We settled on cheese and bread and whiskey for breakfast and pretended to paint the sunrise as it appeared on the horizon but really we were liars and fakers and thieves, until that whiskey dissolved the lies and uncovered the truth, set against a cool morning tide, wind roaring in our faces as we split the last piece of smoked gouda.
Lochlan ate the heel of the loaf of bread too, even though I wanted it. He took my glass away after two drinks and told me I still need my bangs cut and I dissolved into barely-inebriated frustration.
What's wrong? He asked and I lied some more to see if I can craft a poker face out of fake smiles and thin skin.
I'm cold.
He pulled his sweater over his head and stuck me right through it. It smells like turpentine, kerosene and Old Spice. It smells like Cole but then my brain reminds me that Cole smelled like Loch, save for the kerosene.
His eyes smile at me and it's hard to be mad. Really hard, as it always is when he switches those gears from parent to first love.
