Chapter 3

A/N: I own nothing. Minor edits.

Falling asleep that night is difficult and only partly from the jetlag. When I do finally drift off, Emily floats in and out of my dreams along with the way I imagine my mother, a picture from her wedding day immortalized, ethereal in a white gown. It's crazy for me to feel this way so quickly since I've only had one girlfriend before, but I can't help it. Not that I want to. When I wake up, I find myself feeling confused before remembering where I am. The bed I'm sleeping in is comfortable, but it just doesn't feel like mine yet. It doesn't know me; it hasn't molded to my shape. I finally get out of bed at eight o'clock in the morning, but it would only be two o'clock Hawaii time. It's too early in the morning to call Claire, Jake, and Stella but I so desperately want to tell them about Emily.

There's not really much to tell, I remind myself. The truth is I just miss my friends and I want them still to be a part of my life. And I know they'd want to know about Emily. Our romantic trysts make up the majority of our conversation. I remember Stella and Molly nearly getting together last year and the number of texts about it. I know they also want me to make new friends thousands of miles away from them and have a good senior year. Admittedly, I want that for myself too and I think I really might have that with Emily.

I grab my sketch book from my backpack and begin to draw a face. Even from the shape of the first circle, I know this will be Emily. I see her chicory eyes crinkled as she makes that harmonious laugh in my mind's eye. After an hour, I blow away the eraser pieces on my sheet of paper and see that my drawing is really coming together. I am particularly pleased with the way this looks, but I know I'll draw it at least ten more times in my sketchbook before I move to paints and canvases. The process is entirely mine, but I have been pleased with the results it gives me.

I leave my room, hungry for baked goods. Going to a bakery for breakfast isn't weird, right? The one good part of moving here is that my dad conceded when my grandmother offered me my grandfather's old truck. It's not glamorous, but it'll get me from Point A to Point B most of the time anyways.

I walk down the long corridor, looking at the barren walls and thinking of the pictures that lined our old home. As I go down the metal staircase, I instead notice my grandather's blueprints hung on the wall and think that maybe I can fill the upstairs hall with my drawings. The house itself still astounds me with its floor to ceiling windows on the first and second floor that overlook our long driveway and front yard. The house is a mix of greens and browns and greys, the kind of color scheme I've always been partial to. I cross the concrete floors to find my father and grandmother sitting out on the deck, trading sections of a newspaper between each other. I'm not entirely sure how he isn't feeling the jet lag but I swear being here has only energized him.

I kiss my grandmother and dad good morning before grabbing my keys from the counter and heading out. They've both requested a cup of coffee, which makes me feel slightly less like I'm one track-minded en route to a bakery. On the way to the bakery, I see the cemetery where I'm sure Emily's mother is buried and I'm suddenly seized by a wave of sadness as I realize I won't be able to visit my mother again. I used to lay purple hydrangeas every May on her birthday at her grave.

When I walk up to the bakery, Emily is behind the counter, laughing with a dark man with his hair tied up in a bun, and I instantly smile too. I watch her for a minute, appreciating her relaxed expression before I walk in, the bell jingling above my head.

In rapid succession, I see a polite smile, genuine surprise, and an even more genuine smile on her face.

"Blake, what are you doing here?" she asks in confusion. I just wanted to see you, I think, but I smile at her in her bakery t-shirt, her brown hair neatly tied up in a bun under a store-issued chef-style hat. Her dark brown eyes are lit with happiness. I resist the urge to trace my eyes along her shoulder and collar bone, now exposed with her hair up.

"Nice to see you too," I say, trying to play it cool. I don't want her to think I'm stalking her. "I yelped the best place to get a donut in Huckabee and this was the only place for like twenty five miles."

"That's almost true," Emily says, nodding towards the window. "There's a gas station about ten minutes down the road with a whole display case of them. I think they put new ones out once a month, just to keep them fresh."

Her mouth twitches with a smirk. "Once a month? What am I doing here then?" I ask and throw up my hands in pretend exasperation.

I'm rewarded with a melodic laugh as her hands fly up to tuck flyaways from her bun and then to smooth her shirt. She almost seems nervous to see me and I realize I'm nervous too. I order the first think that pops into my mind, a plain glazed donut, frazzled by the proximity of her, the bakery enveloping me in the smell of honey and flowers and vanilla.

"Is that lame?" I ask, nervous that I have no idea what kind of donut Nina's might be known for.

"Nah," she says and her coworker pulls and bags my donut while Emily continues to watch me.

"I'm Paul," the guy says, handing me my donut and I swing my eyes to him. "Brother of Emily's best friend, the better looking sibling. Former resident gay of Huckabee."

I laugh, my heart sinking a little because that means Emily is definitely not gay. At least I know Emily's not homophobic. It wasn't a big issue in Hawaii, but I'm still always a little nervous to tell people, unsure of how they'll react. "I'm Blake," I say and almost add that I'm the new resident gay of Huckabee. I'm not sure that I'm ready for Emily to know, mostly because I don't want things to be awkward between us. She might be okay with me being gay, but I don't want her to feel uncomfortable around me.

"Are you here visiting?" Paul asks me and I shake my head, the bag in my hand crinkling noisily.

"No, I just moved here with my dad," I say and my eyes flit to Emily again.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," Paul says and I wonder if maybe being gay will actually be difficult here. He sounds like he might be the only openly gay guy here and he doesn't have great things to say in this town. I suddenly miss my LGBT-Q and strong allies friend group intensely.

"It doesn't seem too bad," I say as I pull out my wallet, still watching Emily. "I mean, there are a lot of cows."

A sweet-sounding laugh rings in my ears as I pull out money, but realize I'm unsure of the cost.

"How much for the donut?" I ask, but she waves me away.

"Don't worry about it. We get a free baked good everyday and I feel like being generous."

"For real?" I ask. I'm not sure how I feel about accepting the donut, something about the gesture feeling intimate.

"Yeah," she says, nodding to Paul. "Think of it as an apology donut from all of Huckabee."

"Thanks," I say and suddenly I can't look her in the eye. I put the money in the tip jar. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Unable to find a reason to prolong the visit any longer, I head to the door, smiling at Paul on my way out.

"Bye, Paul," I say, instantly liking him. I have a feeling we're going to be friends.

"Bye," Paul echoes. "Come back soon."

As I walk away, I realize I forgot the coffee my dad asked for but I can't go back. Instead I head to the gas station they recommend for a cup of coffee and laugh when I see the bakery section inside.