Page 28 of We Are Just Us

“Both.” Devon grinned. “You in?”

Kieran surprised himself. “Yes.”

On a bright Saturday afternoon, he stopped into Cliffside Market for an overpriced sandwich and whatever side looked the most irresponsible. He was halfway down the aisle debating chips when he heard his name.

“Kieran.”

He turned, already smiling.

Rory had a basket hooked over his arm, looking annoyingly good.

“Hey,” Kieran said. “Fancy running into you somewhere that smells like tri-tip.”

“Hard to avoid.” Rory’s gaze tracked down Kieran’s chest and back up, unhurried. “Haven’t seen your car much.”

“I started a Substack. Something stupid to keep me busy while I’m job hunting.”

“I know what Substack is.” Rory stepped closer, reaching past Kieran for a jar of honey on the shelf behind him. He didn’t need to get that close. “And that’s not stupid. What are you writing about?”

“It’s…” Kieran’s brain fogged. Rory was right there, forearm brushing his shoulder, smelling like salt and warm skin. “Just, uh. Stuff. About here. The town. Things I’ve noticed.”

Rory pulled back with the honey in hand, eyes still on Kieran’s face. “Yeah? Like what?”

“I don’t know. Coffee. Tacos. The light.” Jesus. He had become a stoned poet in a grocery aisle. “My best friend Emory bullied me into it.”

“Emory sounds smart.” Rory’s mouth curved. “Send me the link.”

“So you can roast my opinions on fish tacos?”

“So I can see what catches your eye.”

They stalled a beat too long, the hum of the store filling the space, neither of them in a hurry to break it.

“So,” Rory said, shifting the basket again. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Uh. Laundry. Picking up dog poop. Living wild.”

Rory lifted his eyebrows, looking almost impressed. “You want to go to the beach?”

“Sure,” Kieran said, too quickly. “I’m a beach professional.”

Rory’s smile widened a fraction. “Cool. Meet you in the driveway, say ten-thirty?”

“Great,” Kieran said, already picturing a towel, a book, the comfortable distance he’d learned how to keep.

They walked to the checkout together, talking about nothing, music, the Substack, the strange loyalty people had to certain grocery stores. At the exit Rory paused.

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tomorrow.”

Rory nodded once, satisfied. “Wear sunscreen.”

“I always do,” Kieran said, offended.

Rory laughed and headed for the parking lot, leaving Kieran standing there with his sandwich and a feeling that buzzed pleasantly under his ribs.

Kieran pretended to be calm.