I don’t see him anywhere in the refrigerated section.
Milk. Eggs. Cheese. I work my way down the aisle, checking between each item. My jaw flutters, and I ignore the swooping feeling in my gut.
He couldn’t just leave, idiot. How would he get anywhere without a car? Calm the hell down.
I find him in front of the housewares section. The endcap has a big yellowClearancesign at the top.
Kit has two small canisters of paint, one in each hand. He’s looking at them like they either hold all the answers or are the very reason for all his problems.
I stop long enough to take them out of his hands and put them in the cart.
It's not until we’re back in the truck after he fussed over me paying for his food that he finally gives me his eyes again. I can feel them on the side of my face, and my shoulders drop an inch with my next exhale.
“Can I help you cook?”
My laugh is unexpected. “No.”
Kit
“So, then Boe here gut-punched the tree. There was blood. There was yelping. There was fucking laughs from me because why would you punch a tree?” Ian sips his can of Coke and chuckles, completely oblivious to the painfully awkward squint of Bowen’s eyes. “Still have no idea what set him off. He was like a feral beast there for a while. One minute he was chill, the next he was howling like a wolf, punching trees or crying over a bowl of canned peas.”
Bowen wipes a hand over his face. “Dude.”
“What? It’s the truth, man. No shame with a broken heart.”
My belly aches. Not sure if it's from the obscene amount of food Bowen piled on my plate earlier. The laughs from how ridiculous Ian is, or the implication that Bowen hit a rock bottom without me here.
Without me even knowing.
The fire crackles, and I tuck my arms closer to my chest. The flames flicker, licking up towards the sky and simmering lower, leaving me staringacross at Bowen. He seems… calmer, tonight. Even with Ian spouting off about him. There is a looseness to his posture, with the way his legs are kicked out in front of him. With the way he’s smiled, even graced us with his deep, raspy chuckle that does dangerous things to my insides.
I can’t look away.
This is the closest I’ve seen him to Bowen—myBowen—in years. Since before our worlds came to a screeching halt. Before death and grief showed me the darkest parts of my soul. He’s smirking now, and I tune back in to Ian.
“You know, Kit?”
“Huh?”
Ian groans playfully and points an accusing finger. “I fucking knew it, man. You have that look in your eye.”
“Wh…what look?”
“You’re dick-notized.” He downs the rest of his soda like it’s a beer, even smooshing the can in his massive paw. I haven’t missed the lack of alcohol here tonight. I think I know who is responsible for that.
“Wha…what?” My blood pressure spikes. It was all fun and games when it was Bowen getting the raw end of Ian’s non-filtered mouth. My hands instantly clam up.
“Oh, please. Who is the bastard that has you drooling, daydreaming into the fire? Is it my neighbor? Did you see the guy next to me on the other side? Dude is a whole unit.”
“No?”
“Yeah, you’d probably have to be in his backyard to meet him. Or looking through his windows. He doesn’t leave. Kinda like Bowen. Hey, did you ever tryTopped?”
My mouth opens and closes several times. “The gay dating app?”
Ian nods. “Yeah, you could probably link up with someone to dispel that helpless, drooly look in your eyes. I’m sure Bowen wouldn’t mind. He can go into the small cabin and—”
“Ian, shut up,” Bowen huffs.
