DEAR JOHN

AQUA VISTA, BOOK 2

CHRISTINA LEE

Copyright © 2025 by Christina Lee

All rights reserved.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All products and/or brand names mentioned are registered trademarks of their respective holders/companies.

Published by Christina Lee in the United States of America

Cover Design by Sleepy Fox Studio

Photography by Xram Ragde

Edited by Keren Reed

Proofread by Judy’s Proofreading and Abbie Nicole

CONTENTS

Blurb

Prologue

1. John

2. Micah

3. John

4. Micah

5. John

6. Micah

7. John

8. Micah

9. John

10. Micah

11. John

12. Micah

13. John

14. Micah

15. John

16. Micah

17. John

18. Micah

19. John

20. Micah

21. John

22. Micah

23. John

24. Micah

25. John

26. Micah

27. John

28. Micah

29. John

30. Micah

31. John

32. Micah

33. John

34. Micah

35. John

Epilogue

Also by Christina Lee

About the Author

BLURB

Micah

When I wrote the Dear John letter, I never imagined six years would pass before I laid eyes on my husband again. It takes my grandfather’s death to bring me back to Aqua Vista. And to John McCoy, the only man I’ve ever loved. We parted ways on mutual terms to chase our dreams. John’s plan was to open his bar, and mine was to make it in Hollywood. I’m still waiting for my big break, but John’s business is a success, and I couldn’t be happier for him. Seeing him brings it all back—our love, attraction, and fondness for each other—and we can’t stay away, even if we try.

John

As soon as Micah walks into my bar, the memories come flooding back, and I have the urge to hold him close if only to make sure I’m not dreaming. I’ll be here for him during this difficult time because that’s what we do, what we’ve always done for each other. Soon enough, we fall back into a routine that feels as natural as breathing. Reminiscing, providing support, making love. I’ve ached for his mouth and body for so long. There’s no way I can refuse either of us.

When Micah rediscovers his favorite childhood interests, I try to tamp down my hopes. He’ll return to LA once his grandfather’s property is sold, and we’ll move on with our separate lives. Loving each other has never been our issue, but we finally do the responsible thing regarding our divorce. Guess that saying is true—when you love something, set it free. The only problem? This time, it’s for good, and I’m still not sure I can let him go.

PROLOGUE

Micah

Eight years ago

“Will you help me clean out the space tomorrow?”

With his parents’ help, John has just purchased a building to open a bar in town. I’m jealous that his dream is being realized while mine’s stagnating. Still, I would never deny him.

“Of course I will.” We kiss lazily. “Don’t have to ask twice.”

“Thanks, babe.” We’re lying in bed, well after midnight, neither of us able to sleep. Mr. and Mrs. McCoy retired an hour ago, and the house is quiet.

I reach for him, wanting to feel the weight of his body, his pulse throbbing against mine. Dipping my tongue past his lips, I deepen the kiss, my fingers winding in his unruly hair and holding him against my mouth. Right where I’ve always needed him.

My fingers delicately skim down his back and over his waist as he leaks across my stomach. I reach for his ass cheeks, grasping handfuls of plump, smooth skin as I split them open and my finger teases his hole.

He gasps, squirming atop me. “Want you to fuck me tonight, Mic⁠—”

“Yeah?” Normally, he enjoys pounding me good.

“Need to feel you inside me.” He ruts against my groin, our dicks slotting together as our gazes clash and hold. And fuck if right now I don’t need that too.

He rolls off me to reach for the lube from our bedside table. We’re married but still living in his parents’ basement until we find a place of our own. They’ve been super accommodating, and I feel more part of his family than my own.

John’s uncle Chuck, a part-time Realtor, is keeping an eye out for us, but this town is so small, with generations of families and their roots, and houses can be hard to come by. I push away that familiar, stifling feeling of being under our families’ thumbs. For me, it’s only my grandfather, and I suppose we could’ve lived with him, but his house is secluded in the foothills, and I already feel like I’m suffocating in this place.

When John lies back down, I slide behind him under the sheets, wrapping my arm around his chest, my cock prodding his crease. Feeling his warm, naked skin against me only makes my dick harder.

“You feel so damn good,” I murmur against his neck.

He hands me the lube so I can slick my fingers and coat my cock. The room is dark and quiet, and we’ve had each other so many times that I can do this part in my sleep.

Gasping, John angles his neck to find my lips as he pushes his ass against my hand.

I chuckle. “I’m getting there.” Finding his hole, I thrust one, then two fingers inside as I suck at the muscle between his shoulder and neck, a spot that makes him squirm.

“Ah hell, right there,” he says, fucking himself on my fingers, and I curve one of them to find his prostate, which makes him groan and shudder.

“God, you’re sexy like this.” As I remove my fingers, he whines his objection, but soon enough, I’m helping him shift his knee toward his chest. I grip his thigh as I press my shaft against his hole, poking inside before pulling out, allowing him time to adjust. His hand covers mine, and as he tangles our fingers together, my heart stumbles over the gesture. We hold hands all the time, but somehow now, in this moment, it makes us feel more connected.

As my cock slips back inside him, this time more deeply, I inhale sharply from the sensation of being able to take him bare, with nothing but love between us. Always do.

My pulse is throbbing against his back as I pause, overwhelmed by finally being fully seated inside his heat.

“Fuck, that’s—” John arches his back, I can feel the sweat against his nape, his fingers trembling as he clutches my hand. Our bodies are as bonded as our hearts, and in these precious moments, all my worries melt away.

Unclasping our hands, I reach for his cock and swipe at the precome to slick the way. He moans and rocks against me as small licks of tingling heat at my groin fuel my thrusts. It’s impossible at this angle to take him like I want and pound him into the mattress. But that urge is warring with the need to draw this out and feel everything with him, every breath and shiver and gasp. The need to sear this into my memory like a snapshot in time. A time when I felt the happiest.

But it proves difficult with John so goddamn tight and warm, like nothing I’ve ever felt before, even though he’s the only guy I’ve been with. Still, it’s as if he’s made for me, and I can’t help wondering if all my heartache, all my father’s abuse and bullshit decisions, have led me to this moment, where it’s only J and me, as flawlessly and perfectly in-tune as we are helplessly in love.

It’s the reason I jumped at the chance to marry him, even if it was spur-of-the-moment on our trip to Vegas over a year ago now. But the moment was perfect, and we wanted it to only be us. Our families were shocked—likely because they consider us young, which I think is a bunch of bullshit—but also bummed they weren’t part of it. I just turned twenty-one this past summer, and John is a few months older. We’re plenty mature enough to know what we want. Each other. Always. I knew the minute I laid eyes on him at Sunrise Bay High.

An overwhelming melancholy swells inside me, and I blink back the stinging of tears behind my eyes. I press my mouth to his ear. “I love you so fucking much.”

He turns and kisses me sloppily. “I love you too.”

We confess our devotion every day, but right this moment, it feels necessary. He needs to know how much he means to me. How much he always will. Even if I’m not always content in this small coastal town with its quirks and limited opportunities for someone like me.

“I need you to fuck me hard,” he pleads in a husky voice that makes heat surge in my groin.

“Then I need to see you.” He protests when I pull out, throw back the sheet, and help him adjust to his back.

“Need you, Mic…” He sighs as I lean down and take his mouth in a breathless kiss, our tongues tangling, his hands gripping my hips. He hikes his knees to his shoulders, his eyes soft, trusting, adoring. Fuck, do I love him.

I line up my cock and surge back inside, making us both gasp.

“Holy fuck,” I groan, my pace intensifying, our flesh slapping together, echoing in the room. I vaguely wonder if anyone can hear us but decide I don’t care.

His pleading turns hoarse as his fingers tighten around his cock and he strokes in earnest. I greedily watch his pink hole stretch around my shaft until he cries out, jets of come spurting across his stomach. His hole constricts almost painfully tight around my cock, and there’s no way I can hold back any longer. Light dances before my eyes, obscuring my gaze as I careen over the mountaintop as well.

Collapsing on top of him, I gasp into his neck, my cock throbbing, my body quivering. I feather kisses along his throat and ear and jaw, all while murmuring his name. John. J. Baby. Beautiful. He never felt like a Johnny to me, and he secretly likes that I call him something different from everyone else in his life.

Our limbs tangled together, we lie there all sweaty, with come drying between us, as we pant and recoup our breaths.

My cock softens, and once I pull out of him, I grip the sheet and fling it back over us. He drags me tightly against him, spooning me, and I feel cocooned again in the safety net of his arms. Our puffs of breaths seem loud against the stillness of the night, and too soon, that same melancholy returns to replace the euphoria of my release.

I wish we could stay like this, in the safe harbor of our love, and drown out any unsettling feelings I have about my future. They have nothing to do with him. It’s my burden to bear.

As if reading my thoughts, he murmurs, “I think you should do it.”

My head snaps up. “Do what?”

“Leave this town.”

A gasp escapes me, but then I puzzle over the statement.

“I am leaving, J. I signed up for that weekend theater workshop in Palo Alto, remember?”

I discovered my love for theater in high school drama club, but there are zero options to study anything further in Aqua Vista. So, I’ve found more local classes over the past three years, in and around the area, to whet my appetite. Movies kept me sane during my tumultuous childhood with my father—it was easy to turn up the volume and tune out his angry, drunk ranting—and my interest only grew by being involved in productions.

John grips my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I’m talking about LA.”

“Depending on traffic, LA can take me seven or eight hours by car. I can’t do that in a weekend. Not easily, at least.”

“Then find an apartment and sign up for a class. Find an agent. Go to auditions.”

My gut churns, but my heart soars, making me feel dizzy and disconcerted. “What the hell are you saying?”

“It’s time. You’re slowly dying in this town.”

“No, I’m not.” I repeat the lie, but I don’t think my voice conveys it. Not to him. “Are you implying we should’ve never gotten married?”

“Marrying you was the absolute highlight of my life.” He pecks my lips. “I’m opening a bar, living my dream. Yours is in a city like LA.”

It’s one of the reasons I kept my name. Even if it was a pipe dream.

“I can’t just…” My breathing escalates. “Not unless you come with me.”

“No way I can run a bar in such an expensive town, not the way I want, and you know that. Besides, the ink on the sale has already dried. What would my parents say if I suddenly changed my mind?”

My shoulders slump even as the embers of a fire start burning inside me.

He tightens his hold on me as if I’m his anchor. But the words he utters next don’t match. “It’s time for you to live your dream. See if it’s everything you imagined.”

My stomach bottoms out. “What about you?”

“I’ll be right here whenever you come back—if you come back.”

“Of course I’ll come back!” I slam my mouth shut, unable to hold back my momentary enthusiasm.

He chuckles. “See? You want it bad, and that’s okay. I am not going to be the one to hold you back.”

“You haven’t. You’ve been amazing.” My eyes burn with unshed tears. “I don’t want⁠—”

“I know, but it’ll be okay.” He squeezes my hand. “I grew up in Aqua Vista, my family lives here, and my parents just helped me buy a bar. You love theater, and the only other time I saw that spark in your eye was on your grandfather’s boat.”

My saliva turns to sawdust. “Yeah, and we know how that turned out.”

After social services placed me with my grandpa in Aqua Vista, he taught me how to fish. I loved sitting on the pier with my rod or going out on his boat in the early morning hours. But I ruined all that, along with his trust in me. The truth is, I think he’s glad I left to be with John after graduation. Same way my dad was glad to be rid of me. The only one who’s wanted me—truly wanted me—is John.

So how can I leave this place without him? I grip my stomach, feeling nauseous.

“You’re my husband. What will your family think?”

“Don’t worry what anybody says about shit.” If anything, his sister, June, would sympathize, but his brother, Jack, would give us shit. I love them both, his parents too, but I feel especially close to his mom. “Every relationship is different, and it’s nobody’s business what’s happening in ours.”

I swallow thickly. “It’ll be lonely without you.”

“I know, baby. But you have to go. It’s way worse watching you wither away.”

Suppose I never considered that made it painful for John too. “You sure you won’t come with me?”

“I wouldn’t be any happier there than you are here.” He sighs. “You’ll always wonder if you don’t try, and I can’t live with that.”

“I don’t think I can live with leaving you.”

“You’re not leaving. I’m asking you to go follow your dreams.”

Fear swells inside me. “You sure you’re not just trying to get rid of me?”

“Never.” He pulls me flush against him, and when I feel him tremble, I curse myself for hurting him by even considering the request. “I’m setting you free.”

