Page 41 of We Are Just Us

“I’m nothing if not supportive.”

Kieran laughed, finally, really laughing, the remaining tension draining out of him.

“Now go put aloe on,” Emory said, shooing the camera with her hand. “And for the love of god, wear something that makes you feel hot. Not like, trying. But confident.”

Kieran groaned, burying his face in a throw pillow. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Wear something that shows your arms, and your ass,” Emory said, her voice full of absolute certainty before her finger hovered over the disconnect button. “Trust me.”

The call ended.

Kieran set the phone against the sofa cushion and sat there in the quiet rental, still smiling. The nervous buzz in his chest had turned suspiciously close to anticipation.

THIRTEEN

When Tuesday rolled around, Kieran had decided he was going.

He spent the afternoon walking downtown, browsing shops he didn’t need anything from, doing anything that wasn’t sitting in his house rehearsing conversation starters. Rory texted once, casually, around noon.

RORY NEIGHBOR: Cocina de Barrio inside the Lumberyard 5 pm

No punctuation. No emojis. No pressure.

At home, Kieran showered, then stood in front of the bathroom mirror and applied Rogaine to his hairline. Not because he was balding—he wasn’t, not really—but because his dermatologist said it was “preventative.”

The joys of being in your mid-thirties.

He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, then changed shirts once, remembering Emory’s explicit instructions to wear something that made him look confident. He settled on a dark gray crewneck that hugged his shoulders—casual, but intentional.

Shoes. Keys. Phone.

He walked.

The eight blocks down Highway 101 to the Lumberyard stretched longer than they should have. The early evening air was warm, the sidewalks busy with people heading out for dinner, the coastal sun dipping low enough to cast long, gold shadows across the asphalt.

The sharp, savory smell of citrus-marinated meats and woodsmoke drifted toward him before the restaurant came into view.

Cocina de Barrio was packed.

The patio thrummed with voices, heavy glasses clinking, a vibrant, bass-heavy track pulsing from the outdoor speakers loud enough to drown out the frantic rhythm of Kieran’s brain. People stood shoulder to shoulder near the host stand, laughter spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Kieran slowed his pace, scanning the sea of faces under the string lights. He didn’t see Rory.

But Rory saw him.

Across the crowded patio, Rory lifted a hand, a smile breaking wide and unmistakable across his face, the kind that made it look as if he’d been tracking the entrance the whole time.

Relief hit so fast, Kieran almost laughed. Rory stood and threaded through the dense crowd toward him, navigating the tight spaces with a fluid confidence, looking infuriatingly good in a faded black tee that suggested he hadn’t agonized over his appearance for a single second.

“Hey,” Rory said, stepping close enough for his voice to clear the ambient roar of the patio.

“Hey,” Kieran replied.

“You made it,” Rory said, his eyes dipping briefly over Kieran’s outfit before meeting his gaze. He said it like it mattered.

“Yeah,” Kieran said, shifting his hands into his pockets. “I figured I’d check it out.”

Rory’s smile widened. “Good call. Come on, I grabbed a table early.”