Paul refills Mum’s teacup. Their gazes catch, and with the orange sun streaming through the

skylight, the scene glistens and shines like well-polished crystal.

“Zach,” Mum says, smiling widely as she focuses on him, “you’re a social worker?”

Zach squeezes me and gently pries his fingers free. He rests his arms on the table as he nods. Half

of him is in a square of light that makes his arm hair glisten gold. “Yes, I basically take care of kids in

bad situations.”

“That sounds like a tough job.”

I’ve seen Zach so emotionally drained from a day’s work that he doesn’t have enough energy to do

anything but sleep. He’s strong¸ though. Persevering through the hard shit and the threats he gets on a

weekly basis. For the kids, he says.

Zach takes a sip of tea. “It’s tough, and sometimes it feels useless. I like that we run family

conferences and care and protection meetings, but sometimes it’s not enough. Then we have to move

the kids.”

“Difficult. Do you keep in contact with the kids you help once they’re placed in care?”

“For a while, to make sure everything is running smoothly. But eventually I move on. Though I

make sure the kids always know they can call me.”

Zach’s arms have broken out in goosebumps, reminding me of last week when Zach brought up one

of his toughest cases. His first. We were in my flat, alone, thanks to my flatmates skipping off to the

Waiarapa for the weekend. After making us dinner, I found him leaning forward on the couch, elbows

on his knees as he scrubbed his face.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He stares at his phone on the coffee table. “Just got a message from someone I helped out

a couple of years ago.”

“A kid? Are they okay?”

He shrugs. “I have no idea. It didn’t say much. Might have been sent accidentally.”

“Do you have to call and check?”

“No, he’s nineteen. He’ll make his own way in the world.”

I set the dinner on the coffee table. “You helped him when he was seventeen? I thought—”

“Yes, no, I helped his younger brother. Hamish took his brother away from their abusive parents to

protect him, but things got bad when their parents discovered them.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

Zach’s laugh startles me back to my birthday breakfast, and I blink at the untouched pancakes on

my plate.

“I love to surf,” Zach says. “It’s a great way of purging tension.” He kisses my cheek. “I’m going to

teach this one a few tricks this summer.”

Annie leans over to Ernie. “You should get lessons too.”

The doorbell rings.

After a few moments, Mum comes back. “Cooper, a visitor for you.”

I push back my chair and wander toward the front door. Standing at the threshold, morning light

framed behind him, is Jace. He has his hands shoved into his pockets, and he’s turned away from the

house, staring out at the wild garden as he waits.

I breathe in a nectar-scented breeze. “Jace?” I say quietly.

He turns slowly. His gaze is guarded but as he takes me in, a slow grin warms his face. His eyes

glitter brightly—the first I’ve seen since forever ago.

“Cooper,” he says softly.

“What are you doing here?” The wooden floorboards cool the soles of my feet, helping to ground

me.

He stammers and has to take a deep breath. He tries again. “Happy birthday, Jace. Happy birthday,

Cooper. Merry Christmas—when did that happen? After our one-minute call on my birthday, I couldn’t

stop thinking about how we used to talk for hours. I want—I wish—”

Footsteps bang down the hall, followed by voices—my sister and Zach. She’s telling him about

some embarrassing photos of me that he’ll love.

“Oh, wait. Jace?” Annie’s steps approach faster, and Zach is nearing too. “Hey, I didn’t know you

were coming home.” Wellington, she means.

“Just for the weekend,” Jace says, glancing curiously at the other man coming up behind me. “I had

something I wanted to do.” His gaze lands on mine, and he pulls something from his pocket.

I take it and smile. A gift. It’s small, hard and heavy.

Jace smiles too. “Happy—”

Zach wraps his arm around my neck, sliding close to me, and extends his other hand. “You’re the

brother, right?”

I wince.

It’s subtle but Jace reels back. His now-stiff smile solidifies on his face, as if it’s taking everything

in his power to keep it there.

“Yes, his brother.” Reluctantly, he takes the offered hand.

Jace swallows and looks away. “Well, I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Dad wants to know

what you want for your birthday dinner.” He shrugs, already moving across the veranda. “Call him. I

gotta go. My girlfriend is waiting in the car.”

He gives us a short wave. “Later.”

* * *

Except Jace is not at Dad’s later. He’s gone, his room void of anything to prove he was even here.

Lila seems saddened by his abrupt departure.

“Maybe he and his girlfriend wanted alone time?”

She frowns. “What girlfriend?”

* * *

Zach and I go back to his place for the night. Still stuffed from dinner, we lounge on his comfy grey

couch. A documentary about milk production plays on the television, but we’re not paying much

attention. We lie lengthwise on his couch, cuddling and nibbling little kisses on each other’s neck.

His phone buzzes against my crotch, and I laugh.

“Sorry.” He sits up and pulls out his phone, then pauses when he sees the sender. He frowns, and

after a second, lies the phone down.

“Who is it?”

He swallows. “Hamish.”

“The big brother you helped?”

He nods, but instead of curling up next to me again, he sits upright.

“Who is Hamish?”

“You just said—”

“No, I mean, who is he to you?”

“Just . . . someone.”

Emotions flicker over his face, and I get it. “Someone special though, right?”

A long moment. “Yeah. But that was in the past.”

I brush my shoulder against his. “It’s okay, Zach. I have a past as well.”

He glances at me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Yeah. I get it. Neither can I.” He twists and kisses me.

I brush his hair back and rub my nose against his.

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply. “You have no idea how happy I am I pulled over that day.”

“Me too.”

argillite

Argillite. The basement-of-New-Zealand rock.

Deformed. Fractured. Veined. Argillite has endured 300 million years of tectonic movement. And

Zach and I are driving over it on our way to Auckland for a concert.

Our first stop was New Plymouth to visit Zach’s cousin, and now we’re on the road again, driving

up the coast with the windows wide open. Salty sea air slowly turns earthy—the smell of a thousand

sheep.

I change gears and wind around a blind corner. More rolling green hills spotted with sheared sheep.

The sun beams brightly through the windshield, and Zach and I simultaneously pull down our sun

visors.

Zach pulls out my sunglasses from the glove compartment and hands them to me. He doesn’t say

anything. In fact, the whole trip so far, he’s been fidgeting and squirming.

I flash him a smile to calm him, even though my insides are tight. Does he want to tell me

something? Does he think we’d be better off friends? The thought makes me cold because I care about

Zach. He’s funny, he’s sweet, and he’s great in bed.

Zach shifts in his seat, picking at his seat belt like it’s constricting him of air. “Cooper,” he whispers

much too softly for my comfort.

A shiver rolls over me, making my heart race and my stomach churn. What if he wants more? What

if he wants to talk about the future?

Zach clogs up again, grumbles and turns on the radio to classic rock. Cat Steven’s The First Cut is