It takes me another four months to finally make the decision to leave Aqua Vista under the guise of taking a class for a semester to gauge how it goes. I even find a room to rent in East Hollywood, and John helps me pay the first month’s rent.

We say our tearful goodbyes this morning before John leaves to open his bar. I’ve helped him get the Witching Hour up and running, and I’m sure it’ll be a success. Not only because John is a hard worker, but his charm and helpful disposition make him a magnet for people in this town. The McCoys have a place here, a history in this town, which is why I know John will never leave. But I do wish he’d begged me to stay. It’s stupid, I know, but he seems so sure of our plan. That we’ll somehow make it despite the distance. That we both need to follow our dreams, or we won’t be happy together.

I pace the length of the basement, reluctance and worry taking up residence inside me. Despite us having a long goodbye and speaking ad nauseam about our plan, there’s so much more I need to say.

I pull a notepad and pen from a drawer in the kitchen, thankful I won’t have any more awkward send-offs with his parents either. I sit and embrace the stillness of the empty house before I begin to write.

Dear John,

I can’t believe I’m writing this goodbye letter. I admit I’d hoped marrying you would magically squash that voice inside me and make all my problems go away.

I love you so fucking much. You are my person. You will always be my person. From the moment we met, I was sure of you.

So sure of you that I jumped at the chance to marry you, even on a whim. So sure of you that I desperately hope this is only a blip on the radar of our lives. That we’ll still be together once I figure out what the fuck I’m doing and become a better version of myself.

You will always be my center, my steady and safe dock when I become unmoored and spin away. I want to—have to—believe we’ll always accept each other’s imperfections and mistakes. That we’ll still grow together and love each other unconditionally. Patiently. Helplessly.

That you’ll still love me on our hardest days and in our tougher years. Because I know this is not going to be easy—for either of us.

Yours forever,

Micah

1

JOHN

PRESENT DAY

It’s been a long night at the bar, and normally, I’m not this tired, but I slept like shit. I’ve already closed for the evening, my barback Seth took out the garbage on his way out, and I’m finishing cleaning the floor when there’s a knock at the door.

Goddamn it. Better not be Walter or one of our rowdier customers who can’t handle their liquor.

Instead, it’s Uncle Chuck, which immediately makes the hairs on my nape stand on end. “Is everything okay?” Our family has had its share of tragedies, and this late-night visit brings it all back.

“Yeah, of course, sorry. Didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“No, it’s cool.” I move aside so he can enter the bar. “Want a beer?”

“Only if you’re having one.”

“Sure, why not?” I usually don’t drink during my shifts, but afterward, a cold one goes down nicely. He plops down on a stool at the bar while I pour us each a glass from the tap.

“So, what brings you here?” I slide his drink to him. “Just blowing off steam?”

“Yeah, maybe a little.” He averts his eyes. “I asked Dina to let me break the news to you.”

“What news?” Now I wonder if this so-called news is the reason I got some interesting looks tonight. But no one had stepped forward to say anything to me, even though there was plenty of whispering. I can’t imagine what it’s regarding, but I suppose I’m about to find out.

“Old Man Malone passed away.”

I frown. Mr. Malone is Micah’s grandfather. He must’ve been in his mid-seventies, and Micah loved him, but they always butted heads. The old man was the alternative to foster care when his dad gave him one too many fat lips.

Though Mr. Malone never abused Micah like his father did, I still never much liked the man. He was stubborn and cold and didn’t provide Micah with the emotional support he deserved, but he did give him a safe place to live while he finished high school over in Sunrise Bay—the school kids from Aqua Vista attended because we were lacking in numbers around here. Aqua Vista would be considered more of a village, while Sunrise Bay was a bigger town with more resources. It worked out well and wasn’t a far drive. In fact, it was closer to the fishing docks where Grandpa Malone worked—and for a time, Micah too.

I tried to reach out to him after Micah left for Hollywood, but he never returned my calls. He became a bit of a recluse, eventually developing health problems and employing Rosie, a live-in LPN who also doubled as his housekeeper.

The rumors that Malone was a grumpy, scary ghost were rampant, to the point where the kids around here would ride their bikes into the foothills, challenging each other to get close to his so-called haunted house.

“Does Micah know?” My gut churns, imagining his reaction. Close or not, it’s hard to hear a family member has passed. Unless it’s his asshole father. That man will get everything he deserves in prison for vehicular homicide. I hope.

Uncle Chuck nods. “Called him after Rosie broke the news.”

“Why did she tell you and not him?” Or me, for that matter.

“He was her first call. I was only on the list because of the potential sale of the property.” Uncle Chuck not only runs a beekeeping business, but is a part-time real estate agent in Aqua Vista. Not many properties to move around here, but he gets the job done. “Malone had it all worked out, with a deed transferring the house to Micah upon his death. He wanted his grandson to decide what to do with the property. He assumed he would sell it and use the money however he sees fit.”

I understand the assumption since Micah has been gone for years. Still, I’m glad to hear he had Micah’s best interests at heart.

“Thing is, not sure the property will get much interest, let alone sell.”

“Why not?” The large Tudor-style house certainly has good bones, but maybe the old man let it go over the years. Overgrown gardens, peeling paint, or whatever.

“It’s a wreck. Malone was a pack rat, and there are stacks of strange things in every corner of that place.”

Come to think of it, Micah did tell me once that there was a room upstairs with a collection of seemingly useless stuff. “Must’ve gotten worse in the last few years.”

“Understatement,” Uncle Chuck says, his lips thinning in a severe line.

Well, damn. “What was Micah’s reaction?”

“Haven’t heard yet. But I left a message, making it clear he needs to get back here to deal with his grandfather’s estate and affairs, given he’s also the beneficiary of the living trust.”

“Which is why you wanted to warn me,” I mutter, and he nods.

I swallow thickly, thinking about the last time I saw Micah in person—it was after the accident that took my parents and brother-in-law about six years ago. By that time, we had agreed to a legal separation so he could continue pursuing his dream. He kept himself busy between acting classes and auditions, along with a server job at an upscale restaurant in the evenings. The city is expensive, and it’s the only way he can afford to live there. In fact, unless something’s changed, he still rents a room from some guy who’s a financial analyst. Dennis, I think.

The first year apart was tough. I even closed the bar for two weeks to stay with him, testing out the idea of living there, but it only made me miss running my own business and hate the city more. And he knew it too. After I returned, I was even busier with my bar and he with his career, so the distance between us only grew.

He followed me home after the service for my family and held me all night. It was a comfort having him there but also painful. He stayed a few more days until I urged him to go back to his life in LA. We argued, a fight I picked because I couldn’t handle the thought of him leaving me too. Not after getting used to him being here again. He looked disheartened as he packed his car to head back to the city, and it likely led to him leaving me a final mournful message: that it was best if he officially filed for divorce. It gutted me despite both of us having a good reason for it. But I was never served the papers.

Maybe he got busy, or maybe he’s only stalling—just like me. If either of us were truly serious, it would’ve happened already. It still will. One day, he’ll meet someone he wants a future with in LA. Hell, I’m surprised he hasn’t already.

Jack told me to move on. June too. And I have—as far as getting my needs met. I’m fine giving my body, but never my heart. At least not yet. Micah owns the whole of it, and unless that changes, I’ll just be here, living my life as I see fit.

My parents would be bummed if they knew our separation had stretched this long. Mom especially had a soft spot for Micah, and it was mutual. One of his greatest fears about leaving was that he’d be disappointing her too. But she didn’t interfere. In fact, she understood my logic and supported us both. God, I loved her for that.

But Micah’s never far from my thoughts. I seek out his small roles in movies—he’s usually an extra—and his commercial and modeling campaigns. I stalk him on social media because I want him to do well, even if seeing him through a screen makes me ache all over. No way I’d ever want to hold him back. Besides, look what happened to my brother, Jack, when he tried doing the long-distance thing. A clean break became necessary. The fact that we got married on a whim was only incidental, but still, I would never take it back.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say as Uncle Chuck guzzles the rest of his beer and stands.

Once he leaves, I finish setting the chairs on top of the tables so I can sweep the floor, my thoughts on a spin cycle about Micah coming home.

Home. No, it’s never felt that way to him. How could it? He was a mess when he arrived in this town, and when working in the fishing industry with his grandfather didn’t pan out, he found something else to ground him in the form of Ms. Hart and the drama department. I like to think I was part of building his foundation, but evidently not enough to anchor him to this town, which, true, offered few opportunities, if any. No, he’s better off where he can bloom.

I scroll through my phone to his number, my fingers hovering over the keys until I finally type: Sorry to hear about your grandfather.

In the end, I don’t send the text. I figure I’ll tell him in person soon enough.

2

MICAH

“I’ll be there in a few hours,” I tell Rosie. I’d pulled into a rest stop for a snack and bathroom break, and now I’m getting back on the road.

My stomach throbs as I think about returning to the town where I spent my formative years. Suppose I should be grateful because it could’ve been so much worse. Grandpa was just as gruff as my father, but he never put his hands on me. Made excuses for my dad’s alcoholic rages, apologized on his behalf for passing on the gene. Apparently, it was the same with his own father.

But I held on to all that anger, and other kids at school stayed away from me. I was known as the bad boy who would never amount to anything. I became a self-fulfilling prophecy and played the role well. I channeled all my rage and disappointment into skipping school, smoking weed, and getting in trouble. Used to be that the only thing that calmed me was fishing from the dock or my grandfather’s boat. Until I found the drama club and John McCoy—the only highlights of my teen years. Turned out I was great at acting out my emotions onstage and playing pretend.

But my love affair with John was anything but pretend. It was real, but not enough to keep us together. My fingers find the edge of the large manila envelope I brought along. Not sure how John will respond, but maybe he’ll agree it’s long past due.

As soon as I connect to Highway 1, my pulse speeds up. And not only because of the breathtaking views and hairpin curves.

The last time I was here was right after the McCoys’ boating accident. In the years since, Grandpa has essentially become a shut-in. He retreated from this town and these people—not that he was ever a glowing member of society. I know John tried to keep an eye on him because that’s in his nature. But it was Rosie who found Grandpa after he passed in his sleep. Chuck reached out to me regarding the property, which he claims is unsellable.

I’ll admit it’s outdated and cluttered, but no way someone wouldn’t see the beauty in it. Someone with an eye for that sort of thing. Grandpa had always been a bit of a pack rat, but according to Chuck and Rosie, his habits had grown worse.

Christ, doesn’t this throw a wrench into everything. I’ve been on a roll with auditions, even getting a runway opportunity and a toothpaste commercial. Not enough to break the bank, but I’d had a dry spell for the better part of a year, and my agent just kept throwing everything at the wall. Thankfully, this detour in Aqua Vista shouldn’t take more than a couple of months.

And as soon as we get the house sold, I can put this place behind me for good.

The only exit into town takes me straight past the Jack of All Trades service station, owned by Jack McCoy, John’s older brother. That alone will make my presence known before I’m ready, given that I’m still driving the same beater as last time. And if that doesn’t do it, driving through Main Street toward the foothills of the mountains where my grandfather’s house is located will.

Most of it looks the same—the Slice of Life pie shop, the Honeycomb general store—but something called the Shake Shack makes me do a double take. The large front window is lined with unique shakers—of the salt-and-pepper variety. I swear I even spot mermaids and tree stumps. A collector’s haven, if there even is such a thing for seasoning containers.

And as if on cue, I see Beth from Spellbound out on the sidewalk, speaking to Walter, who’s still going strong with his souvenir stand. We used to steal chocolate frog candies from him when he wasn’t looking, and Beth never called us on it either, though she’d spot us through her storefront window. John said it was because they couldn’t stand each other, which had to do with the Aqua Vista curse myth Walter started and profited from. That’s a whole other story, partly due to living in a small town.

But now their conversation looks friendly enough, so maybe they’ve overcome their old grudges. Interesting. I avert my gaze as I pass, hoping Beth doesn’t notice me, which is unlikely. She knows everything going on in this town, not only because she loves gossip but because she’s intuitive. There’s someone like her on every corner in Hollywood, some as fake as a three-dollar bill.

Though Beth’s gifts are debatable, she predicted my departure from Aqua Vista and, on my way out of town, told me I would hate fame. I ignored her like many who’d grown up with her unsolicited advice, but fuck if she wasn’t right. Not that I don’t love acting. It’s the bullshit that comes with auditions and making a name for yourself in the business that I despise. There’s a dark, sleazy underbelly to the whole industry that someone as green as me had to learn to avoid—the hard way.

John doesn’t know most of it, but there was one night early on when I called him distraught about a certain someone’s audition couch. Thankfully, I left the premises unscathed. Mostly.

