Chapter Text
One, two, three, four!
Listen to the music!
Okay now, when I say 'Stop!', you're gonna find the man of your dreams.
They were far enough into the mountains that the road would surely turn into a dirt track at some point, but the black asphalt wound deeper into the woods, edged by trees barely one shade lighter.
Had Adam ever seen this much green in his life? Even though he’d grown up in Virginia, he never remembered it like this, raw and unspoiled.
“This part of the state is wetter than most,” Dean commented casually, never taking his eyes off the road.
“Hmm?” Adam turned his head, forcing himself to remain present. They’d made it to the outskirts of D.C just as the sky shifted from indigo to a milky grey. Adam wasn’t much of a conversationalist and neither was Dean. Their mutual understanding that words were only needed when they were needed and their appreciation of companionable silence made them compatible travelers. Theirs was a friendship born of proximity. Despite Adam’s general apathy toward other people, the relationship sprouted without any discernible effort on his part. Both of them had a tendency toward black humor and a natural, easy mutual respect despite their taciturn natures. Adam allowed himself to unclench just enough to give his first, real, adult friendship a chance to form roots.
Dean was friendly but, from what Adam could tell, had few friends. Like Adam, he kept to himself. That was until Adam found him by the mailboxes, staring at nothing. The cord of his headphones was wound so tightly around his finger that it had turned white. A cup of tea in Adam’s sparse flat followed by the last of Adam’s Christmas bourbon, a gift from a well-meaning but detached manager, finally loosened Dean’s tongue.
And for once, Adam didn’t mind. He didn’t mind the unbearable discomfort of another person’s emotions. He listened and did not try to comfort Dean, not when he explained that he hadn’t slept more than four hours at a stretch in weeks, or that it was because he and his partner of twelve years had split up.
What had started as casual conversations by the mailboxes developed into a weekly dinner or walks to the riverfront after work. Sometimes, Adam even found himself telling Dean about his more anodyne childhood memories, such as learning to drive stick or the first time a girl broke his heart.
“No fires,” Dean continued, oblivious to Adam’s wandering focus. “Or, rarely, is all. It looks almost the same as when I was a kid.”
“You came here as a kid?”
Dean shrugged.
“As a young man. But it feels like it was fifty years ago or longer.”
With his soft, dark grey pullovers and his full head of salt-and-pepper hair, Adam sometimes forgot that Dean was at least twenty years his senior. Adam had never been able to relate to people his own age, especially not to other men. Dean was attractive, sure, but the feeling of comfort that came from not having to pretend to be anyone else was the best feeling Adam could remember having in a very long time. With anyone else, Adam would have run the scenarios through his head again and again, pulling at threads of someone’s story, searching for the place where it would inevitably unravel.
But Dean, with his heavy silver watch and his practical charcoal slacks, never gave Adam any indication that he was less than content with his life. So, when he’d floated the idea of having Adam join him for his summer sojourn in the mountains, Adam knew that there was no hidden agenda. And perhaps that, more than the full room and board and no social obligations other than a few shared meals here and there, was what convinced Adam to accept almost immediately.
Eyes glued to the scenery beyond the window, Adam let the hush of the towering pine trees surround him. After climbing for twenty stomach-dropping minutes, lush green flowing down the mountain to one side and scrabbling up on the other, the languid curves of the road led them down into an emerald valley. Sunlight reflected off black lakes as deep as the trees were tall. Adam didn’t know much about where they were staying other than it was a family-owned business. Dean had sentimental reasons for spending four weeks in the country when he could be happily puttering away in his clinic. But, most importantly, he had a cabin paid in full and neither he nor Adam wanted to spend a hot July and August in D.C. while their landlord finally got around to replacing the heating and cooling system that had been installed sometime in the early 1990s.
Plus, despite his best efforts to remain detached, Adam liked Dean. He knew Dean wasn’t impulsive, but he was fresh off of a heartbreak. In the end, the thought of spending a fully-paid month at a mountain resort while keeping watch over his freshly-single-and-depressed friend provided Adam with the excuse he needed to finally use his surplus of paid time off.
