Page 9 of We Are Just Us

EMORY: nothing. I just know you. you’ll get the dogs sorted and find your little coffee spot and do everything except land somewhere

KIERAN: I’m here aren’t I

EMORY: that’s not what I mean and you know it

He stared at the screen for a minute.

KIERAN: I’m trying Em…

EMORY: I know you are. that’s why I’m not worried.

EMORY: eat something real tomorrow ok?

KIERAN: goodnight

EMORY: night babe

He locked the phone. Set it face-down on the step beside him.

The tea had gone cold. The yard was dark and still. Somewhere down the hill, he could hear the ocean—steady, rhythmic, indifferent to whatever crisis he was having.

You’ll get the dogs sorted and find your little coffee spot and do everything except land somewhere.

He sat with that for a while. Longer than he wanted to.

The next day, he decided to go back to FOAM. He loved that it was small, tucked behind a pottery studio, and always smelled like turmeric and something vaguely coconutty. They made good iced lattes and didn’t stare when he sat alone with a book and no plan.

But Rory was there. Because of course he was.

He sat outside at a corner table, earbuds in, sunglasses on, laptop open in a convincing imitation of work. For once, he was wearing more than board shorts—chinos, a button-up with the sleeves rolled and pushed up.

He typed away, though Kieran would’ve bet money the waves flickering on his screen had nothing to do with work.

Kieran tried to slip past unnoticed, but Mabel, ever the traitor, made a beeline straight for Rory, tail wagging like a banner of betrayal.

Rory looked up, lowered his sunglasses, and gave a half-smile that was more confusing than friendly. “Hey.”

Kieran stopped short, the leash pulling taut in his hand. “Hi,” he said, breath catching in that dumb way it did whenever Rory looked directly at him.

Rory closed the laptop. “Your dog’s got a thing for me.”

“I get it,” Kieran deadpanned. “You’re tall and mysterious and probably smell like cedar and power tools.”

Rory raised an eyebrow. “That’s oddly specific.”

Kieran mentally slapped himself. “Just saying what…Mabel might say. If she spoke English.”

“Right.” Rory smirked, then scratched behind her ears with unexpected gentleness. “You here to write your memoir?”

“What?”

“You keep staring into the distance like you’ve got secrets. Emotional baggage.” He air-quoted.

“I mean…you’re not wrong.”

Rory shrugged, thrown for a half second by the honesty, and leaned back in his chair. “Well, this is a good town for starting over. People move here to lose something. Or find it.”

Kieran stared at him, heart thudding.