Despite that, I carried on and got bit parts while paying my rent by working at a restaurant most nights—like many actors do.

I inhale sharply as the Santa Lucia mountains come into view. The beach and the mountains are among the few things that grounded me when I was most troubled. I turn after the mailbox and head down the long driveway to the brown stone-and-wood Tudor-style house with its pitched roof and decorative gables. There was a time when this place brought me relief, mostly right after I escaped my father’s fists. I was finally safe, but the memories plagued me.

Moving to LA was like a breath of fresh air, even if it practically destroyed me to leave John. I begged him to come with me, but he was dead set on letting me forge my path, married or not. Besides, he despised Los Angeles as much as I did Aqua Vista. Well, despise is probably too strong a word. It was more symbolic than that. More like leaving behind my demons.

Life is messy—even when there’s plenty of love to go around—and my relationship with John certainly is in shambles.

Same with my grandfather. He gave me a secure place to live out the rest of my childhood, but that was the extent of it. He didn’t radiate love or warmth, and he threatened to send me to foster care when I acted out—especially after I nearly ruined his fisher reputation. Instead, I was banished from the docks, and he knew that would be punishment enough.

I often wondered if my father grew up in a cold, distant household too, or if my late grandmother carried the load for my grandfather. Dad never did much reminiscing with me, though I hear he’s much more reflective behind bars. Sobering up after a drunk-driving incident that killed someone might do that to you.

I cut the engine and stare up at the stone house. The wrought-iron balcony on the second floor has the remains of dead flowers in a large pot. I would step out there for a midnight smoke and fall asleep on the uncomfortable chair. My back would be stiff, but I enjoyed the mountain air on my skin.

Sometimes, John would sneak up to my room by climbing the trellis with all the ivy, careful not to get caught by my grandfather, who would sit in his recliner by the large bay window on the mountain side of the house. I can still picture his fuzzy slippers and mug of black coffee. I smile at the memory because it’s one of the good ones.

Uneasiness settles in my chest. Grandpa’s back was a mess from working as a deckhand most of his life. Hauling and sorting the catch, as well as setting lines and traps, led to him using a cane and eventually retiring in his early sixties from a position he loved as a boatswain on Calamity Jane, a large trawler that caught mostly bass, trout, and halibut but wouldn’t turn away cod, herring, and anchovy for a good price. Still, I’d thought the man would live at least another decade. Now I wish I’d insisted on inviting myself for the holidays last year. He always blew them off, and I let him, for obvious reasons. It’d been increasingly harder to return to Aqua Vista.

I exit the car and grab my bag, making a mental list. I have to pick up his ashes and figure out what to do with them. Rosie will know. Then I need to get this house sold.

3

JOHN

He’s here. I can feel him. Always could. It doesn’t matter that Beth told me she spotted Micah rolling into town. It’s as if my heart is a homing device, clenching, beating, searching, wanting him near.

Still, my breath catches when the door swings open and Micah walks into my bar. I drink in every inch of him, from his long legs to his prominent shoulders, his dark-brown coiffed hair, clean-shaven jaw, and caramel eyes. Like one of those old-school movie stars. He is still one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I need to get it together before I give myself away. It’s been years, and he still has the power to disarm me. I can’t let that happen. Not anymore.

The bar is empty this early, which I’m thankful for, not only because there will be fewer witnesses to our reunion but also because it feels like I’m in a dream as he moves toward me, causing memories to blur together.

“Meet me behind the stage curtains so we can make out.”

“Let’s do it, let’s get married. I want to be your husband.”

I nod nonchalantly as he approaches. “Sorry to hear about your grandfather.”

“Thanks.” I can just make out a mix of grief and discomfort in his irises. “He lived a long life, even though the last few years were questionable.”

“I tried to keep an eye out.”

“I figured you would.” His gaze meets mine. “Always willing to lend a hand.”

“That’s me,” I mutter, regardless of whether the sentiment is true or not. Sure, I’m available to help people in the community, but not like my father was. “Let me know if you need help getting anything squared away at the house.”

“Christ.” He rubs a hand over his face. “He got worse with age. The place is stacked to the gills with junk.”

“What kind of junk?”

“Anything you could imagine someone would collect. Planter pots, ridiculous figurines I didn’t even realize he was interested in. Every newspaper and magazine known to man. Stacks and stacks of them.”

“Why do you suppose he held on to all that?”

“I want to say sentimental value, but I doubt it. He liked to avoid stuff—necessary discussions, in particular—so maybe this was his way of coping with facing certain things, like his health, and it became an obsession.”

I want to point out that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, especially when it comes to our relationship. I know this is not the time for a marriage discussion. But maybe we need to have one before he leaves town again.

“You knew him well, so your logic makes sense.”

“Rosie knew him better.” He frowns. “Said she’d sometimes throw things away when he was napping in an attempt to keep the place tidy.”

“Bet he blew a gasket if he ever caught her.”

We share a secret smile as another memory filters through.

“I don’t care who you screw around with, but that boy can use the front door perfectly well. If I catch him on that trellis again, he’s gonna help me with the landscaping.”

Grandpa Malone might’ve been hands-off for the most part, but his chastising voice unnerved both of us.

“I’m just glad my grandpa had someone.” He swallows roughly. “At the end. He barely returned my calls and only spoke through Rosie.”

He slides onto a barstool, looking exhausted. I can see the regret on his face, likely that he didn’t do more or try harder. Probably figured he had more time. Don’t we all.

I rap my knuckles on the bar top. “What can I get you?”

“Got any ciders?”

“Really?” I smirk. “Your tastes have apparently changed.”

He hitches a shoulder. “Refreshing. Spring is coming. Tastes good going down.”

“On it.”

I turn to pour him a glass and hear him clear his throat. “You look good, J. I like the scruff.”

My fingers automatically find my chin. I guess I have let my hair and beard grow a bit more in the last couple of years. “Thanks. I can say the same to you.”

Our fingers brush when I hand him the glass, and it’s like an electric shock to my system. Micah averts his eyes and mutters, “How’s business been?”

“Pretty good. You know how it is. Ebbs and flows.”

He nods and takes a hearty sip.

“How about you?”

He places his glass down, swirling his thumb around the edge as if carefully crafting his response. “You know, the same old grind, but got a few small parts here and there.”

“I know. I’ve been following your career. Well, as best as I can.”

“Yeah?” His cheeks color, making him seem young and innocent.

I nod. “That one zombie movie was cool. It was hard to pick you out at first, but then I found you.”

“Thanks. That was a lot of fun to film with all the makeup and fake blood.”

The thing is, I always thought Micah could shine on screen all on his own—he’s that charismatic, or I’m that biased. But he hasn’t gotten his big break yet. Many never do, but he keeps plugging away.

As more customers wander in and I get busy, Micah falls uncharacteristically silent, as if he doesn’t know what to say or how to act around me, and that’s rarely been the case between us. He was never much for small talk with the locals, especially the ones constantly in his business, so his awkward glances around the bar track.

The townsfolk’s scrutiny lessened as he matured into an adult, but many in this town still gave him a wide berth. To them, he seemed unpredictable and his grandfather a bit eccentric. Thankfully, my parents never bought into that bullshit, embracing Micah as soon as I started bringing him around. Mom always called him a restless soul, and she was right. I still see the edginess in him, even sitting stiffly on a barstool.

“Is that you, Micah Malone?”

Micah’s shoulders stiffen briefly before he turns to greet the man who runs the fruit stand in town. “Sure is, Mr. Kosta.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather. Haven’t seen him around in years, but Rosie stopped by often. She told me his health had taken a turn for the worse.”

I can see his jaw clench as he tries to rein in his sharp tongue. Mr. Kosta hasn’t always been kind to Micah or his grandfather, especially when Micah got caught pocketing an apple or banana on the way to school. I have no idea why Micah did it. The only thing I could ascertain was that it was a habit left over from fending for himself while living with his father. “Thanks.”

Once Micah’s glass is drained, he stands. “Heading back. Gotta clean out some shit and then decide what to do with the place.”

My gut churns, knowing it’s unlikely he’ll consider staying in town. It would hold too many bad memories for him, on top of stifling his career. “You’re gonna clear out all the stuff he’s collected?”

“Chuck says it won’t sell otherwise. Too cluttered to show it off properly.” He leaves cash on the counter. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who can give some advice on how to make it more…presentable?”

“I sure do. Jack’s new man.”

His eyebrows rise to his hairline. “He finally got one to stick around, huh?”

He shifts uncomfortably, likely realizing how that sounded. Except our situation is different from what Jack had with his ex. At least, I’ve always told myself it is.

“A good one too. His name is Aaron Edwards, and he moved here from San Jose. Likes to restore houses. Lives in the Martins’ old cottage.”

“What happened to Mrs. Martin? She pass away?”

He looks stricken, probably because she was one of the only people in town who was kind to him. She would slip him hard candies from her pocket whenever their paths crossed. He liked the butterscotch ones best.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry to hear that.” He frowns, and it makes me reach toward him, but then I think better of it and draw my hand away.

“She kept up with you too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” He averts his eyes as if embarrassed about the attention. “She sent me a postcard once.”

Huh, I hadn’t known that.

Glancing around to make sure all my customers are taken care of, I step around the counter and walk him to the door. “I can get in touch with Aaron for you.”

“Appreciate that.” He turns to say something, then seems to change his mind.

“Anything else?” I can see it in his eyes. The raw neediness. And not only because of his grandpa and Mrs. Martin. It’s that visceral thing that tethers us together. I step toward him. Maybe he needs my arms around him like I did after the accident.

He stares hard at me before shaking his head. “Nah, it’s okay. Wouldn’t want any rumors to spread.”

And before I can respond, he’s gone.

4

MICAH

I couldn’t bring myself to tell John I brought the divorce papers with me. I don’t want to disappoint him. Or maybe he’ll disappoint me by not batting an eye when he agrees with the joint filing. It doesn’t need to be joint, neither did our separation, but it’s better if we work toward a resolution together.

I don’t know what we’ve been thinking these past few years. Obviously, we’re not the only couple living separate lives but still married. I’ve met plenty in Hollywood. People get busy or try to avoid a painful reality. For me, it’s both. John could’ve taken the matter into his own hands at any time by filing his own paperwork, but he never has.

And maybe I’m secretly grateful because seeing my first love again made me weak in the knees. He’s always had that effect on me. John McCoy will likely be my one and only love, but it’s time to let him go. He sent me on my way eight years ago, and I never got my big break, so now I’m returning, tail between my legs, to clean up the mess I made—and my grandfather’s mess in the process.

Rosie is outside the house when I arrive, searching through boxes of junk she’s carried out to the driveway. She seems as confounded by the process as me. Of course, she doesn’t need to stay or help with any of this, but I can tell she needs to. I can read the shock in her features over his sudden death. If they’d grown as close as I suspect over the years, she needs to work through stuff of her own.

I exit my car and step toward her. “Do you know of a newer resident by the name of Aaron Edwards?”

“No, why?”

“Apparently, he refurbishes houses. I think I’m going to ask for his help.” I glance at the other boxes she’s brought out. “Once the clutter is cleared.”

“That may take another century,” she replies with a sad smile.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “What was he like toward the end?”

“Same as always. Grouchy but generous. He liked to eat well and would tell me to take the extra food home.”

That tracked. Griggs Malone might’ve been unapproachable, but he would give you the shirt off his back if you were in need. He took me in without batting an eye. But there, at least, I also suspected underlying guilt about how his own flesh and blood had treated me.

“The day before I found him…” She motions as if unable to say the word. “He had an accident.”

I stiffen. “What do you mean?”

“He decided not to use his walker to get to the bathroom and fell in the hall.”

“Was he hurt?”

“Not any worse than other times. But he did say he felt a bit dizzy. I told him I’d get him to the car to take him to an ER or call an ambulance, but you know how he was.” She gives me a pointed look. “I checked all his vitals and for any bumps and bruises, and he promised me he’d let me take him if he still felt the same in the morning.”

No doubt, he shouted or threatened to dock her pay if she made too much of a fuss.

She swipes at a stray tear. “I shouldn’t have listened to him.”

“Hey, let’s not play the blame game, or I’ll start too about not coming into town more often. As it was, he wouldn’t take most of my calls.”

It was just as well because every time we talked, he would ask me if I’d made it big yet, in a way that caused me to feel foolish and inadequate. It was his way of disagreeing with my life choices, but that was always the case.

She nods. “He became more and more secluded, cranky, and didn’t want to be bothered. Asked me to keep in contact with you.”

