“I’m glad to hear that,” Kaz said, pleased. He took his place at the lunch table while Cole enthusiastically served him. “I always try to appeal to the reader, or as I prefer to say, the listener, at several levels. Visceral stimulation is as important to me as the cerebral.”

  Hammond sniffed as Cole laughed louder. “I admit I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds either wonderfully dirty or impeccably highbrow.”

  “That’s precisely what it means.” Kaz raised his glass of wine as the others introduced themselves. “Pleased to meet you,” he said to each in turn. He turned to Darian last. “I’m sure we will work smoothly together, turning out some wonderful writing this week.”

  “Which reminds me,” Hammond said, shaking his now-empty wineglass to signal for another refill. Everyone, including Cole, ignored the gesture. “The three of us need to sit down as soon as possible and figure out what we’re going to do day by day at this thing. I’ve never been one for rigid schedules, but Cole thinks we need an agenda or the campers will grow restless.”

  “He’s right,” Aubrey said. “Best to set the tone on the very first day. Let people know what to expect.”

  “No time like the present,” Kaz said. He sipped his wine. “To be frank, I’d prefer to work out all those details now. That way I can unpack and use the afternoon to settle in. What better way to do so than over lunch and a wonderful cabernet?”

  Argo finished his sandwich, polished off the last of his iced tea, and pushed his untouched wine toward Darian. “Sounds like my cue to leave. I’ll finish unpacking the car and meet you at the cabin later. I’ll haul in your books and set them up so you’ll be all ready to go tomorrow when your lectures start.”

  “You certainly have him well trained, Darian,” Cole said.

  “I need to take off too.” Aubrey also rose. “Plenty to do before the guests show up. And I really do want to talk to Greg. Cole, come with me and leave our experts to their planning session. Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll have Greg take care of them later.”

  Cole, though clearly reluctant to go, couldn’t invent a suitable excuse to stay. He trailed after Aubrey and Argo like a scolded child, stealing one last glance at Hammond—or was he winking at Kaz? Darian wasn’t sure.

  When they’d gone, Hammond moved over to the table and took the opportunity to pour himself more wine. He filled the glass all the way to the top.

  “This is what I want to do,” Hammond said. To Darian’s surprise, he sounded more lucid now. “I’ll start each day off with a little speech about writing. That will fire them up and establish a theme for the workshop activities. Then you and Kaz can trade off—one of you will lead the session in the morning, the other in the afternoon. The following day, you switch. Change it up. Poetry and prose, prose and poetry. After you’re both done, they write on their own until dinner. End of the week, they share what they came up with, and I offer critiques to the ones with the most promise.”

  “Since you brought it up, that’s another wrinkle I wanted to iron out with you,” Kaz said. “Shouldn’t there be some minimal competence in writing required to participate? You’ve seen the sort of so-called books that slip through without proper gatekeeping —I mean, I won’t go so far as to call them illiterate, but then again incompetent might be a compliment where some of them are concerned.”

  He turned to Darian for confirmation. “Some writers need a little more nuts-and-bolts work than others,” Darian admitted. “But my feeling is we’re here to provide that. It’s not like we have to grade them or anything. Our task is mostly to encourage the guys to develop their own talents, right?”

  Hammond’s eyes turned flinty. “This retreat is open to any gay man who wants to tell his story,” he snapped. “Don’t be a snob, Kaz. Where would we be if we turned people away based on external factors like class and educational level? Our participants want to speak to the world. We are here to facilitate that.”

  Besides, Aubrey needs to keep his campground afloat, Darian thought. The entrance fee for the workshop had hardly been bargain-basement.

  Kaz bristled. “I’m not surprised a high school teacher might not mind the pervasive lapses in quality. I’m sure you see much worse in your classes, Darian. In fact, I wondered why the mentor positions weren’t reserved for those with experience in a college classroom. It certainly can’t hurt anything to be familiar with the latest theories instructional techniques.”

