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As he listened, he’d calmed thinking about the Ann Arbor autumn. About the way the days were warm but the nights turned cold as soon as the sun’s heat had burned away. The way downtown smelled like coffee and waffle cones and turning leaves and moss. The way the U of M fight song blasted from car horns and house windows and cell phone ringtones during football season and got stuck in your head even if you weren’t a football fan.
Go Blue!
In that moment, Corbin saw so clearly who Alex was. The man whose touch could gentle. The man whose presence soothed. The man who was so full up with weighty presence he had ballast to spare. His aunts had had a name for people like Alex. Kedge. The mooring that kept things from drifting off, kept them anchored to the here and now.
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Love didn’t live in kisses and first dates, but in your mind and heart. In the way a person could come to dwell there, uninvited, without ever touching you. In the way you thought about them and dreamed about them and wished about them, curse be damned—because though you could choose not to act on the feelings, the heart knows no logic but its own.