She lifts a small statue of an angel from the box and gazes at it with fondness. Obviously, remembering one thing or another.

“Feel free to take what you want. Unless he discussed his final wishes with you?”

“He did,” she admits, and my heart clenches. “He wanted you to have the house and do whatever you liked with it—though he figured you’d sell it. The boat too.”

“The boat?” He’d bought it for personal use and fishing competitions. I loved spending time on that boat. “He kept it?”

“It’s in storage.”

“Where?”

“Same place. Near the docks.”

“Okay, I’ll take a look.” I meet her gaze. “And what about for you?”

“Me? I was only his employee.” She waves me off. “Sure, he made promises to pass on this or that, but I think that was the beginnings of his dementia talking.”

“Or maybe it wasn’t. You were with him for years. It’s obvious you’d grown close. I’m sorry for your loss too.”

“I…thank you. I’ll miss the old grouch, but I’ll find employment again.”

“I can be a reference since you worked for my grandfather for so long,” I tell her, and she nods appreciatively.

“Did he mention what he wanted to do with his ashes?”

“He had explicit instructions,” she replies, setting down the statue. “No ceremony. Only someone in charge of spreading them in the ocean—using his boat.”

Makes sense. My grandfather loved the water. Missed it.

I feel a lump in my throat the whole time we work on clearing out the stacks of magazines and newspapers. A couple of front pages catch my eye—historical times in our country, then more local headlines, like the year of the tsunami and the frogs falling from the trees. I smile at that memory because it’s ridiculous. None of my LA friends would believe that story.

I use the term friends loosely. There’s my current roommate and his fiancée, and I’ve formed connections in the restaurant and movie business. We hang out after work or between auditions, but none of it feels like the deep tie I have to John or his family. When his parents and brother-in-law died in the boating accident, I returned to show my support—and grieve too.

Since that last time, I haven’t brought up the divorce. It hasn’t seemed important, not unless one of us got serious about someone else, and so far, that hasn’t happened. Sure, I get my needs met with men and women when I’m in the mood for a hookup. Though it’s definitely not the first thing on my mind. John and I agree that a legal separation means we’re free to explore or date, but whenever I think about him with someone else, I feel sick to my stomach.

It’s fucked up but not fair of me, and I can’t help thinking I’m holding him back. That’s the other reason I brought along the divorce papers. I want to set him free like he did me so many years ago.

5

JOHN

“Doing okay, Johnny?” June plops down on a barstool. She just got off work at the Tie-Dye Diner, and between that and her shifts at Honeycomb with our aunt Dina, I don’t know how she always looks so bubbly and refreshed.

She’s always been that way, though, centering our family even during the worst tragedy. She lost her husband, the love of her life, and though she grieved for months, she also had Cain to raise. So she got out of bed and went to work and hasn’t stopped since.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I reply, keeping my lips in a neat, straight line.

She scoffs because she knows I’m full of shit. “You know perfectly well why not. The man you’ve loved your whole life is home for the first time in years.”

“Yeah, he is.” My heart knocks against my chest. “Came into the bar, we talked, and then he went on his way.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You’re acting cool as a cucumber, but I know you’re dying inside.”

“Right?” Jack says right on cue as he walks in with Aaron. “Don’t try to hide it.”

“What am I missing?” Aaron asks as he slides in beside Jack and June.

Jack kisses his cheek. “I tried telling you last night, but you were nearly asleep.”

Aaron’s voice is all low and seductive when he says, “Well, when you⁠—”

“We don’t need to hear it,” I interrupt, taking a step back. “It’s enough that you two can’t keep your hands off each other.”

June smirks. “Agree. Gross.”

“Whatever.” Jack rolls his eyes. “Anyway, Johnny’s ex is back in town.”

Aaron’s eyes widen. “Like, for good?”

“No, because his grandfather passed away.”

“Grandpa Malone raised him,” I add. “Well, that’s not totally accurate. But he saw him through adolescence.”

Aaron glances toward the parking lot as if Grandpa Malone might suddenly appear. “Have I met this man?”

Jack exchanges a look with June. “Likely not. He was a bit of a recluse.”

Aaron frowns. “That’s a shame. He was probably an interesting guy.”

I clear my throat. “Anyway, what can I get you? The usual?”

“Sounds good.”

I turn my back to grab him a bottle of his favorite beer, and it gives me some time to breathe. Was Old Man Malone an interesting person? Certainly. If you ever got him to open up. Micah comes from a long line of fishermen, and if my suspicions are right, Micah has already scouted out a watering hole in LA. Or maybe not. Maybe he gave it all up, even his favorite hobby, to pursue his dream.

I hand Jack and Aaron their drinks.

“So, you’re still married to this guy?” Aaron asks.

“His name is Micah. And yep. But it’s only a technicality.”

“Why separated and not divorced?” Aaron clamps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, too curious for my own good.”

When Jack seems amused by his boyfriend’s nosiness, I scoff. “And yet,” I tell Jack, “you hate being the one under scrutiny.”

“You’re right, he does,” Aaron agrees. “But you two are different, so I thought maybe you’d indulge me.”

“I don’t mind.” I smile blandly. “Micah was going to file after the accident, but I was never served, and he never brought it up again.”

His brows rise to his hairline. “You have no desire to initiate the divorce yourself?”

“I’ve considered it over the years, but I don’t know. Maybe time got away from me. Maybe it’s not as big of a deal as people make it out to be. Besides, it’s not like I’ve…” I glance away uncomfortably. “Never mind.”

“That’s the most anyone’s gotten Johnny to talk about Micah in forever.” Jack clinks Aaron’s glass. “I applaud you.”

June snickers, then shoots me a knowing look. “I know how hard it is to let go of the love of your life.”

My pain is not the same as losing a spouse in an accident, but it still makes me ache all over. My stomach throbs even considering any sort of finality with Micah, but maybe it’s time to fully let him go.

“By the way, Micah is looking for someone to help him fix up Grandpa Malone’s house so he can sell it.”

Aaron’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Apparently, it needs work.” I wince. “And not only because of all the junk that needs thrown out.”

“Well, I’d be happy to take a look.”

“Okay, cool. We can schedule a time to drive over there so I can introduce you.”

“Sounds good.”

The night gets busy, but I can’t stop thinking about Micah and how good he looked standing in my bar.

Back home that night, even more memories surface, especially since this is the place where Micah and I got our start as friends, then lovers, but also where we lived after returning from our Vegas trip unexpectedly married. I think about how young and innocent we were—at least in the sex department. In high school, Micah might’ve been known as the bad boy who was always in trouble, but he was only starting to explore his sexuality.

Soon enough we were sneaking around, trying to get any time together we could before our families found out. Not that they’d object, just that being in our secret bubble for as long as we could felt right to both of us.

My hands shake as I climb the trellis on the side of Grandpa Malone’s house. Once I make it to Micah’s second-story window, I knock lightly. It’s not like we didn’t plan this, but his look of surprise tells me he had his doubts. He carefully opens the window so as not to make too much noise, and I climb inside.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” he says as my feet hit the carpet. It looks brand-new, as if his grandfather made some updates when he found out Micah was coming to live with him.

As he closes the window, I take in his room. A queen-size bed, a tall dresser with a television sitting on top of it and a gaming system underneath.

“This is nice.”

“Not any nicer than your room.”

“Except your stuff looks newer. My Xbox is old, and you have those fancy wireless controllers.” He looks away as if embarrassed his grandfather bought him stuff. Maybe because he works so hard on the docks. He’s in charge of the deckhands on a large ship called Calamity Jane, and they keep the vessel in tip-top shape. At least, that’s how Micah described it.

“I don’t care about any of this stuff. Except maybe the TV so I can watch whatever I want after he’s asleep.”

I smirk. “You act like you’ve found a porno channel or something.”

“Screw you,” he replies. “Maybe I have.”

“Yeah?” I sink down on his bed. “What kind of porn?”

“I was only kidding. Besides, anyone can find that stuff online.”

“True.” Though I suspect his grandfather would either have parental controls or keep a sharp eye out. He’s an intimidating man, which is why me showing up like this is tricky. I can’t believe I let Micah talk me into it.

It grows quiet and tense then, as if neither of us wants to make the first move. We kissed for the first time last week, and when he invited me over—to his bedroom by way of trellis—I figured he wants a repeat performance as bad as I do. At least I hope.

But this is about more than kissing. I look forward to spending time with Micah. He’s interesting and a good listener. Plus, he’s not bad to look at. Or stare at in history class, mostly because he sits in the row in front of me. I also like that he calls me John instead of Johnny—which lately sounds immature, especially when my siblings tease me.

“So what do you wanna do?” Micah asks, breaking the tension. “Video games? Since you’re eyeing the controllers.”

“Sure, but first I… Do you wanna…?”

“Yes,” Micah blurts out.

My stomach feels all funny as I give him a shy smile. I’ve enjoyed kissing and messing around with guys and girls before, but it’s never felt like this. Or maybe I just like Micah. Really like him. I can’t stop thinking about him and can’t wait to get to school to see him. I’ve never admitted any of that to him, and I don’t think he would ever confess anything like that to me.

But I can tell he feels the same. Because when he reaches out and cups my jaw, his fingers shake a little. Like he doesn’t want to scare me or hurt me. This time, he scrutinizes my face from my eyes down to my mouth, and when he brushes a thumb over my lips, I nearly melt from the inside.

Unable to hold back, I lean in, tapping my lips to his. As I draw away, his fingers tighten on the back of my neck, and then we’re kissing. Gentle and sometimes hard presses of our lips for who knows how long. But it’s when Micah’s tongue slips out and swipes against my mouth that I nearly lose it. I’m so hard from only his lips against mine and his hands in my hair that the added sensation of his tongue might make me embarrass myself in a different way.

French kissing can be sloppy—at least that’s been my experience—but as I part my lips and his tongue slides inside my mouth, it feels so soft and perfect that I shudder.

He moans as my hands find his face, and I smash our mouths together from pure want and maybe a little desperation. Our tongues stroke and battle as we both hang on to each other for dear life. Micah pushes me back on his bed, and as soon as our bodies align, I gasp into his mouth.

“Feels so good.” Micah’s as hard as me, but neither of our hands makes a move downward as we focus on kissing and burrowing fingers in hair. I’m so hard, I might combust, but somehow, I hold myself together as our mouths meet again and again. I feel like I’m floating and then drowning in him, and I never want to come up for air.

His grandfather’s voice calling him from downstairs is like a shock to my system. “Micah! Come help with the dishes.”

Micah immediately rolls off and swipes his mouth with his arm. His lips are plump, his pupils wide, and his hair a wreck.

“I should go,” I mutter as I stand and adjust myself. “Do you think he knows?”

He shakes his head, then yells through the door, “Coming!”

As I slide open the window, he asks, “Same time tomorrow?”

I glance back and meet his dreamy smile. “Sounds good to me.”

I blink out of the memory, then cut the light. My wish from back then eventually came true. I got to marry my best friend, even knowing that someday he might be gone. His dream was too big for Aqua Vista to contain it.

I sigh, wishing my mom and dad were here to give me advice. My siblings are great, but there’s nothing like Mom’s hugs.

Fuck, I miss them. We all do.

I shut my eyes and tell myself I’ll figure out this stuff with Micah eventually.

You know that saying—if you love something, set it free?

Even though Micah has returned, it still feels like it isn’t meant to be.

6

MICAH

I’m standing in the front yard, surrounded by stacks of magazines, notebooks scrawled with lists and reminders, and boxes filled with other junk I need to sift through. I stiffen when I hear a car pull up the long gravel driveway. I’ve already been visited by Chuck, who noted how well we were coming along. He was only being kind, of course. We’ve barely made a dent.

I recognize John’s car, and in the passenger seat is an attractive guy. My stomach tightens briefly, jealousy rearing its head, though I have no right to him anymore. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve brought the divorce papers with me, for Christ’s sake.

And then, it dawns on me as they exit the car and walk toward me.

“You must be Aaron Edwards, Jack’s new guy,” I say to the man extending his hand.

He smiles dreamily as if he enjoys hearing the title. “Nice to meet you, Micah. I’m sorry for your loss.”

I glance at John, who offers a sad smile before his gaze travels the length of the yard and toward the side of the house, where the trellis is located. My skin heats at the memory.

“This is something else,” Aaron says, stepping toward the neglected flowerbeds and overgrown bushes. Add them to the list of things needing tending around here. “I never would’ve known this house was tucked back here.”

“Apparently, you have yet to hear the spooky tale of Old Man Malone.”