  Hammond snorted. “Please, Kaz, spare me. Plenty of great writers didn’t go to college at all. You think there’s some kind of certificate you hang over your desk like a dentist before you can crank out a few chapters? Quite the contrary. If you ask me, college beats the creativity out of you. I know mine barely survived my advanced degrees. Not a time in my life I look back on fondly. Anyhow, our writers will find Darian’s expertise more than sufficient.”

  “Of course,” Kaz sneered. “Honestly, what difference does it make as long as they pay? The point is to entertain them, encourage a hookup or two, let them dribble out their deepest, darkest ramblings for posterity, and send them back to their dull little workaday lives.”

  “That’s too cynical, isn’t it?” Darian objected. “I would hope we could offer them something a bit more substantive. Like some real writing skill they can use later, even if they don’t start, much less complete, a publishable manuscript this week.”

  “A publishable book in a week? How could they possibly? It once took me two years to compose a ten-line poem!”

  “Well, they say Voltaire wrote Candide in a weekend,” Darian said. “Of course, he was broke at the time.”

  “So are some of these guys after they paid Hammy’s entrance and manuscript reading fee.” The three of them looked up to see Cole back again. “Don’t let my husband fool you. This retreat is less about the encouraging the production of rough-hewn art than it is love of continued fame and the almighty dollar. How much traction can you get from a book published in the nineties, anyway? I was still in diapers then. And I don’t mean that in a kinky way, alas. I’m being literal.”

  “Is there some reason you’re interrupting our planning session, Cole?” Hammond asked.

  “I just wanted to see if I could do anything to help. I know I’m not on the payroll like these gentlemen, but I want to be involved. What else am I supposed to do all day? Wouldn’t you know I’ve gone and forgotten my knitting bag.”

  Hammond’s face softened and he smiled indulgently. “No worries. Aubrey’s painfully short-staffed with only Greg Hodge to run errands. There are always things he needs to take care of. Lunch to set up, for one thing, tables and chairs to move around. Maybe even pencils to sharpen, though I would think a lot of the participants would bring laptops nowadays.”

  “I heard about someone who wrote an entire novel on his phone while he was commuting back and forth on a train,” Darian said. “I can’t imagine doing that. The screen is so small. Plus I’d develop carpal tunnel syndrome in my thumbs.”

  “You should have seen what I worked with when I was a young, unpublished writer.” Hammond tilted his head back in a wistful pose. “Typewriters, stacks of plain white paper with coffee rings all over them, and endless bottles of correction fluid. People your age probably never even bought any in an office supply store.”

  “Actually, I use it at work now and then, like when I photocopy something with smudges on it,” Darian said. “But point taken.”

  “Well, who cares what devices they write on or with, as long as they’re producing something?” Cole said. “I’ll make sure there are plenty of snacks and coffee in the workshop room. Hammy can never write without those two things on hand.”

  “That should work,” Hammond said. Darian suspected he required other types of liquid refreshment before, during, and after a writing session. Or perhaps the gallons of coffee were intended to soak the edge off. “Thanks for taking care of that detail, Cole.”

  “My pleasure. Aubrey and his dreadful friend Greg would never think of it on their own. Hey, I could put on a tight little maid’s uniform, complete with a little lace headband and a miniskirt?” Cole dropped a theatrical curtsey. “Might help inspire some of the writers.”

  “I have no doubt it would, but that’s not necessary,” Hammond said. He drank most of his wine in a single swallow.

  “All right, fine. I’ll save my little performance just for you, for later. If you don’t need anything else from me, I’m off to find amusement while I have the whole place to myself. See you back at the ranch.” Cole leaned over, kissed Hammond’s forehead, and twinkled out.

  “Don’t mind him,” Hammond said when Kaz and Darian exchanged amused looks. Darian wondered if he and Argo came off as that sappy to other people. In a way, he sort of hoped they did. “He’s really into the newlywed thing. If it makes him happy, why not indulge him?”

  “I take it you’re not as enthusiastic?” Kaz asked.

