Fall With Me

little funny. I get a bottle of water and walk down toward the entrance to the ranch. I sit down in the shade of one of the trees, my back against the trunk. It’s one of those days where every time the wind blows, warm, fragrant air wafts over you and you can’t help but feel better. I think it’s a good omen, I think it means that this visit with Cam will go well.
    I lean my head back against the tree and let my eyes close. I’m just starting to feel that heady feeling when you’re about to doze off when I hear the sound of a car approach. I open my eyes and see a sleek black BMW slowly coming down the driveway. I stand, a smile stretching across my face. The car stops and I go over to the window.
    “Cam—” I start to say, but stop. It isn’t Cameron. They’ve got similar coloring—the blond hair, tan skin, light blue eyes—and they’re both what you might refer to as lady killers, but it is definitely not Cam.
    “Oh,” I say. “Sorry, thought you were someone else.”
    The guy peers up at me. He’s wearing a San Francisco Giants hat, slightly askew on his head.
    “Hey, guy,” he says. “Not sure if I’m in the right place or not. Is this uh . . . is this Sea Horse Ranch?”
              I glance up the driveway, to the large wooden sign he just drove past with the words SEA HORSE RANCH carved out by hand.
    “Yeah, bro,” I tell him. “You’ve got the right place.”
    “You work here?”
    “Yeah. Official camp greeter.”
    “Cool if I drive down there? I’m looking for someone.”
    “Sure.”
    He shifts, and when he moves, I see that next to him on the passenger side seat is a white orchid.
    “Nice orchid,” I say.
    “Thanks. It’s for one of the girls who works here. You probably know her. Jill Freyss-Charon.”
    I smile. “I do know her. Biblically, in fact.”
    He gives me a confused look. “Huh? Jill doesn’t go to church.”
    I stifle my laugh and take a step back from the car. “She’s on a trail ride right now, but feel free to hang around. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you.”
    He throws me a look that says he can’t tell if I’m being sarcastic or not. He starts to drive off but then stops abruptly, the tires skidding on the sandy gravel.
    “Hold the fuck on!” he says, and then the car door’s opening and he’s out, right in front of me. “I know what that ‘biblically’ shit means, dude. You’re fucking Jill? Who the fuck do you think you are? We only broke up because of that shit with her parents. She needed space, so I gave it to her, because I’m that kind of guy.”
    “Is that so,” I say.
    His eyes narrow. “I don’t know what she told you about the other night, but I didn’t mean for it to go down that way.”
    I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I only cross my arms and give him my best disappointed-in-you-look à la Carl Alexander.
    “It was pretty bad,” I say. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
    “What did she tell you?” He yanks his hat off and runs his hand through his short blond curls. “You do realize you’re only getting one side of the story, right? Did you even think about hearing my side?”
    “Well, considering we just met for the first time three minutes ago, no, it never really crossed my mind.”
    “Let me tell you my side, then. Jill and I have history, right? I knew the first time I saw her she was the one for me. I could see our whole future together. Really, I could. And we had good times, together, man, and then the shit with her parents happened and she said she needed space. Which I totally get, right? And I wanted to give that to her, because I care about her. But then somewhere along the line she decides that it’s going to be this permanent thing. She just makes the choice, without even talking to me about it first. Can you believe that shit?”
    I think of all the girls that I’ve been with, all the beds I’ve slipped silently out of before sunrise, all the conversations we could’ve had but didn’t. “Yeah, actually, I can.”
    “Well, it’s fucking bullshit! And then, the night of her birthday, I went over there because I wanted to talk. Just to talk. But she didn’t want to listen. And I just . . . I . . . I’m not proud of how I handled it.”
    I look at him more closely now, wanting to ask, Well what the fuck did you do? Instead, I give another disapproving shake of my head. “There are much better ways to handle a situation than doing what you