“The waitress came over and saw that the candle was off,” Adrian explained, the words smooth but laced with mischief. “So, she thought she’d light it again.”
Logan narrowed his eyes, suspicion flashing behind the growing grin he couldn’t quite suppress. He shook his head, laughter bubbling under his words. “You’re full of shit,” he muttered, the tenderness in his voice undeniable.
He leaned back in his chair, studying Adrian with a look that made the small flame between them feel somehow brighter, as if it fed on the gravity building quietly across the table.
“For dessert,” Logan said, flashing an easy, mischievous smile, “what are we having?”
Adrian matched his grin, the playfulness lighting up his face. “I still haven’t tried anything from the desserts, actually,” he admitted.
“Well, then we have to,” Logan said firmly, flipping the menu back open and scanning the options with theatrical seriousness. His eyes caught onsomething, and he looked up, triumphant. “Chocolate haupia pie. That’s it,” he declared.
Adrian laughed, the sound low and genuine, and gave a small nod of agreement. “Chocolate haupia pie, it is.”
As they stepped out into the cool night air, Adrian sighed, a hand on his stomach. “I’m going to sleep for a week after that meal.”
Logan chuckled, his voice rolling against the crisp breeze. “Oh, come on. I bet you’ll burn it off by morning.”
“Only if I can walk by morning,” Adrian groaned, glancing at Logan with a grin. They ambled back toward Logan’s resort, taking the longer way back, each step a little slower, savoring the night that lingered between them. His stomach still full, Adrian couldn’t help but think back to their half-playful, half-serious argument when the check arrived—how Logan had stubbornly insisted on paying, his voice unwavering, saying it was only fair since he’d invited him. He remembered the look in Logan’s eyes, unexpected and impossibly direct, a look Adrian had no defense against, not tonight, not when everything between them was still so new. It caught him off guard and left him unable to argue. Adrian sensed, maybe Logan did too, how quickly he could be pulled under that soft, intent gaze Logan seemed to slip into without even noticing.
“Thanks for tonight,” Adrian said softly as they reached Logan’s cabin. The air was still, weighted, as though something more should follow, something to keep the night from closing. “Oh, I almost forgot!” Adrianslipped a hand into the pocket of his shorts and pulled something free. “This is for you.”
He pressed a new board leash into Logan’s hands. He had meant to give it earlier, back at the bar, but the moment he sat across from him, his mind had emptied. The words he’d rehearsed scattered like sand, and all he could do was watch Logan speak, as though under some spell.
Logan’s eyes moved from the leash to Adrian’s face, dumbfounded, his breath caught somewhere between them.
“Yours… it broke? Or tore?” Adrian frowned, searching for the word. “I don’t know the right word. But I got you this.”
The leash felt heavier than it should have in Logan’s palm.
“Thank you,” Logan murmured. “You really didn’t have to.”
“It’s nothing.” Adrian shrugged, too quick, almost embarrassed. “There are many surf stores here, but not all good ones. Didn’t want you buying something bad.” His smile wavered, a shy, uncertain curve of the mouth.
Logan tightened his grip around the leash, as though holding onto something more than cord and rubber. He dragged a hand through his hair, restless, clumsy, trying to scrape together the courage that stalled in his throat.
“Thank you.” He said again.
Silence settled between them, taut and uncertain, neither of them sure how to step into the next breath.
Logan’s throat worked, a rough sound breaking free as he scraped against the edges of his own fear. His body leaned forward, then stilled, caught between retreat and confession. For a heartbeat, it seemed he would let the moment collapse, that he would simply nod, turn, and vanish into the night, just as the world had trained him to do.
But something in him—something small and scared and breaking open—made him stumble forward: “So, um… will I… see you around tomorrow? At the beach, maybe? Or whatever,” he added quickly, tossing the words out like loose change, pretending he didn’t care even as they scraped his throat on the way out.
He was aiming for casual, for breezy, for harmless. He missed by a mile.
Beneath the surface, he reached out, aimlessly and perhaps unwittingly, driven by a desperate hope that filled him with dread. What if, in the days ahead, their eyes met, and Adrian simply bestowed that courteous, detached smile commonly exchanged with strangers? What if tomorrow, their paths crossed, leading to nothing more than a nod, a casual, “Hey man,” or a “How’s the surf?” before they parted ways, the memory of tonight fading into just a whisper in the dark?
Would Adrian be enveloped in laughter among the other surfers, arms draping over sun-kissed shoulders, while Logan remained a silent observer, lost to the shadows? Would he catch a glimpse of Adrian sipping drinks beneath the soft glow of string lights, vibrant and full of life, while Logan lingered on the outside, feeling like nothing more than an afterthought, a fleeting presence without meaning?
That was fine.
It was fine.
They barely knew each other. They weren’t friends. Barely acquaintances.
It wasn’t supposed to matter.
Itshouldn’tmatter.