  “Of course I am. I’m also grateful it became legal before I grew too old to enjoy the perks of matrimony.”

  “How did you and Cole meet?” Darian asked.

  “Through a mutual friend. The attraction was…well, not exactly instant, but powerful. We knew we were destined to be together.” Again Hammond twisted his wedding ring, but his expression darkened. Clearly, that subject was one he didn’t care to talk about. Darian glanced down at his Claddagh ring, the symbol of his growing commitment to Argo. It was still pointing in the direction indicating they hadn’t made things permanent yet. Would that change anytime soon? Like after they moved in together? He felt a tingle of trepidation as the old worries resurfaced.

  Kaz noticed him looking down. “I take it you’ll be taking a similar trip down the proverbial aisle, too?”

  “Argo and I haven’t made any specific plans. Nothing beyond moving in together when we get back from this trip. In fact, we took a break from boxing up my stuff to attend this workshop.”

  “A break. Ah,” Kaz said in a knowing tone. “That’s probably wise. No sense rushing into anything. Always better to give each other time to think, to breathe. Anticipate your doubts, and work through them one by one as they arise. Easier to change your minds in the early stages, before you’ve gone too far to back out.”

  The words struck Darian like a slap. It was as if Kaz had read his darkest thoughts, the ones that kept him on edge when he tried to fall asleep beside Argo or thin out his bookcase. They always flowed from a question he didn’t want to answer—if things were going well for now, and their life together was stable and comfortable, why take a chance by shaking things up?

  “Good grief, Kaz,” Hammond sputtered. “Why don’t you go and pick some wildflowers so you can tear the petals off them? I take it you’ve been unlucky in love. Otherwise you wouldn’t begrudge everyone else’s happiness.”

  “Nonsense,” Kaz shot back. “I’m single and I prefer it. Gives me time to pursue my art. That, I hope you realize, is more important to me than any other pursuit in life.”

  “The guy left you high and dry. Am I right?” Hammond laughed and topped off their three glasses of wine. He set the bottle down, empty. “No worries. I used to say the same thing after every failed romance. And there were a lot of them. Then I met Cole, and none of it mattered. It was like someone flipped on a switch and bathed the world in a soft gold light.”

  “Soft gold lights hide the flaws. It’s the bright white kind you’ve got to watch out for. The one that reveals the truth.”

  “I’m curious,” Hammond said, giving voice to a question also flickering through Darian’s mind. “If you really feel that way, why do you write so much love poetry?”

  “I’m driven to write about love because I’ve experienced it in all its forms. I also learned how destructive it can be.” Kaz held up his hands, palms out, and joined them as if they were butterfly wings. “The two qualities always exist side by side, like matter and anti-matter. They must. The tension is what gives the experience meaning. The paradox is what creates art.”

  “I don’t think you mean that literally,” Darian said. “When matter and anti-matter collide, annihilation results. At least, that’s what I’ve picked up from watching and reading science fiction.”

  “I do mean it,” said Kaz. He dropped his hands back to the table. “We all want to find our perfect mate. When we do, he both lifts us up and destroys us in equal parts. It’s life’s greatest conundrum, yet we all know it’s true. We feel the pull in opposite directions whenever we fall in love.” Kaz turned to Hammond, who was listening with a thoughtful look on his face. He’d finished all the wine in his glass. “It was like that for you and Cole, wasn’t it? The spark you told us about before. He is the love of your life. He hurts and soothes you equally, doesn’t he? Sometimes at the same time.”

  “Yes,” Hammond said after mulling it over for a moment. “Our marriage does feel like that on occasion. I thought it was just the age difference—which, let’s face it, does cause problems here and there. I’m glad to know it’s simply a law of the universe. Takes a load off my mind. After all, nothing we can do about that. Like gravity.”

  “Exactly like that. We can fight it all we want. Eventually we give in, or else the strain will tear us in half.”