“Uh-oh, is it another one of those curses?”

I chuckle as I think of Walter’s souvenir stand. “So you already know about the frogs and the whale crud on the beach, and⁠—”

“Most recently, locusts,” John adds.

My eyes spring to his. “No kidding? I obviously missed that one.”

“I swear it was like the apocalypse.” Aaron shivers as John smirks. “Now, what’s this about your grandfather?”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” John says. “All small towns have a scary house kids dare each other to drive past.”

“Do they really?” Aaron asks in an amused tone.

“Asks the person raised in a large city.”

The folktale started after I left and my grandfather became a recluse. John always thought that rumor was garbage and hated it being gossiped about in his bar. If I know him like I used to, he sets the townsfolk straight, likely with a smile on his charming face.

“Anyway…” I motion to the brick-and-wood foundation. “The outside of the house is in decent condition.”

“That’s what Uncle Chuck said,” John points out.

“What else did he say?”

Aaron hitches a shoulder. “Outside of what you already know about all the clutter, he mentioned outdated fixtures.”

“I agree. Once the clutter is cleared out, we’ll be able to see what else needs upgrading.” I gesture for them to follow me to the front entrance. “How long have you been restoring houses?”

“Not long, to be honest. I used to flip houses before I started a commercial real estate business with my best friend from college.” He looks off in the distance. “It wasn’t until recently that I’ve gotten back to my roots.”

“Aaron tried to buy the service station from Jack,” John blurts, and Aaron’s cheeks heat as if the mere mention of it is embarrassing. I can only imagine what the story is behind their introduction.

“Hey! In the end, I got my wish—well, Jack’s wish too.”

“Really?” I stop abruptly on the landing. “Jack McCoy is selling the family business?”

That might be more shocking than him having a new boyfriend.

“Yep. To Frank and Aaron’s business partner, Rocco.”

“Rocco, huh?” I say absently, wondering how Jack’s best friend, Frank, got involved in all this. Other than being the mechanic at the service station. “Guess I have missed a lot.”

I feel a small pang because, for all the want of getting out of this small town that was suffocating me, I still miss certain aspects, not to mention the man patiently waiting on the bottom step for me to lead them inside.

I twist the door handle. “So what’s Jack going to do once the sale goes through?”

“Photography,” Aaron responds with such surety that it jogs my memory—that’s right, Jack participates in the annual art fairs.

“Now I remember. That man has talent.”

“He certainly does, and don’t let him tell you otherwise.” He and John share a smirk, and I feel that same longing again about not being in on the private jokes anymore, at least where John is concerned.

I hold the door open for them as they explain that Jack bought the space in town where the butcher shop used to be. I listen absently, feeling a bout of nerves about the state of this house. “Please, ignore the clutter.”

Aaron’s eyes light up as he scans the elaborate crown molding in the foyer. “No worries.”

Aaron’s obvious love for architecture is infectious, and I try to see Grandpa’s house through his eyes. His career sounds interesting too, and I’m still shocked he got Jack to sell. I’m sure his attractiveness and pleasing personality had nothing to do with it.

The stale scent of mildew and old newspapers assaults my nose upon entry into the great room. “My grandfather was a bit of a pack rat, and this is after already discarding a bunch of stuff.”

“I…wow.” Aaron seems speechless as he looks around wide-eyed. But if he truly has a knack for this, he’ll no doubt see beyond the boxes and stacks.

John is silent, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Of course, he’s been to this house dozens of times over the years and knows my grandfather wasn’t one for tidiness.

He stares at the shelf of overcrowded knickknacks that, from a distance, seem like worthless junk. “He’s gotten worse, I see.”

“Apparently so. Rosie tried to throw stuff out when he wasn’t looking, but somehow, he would always know.” I laugh humorlessly. Grandpa did always seem attuned to the goings-on in his house. Especially after I started bringing John around. He only had one talk with me about it.

“He’s more than a friend, isn’t he?”

I fidget nervously. “Maybe. But if you’re gonna⁠—”

“I don’t give two shits who you’re attracted to, but don’t bring any more trouble to my doorstep. And I’m not talking about you liking boys.”

He never mentioned my relationship with John again. That was when I began straightening up. Grandpa was right. He didn’t deserve the trouble, not after taking me in.

Aaron breaks me out of my thoughts. He’s wandered past the shabby dining table toward the kitchen. “Outside of the clutter, I can see the charm, but also where it needs work.” He slips beyond the narrow opening of the galley-style kitchen. “Maybe even knocking down this wall to open up the space.”

“I’m not sure all that is necessary. Plus, the cost⁠—”

“Oh, I’m more than willing to invest my own money if it pays off in the sale. It’s what we do—Rocco and I—and more times than not, it’s worth it.”

“See? I told you he’d be interested,” John remarks.

Aaron smirks. “I haven’t made a final decision yet. It’s a lot of work.”

My face falls just as Aaron’s lips split into a grin. “Kidding! No way I’d pass up the opportunity to work on a house that still bears some of its Renaissance markings.” He trails his fingers across one of the casement windows, which has multiple diamond-shaped panes and was Grandpa’s favorite. “And help you sell it, of course.”

I breathe out in relief. “When can you get started?”

“Once everything is cleared out, I can restore the hardwood floors and repaint the molding and window sashes.”

“Good plan. I have Rosie helping, so between the two of us⁠—”

“I can help too,” Aaron says, then turns to John. “As a matter of fact, I’m gonna stay and have Jack pick me up.”

“You sure?” John asks, blinking as if coming out of a spell.

Aaron nods. “It’ll give me more time to look around and get together a plan.”

“Okay, cool. Well, I’ve got a bar to open, so I’ll…catch you later.” John waves and I watch him walk out the door.

“Is it true you’ve been in movies?” Aaron asks as he picks up a stack of celebrity magazines.

“Nothing to write home about.”

“But it’s still your dream?”

“Well, I don’t know about—” I realize that despite how innocent these questions seem, it might be a fishing expedition on Aaron’s part, so I head in a different direction. “Yeah, sure. I just don’t know if I’m convinced it’ll happen anymore.”

“I get that.” He looks off in the distance. “I suppose it depends on what your definition of success is.”

“What do you mean?”

He angles his head in thought. “So, to me, you’ve already achieved a lot because you’ve acted in small parts. And some might think I was accomplished in San Jose with my real estate business. But maybe those things don’t exactly match our own definitions of success, so we have to rework them.”

“Like how you moved to Aqua Vista and started restoring houses again?”

“Exactly. It’s a success by my standards, not by society’s. Because it makes me happy. And not all accomplished people are.”

I feel a lump in my throat as I consider his definition, but it’s too much to unpack right now. Wanting to change the subject, I head toward the steps. “Let me show you upstairs. There’s a mountain view.”

Aaron is in awe as soon as I lead him up the burnished-wood staircase to the main bedroom, where there’s a wall of casement windows. “Such a great view. And you used to live here with him?”

Somehow I find it easier to talk to a stranger about that period of my life than relive the memories with John. “Yeah, I moved here my freshman year of high school.”

“And that’s when you and John started hanging out?”

“Yep. He was my best friend. And then became more, of course.” Even though my childhood was tumultuous, somehow thinking back to the simplicity of those times calms me.

“Jack says you two married young?”

“I suppose you could say that. We were only twenty-one. But I still knew I would love John forever.” I inhale a sharp breath, wondering what Aaron could be thinking about my departure. “And for the record, I didn’t know I’d take off a couple of years into our marriage. I tried to make it work in this town.”

“I think I understand.”

I twist toward him. “Do you?”

“Well…mostly. I know what it’s like to be unfulfilled and feel like something’s missing.”

“I wasn’t unfulfilled in my marriage. I⁠—”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I knew John wouldn’t move away from this place—couldn’t. He was just getting his bar up and running, and Aqua Vista is woven into the fabric of him, of his family. Besides, my dreams weren’t his.”

He’s closely scrutinizing me, and I wonder if I’ve professed too much. But I can only imagine what Jack has told him about me. No love lost there, even if we were close as kids.

“If you don’t think I’m overstepping… I can still see the love between you.”

My eyes sting, and I blink away the tears of frustration. I think that’s why there’s no bitterness between us—we eventually came to accept this. John always knew I would want different things but married me anyway. Said he wanted to be with me as long as he could.

I turn away before I start blubbering. John is still the most giving man I’ve ever known, and if he knew the scumbags I’d been around in Hollywood, he’d lose his shit.

“There’s definitely plenty of love.” That’s never been our hardship.

7

JOHN

After breakfast, I get in my car to drive toward the mountains. I don’t know whether to thank Grandpa Malone or curse him for being the catalyst for bringing my ex back to town.

I’m a hypocrite, though, because I razzed Jack for not wanting a long-distance relationship with Aaron, knowing full well mine with Micah didn’t last. But ours revolved around different circumstances. Leading up to the legal separation, we mutually agreed to take a break in our relationship so there was no pressure. But maybe that was a mistake because all it did was fuel our estrangement. It became too painful, the longing for him too much, to hear about his prospects in LA, so a breakup was likely inevitable.

As I exit the car, I spot Rosie outside, surrounded by boxes and garbage bags. “Hey there, Rosie, how’s it going?”

I’ve met her in town a couple of times, but we mostly spoke on the phone when I called to inquire about Mr. Malone’s health. Whenever I offered to stop by or drop something off, he refused. Maybe it was for selfish reasons on my part. It was a link to Micah I couldn’t seem to part with.

She wipes her brow after tossing what looks like broken pens from the box into a bag. “He’s collected a lot of clutter over the years, but it wasn’t really my place to tell him how to live.”

“He probably wouldn’t have listened anyway,” I reply, and we share a smile. “I’m sorry for your loss. No doubt you’ve gotten to know him well over the past few years.”

She nods. “I admit I’ll miss the old grouch.”

I offer a sad smile. “What will you do now?”

“I have another family lined up for an interview.” She doesn’t seem pleased about the prospect. “For now, I’m going to help Micah. It’s what Mr. Malone would’ve wanted me to do.”

I walk inside to see Micah holding a broom while staring at an urn on the mantel, completely lost in thought.

“Hey, you okay?”

My question startles him. “What are you doing here?”

“I figured you could use an extra set of hands.”

“Are you sure?” he deadpans. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea.”

“What? To be around each other after we’ve been friends since childhood?” I tease.

“I mean, you are my husband.” The way he says it, in that sexy, smirky tone, nearly knocks me on my ass.

Our eyes connect and hold until he clears his throat. “Well, thanks. I can certainly use the help.”

I motion toward the fireplace. “Is that him?”

“Yeah, just picked up the ashes. I was remembering the first time I came to this town. How different it felt, how angry I was.”

“God, yeah. But you still made my breath catch the moment I saw you.” He was all fire and heat, his eyes molten lava, drawing me in.

Micah stifles a groan. “You were the only bright spot during that time.”

My heart thumps. “Glad to hear I helped make your childhood better.”

His eyes soften. “You made everything better.”

My stomach sours. “Obviously not everything⁠—”

Micah steps forward with a troubled expression. “J, don’t. You know I…”

“Let’s not go there, yeah?” I give him a pointed look that stops him in his tracks. “Looks like we got our work cut out for us around here.”

“Understatement.” He forks his fingers through his hair. “Let’s get to it, then.”

We work all morning, sifting through shelves and drawers. His grandfather’s collection includes bent postcards, yellowing notepads, hats, used books, and fishing apparatus, all crammed into any available space. We stand side by side at the dining table, either pitching junk or filling empty boxes with anything that might be usable for donation.

I hold up a brightly colored lure that resembles a small fish with a poofy tail. “Have you been lately?”

“Fishing?” He shakes his head. “He left me his boat.”

“He still owns it?” It seems like forever since he worked on the docks.

He nods. “According to Rosie, he wants his ashes spread on the water.”

“It is still in decent shape?”

“It better be. No way I’m fixing up his house and boat.”

I laugh, but I also can’t help thinking that Old Man Malone put one over on him even after death.

Micah pitches a handful of broken trinkets that maybe Grandpa Malone told himself he’d fix one day. Everyone seems to have a junk drawer in their house, but this is on a different scale. “So, how’s the fam? Is Cain still surfing?”

I nod. “He gave us a good scare last summer when his surfboard washed ashore and we all went searching for him.”

He pauses with a damaged light socket in his hand. “Holy shit, that had to be scary.”

“It was, and June… Fuck, I hated that haunted look in her eyes.”

“Probably felt way too familiar.” He frowns. “So what happened?”

