Gregory closes his journal, places it beneath his beach towel, and grasps a handful of pebbles, letting them trickle through his fingers like water. The sun beats down on his back and he knows that he is wearing one of those far-away gazes like in a romance novel. He laughs, but there’s no mirth in it, and whispers, “Ain’t nothin’ romantic about that.” His legs, long and lean, are stretched out before him, catching the summer sun, deepening the bronze of his skin. They are a deep golden brown, matching the rest of him. He knows his hair is lighter from the summer’s sun, too, a mixture of straw and wheat, needing a trim. His face is stubbly and unshaven, framing full lips and bright blue eyes. Beyond his toes lie the surface of the small lake, greenish-brown and still, its glassy surface be