  “Wow,” Darian said. He, too, had drained his wine, and probably too fast, since he was already feeling its effects. His eyelids drooped, so he shook his head to clear it. “That’s a lot to think about, and here we are just hours away from receiving our first guests. I need to go back to my cabin and rewrite my opening lecture—you’ve given me so much to think about, Kaz.”

  “I’m glad.” Kaz gave a curt nod of satisfaction. “I really do wish you well with your partner, Darian. You, too, of course, Prescott. I do believe if our connections are strong, confronting the truth can only make them stronger. If they are not, well…” He lifted his hands again, this time to mimic an explosion. “As Darian said before…annihilation.”

  Back at the cabin, Darian told Argo about Kaz’s theory of relationships being like matter and anti-matter.

  “He says every relationship tears us apart even while it’s nurturing us. Not like symbiosis, but more like a parasitic infection, I guess.”

  “You academic types make everything so difficult,” Argo said, only half kidding. He was stretched out on the sofa, having unpacked all their luggage and made the place look as much like home as he could manage.

  “Just because it’s a difficult concept doesn’t mean it’s not true. What do you think?”

  “I’m a cop. I deal in practicalities. Who did what and what we need to do to prove it. Evidence. No woo-woo and no New Age touchy feelies involved. I mean, if you’re into abstracts, fine, but my mind doesn’t seem to work that way. I’m not going to change, writer’s retreat or no. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t want you to change. I didn’t say I necessarily agreed with him. But he’s right about conflict inspiring art.”

  “Good thing, because it sounds like we have plenty of that to go around this week. Most of the guys aren’t even here yet.”

  “Which reminds me. When’s Lanislaw arriving? Has he texted you?”

  “He’s flying into Boston first thing tomorrow. Renting a car. Says he’ll be here in time for Hammond’s opening lecture.”

  “Hope he brought warmer clothes than what he’s used to wearing,” Darian couldn’t resist commenting. “Summer in the Northeast isn’t like summer in Florida. I found out the hard way, and I suspect he will, too.”

  “He’ll probably find it a relief.” Argo fanned himself at the memory of Florida’s humidity, which he hadn’t liked at all—not that Darian minded his discomfort in the least. Thanks to the tropical climate, he hadn’t been in any hurry to accept Lanislaw’s offer of employment.

  “Don’t be too sure. He’ll probably imagine he’s freezing at night, like I did at first.”

  “Well, if he has a rental car, he can drive to the nearest trading post and barter for some flannel pajamas.”

  “Maybe my moms loaned him their northeast survival-gear catalogue. If so, he’s likely to show up wearing snowshoes.” Darian tried not to smile too broadly. He liked the idea of Lanislaw, who had a gorgeous build, staying bundled up. No skimpy bathing thongs or crop tops around here, or the deep-woods bugs would chow down on his bare skin. He might even need a cap to cover up that frosted hair of his.

  Argo laughed at the image. “Good thing we don’t have to worry about how cold it will get here at night.” He reached out and squeezed Darian’s fingers. “At least, I’m not dreading that part at all.”

  “Me either.”

  Yep, Darian thought as Argo pulled him down onto the couch, this was going to be a pleasant week, all right, no matter how lousy the writing or how demanding the guests turned out to be.

  Chapter 4

  Later that afternoon, when the sun was at its hottest, the two of them headed for the small lake at the edge of the campground. There, Argo stripped down to the swimsuit he’d worn under his jeans and swam out to the middle and back. Meanwhile, Darian spread out one of the towels they’d brought and jotted some ideas about his upcoming lecture in a spiral-bound notebook. He’d felt confident about his content until Kaz’s discourse on existential matters and the innate inferiority of high-school teaching experience. Hopefully he could come up with a few advanced philosophical angles of his own to include. It had been years since he’d taken a course on metacognition, though.

  “You’re overthinking this,” Argo said when he emerged from the water, dripping and gorgeous. He draped the second towel around his muscular shoulders. “I’m sure the audience will be fine with anything you want to talk to them about. They’d probably find all those nine-dollar words confusing and boring, anyway. Think about it. Are you pitching your lessons to them, or to Kaz?”