“He had wiped out and washed up farther down the beach than he’d anticipated. He was weak and a little beat up but perfectly fine.”

“Thank God,” he says, lobbing a few packets of screws into the box. “June still working at the diner?”

Bobbing my head in affirmation, I say, “She enjoys it there. Between that and helping Aunt Dina at Honeycomb, she keeps herself busy.”

“It’s like I never left,” he teases.

“In some cases, sure. But plenty has also changed.”

“Well, not everything…” He throws me a flirty look. “You’re still hot as hell.”

I groan. “God, Micah, don’t do that.”

“What? I’m only stating a fact.”

“Okay, fine. Here’s another: you’re still the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, same,” he says, and I love seeing the flush across his cheeks. “Hey, no one ever said there can’t be husbands with bennies.”

I laugh because it’s not like we haven’t taken advantage of that very thing, but it’s been years. I sober when his attention strays to the urn again, and I have to remind myself he lost a family member, and that’s why he’s in town.

“By the way, what were you going to ask me yesterday at the bar?”

He averts his eyes. “I…I dunno.”

I step closer. “Yeah, you do. Try me.”

“It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you⁠—”

“When my parents died, you showed up here and knew what I needed. Maybe you need the same?”

When our eyes meet, I see desperation and sadness in his, so instead of second-guessing myself, I wrap my arms around him and pull him into a tight embrace. This is Micah, the love of my life, and no matter how much time passes, I’ll never not feel this way about him.

Micah sags against me with his nose at my throat while I kiss the top of his head and take in his scent. Coconut lime, like he just walked off the beach instead of using a scented body wash.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he says, and it makes me shiver.

“Apparently not enough,” I tease.

“You know that’s not true.”

“Yeah, I know.” Besides, what’s my excuse? I’ve considered showing up in LA to be with him countless times. “If only we were able to be in the same town.”

He draws back. “I…think about it—relentlessly sometimes. Just packing it all up.”

“Does that mean you’re still sure of me?”

He blinks a couple of times. “Fuck, I almost forgot about my letter.”

“Still have it.” I sigh. “But that was a long time ago.”

“It’s still true. To this day, you’re the only one I’m sure of. My love for you hasn’t weakened, J.”

I pull him back into my arms because maybe I need the comfort too.

“I tell myself that if you hadn’t pushed me to leave, I would be miserable never knowing what Hollywood’s like.”

That was the exact reason I did it. “And? Any conclusions?”

“That it’s not as easy or glamorous as you think when you’re younger.” He pulls back to look at me. “You also have to get used to doing other things while waiting for your big break.”

“Like working as a server?”

“Uh-huh. It’s a different lifestyle out there. Crowded, busy, noisy.”

I shudder for effect, and he cracks a smile.

And then he sobers as we stare at each other, our bodies close, our lips only a breath away. “J, I know I shouldn’t, but…”

“I want it too.”

Our lips meet in a tender brush, like a quiet hello. There you are. The missing piece of me. It’s like coming home. We kiss softly, tenderly holding each other for several long minutes before I pull away and get my bearings. I could easily stay like that all day and night.

It takes everything in me to make my lips utter the words, “I should get going.”

Micah’s expression is forlorn. “Thanks for the help.”

He swipes at his eyes, and I can’t tell if it’s because of us or the grief over losing his grandfather. Either way, it makes my throat clog with emotion.

“No problem. Let me know what else I can do.”

“Got any experience getting a fishing boat up and running?” he lobs at me, and I laugh as I head out the door.

8

MICAH

After a morning of driving bags of junk to the local dump, I head back out the door because a guy’s got to eat. If I’m gonna stick around here for the time being, I need to arm myself with better supplies than the Pop-Tarts and cans of soup I found in the pantry. Rosie helped keep my grandfather stocked, but our palates have always been different. His was way blander.

My cell rings as I slide into my car. It’s my manager from the restaurant, so I answer on the first ring. “How’s it going?” he asks.

“Eh, you know how it is.” He’d shared with me that his dad had recently passed away. “The house is a wreck, and I’m not sure if it’s going to sell without a serious undertaking.”

“Take all the time you need. Your job will be here when you return.”

“Are you sure?” God, that’s generous of him. But he’s always been a kind boss, allowing me to trade shifts whenever an audition came around.

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks.” I end the call and then drive into town. Outside of the notable new businesses and the now defunct butcher shop whose windows are covered while Jack decides what to do with the space, everything seems about the same.

I park and head into Honeycomb, knowing I won’t be able to avoid the McCoys forever. Besides, Dina is married to Chuck, and he’s been genial to me throughout this ordeal.

The bell clangs above the door as I enter.

“Well, look who it is,” Dina says, causing other customers to turn and stare. “Sorry to hear about your grandfather.”

My gut churns at the attention drawn to me, but in all honesty, his death still doesn’t seem real. Not even with the urn containing his ashes sitting on the fireplace. “Thanks.”

“Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen him in the last couple of years. But I’ve gotten to know Rosie.”

I fiddle with one of the honeycomb lotions at the counter. “Yeah, she’s a good person.”

“Chuck says you’re getting help with the place?”

“Yeah, as soon as it’s cleared out, Aaron is going to take a crack at it.”

“Good plan. The cottage he bought turned out amazing.” She motions toward the street. “No doubt he and Jack will turn the butcher shop into something amazing too.”

“I heard.” I’m tempted to drive over to Mrs. Martin’s old residence to see the renovation, but it’s not like I’m checking Aaron’s references or have many other options. Besides doing the work myself, which would only keep me in town longer.

“So, what brings you in today?”

“Need to restock.”

I grab a basket and fill it with odds and ends I won’t be able to find on my grocery trip, like shampoo and soap—made with honey, of course. I can feel the other customers’ scrutiny, but I ignore it. No doubt I’m considered double trouble now that I left not only Aqua Vista, but my husband too.

“Micah Malone. I remember you.” I stiffen at the voice, only to find a longtime resident with her cat on a leash. I’m surprised he hasn’t figured out how to slip out of the collar yet and head for the nearest tree.

I offer her a tight smile. “Morning, Ms. Sussan.”

“You finally came home,” she replies in a scolding tone as if I’m some prodigal son. And maybe I am—going off to do foolish things with my money and time.

“My grandfather passed away.”

She nods. “He was a stubborn man, but he lived a good, long life in this town.”

“He did.” I think. Mostly. How the hell does she know anyway? This is the sort of bullshit small-town talk I despise.

She smirks. “You still causing trouble, or did you make your grandpa proud?”

Fuck, why does that question hit me so hard? Not only the bluntness of it, but the realness too. Did I? “Sure hope so. I’m living in Los Angeles and working hard.”

She studies me as if she doesn’t believe me. “What kind of work?”

“I’m—” I want to lie to prove to these people that I made something of myself. “I’ve gotten some small roles in movies and commercials, and I work at a popular restaurant in my spare time.”

“Good for you. You finally got the attention you were craving.”

My mouth opens and shuts in astonishment. If I were still that same angry kid, I would have some expletives to offer her.

But before I can figure out a rebuttal, Dina’s voice rings out. “Leave the man alone. We all have our pasts, and he was only a teenager at the time.”

Ms. Sussan blinks, then tugs on her cat’s leash. “Indeed.”

When the door shuts behind her, my eyes meet Dina’s, and we both burst out laughing. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem. Now get over here and give me a hug.”

The request surprises me. I’m sure John’s family has had enough of me.

I fall into her warm embrace as she whispers in my ear, “Whatever happened in your relationship with John is your business. We still love and support you, honey. You’re a good person.”

I nearly sob against her throat. It’s been so long since I had a parental figure tell me anything good or supportive. It makes me ache for John’s parents again.

After she rings up my purchases, I walk out of the store lighter than I felt going in. Maybe it won’t be so bad, coming back here again.

Just as I have that thought, I run into Beth holding a broom as she sweeps the sidewalk in front of Spellbound. “It’s nice to see you again, Micah,” she says with a smile. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” I blink, then blurt, “No I told you so?”

“Of course not.” She grips her chest, her reaction surprising me. “What do you take me for?”

“Someone who speaks her mind whether you want to hear it or not,” I tease.

“With age comes wisdom, and I’ve learned over the years that not everyone wants my advice. That said, I’m sorry I interfered.”

She certainly appears changed. More humble and conciliatory. Might be a story there I’m missing. “You obviously were right, even if it was hard to hear.”

“I might’ve been right about the distance, but not about your heart. Or at least, it’s not a thought I’ve shared with you, given the circumstances.”

“Not sure what you mean.” Should I even ask? I’ve not felt right about her predictions in the past. But I can’t seem to help myself.

“I’m talking about your hearts being connected, even with distance. After all, the sun is still sure of the ocean twice a day, even if the horizon keeps them apart.”

Something about that niggles in my brain, like I recognize it from somewhere. Or maybe it’s because she used the word sure, same as I did in my letter to John. Twice a day—like at dusk and dawn?

Just as I’m about to ask her to elaborate, she waves to an approaching customer. “There you are! I was hoping you weren’t canceling our session.”

I turn away as the customer mutters her apology. I’m still thinking about what Beth was trying to say. The woman speaks in riddles.

Walter tries to sell me something from his souvenir stand, and I shake my head. “I see you’re still banking on the town curse.” I’m surprised it doesn’t include a map to my grandfather’s so-called haunted house. I wouldn’t put it past him.

By the time I place in my trunk the bags of groceries to tide me over for a couple of weeks, I’m tuckered out and ready for some peace and quiet in the foothills. That’s surprising because I don’t always feel that in the city, where there’s a certain energy and buzz. But maybe it’s because this is Aqua Vista, and almost everyone knows my name.

Still, instead of sliding behind the wheel, I head to a nearby bench to inhale some clean mountain air and check a text from my agent. Not a minute later, Mr. Goodson shows up with his ukulele and sits at the other end. I remember the year his wife passed and how forlorn he always looked. How you would hear him playing their favorite songs in town, as a tribute.

His demeanor hasn’t changed much. There’s still an underlying melancholy, as if the sorrow hasn’t lessened much over the years. I don’t think I appreciated the sentiment—the deeply romantic gesture—as much then as it hits me now. Or since being estranged from the love of my life.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You still play?”

He nods and smiles. “For her.”

I’m not sure if the man even remembers who I am, but if he does, he doesn’t mention it. Just lifts the instrument and glances once at the sky as if she’s up there somewhere.

I listen to him play something a bit off-tune, but I recognize the melody as “That’s Amore”—an oldie but a goodie, my grandfather would say as the music blared from his radio on the boat. I smile at the memory.

I wait for him to finish, then clap and smile. “How long were you and Mrs. Goodson married?”

He stares wistfully into the distance. “Nearly sixty years.”

I can’t even imagine. Or maybe I can. They seemed so in love as they doted on each other. “What do you think the secret to a good marriage is?”

Why am I doing this to myself? So I can hear all the ways I failed?

“Let me see…” He hums as he thinks it through. “To allow each other the space to grow, separately and together. Being married that long means you’ve both evolved into many different versions of yourselves. You’ll grieve who they were a million times over, but the key is to embrace who they’ve become.”

I blink in shock at how profound that is.

Before I can unpack it all, he continues. “But also to laugh together and communicate your feelings. To stay connected not only emotionally, but physically too. I miss just holding her hand.”

My chest aches. Fuck me, I obviously shouldn’t have asked.

“That’s…thank you for sharing that with me. I can see why you miss her.” I stand abruptly. “Well, I’ve got to go put away my groceries.”

“All is not lost,” he says with a pointed look. “Life is full of beautiful and heartbreaking moments. They can divide you, make you resentful. But real love is eternal. It keeps you rooted even when you’re split apart.”

All I can do is nod numbly, realizing he knows exactly who I am.

What is this? Inspirational Quotes Day? Christ, I’ve had enough. I’d take the anonymity of LA right about now.

I head back to the seclusion of my grandfather’s house.

9

JOHN

“I hear you’ve been helping Micah clean out his grandfather’s house,” June says as I slide a glass of white wine toward her.

“And Aaron is helping him remodel,” Jack chimes in, opting for one of his favorite red blends.

It’s only the three of us, having an informal sibling gathering at my bar, which is different from what we do monthly in my backyard, when my aunt and uncle show up with a side dish or two while I grill out like we used to do with Mom and Dad. Sometimes, others make an entrance, like Jack’s best friend, Frank, but mostly, it’s just us trying to stay connected since the accident that took three of our family members.

June’s gaze fills with concern. “Everything all right with the two of you?”

