I’m tired as hell, but I pull on my underwear and get to work under the afternoon sun. In his boxer briefs, Hank breaks branches off small shrubs and trees, and I spread them with fallen logs, adding to the shape.
My muscles burn and my breath comes out heavy, but as the sky gets darker, I see that we can get the task done. It’s as the sun sets that Hank finally puts the last branch in place, completing the first signal.
I fall down on the sand, satisfied and tired. “We did it.”
Hank collapses next to me. “Now just a short rest,” he says, “and the fires should be ready to light, too.”
“Which means clams,” I add excitedly.
As though in answer to his words, a sprinkle starts to fall on the island.
“Of course,” Hank grumbles. “Another evening rain. The perfect way to top off this day.”
We both laugh in that desperate,what-the-fuckway, and I manage to sit back up. Hank rises beside me, one hand back to support his body, and a piece of stick falls off his arm.
He gives me an awkward half-smile, and I smile back.
His eyes drift behind me before lighting up. “Look,” he says, one hand on my shoulder while he points out to the ocean. “The Orcas are back.”
I turn and watch as the whales swim not far from shore, the pink-and-purple setting sun behind them. The surprise of it lights something up in me, and I hum my appreciation.
“They’re just as cool the second time,” I say.
“Definitely worth pausing to celebrate,” he agrees, conceding the point from earlier.
We end up side by side. Hank’s arm crosses my back, and I take the encouragement, sliding against him as a gentle rain patters down and we watch the whales swim.
It’s happening again. The moment heightens, and I swear I can feel the charge building between us. This time, though, Hank doesn’t pull away.
