Page 5 of We Are Just Us

“Are you…offering hose-coiling lessons?” Kieran asked, struggling to keep his voice level.

“Simply offering an observation,” Rory replied. “But if you need lessons, I charge hourly.”

“I can pay in overcooked quinoa and emotional baggage.”

That got a chuckle. A genuine one. Rory’s smile was quick and crooked, and it slipped right under Kieran’s ribs.

“You get settled in okay?” Rory asked, his gaze drifting over the small yard.

“Mostly. Still hunting for a pet store that doesn’t require a highway map. Hank chewed through his leash somewhere around Bakersfield.”

“There’s a good independent shop off the 101,” Rory said. “Fair warning, though…the woman who runs it will try to sell you a hand-knit sweater for your dog.”

“Honestly, he’d look great in argyle.”

Rory’s eyes dropped briefly, tracking down Kieran’s legs. “And maybe a new pair of socks for the owner.”

Kieran looked down. He was wearing mismatched socks. One was plain gray; the other was covered in tiny, cartoon sushi rolls. “Noted,” he muttered, pulling his toes back.

Rory’s eyes lingered for a beat before he looked back up. “You ever surf?”

Kieran laughed, a short, breathless sound. “Do I look like I surf?”

“You look like you watch documentaries about surfing.”

“Wow. Is brutal your middle name? First the flip-flops, now the film history.”

“Just saying. You should try it sometime.”

Kieran opened his mouth to make another quick joke—something self-deprecating about how his center of gravity was tragic and he’d once gotten winded using a kayak in a swimming pool—but he stopped. Rory wasn’t teasing him. He was direct, clear, and steady. The way people who lived on the water seemed to be.

“I’m terrified of large bodies of water,” Kieran admitted quietly, the honesty surprising even himself.

Rory’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. I like looking at the ocean. From a safe, dry, coffee-drinking distance.”

“That’s fair.” Rory paused, his hand tracing a groove in the wooden fence post. “Offer stands, though. If you change your mind.”

“Maybe I’ll take a beginner lesson. Eventually.”

“Sure you will,” Rory said sarcastically, yet there was no malice in it, just the quiet, patient confidence of a guy who’d likely heard a hundred cautious transplants say the exact same thing.

Kieran smiled, nodding as the silence stretched out between them. The Southern California sky behind Rory was bleeding from a brilliant peach into a soft, deep twilight blue.

“You wanna come over for a drink?” Rory asked suddenly. “Pups can come too.”

“Uh…tonight?”

Rory shrugged, unbothered. “No pressure. Figured it’s better than talking over a fence.”

Better than talking over a fence, Kieran’s brain echoed. Better than talking to a Notes app. His body gave one unhelpful little jolt—fear, probably. Or excitement.

“Yeah,” Kieran said, clearing his throat. “Sure. I mean…yeah, that sounds good.”

Rory nodded once. “Cool. Come around to the front in like ten.”

The moment Rory’s head disappeared from view, Kieran turned and stared at Hank and Mabel. The two spaniels were lounging blissfully in the damp grass, indifferent to the fact that their human had agreed to his most terrifying social interaction in two years.