“I’ve missed it,” Jake admitted with a shuddering breath, and Rye could only nod into him.
Together, they turned and walked down the beach, just at the water’s edge. Jake’s limp was much more pronounced than it had been back at the house, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it, and so Rye tried not to worry.
They held hands, and they walked all the way past a big rocky outcrop—the tide not quite high enough to cut them off from the next curve of beach. At the end of that beach, a large rock stuck up out of the sand. The top of the rough, pitted surface reached almost as high as Rye’s waist.
“Sometimes I’d come out and sit here for a while,” Jake said quietly, a reverence in his voice that made Rye smile. “This is my turnaround point, actually. It’s just about a half mile from the bottom of the stairs. But sometimes... I wouldn’t just turn around and head back. I’d sit here, watch the water. On clear days, the view here is just so... so beautiful.”
“I think it’s beautiful now, too,” Rye said, and he gave Jake’s hand a squeeze. “Do you want to stay out here now? Rest your leg before we head back?”
Jake was silent for a few seconds, but then he nodded and tore his eyes away from the water to look down at Rye. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Rye said without hesitation.
Jake’s eyes shone, his expression holding more of those same emotions Rye had felt earlier. Still relief and joy. But also hope and something else that made Rye’s cheeks heat up and his chest feel all tingly.
“Thank you,” Jake whispered.
And it would have been the perfect moment right then, if only Rye had planned it that way. It would have been the perfect location, too, right here on the beach. It would have been perfect, to turn toward Jake and set his hands right on Jake’s chest and say, “Jake, can I kiss you?”
Rye watched as Jake’s eyes darted down to his lips for half a second, and more heat spread up into his cheeks. Jake was probably thinking the same thing he was. He wasn’t good at being spontaneous, though, and he knew he needed to wait until they got back up to the house. That was his plan, after all, and he’d been working up the courage for it all morning.
He was going to kiss Jake. On the lips.
Finally.
The thought sent an odd, warm shiver through him that left him momentarily breathless. And he bit his lower lip and held Jake’s heated gaze. He wanted to ask Jake what this feeling was—why he was feeling warm and cold and this gentle but insistent pull low in his belly all at the same time. But he thought maybe he knew already.
With a small smile, Rye tilted his head toward the rock. “You should sit,” he said, though his voice sounded rough to his own ears.
Jake hesitated for only a second and then nodded. “Yeah.”
Together, they stepped over to the rock, and Jake slowly lowered himself to sit just along the nearest edge. Rye took a seat on the other side of him, close enough so their shoulders were touching, and then Rye leaned up against him. When their fingers intertwined a moment later, Jake exhaled a quiet sigh.
“Thank you. This means so much to me,” Jake said, and hesqueezed Rye’s hand.
Rye couldn’t quite find any words then, but he lifted Jake’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on Jake’s knuckles. Jake let out another sigh, deeper and longer this time.
They sat there in silence for a while as the sun began to grow warmer on Rye’s back and the fog continued to burn off. Then, after some time, Jake stood slowly, clearly favoring his leg. Rye copied him, and their hands remained clasped together as they made their way back toward Jake’s house.
The walk back up the stairs was not quite as slow as the walk down had been, although Jake seemed to be careful about each step, and Rye could see tension in his shoulders as they reached about halfway up. He put a hand on Jake’s back—maybe to steady him or maybe to encourage him, Rye wasn’t honestly sure. It just felt like the thing to do. And it seemed to help.
When they made it to the top, back to the patio, Jake took Rye’s hand and led him over to the railing. The sun had finally broken through the fog enough that the ocean now glittered, dots of light sparkling as the water shifted and crested and rippled. Rye stared out at it as he slipped his arm around Jake’s back and leaned against him.
It was another perfect moment—and a moment he’d been planning and waiting for. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The fresh morning air smelled of ocean and sand and that lingering scent of rain from the day before, and it was momentarily overwhelming as he thought about what it all meant and how important this place was to him.
It was the place he’d gained his freedom and the place he’d met his best friend. And it was so much more than that too.
“I love it here,” Rye said quietly, and he heard Jake hum an agreement. “And I... I wanted to...”
The words were there, on the tip of his tongue, and for once, his inability to say them wasn’t really related to his past. For once, it was because he was just a little nervous. He shook his head and then turned away from the ocean to look up at Jake, bringing his hands up to settle on Jake’s solid chest.
Their eyes met, and all the breath left Rye as he remembered more about those first few days here. Jake’s kind expression, so soft and gentle and thoughtful, had been entirely different from what Rye had become accustomed to. It had been inviting in a way, and it had felt safe and caring. And so very, very different.
That kindness was still there now, in Jake’s eyes. And that sense of safety Rye felt with Jake was even deeper than it had been then.
“What is it?” Jake’s low voice rumbled in his chest as Jake lifted his hands and set them on Rye’s upper arms, rubbing gently.
Rye pressed his fingers into Jake’s sweater, the fabric soft against his fingertips. “I... want to kiss you,” Rye said slowly, not taking his eyes off Jake’s. He brought one of his hands up higher and touched his fingers to Jake’s cheek, a half-smile growing as he felt the coarseness of Jake’s beard again. Tentatively, he brushed his thumb over Jake’s lips, and something fluttered with anticipation in his chest. “A real kiss this time... Can I?”
