Page 107 of The Lineman

Then he looked at me—half lidded, mischievous, like he was about to start trouble.

“You ever smile?” he asked, completely serious. “Or did you sell your ability to feel joy in exchange for unparalleled brooding skills?”

I scoffed, shoving at his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Ah-ha!” He pointed at me like he’d caught me in a trap. “A reaction. He does have feelings.”

I had laughed then. An actual, full-bodied, helpless laugh. The kind that cracked something open in me, that made me feel light in a way I wasn’t used to.

Mike had just grinned, victorious. “That’s right, big guy. Iamfunny.”

He was. Infuriatingly so.

Number Three: He was smart, and he knew it. (Okay, that might be a negative, too.)

Mike had a way of thinking through things, of seeing the world in a way that wasn’t always obvious to me. It wasn’t just that he was a teacher—though, Christ, he could pull out a fact aboutanythingat a moment’s notice. It was the way he took the time to understand things, to question them.

It showed in the way he talked about his students. There was a fire in him when he spoke about literature, about the power of stories, about why people clung to them.

I didn’t always have the right words for things. I was better with my hands—with action—but Mike could take a feeling, a thought, and put it into words in a way that made sense, in a way that settled things inside me I hadn’t realized needed settling.

And, God, I loved listening to him talk.

Not that I’d ever tell him that. His ego was big enough as it was.

Number Four: He made me want to stay.

This was the one that scared me.

I wasn’t a man who stayed.

My whole life had been built around movement—chasing storms, following work, never letting myself put down roots deep enough to get caught.

But with Mike?

With Mike, I felt still.

Not trapped. Not restless. Just present.

When I was with him, I didn’t think about where I had to go next or what job was waiting for me. The only thing that mattered was the now—the way he looked at me across the dinner table, the way his fingers curled around the back of my neck when he kissed me, the way he held me like I was something solid, something real.

I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

I wasn’t sure if Icouldstay.

But for the first time in my life, I wanted to.

And that was fucking terrifying.

Number Five: He saw right through my bullshit.

I was good at keeping people at arm’s length. At giving them just enough to think they knew me without actually letting them know me.

Mike never bought it.

He saw through every smirk, every deflection, every attempt I made to keep things light and easy. He called me on it every damn time, and he never let me get away with anything.

“You don’t always have to be the strong one, you know,” he’d said once, catching me off guard. “You let yourself lean on people sometimes?” he asked, peering at me with that quiet, thoughtful gaze that always made me feel like I was under a microscope.

---