But now, as the road wound deeper into the countryside, Adam wondered if he had truly understood where he was going. To come all this way, surely there had to be a massive compound or at least a three-story building of some sort. He expected to catch a glimpse of a towering structure surrounded by cottages, but the dense forest kept its secrets hidden.
Just as the road leveled out, a flash of white – a solitary brick of a building – hinted at the only civilization for miles. At first, it was just a few lopsided sheds, humble in appearance but sturdy enough. Then two or three became seven and eight.
As they crested a small hill, the land sprawled below, edged by a small, narrow lake and, just beyond that, a two-story farmhouse and a hill dotted with white cabins, as natural to the surroundings as if they’d sprouted like dandelions after a heavy spring downpour.
Despite the boutique nature of the resort, they pulled up to a line of cars seven deep. They were mostly Volvos and minivans but Adam spotted a vintage Porsche so pristine it made his throat hurt.
He walked up to it, the paint as shiny and unmarred as a cut emerald.
“She's pretty, isn’t she?”
Adam grunted before it dawned on him that he appeared to be getting intimate with someone’s prized possession. Squeezing his face into what he hoped was a humble expression, he took a step back and tipped his face up slowly.
The first thing he saw was wild, blond curls, followed by an open-mouthed grin.
“She is. Is it yours?” Adam asked.
The curly-headed man shook his head. “Nah. Mine’s a dirt-covered truck. I’m Matthew, but people call me Matty.”
“Adam.”
“Checking in?”
“Oh, I think so. I’m not sure. I am just waiting for my friend.”
Adam turned to look toward the building, willing Dean to come back before he was forced to make any small talk. He needed to take a piss, stretch out his legs, and get a look at where he’d be sleeping for the next few weeks. He didn’t have much to unpack, but he desperately wanted to get settled and begin the hours-long process of making unfamiliar surroundings slightly more comfortable.
“Well,” Matty shrugged. “I can help you with your bags for now.”
Adam blushed as he finally noticed a moment too late the raven-shaped logo on the man’s green polo.
“No need,” he grunted. In four long strides, he stood at the back of Dean’s sedan.
“It’s no problem,” Matty replied as trotted up beside him.
Adam rolled the flesh on the inside of his cheek between his teeth. Before his discomfort could overwhelm him, Dean appeared by the hood, clearly relieved that Adam hadn’t moved.
“Here you go,” Dean said. He tossed his keys to Matty to open the trunk. “We’re in Ash block, number 6.”
“Yessir,” Matty replied as he lined up the luggage and tagged it with their cabin info.
Adam attempted to carry his bags to the trailer behind the golf cart Matty was using to transport the luggage. Before he could pick them up, Matty swung them them away in one practiced motion.
"Hey thanks a lot," he laughed. "You want a job here?"
Adam balked, but then remembered that he was the guest. That was something he was going to have to get used to.
“I’ll take it up for you if you want to head inside for a lemonade.”
Matthew loaded their bags into the little trailer, and then started tagging the bags for the family parked behind Dean and Adam.
“I could have gotten that,” Adam pouted.
“I know you can," Dean said. "But This is my vacation too, Adam.”
He stopped and turned to Adam as they reached the porch steps.
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head.
Adam has already messed up.
“It’s habit, me being in charge of, well everything.” He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. Adam must have had the same look on his face. At least he wasn't the only one trying to act normal.
“You are free to do as you like and I want you to do so. I’m just glad you’re here.”
By the time Dean opened the front door for him, Adam managed to unlock his jaw and form a semblance of a friendly facial expression.
The front desk was a long, wooden kitchen table, its surface gouged and pockmarked from decades of use. Behind it, a bookshelf loaded with antique kitchen tools and assorted country-kitsch knickknacks shared space with leather bound novels, atlases of various sizes and languages, and even a small, children's bible, its gold-edged pages wrapped in leather the color of robins eggs.
