“The department has desk positions. Investigations, case review, evidence analysis. I was a patrol officer and I loved doing that, but I have a brain that’s wired for detective work. I always wanted to move into investigations and I never did because patrol was what I knew and loved. I’ve already talked to the sergeant. He’s looking into what’s available. He seemed confident that a position would come up soon.”
“Mickey. That’s huge.”
“It’s not a firm job yet. But the conversation happened and the sergeant didn’t say no. He said let me see what we can do.”
“I love the idea,” Benji says.
“And I also need to get my truck fitted for hand controls. There’s a mobility shop in Tallahassee that does the conversion. Steering knob, left-hand accelerator and brake, the works. Once that’s done, I can drive myself. To physical therapy, to work, to Mama’s house, to the airport to pick up my boyfriend. I can stop relying on Tex for every trip.”
“How long does the conversion take?”
“Two weeks once they get the parts. I’m on the list. Steve is writing the evaluation letter and the department insurance covers most of it because it’s a work-related injury. I could be driving by the end of the month.”
“You’re going to drive yourself?”
“That’s what I’m planning on. And then I can drive you on a date. How would you like that?”
“I’d love it, Mickey. Okay, so here’s the plan. Flights twice a month. You go back to work doing investigations from a desk. You drive your own truck with hand controls. I start looking into building a wedding business on 30A. I convince Dante to keep researching real estate on 30A which won’t be hard since he won’t stop talking about it. If I could lure Dante to be here some, then he could help me when I invariably get into trouble with problem brides. And you and I continue to talk every night same as always. We see each other every two weeks. And somewhere in the middle of all that, we figure out the rest.”
“That’s a lot of plans,” I say. “And they’re good plans. But I need to tell you something that isn’t a plan. Come here.” I put the armrests down and reach for him. He slides off the chair and onto my lap, sideways, his legs over the armrest and his arm around my neck. His weight settles against me and I pull him in closer because closer is what I need right now and because I can feel him holding something back. I don’t know what it is but I know it’s there.
“What is it?” he says, burying his face into my neck.
“I’ve never done this before,” I say. “Any of it. I’ve never had a relationship with a man that lasted longer than a few months. I’ve never introduced someone to my mother. I’ve never had someone’s clothes in my closet or their plant on my stand. The longest I’ve ever been with a guy was four months and that ended because I couldn’t let him in. He told me I had a wall and he was tired of standing on the other side of it and he was right.”
Benji’s fingers are on the back of my neck, barely moving.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I say. “I know how to be a cop. I know how to clear a room and write a report and work a twelve-hour shift without complaining. I know how to be tough and how to be alone and how to keep the personal separate from everything else. I’ve been doing that forever. That’s a lot of years of practice at keeping people out and about five minutes of practice at letting someone in.”
“You’re letting me in right now,” he says.
“I’m trying. And I might get it wrong. I’m going to do things that hurt you and not know I did them. I’m going to goquiet when I should talk. I’m going to pull back when I should reach for you. That’s not because I don’t want you here. It’s because this is all brand new to me and I don’t know how to do it, but I want to.”
He snuggles closer into me and his eyes are bright.
“The desk job and the hand controls for the truck,” I say. “That’s not just about independence. I need to be a man you can be proud of. Not the man in the chair who watches the seagulls while you build a career. I need to work. I need to drive. I need to pick you up at the airport and take you to dinner and be the guy who planned something for you instead of the guy you planned everything for. You’ve been doing all the reaching, Benji. I know that. I see it even if I haven’t said it. I know you’re aware of it too.”
“Mickey —”
“Let me keep going. I’m not good at this part and if I stop, I won’t start again.” I take a breath. “You brought me food every day. You drove two hours each way. You brought a plant to make my room livable. I never once asked you to come because I didn’t know how to ask and I didn’t think I deserved it. But you came anyway. And I need you to know that I’m going to figure out how to be the man who shows up for you the way you’ve been there for me. I don’t know how to do it yet. But I’m going to learn.”
His forehead drops against mine and his fingers are tight on the back of my neck.
“That’s all I needed to hear,” he whispers. “That’s the only thing I needed.”
“I’m not going to be perfect at it.”
“I don’t need perfect.”
“I swear I’m trying, Benji. Right now. This is me trying.”
He leans up and kisses me slowly. His hand on my face, his mouth warm and careful. “I’m not going to pretend this is casual for me,” he says.
He’s gorgeous and perfect. My shirt hanging off his shoulder, bare feet on the deck, his hand in mine.
We stay on the deck until the sun starts its descent and the light turns the water into something that doesn’t look real. The colors too saturated, the reflections too perfect—a sunset that tourists photograph and locals don’t notice because it happens every day.
I don’t forget to notice. Not anymore.
