The last time I kissed him was years ago. I was nineteen, he was eighteen. It was good-bye. I’ve spent years denying myself, like a drunk avoiding alcohol. But tonight, I take the shot of tequila. Our lips connect. Abbott’s tongue pushes into my mouth as my fingers grip his neck and his hold tightly to my hips. I lean into him, into the kiss, giving him everything and taking everything from him - all the sensations. The kiss is like a face in the crowd you recognize but don’t know how. It feels familiar but oddly new. And my body fills with relief and grief at the same time. Because I just threw it all — all the years of trying to find my way without him — away. The recent months of living my truth. It’s all gone in one desperate, needy, passionate kiss. I threw it away for nothing. We can never be something.
I tear my mouth from his and yank my hands away like he’s burning me. “You have to go.”
He’s breathing heavy, staring at me with wide, wounded eyes. “You still want me.”
“You still want to be seen as straight.”
“Declan I don’twant—"
I push past him and open the front door. “Good night, Abbott.”
“Deck.”
“Good. Night.”
He sighs, walking towards me and the open door. When he crosses the threshold and steps onto the little landing at the top of the stairs, he pauses. But I don’t. I slam it shut in his disappointed, perfect face.
8
DECLAN
I openthe door to the restaurant. It’s quiet right now. I could tell by the amount cars in the parking lot, that I can see from my kitchen window, and the time of day. It’s three-thirty, lunch rush is over and dinner rush hasn’t started. It’s why we always pick this time to do our family meetings. But it’s actually the worst possible time to be there for me. Because the locals know to avoid the summer crowds and they’re the customers we get mid-day. And locals know all about my failed marriage, the fact that my ex-wife is now in love with my brother, and that I left her because I’m gay. They stare. They whisper. I shouldn’t care but I do.
I swing open the door anyway, because I used to give everyone shit when they missed business meetings so I can’t start doing it myself. Even if I’ve stepped back in my restaurant duties, I still love this place and want it to succeed. If Mom and Dad call a meeting, I’m going to go. The first person I see is Mr. Hobbs. He’s a regular. A senior who comes in at least once a week to have a bowl of chowder before he walks over to the cemetery to visit his wife. It’s so sweet and also poignantly painful to see him sitting there in his best summer trousers and short sleeved button down with a nicely wrapped bouquet of daisies beside him. He smiles when he sees me. “Afternoon, Declan.”
“Hello Mr. Hobbs. Hope you’re well,” I say as Terra waves at me from across the restaurant after she places two lobster roll platters in front of a couple at a booth.
He nods. “No complaints. Although it’s a little toasty this week.”
“I agree.” I nod. “But I’ll take it over bone-chilling winter any day.”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Hobbs laments, his smile growing nostalgic. “I used to love to cuddle Lilah and keep her warm in chilly weather.”
I just smile and nod because I love his love for his wife, but all it really does is remind me I’m going to have to buy an electric blanket before winter. I cross over to behind the counter while absently brushing my fingers over my lips, thinking about that kiss with Abbott two nights ago. If only I could do that every night, then I would stay warm no matter what the Maine winters throw at me.
“Can you help out for five minutes?” Terra asks as she whizzes by me and toward the bin where we dump the dirty dishes. “Robbie called in sick.”
“Uh-oh,” I say, and she shakes her head. Robbie is a newer employee that Jake and Logan convinced us to hire. He’s not the smartest lobster in the tank but he tries and when you do teach him something, he learns quickly. But he’s also a recovering alcoholic and he’s called off three times in two weeks, which we all agree is worrying.
“Yeah, I’m a little worried. I might ask Logan to check in on him,” Terra replies. Javi dings a bell and she reaches for a bowl of chowder and another lobster roll platter. “If you can just tidy up the area back here. I was slammed and didn’t get a chance yet.”
I nod as she heads back away from the counter area to deliver the food to a table on the back deck. “Nova is working out back, but she’s slammed too.”
“I’ve got this. Who’s covering for the meeting?” I ask as she bustles away from me.
“Mary and Javi,” Terra calls.
I try not to comment on the fact that Javi hasn’t worked the front of the house, like, ever and as much as I love him the idea makes me panic. But when I came back to Maine, and the family restaurant, I promised myself I would be less outwardly opinionated. Because it was making my family miserable and that was making me miserable. So I swallow down my opinions, and my questions, like who the hell will be in the kitchen if Javi is out here, and start to clean up behind the counter.
“Hey Declan!”
The perky voice comes from behind me. I glance over my shoulder from where I’m rinsing a dirty blender and notice, way down at the other end of the counter from Mr. Hobbs, is Cassidy Green. And she’s with her older brother Ronan. She’s sucking back a black and white shake and he’s eating a basket of waffle fries, which isn’t normal. Ronan usually orders a lobster roll, no butter or mayo and a side of slaw. Nothing else. He’s a fireman and ridiculously health conscious.
“Hi!” She waves as she repeats it.
I force myself to smile. “Hey Cassidy. Hope all is well.”
It’s like the opening line of an informal email. Just something you say but don’t really mean or care what the answer is. Cassidy apparently doesn’t catch my vibe because she gives me an in-depth answer. “I’m good. Thank God my mom has AC though because Mr. Hobbs is right. It’s been hotter than a deep fryer lately. Do you have AC where you live? Where are you living now? I know Nova… your ex… sold the house you guys had. It was a lovely house. Mom really wanted Ronan and—"