“This is my guest, Adam,” Dean stated to the petite woman behind the desk. Eyebrows pinched together in concentration, her bangle bracelets made a pleasant swishing down as they slipped down to her wrists. After marking them in the guest book, which was nearly as wide as her own narrow wingspan, she pulled out a small set of silver keys and presented them in her soft palm. Adam hesitated, feeling like a kid waiting for his dad to nod his approval. At his hesitation, she narrowed her eyes before raising her eyebrows impatiently. Her name tag read “Blue”, but it was hard to tell as the letters were partially covered by purple and blue moon and star puffy stickers.
Despite the slight burn of his cheeks, Adam fought down the twitch threatening the corner of his mouth.
“For your cabin and for the pool and games area,” she said flatly, tapping each key in turn. “The pool hours change based on classes, but there’s a free swim everyday starting at eleven.” She tipped her head back. “And the clubhouse and gazebo have dancing in the evenings.”
“Dancing,” Adam said, sure he'd heard her incorrectly. “Like aerobics?”
“Did I say aerobics?” she asked with the air of a teacher correcting a particularly dim student. “Plus, it’s not 1987,” she muttered.
“The Barns has the finest dance instructors in the area,” Dean remarked as he thumbed through an ancient-looking atlas written in Cyrillic.
“Uh, okay. Cool,” Adam mumbled, silently praying for this interaction to reach its undoubtedly painful conclusion.
“Hello.” A beaming woman slipped through a doorway behind the desk. “Welcome to The Barns.”
She turned to look at Dean.
“You’ve stayed here before.”
“Yes, um,” Dean stammered as he glanced down at the book in his hands. “It’s been a few years though.”
The woman nodded.
“Well then, let’s make sure everything is set and ready for you to enjoy your stay here Mr..”
“Allen. Dean Allen. But please just call me Dean.”
"I'm Maura," she said, extending her hand toward him. Dean leaned over to set the book on the table, but missed it by a solid six inches.
As Dean fumbled for the book where it slumped open on the floor, Adam cleared his throat, hoping it masked his chuckle. From behind the desk, Blue executed an eye roll so subtle and practiced it jolted Adam back to his days in customer service.
From outside, thumping beats drew their attention.
“Blue, can you check on these gentlemen’s rooms please?”
“Their cabin is still being cleaned,” she said.
Maura hip checked her and reached into a drawer to pull out two green, laminated business cards.
“Please get a couple of premium drinks on us while we get your accommodations sorted.”
“They could check out the merengue class that just started in the gazebo,” Blue suggested without looking up.
Adam balked. Blinking slowly, Blue held him there, pinning him in all of his discomfort.
“The teacher, Jordan, is excellent. She trained in New York and in Boston. Let me walk you down there.” Maura slipped a large set of keys into the hidden pocket of her skirt as she stepped around the side of the desk.
Adam swallowed thickly.
Somewhere, he didn’t know how, but Adam had come to an incorrect conclusion about something, possibly everything. He’d been here for twenty minutes. Blue hated him. He was used to being ignored or dismissed. He was fine with being underestimated. But her instant, palpable dislike was going to gnaw at him for the rest of the day.
As Adam fought back his own irritation, the impish look on Blue’s face made him swallow it down.
“It’s okay if you’re nervous,” she teased.
Adam glanced over at Dean, but he was chatting softly with Maura, oblivious to Adam’s awkwardness.
Meanwhile, Blue busied herself by stacking some papers on the desk. “Some people just don’t have any rhythm.”
Adam schooled his face into his best unbothered expression. “I might surprise you,” he said. His voice cracked, but he pretended not to notice.
“We’ll see,” she said, shrugging and turning her back to him.
“Oh Blue? One thing.”
She turned, a look of supreme annoyance sparking behind her eyes.
He held up a green card. “Where can I get that drink?”