I’ve always been an easygoing, glass-half-full guy, but after Micah left town and my parents died, I had a hard time staying upbeat, let alone showing up at my bar every day. Sometimes, I regret telling Micah to return to LA. Regret acting like I was strong while completely crumbling inside. Pretending I didn’t desperately need him—my husband. I told myself I didn’t want him to resent me for missing out on audition opportunities and that we needed to stick with the plan. So, after he left, I threw myself into work and got through the pain.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I avert my gaze, trying not to think about that damned kiss last week. “Good thing we have a solid basis of friendship and can hang out without griping at each other for past mistakes.” Though, keeping our hands to ourselves is a different story. We’ve always had that problem.

She frowns. “You may not gripe in plain view, but that man left town and, outside of the funeral, hasn’t returned in years.”

“I told him to leave, and he struggled with the decision, as did I. But it was the right one for him and us. Had he not left, I would still be wondering if he was fulfilled and happy enough here.”

“And is he in LA?”

I shrug. “You’d have to ask him. After this long, it’s become moot.”

“And what about you, Johnny?”

“Fulfilled and happy?” I ask, and she nods. “Enough.”

“Enough that you won’t initiate divorce and move on?” I see Jack grimace in my side view. “What if the right man is waiting right around the corner?”

I won’t say there will never be anyone for me other than Micah. Instead, I look around me and tease, “Where is he? Or she, for that matter.”

Jack high-fives me, and June scoffs at us.

“Does this mean you’re ready to move on?” I ask June, who hasn’t dated anyone since her husband died.

“No, but those were circumstances I couldn’t help.”

“I couldn’t help them either.” I grit my teeth. “Life is not black and white. Sometimes, it’s the wrong time or circumstances or person. Or maybe it’s the right person, but your lives never line up.”

“Not sure I believe that,” Jack pipes in.

“How can you say that when you and Aaron almost didn’t make it work?”

“Because I see you growing complacent.” He swirls the red wine in his glass. “I took a leap of faith and was willing to move to San Jose.”

“I’m sorry, what?” June asks shrilly. “How come we’re only finding out about this now?”

“I mean, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea, but I had to think outside the box, consider all my options to be with him. Thankfully, he squashed that idea in favor of moving here.”

I try to tame my astonishment. “You were going to walk away from Jack of All Trades?”

“I hadn’t been happy there for a long time. Obviously,” he emphasizes, referring to his decision to hand over the keys to Frank. “Was only hanging on for Mom and Dad.”

“I suppose the difference is I love owning this bar in this town. I stayed with Micah in LA early on, trying to think of a way I could move my life there and have what I do here. Something meaningful that makes me feel fulfilled outside of my love for him.”

“And?” Jack asks.

“No way I could recreate the same in LA.”

June frowns. “True. Your rent alone would be exorbitant.”

“Exactly. Even with Uncle Chuck’s or Aaron’s real estate expertise, I couldn’t swing it. You think I haven’t thought of a hundred different scenarios to be with him without one of us being miserable?”

Jack looks away. “Sorry, dude.”

“It’s fine. In the meantime, Micah’s grandfather passed away, so please be civil and gracious.”

“Of course,” June says. “I love Micah, just want to kick his ass sometimes.”

“Yours too,” Jack adds.

“Mutual,” I lob back just as the door swings open and the sexy devil himself steps inside. With his new best friend, apparently. He and Aaron are chattering away like old friends.

“Hey, babe.” Aaron lands a sloppy kiss on Jack’s mouth.

“Get a room,” I tease as they continue their nauseating PDA.

Jack flips me the bird as my gaze travels to June and Micah’s warm greeting. She’s right. My family has always loved him and treated him as one of our own.

“How’s it going at the house?” I ask to distract myself from that cozy thought.

“There’s a lot to be done, but I’m excited,” Aaron replies, plopping down in a seat next to my brother while Micah finds one on the other side of June.

“And I’m gonna help wherever I can,” Micah adds. “The sooner we get it done, the better.”

“Better for whom?” Jack asks pointedly, and an awkward silence descends.

Just as Micah opens his mouth to respond, a group of rowdy men from Parks and Recreation enter the bar. I immediately recognize Isabel’s new friend, Gordon, and he gives us a toothy wave. He and Aaron’s mom started dating shortly after she moved here with her son. She seems to love it as much as Aaron does.

“What’s the occasion?” Aaron shouts to him.

“Boss’s birthday, the big six-oh.”

I give them the thumbs-up, and before I know it, the bar is busier than usual, either because people are nosy about Micah or because it’s a pleasantly cooler spring day. I’m having trouble keeping up with orders, and I curse that today, of all days, Seth called off. Likely to go camping in the mountains as he’s known to do. But if he wants a shot at a solo shift, he better not make it a habit. Ross, though, the other bartender I finally hired from over in Sunrise Bay, has been pretty reliable.

Just as I feel guilty for thinking ill of Seth, Micah is there behind the bar.

“What the hell are you doing?” I mutter as I pour another draft.

“Helping. I know how bars and restaurants work and what’s required of staff. What the hell do you think I’ve been doing between auditions?”

I feel a pang of frustration as well as sadness. He has a whole other existence I know nothing about. Not that I’m unaware he works in the service industry, only that I haven’t had a good snapshot of his life in a long time.

I want to beg off, but I could sure use the help. “I know you do. Thanks.”

10

MICAH

I don’t know why I’m doing it, other than I still care deeply about John, and given his flustered expression, he needs the help. I’m stocking supplies behind the bar and running food, and it feels good to keep moving instead of being scrutinized by everyone around me.

Beth smiles from her perch at the bar. “You two look natural together. Always have.”

I glance over my shoulder, but John is occupied at the other end. “That’s because we’re friends first and foremost. We like and respect each other.”

“Or…”

“Please don’t go there.”

She holds up her hands. “I’m just happy to see you getting along. It’s great that two people separated by circumstances still love each other.”

“I do love him, always will. Other than that, I think that ship has sailed.”

“Or maybe it’s only pulling into port.” She winks as she carries her wine to an empty booth.

Time seems to fly as I help John all night. Jack and June keep giving me these quizzical looks, and I understand why. John is one of the best men I’ve ever known. I love his siblings, and I upset them too by leaving. That’s hard to face, and it’s another reason to make a clean break. So he’s no longer tied to someone as disappointing as me.

They have every right to be concerned about their brother because I hurt him deeply, whether he admits it or not. What they don’t know is he hurt me too. He didn’t fight for me to stay, even if he was right about experiencing the entertainment industry for myself instead of only dreaming about it. But in this scenario, my hurt matters less, and I deserve no sympathy for the ultimate decision I made.

I clear the empties from the bar top as I watch John follow the last stragglers to the door. Walter is slurring his words, and John suggests giving him a ride home. But Beth offers instead, throwing me a knowing look over her shoulder.

John locks the door behind them, then leans against the frame and takes a breather. He’s tired. I can see the shadows under his eyes, but he’s still charming and gorgeous as ever—maybe even more so now. Still takes my breath away. Even knowing where we ended up, I’d still marry him all over again—though maybe not on the fly like that, and maybe not yet. But I still cherish that he wanted to be mine. We were young and impulsive, but it remains the best day of my life. While walking away was the worst.

“We haven’t been that busy in a while.” As he approaches, I toss him a clean rag, glad he’s not ushering me out as well. I would insist on helping anyway. “Must be you.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? A new person to buzz about.”

“Pretty sad if all it takes is me showing up in Aqua Vista again to get them out.”

“It’s that charisma. You’ve always drawn people, like moths to a flame.”

“Is that right?” I smirk because John has never been able to see how his own charm is a draw. “Even when I was in trouble?”

“That’s why Principal Matthews let you get away with shit.”

“How come my own father didn’t?” I mutter bitterly.

“He didn’t see how special you are. How you light up every room you’re in. People like him don’t deserve children.”

“Unfortunately, there’s too many of him in the world.” I sigh. “And I’m a dime a dozen in Hollywood.”

“Is that really how you feel?”

“Sometimes. Here, I was a big fish in a small pond, but in LA, it’s been a bit tougher to catch a break.”

“Why haven’t you shared this with me? I’m your husband and your friend. I⁠—”

“You think I want to show you I failed after hurting you so much?”

“You’ve got nothing to prove to me.” He squares his jaw. “Only to yourself.”

“Logically, I know that. I… I’m just not sure if I can forgive myself.”

“For what?”

I give him a piercing look. “For turning your life upside down.”

“There was no other option. You would’ve withered here.”

“Of course, there was an option. We were married.”

“Are married,” he counters. “And married couples sacrifice things all the time.”

My gut churns. “We sacrificed a life together.”

He averts his eyes, but I catch the flash of pain. “Is what it is.”

“Well, maybe it’s time. To let you go. So someone else can give you what you need. Make you happy.” He screws his eyes shut as I force the words out. “That said, I, uh, brought the divorce papers.”

His breath hitches.

“Haven’t been able to fill out the formal petition—or file it, for that matter. I figure it’s best if we do it together.”

His eyes meet mine, and he steps closer. “Why haven’t you been able to?”

My heart trembles as I admit, “Because then we’re really over.”

“Aren’t we already over?” he mutters, but I see the flicker of affection in his irises.

“Yeah, I suppose we are. You belong here. I belong somewhere else.”

“You fit in here just fine, but it wasn’t what you needed.”

“I was an outsider in this town. Still am.”

“Not sure I believe that, but so are a lot of people. Take Aaron, for example.”

“He looks more part of Aqua Vista than I ever did.”

“Your grandfather would say otherwise. Your family has roots here, even if your father never embraced them.” His eyes soften. “My parents would say the same.”

“Your parents treated me like one of their own, but I disappointed them.”

“They knew we were both hurting. Mom told me privately it was the right thing to do—to let you go.”

I inhale sharply. “She did?”

“Apparently, my parents split up much the same way when they were young. And she figured out her own path before they reconnected. The only difference is they weren’t married. We got married on a whim, but I still don’t regret it. Maybe if I had a redo, I’d hold the ceremony in front of friends and family. Something I regret now that my parents have passed.”

I nod. We celebrated in their backyard upon our return, but I understand the sentiment and how special it would’ve been to them.

“Thanks for sharing that. I’m not sure I’ve figured out my path yet, like your mom did.”

He squeezes my shoulder. “But you will, and if you want to fill out the divorce papers, we can do that.”

I stare at him, that well of hurt rising in my gut again. “Why do you always have to be so goddamned diplomatic about it all?”

He rears back. “What’s the use in fighting shit that’s inevitable?”

I clench my teeth. “What if someone needed you to?”

He arches a brow and studies me. “That would’ve made us even more miserable.”

I don’t tell him that maybe I just needed to hear it. It’ll only muddy the waters. Besides, does it really matter anymore? Look at us—it’s like we’re standing on opposite sides of a crevasse, unable to reach each other. Or, to use Beth’s analogy, the sun and sea can only briefly linger before the horizon pries them apart again. Fuck, my chest aches with so much longing I need to step away.

John must need the reprieve as well because we get busy clearing the tables and cleaning behind the bar, and before I know it, I’m saying goodbye and forcing myself to go my separate way again.

Before I can open the door leading to the parking lot, I’m startled by his arm winding around my chest. My heart is thrumming as he buries his head in my nape. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop wanting you.”

“You think I don’t feel the same?” I huff out. “You think I don’t want to ask you to take me right here?”

His gruff groan releases like a hot puff of air against my scalp, making the hairs stand on my neck. I bite back a curse when his hand rounds past my hip to palm my stiff cock through the material.

I can feel his heart pounding, his heavy breaths echoing in the empty bar. His dick is thick and solid against my ass. I make quick work of unfastening the button on my jeans, and he unzips and tugs them past my hips.

“Fuck,” I murmur. I’ve been aching for him for days. Let’s be honest—years.

He flips me to face him, then takes my mouth in a heated kiss, and fucking hell, it all comes back. How his mouth on mine always feels like coming home.

I reach for him, but he’s already pulling away and sinking to the floor in front of me. The sight of him on his knees is enough to make precome gush out of my tip. But he’s right there to lick up the liquid, his expert lips encircling the head as his tongue digs into my slit just as I’ve always liked.

I gasp and grip his hair, my nails digging into his scalp. “J, goddamn.”

“I’ve been hard all night, thinking about how well this cock fits in my mouth. Like it was made only for me.” He licks up and down my length, teasing until my shaft finally sinks past his lips again. I shudder, my balls tightening, the familiar sensation already present at the base of my spine.

“Your mouth feels so perfect. I’m not gonna last.”

