“Oh, that’s a yellow warbler. Is that what you wanted to know?”
Rye nodded once and then again, and he turned back to Jake as he repeated the name in his head.Yellow warbler. Sparrows and yellow warblers.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Jake said, still staring out the window. “They don’t really show up much by my place, maybe because I’m right on the beach, I’m not sure, but they’re pretty common in this area in the spring and summer. I’m actually not sure why there are any here right now. I thought they were migratory birds, so they should be down south for the winter.” Jake paused and tilted his head a bit. “You know, maybe this would be for another day, but there’s this shop in town called Beach and Beyond. It’s one of those touristy kind of places with knickknacks and things, but they’ve also got this little section on Northern California wildlife. There’s a few books that—”
“Yes!” Rye nodded again, and he felt silly for his reaction for only about half a second as Jake’s eyebrows shot up. Then he just felt so... seen. Like... like Jake hadreallybeen listening and had heard all the words Rye hadn’t been able to say.
Jake laughed lightly. “Okay, well, I guess we have a plan, then,” he said. “I think they don’t open up until nine, though. So, if you’re up for the beach, too, we can make a whole morning of it. The Cove Café for breakfast, a short walk on the beach, if my leg lets us, and then we’ll stop at Beach and Beyond when they open?”
This time, all Rye could do was nod. But something inside him felt so much lighter, and even the prospect of going to a new place—orthreenew places, actually—didn’t seem quite so terrifying.
“Alright, then. You’ll want a coat; it’s pretty cold. Do you have a coat?”
He did. His mom had bought him one from the secondhand shop at the general store. So he nodded again.
“Alright.” Jake smiled, and that feeling—that lightness inside of Rye—uplifted him more.
He blinked and looked back out at the two little yellow birds across the street. Then he smiled.Yellow warblers.
“I’ll... get my coat,” Rye said, slowly finding the words, and he turned back to Jake, who just nodded. Then he hurried off to his bedroom to get ready to go.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jake
Rowsofpastriesandbaked goods lined the glass display cases at The Cove Café—everything from banana nut bread to blueberry scones to massive cinnamon rolls.
Jake grinned as he watched Rye slowly scan the selections, his eyes wide and his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He and Rye had been at the café for several minutes already, and Rye had yet to make a decision, which was completely fine. No one else was in line behind them, thanks to the early morning hour on a sleepy November Saturday in their tiny town, and Jake had told him to take his time. The barista, a kind teenager named Kelly, whose blue-and-magenta hair had seemed to surprise Rye almost as much as the wide selection of pastries, had also said not to rush, and she’d started making Jake’s coffee and Rye’s hot chocolate.
Rye moved a step closer to the display case and then glanced at Jake.
“Did you choose?” Jake asked, and when Rye nodded and then pointed at the row of strawberry turnovers, Jake grinned again. “Oh, yeah, those are so good. I’m usually choosing between that and a chocolate croissant. Or cinnamon roll.”
Rye’s eyes widened again, and he glanced back at the display case as though maybe he were rethinking his choice. But he didn’t say anything, and so, Jake just gave Kelly a small wave to let her know they were ready. He placed their order—in addition to their drinks, they wanted one strawberry turnover and one cinnamon roll—and then he paid as Rye stood by and watched, his hands stuffed back in his pockets and his shoulders hunched.
A few minutes later, they had their drinks and food, and they headed back outside. The morning was still quite chilly, especially with the gentle breeze coming off the water, and ideally, they’d probably stay inside to eat. However, Jake had the feeling Rye would be more comfortable outside, even if it was cold.
He steered them over across the narrow one-lane road separating the small row of shops from the beach. Then they walked another fifty feet or soalong the boardwalk at the edge of the road until they reached the first of a few benches positioned along the walkway. The view was gorgeous—a small grassy knoll falling away slightly to a crisp, sandy beach that curved along as far as he could see until disappearing into the rocky cliffs rising up out of the ocean waves to the south. He longed to just keep walking the little bit farther to where a trail led off the walkway and down into the sand, the strong tug in his gut almost overpowering. It’d been years since he’d spent so long without a walk on the beach. Not since his accident, in fact.
And when he realized that, a rush of gratitude hit him, warm and full and bright. He glanced at Rye, who was standing a couple of feet to his right, holding his hot chocolate in one hand and his pastry in the other as he stared out toward the ocean. Rye’s unruly blond hair blew back out of his face as the breeze picked up, and Jake could see the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of Rye’s lips.
“Thank you for suggesting this,” Jake said quietly, quickly adding, “that we come down to the beach, I mean.”
Rye blinked and turned his head, and Jake smiled as Rye’s startlingly blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. That, plus Rye’s hint of a smile, just fueled all the things Jake was feeling—his longing for the beach, his gratitude toward Rye for essentially bringing him here, the amazement he couldn’t help feeling at their burgeoning friendship.
“We should, uh, probably sit and eat. Then we can walk on the beach a bit, if you’re still up for it? I’ll need my cane, so I can’t really walk and eat at the same time,” he explained, and Rye’s eyebrows pinched together for a second, like he was thinking. Then he nodded.
And they sat at the bench and ate, mostly in silence. It was comfortable, and Jake stole glances at Rye every once in a while, smiling to himself as he watched Rye’s expressions. The first bite of the turnover had Rye closing his eyes as he chewed slowly, probably savoring the burst of flavor. The second bite had an eagerness to it, and then the third bite was slow again. Jake took small bites of his own cinnamon roll and sips of his coffee, and when he was about half done, he finally cleared his throat to speak.
“Next week is Thanksgiving,” he said, and he turned to Rye again, who seemed to have a hard time tearing his eyes away from the ocean to look at Jake. The blue of Rye’s eyes was somehow even brighter than it had been a moment ago, and Jake almost got lost for a second.
How... incredibly resilient was this man? How beautiful was his kind heart? How gentle was his soul, even after whatever had happened to him?
“My... mom says, um...” Rye pursed his lips together and blinked as he lowered his eyes to what was left of his pastry. “...she’s... inviting, um...” He shook his head as though frustrated, but then started over. “My mom asked... if she could invite family and—and friends over. There... will be a lot of people.”
Jake heard the clear worry in Rye’s words, and he gave Rye what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Does that make you nervous?” he asked softly, and when Rye nodded, still looking down at his pastry, Jake’s heart felt a little heavier.
“Mom says everyone...” Rye trailed off again, but this time seemed unable to reset himself, and instead, he brought his pastry up to his mouth for another bite. His hand trembled.
