Tucker turns a confused look my way. “Got a hot date?”
I snort at the idea of it. “Absolutely not. I do a puzzle over video each week with a friend of mine.”
“How delightfully domestic,” Tucker says, tone clearly teasing.
I can feel the flush on my cheeks, but I don’t say anything. Instead, we both turn back to watch the sun crest over the horizon. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, wishing for home and peace, wishing for comfort and kindness. All things I can give myself if I allow it.
“How’s Cupcake?” Tucker asks.
My throat tightens at the thought of her. “At the vet actually.”
“Oh no! Why?”
“Sometimes her breed can have stomach issues. She’ll be okay, Orson promised me.”
“Ah,” Tucker says with a lot of feeling. When I look over at him, he’s smiling gently, and his eyes flick over my face quickly. “Orson never breaks a promise.”
“I believe you.” Because I do, and I believe in the magic of this small little island in a way I never thought possible.
“Wanna look for sea glass? River collects it.” Tucker doesn’t wait for me to respond, he just rolls up to standing. When his back is turned, I take the chance to catalog the slight roundness of his stomach, the soft muscles on his back, and the way his ass fills his own sweatpants. I like the way he looks soft but strong at the same time, and the softness of his face makes me feel like he’d kiss with a gentleness that would undo me.
I only stand when he looks back at me expectantly, one of his bushy blond eyebrows raised in question. Sea glass is a trickier find than seashells, but after thirty comfortably quietminutes, we both have a handful. I take Tucker’s hand in mine, ignoring his soft gasp, and transfer what I gathered over to him.
“Here,” I whisper so the ocean breeze carries my words to him, “you can give these to River.”
“You don’t want them for yourself?”
“What would I do with them?” I shrug. “River will have much better use for them. He uses them for his witchy stuff, right?”
Tucker sends me that confused, almost hesitant look again. I want to hug him. Struck by the force of the feeling, I take a step back before I can impulsively give in. If he was further into his freedom, maybe I would’ve made a move already, maybe we’d be ten kisses deep into a relationship and I’d tell him some truths about myself that would be met with acceptance and kindness. But time is our friend for many reasons, and I don’t think he’s ready.
“I’ll see you at dinner tonight,” I tell him just before turning around to head back to my house.
“Bye, Charles!” he calls out from behind me.
I look over my shoulder at him with a fond smile. “Bye, Tucker.”
Brent’s waitingfor me outside the front door when I arrive at their house for dinner. He looks as big and broad as ever, but his face is softer than normal. Brent’s the kind of guy who’s big on hugs, which you wouldn’t think by looking at him. But I’m grateful for the hug he envelops me in all the same. He smells like car grease because he probably spent the day out in the garage tooling around with one of the cars.Normally he’d drag me over to the garage to help him, but he doesn’t today.
Instead, he just slings an arm around my shoulders and guides me inside the small beach house. Tucker’s warm laughter greets me and I can’t help the smile from working its way across my lips. Thankfully, Brent is too focused on guiding me to the living room, where there’s multiple football games playing on the television. My heart does that familiar lurch it does when I see football, but it settles when Tucker pops around the corner to send me a wave in greeting. I wave back like a clumsy idiot, almost hitting myself in the process, but Tucker’s grin just grows a little wider at the sight.
I sit beside Brent on the large couch and he gives me a look that’s far too knowing.
I clear my throat awkwardly. “How was your week?”
“Quiet,” Brent replies with one eye squinted my way. “Have you visited Marcia lately?”
“Yes, last week. We’re still working on those hand-knitted blankets. Her hands are so small, she has an advantage.” I mimic doing the loops Marcia has been painstakingly teaching me for months. Brent laughs at my clumsy recreation. “The holes in my blanket are going to be huge.”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Brent remarks just as Mark wanders into the living room with a cider for each of us. Mark winks at Brent, then disappears back into the kitchen. Another laugh rings out, and butterflies fill my chest when I can so easily recognize it as Tucker’s. “I’ve always loved Mark’s laugh, but Tucker’s is my favorite sound in the entire world.”
“Laughs are a beautiful thing.”
Brent takes a slow sip of his cider, then lets out athoughtful hum. “When someone laughs freely with you, it means they know you’re safe.”
“Or they think you’re a dipshit!” Mark hollers from the kitchen.
Tucker’s giggle is softer, as if he’s used to their shenanigans but still finds it funny after all these years. Their home is always warm, not just from the food that’s cooked with love or the half-open French doors on the back porch, but from happy memories and love. My gaze catches on the family photos that line the wall behind the sofa. There’s a photo of the three of them in the county courthouse, and they’re all wearing matching emotional grins. Tucker’s tight corkscrew blond curls seem so out of place between Brent’s dark beard and hair and Mark’s bright auburn waves. The other best photo on the wall is a clearly teenage Tucker with bright blue curls and character ears on his head from a theme park visit. He looks sullen and annoyed, with a beaming River beside him. My chest feels tight again, so I rub it while taking a sip of the chilled cider Mark so kindly gave me.
