"I haven't decided anything yet. I'm just thinking about it."
"You can't just..." She stopped. Started again. "You have a job. A house. A whole life in Spokane."
"I know."
"And you'd give that up? For what? A summer fling that got out of hand?"
"Is that what you think this is?"
"I don't know what this is." She looked genuinely shaken. "But I know you can't make life decisions based on three weeks of really good sex and nice sunsets."
"It's more than that."
"Is it?"
"Yeah." I reached for her hand. "Pat, I haven't felt this settled in years. And it's not just you, though you're a big part of it. It's the work. The place. The way my life feels like it actually fits me here."
"You're talking about changing everything."
"I know."
"What if you do it and regret it?"
"What if I don't do it and regret that more?"
She stared at me for a long moment, then pulled her hand back. "I need to get ready for work."
"Pat..."
"Don't." She climbed out of bed, grabbing her robe. "Don't make promises you can't keep. Don't say you're staying if you're not sure."
"I didn't promise anything. I just said I was thinking about it."
"Well, stop thinking about it." Her voice was sharper now. "Because I've heard this before, Elliot. The 'I'll find a way to make it work' and 'maybe I could move here' and all the pretty words that don't mean anything when September comes, and real life starts again."
"I'm not him."
"I know." She softened slightly. "But I also know how this ends. And I'd rather accept it now than hope for something that's not going to happen."
She disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the shower start.
I sat there in her bed, sheets still warm where she'd been, and realized I'd just fucked up.