Just as I begin thrusting, he pulls off.

“Don’t want you to come until I’m inside you again.” His eyes meet mine, and I see the mix of desire and affection.

“As much as I’d love you to take me bare, it’s probably not wise this time around,” I tell him, and he swallows thickly as he nods. “And I don’t have anything on me.”

“Hang on.” He goes behind the bar to his bag and returns with a condom and lube.

11

JOHN

I have no business being intimate with Micah, and especially not in my bar, the place I threw myself into once he left. Yet the way he jumped in and helped like we were a team made me remember that once upon a time, we were.

But at this rate, I’m not even sure I’ll make it inside him. Just seeing him standing in my bar, with his exposed cock all flushed and stiff as I help him out of his jeans and briefs, makes the anticipation almost too much to bear.

I walk him over to the nearest chair and urge him to sit as I resume kneeling in front of him. I lick his cock, then kiss my way down to his balls just the way he likes. Years may have gone by, but I know his body inside and out. I know what makes him come faster, and sucking on his nut sac is one of the things that drives him wild.

“Wanna see you too,” he rasps as I draw away to reach for the lube.

“Don’t have to ask twice.”

He watches intently as I kick out of my sneakers and remove my jeans and underwear. My cock juts out, and the way he looks at me makes me want to bend him over a table, but all in due time.

“Always remember that pretty cock.”

“Yeah?” I pull him up to kiss him again because I can’t get enough of his plump lips, never could. My hand reaches behind him to palm his ass. “I dream about that pretty hole.”

He trembles. “Fuck, J.”

“That’s what I plan,” I tease, then urge him to face away from me. I run my hands down the globes of his ass as he leans forward, gripping the chair, exposing himself to me. I just stare for a long moment, wondering if I’m dreaming. Because getting to have him one more time is not something I take lightly.

I lick a stripe up his crease, and he cries out. He always loved being rimmed, and his reaction sends a shiver down my spine. I squeeze my cock to stave off erupting as I take my time licking, sucking, feasting on his hole. When I poke my tongue inside, his sobs turn hoarse, and he pleads with me to fuck him.

I grope for the lube and wet my fingers, then slide two between his cheeks and inside. I pump my digits in and out as he rocks against my hand.

As I’m about to grip his cock, he squirms. “J, can’t take it. Gonna come just like this.”

My fingers fumble with the wrapper, but I get it open and roll the condom down my shaft before liberally applying lube. I’ll likely have to mop again, but it’ll be worth it.

When my cock is finally lined up to his hole, he sinks his forehead against the back of the chair and breathes out. “Hurry.”

I kiss his shoulder as I prod my cock past the ring of muscle, already loosened from my tongue and fingers.

“Fuck yes,” Micah hisses, and though it doesn’t quite feel the same because of the condom, it’s still Micah and me fitting together perfectly. Almost too perfectly, and I clench my teeth, trying to keep my orgasm at bay. His ass is warm and tight, and I love hearing him lose his mind with me standing over him.

I watch as my cock splits his cheeks apart, and goddamn, if anyone walked in now and saw us, with Micah bent over the chair and me fucking into his perfect pink hole, they might actually be jealous.

I wrap my arm around his chest and pull him flush against me because I need to feel him, remember how he used to be mine. How right now he still feels like he belongs to me, like we belong to each other, as if no time has passed.

I kiss his ear, then lick the sweat along his nape. “I’ve never forgotten how this feels with you.”

“Me neither, and I never will.” Micah angles his head to meet my lips in a desperate kiss that makes my toes curl.

I keep the intimate hold, my front to his back, as I pound into him. When Micah bows his back, I know he’s about to break apart. I reach for his cock and stroke upward, watching in wonder as he cries out, his come filling my palm and dripping onto the floor.

That visual is all I need. I spurt inside the condom as everything around me distorts into a supernova. I’m hot, sweaty, and heaving as Micah slumps forward, limp and breathless against the chair.

As reality comes knocking, I soberly step back and reach for our clothes, then help Micah stand and clean up. My head aches as much as my heart, and I question if it’s wise to continue seeing this man while he’s here. But I also can’t seem to stay away. It pained me to watch him drive out of town—broke me, if I’m being honest—yet there wasn’t animosity between us. It had to do with dreams that extended beyond ourselves, and I remind myself I could’ve gone with him or begged him to stay. So I hurt him too. In so many ways, we’re both to blame. And the divide between us grew until we didn’t know how to reach each other anymore. So, we both stopped trying.

But just being in his company again makes that longing return, and when he sells Grandpa Malone’s house and leaves, I’ll be left wanting again. Wanting not only what we had, but who we’ve become.

Still, I can’t help asking, “Micah, what are we doing?”

He buttons his jeans as he meets my eyes. “Loving each other like we always have, probably always will. That was never the problem between us.”

“True.” I use a bar rag to wipe the floor with my foot. “But it also makes it harder when you leave.”

Again.

Before I can turn away, he reaches for me, pulling my body solidly against his.

“No one replaces you for me. It’s mostly been my own hand.” Mostly. “Besides, you’ve probably had plenty of men to keep you company.”

“Actually, it’s usually been women.”

“Yeah?” His breath wafts across my throat.

I nod. “Just how it’s been. Now help me lock up.”

Micah is pensive as he does so, as if mulling over my confession. It’s not like men haven’t been attractive to me. It’s only that women feel different enough, which has suited me fine. I don’t have to admit that the men were not him because he already knows it. The words don’t need to be spoken between us.

I don’t ask about his sex life because I’m not sure how much I want to know. I think of him being seduced by casting directors and kissing other actors on auditions. Maybe hooking up after a shift at the restaurant. No doubt we’ve both gotten our physical needs met, but it’s still too painful to admit openly.

12

MICAH

I walk along the Sleepy Slip docks over in Sunrise Bay, which is only a couple of miles from Aqua Vista. The salty sea air feels thick in my lungs, and as I inhale it, peace washes over me. It’s been so long since I’ve felt even remotely okay about returning here after everything went to shit, but I figure enough time has gone by that I won’t be recognized by any traditional fishers.

God, I haven’t held a fishing pole in forever, I think as I pass the Hook, Line, and Sinker supply shack and nod to the older man staring at me from the dusty window. Christ, Cap is still around? He’s run the place for the better part of forty years. He’d once been the captain of a naval rig and had more stories than anyone I’d ever known. He’d keep you at the counter for longer than you needed to be, and sometimes, it made me squirm, knowing my grandad was waiting so we could set sail.

“Micah Malone, that you?”

I stiffen briefly before turning to see him standing at the door. Silver hair, deep lines around his mouth and eyes, and gray-blue eyes that likely still see everything going on around him. “Sure is, Cap.”

“Didn’t think I’d see your face ’round these parts again.”

“Me neither,” I mutter, suddenly regretting my decision.

“Regardless…” He eyes me warily. “That was a long time ago.”

“Unfortunately, people around here have extensive recall.”

“Eh, plenty of new fishers. Even more women running these boats.”

I almost roll my eyes. It’s as if he’s shocked that females would even enjoy fishing, let alone make money at it. “That’s a good thing. We’d probably all be better off if women ran the world.”

“Now, I wouldn’t go that far.” He wrinkles his nose. “My daughter and grandchild said they can help run the shack, but I don’t think this is a place for a girl.”

Of course, he wouldn’t. I remember him snickering along with some burly fishermen talking about their wives. Even my grandpa would partake, though his heart didn’t seem in it. Mrs. McCoy told me once that he changed after losing my grandma. That was long before I was born.

Before I can open my mouth to stick up for them, he says, “That’s only because they think I’m getting up in age, work too much, and my health is suffering.”

“Sounds like they’re only worried about you.”

“I suppose. But just like I told them, I’m perfectly fine. I like my work. Besides, where would the fishers be without me being here bright and early?”

It’s true that his readily available supplies make it very convenient.

“Speaking of health and old age, I was just thinking about your grandfather. I hear he passed.”

My stomach constricts. Hearing it said aloud is still a shock. “He did.”

“I also hear he left you his boat.”

“I honestly wasn’t sure if he’d kept it after he retired.”

“Sure did.” He motions with this thumb over his shoulder toward the storage warehouses. “In lucky number seven.”

I bark out a humorless laugh. “Does it still float?” It seemed on its last leg when I was in high school. But the fishing industry is no joke. These boats get battered during storms and high tides. I’m surprised it held on as long as it did.

“Probably has better bones than some of these newer models.”

“Damn straight. I’ll go check it out.”

He eyes me. “How long you in town?”

I shove my hands in my front pockets, suddenly feeling guilty about leaving town again. “Only long enough to sell his house.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Hollywood calling you back?”

I look away and mutter, “Something like that.”

He chuckles. “I always told your grandpa you had a fisherman’s knack with movie-star looks.”

“That only gets you so far,” I reply. “The looks, I mean. Not the fishing, obviously. Haven’t been in a long time.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah, well, I sort of ruined all that.”

“Not to give you a pass, but you were only a kid. A troubled kid.”

“Still deserved everything I got.”

We exchange a glance. No need to spell it out. He knows my grandfather forbade me from the dock and his boat after I ruined the fishing competition for him. Had it not been for me, he would’ve won a ton of cash. I’m just glad they decided not to press charges. Staying away was punishment enough, given how much I loved being out there. He even sold my favorite rod and grounded me for who knows how long. The memory is fuzzy now. What’s not fuzzy is the disappointment in his expression that day.

“Anyway, better get moving.” I glance toward the warehouses, then back to him. “Hey, Cap. Why do you think he left me his boat?”

“He told me once after all that went down that he thinks you’ll miss the water,” he says, and I feel a wistfulness in my gut. He was right. “He said you were most peaceful when you were fishing.”

Right then, a group of fishers walk by, one of them asking Cap a question about worms and lures. I walk toward a post and stare out at the water, mulling over what my grandfather said. This ocean looks different from the one in LA, but I don’t know why. Maybe because I don’t use it much. Here, it’s practically all you have.

Well, that and the mountains. My gaze flicks over my shoulder toward the foothills. It’s a damned pretty place, I’ll give it that.

I inhale salty sea air as I make my way to the storage units.

My grandfather tried to get my dad to settle in Aqua Vista when my grandmother was alive, but he refused. Thought it might calm him like it did me. But by then, he was already partying hard. My mother was a one-night stand who left town after I was born.

I walk up to a man wearing the Sleepy Slip storage facility logo on his shirt and old dusty jeans. He’s chewing on a toothpick and eyes me up and down. “I’m looking for the boat that belongs to Griggs Malone.”

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m his grandson. He passed away and left me the boat.”

He stares at me before recognition gleams in his eyes. “Probably got some algae on the hull. Rust too.”

I nod as I follow him into the warehouse, though I highly doubt my grandfather would’ve let the saltwater rust his boat. He was meticulous about cleaning it. But what do I know? No way he could keep up with it as he aged.

He leads me to a dry stack in the seventh slot, and there she is. A twenty-six-foot bay boat with a casting deck on the bow and stern. I smile at the name. Vitamin Sea. He truly believed that.

“Doesn’t look so bad after all,” the man says. “Name is Bert, by the way.”

“Micah.” I reach out to shake his hand. “Do you think it can be put in the water?”

“Definitely. Just needs some tending to.”

I wonder when she was last waxed. “Do you think she might sell?”

“That what you want to do with ’er?”

“Maybe,” I reply, even as my stomach feels uneasy over the idea. “But I’ll get back to you on that. Want to check her out first.”

“Let me pull the paperwork, see how much time is left on the storage lease, and then we can put her in the water for you.”

“Thanks.”

I pull out my cell as I wait and text John: Busy morning?

Yes and no. What’s up?

Meet me at the Sleepy Slip? I’ll explain when you get here.

On my way.

13

JOHN

I drive down the beach side of the highway and take the Sleepy Slip exit. I park, then walk toward the main pier and past the bait-and-tackle shop. At the end of this row, I turn right, looking for where Micah has planted himself.

Memories flood me of Micah sitting on the dock or in a fishing boat with his grandfather. One of the only times Micah seemed truly at peace. Well, that and after an orgasm, which is why I enjoyed giving them so much.

But then there was sophomore year when Micah made a grave mistake during a fishing competition his grandfather had entered. The winning catch was determined by weight. For some reason, Micah thought it would be a good idea to insert a weighted ball inside one of the bass his grandfather caught that day, hoping it would help him win the money. It was a huge ordeal when the cheating was discovered, causing the competition to be suspended while they investigated. Because Micah fessed up immediately, he was banned from the docks instead of the authorities pressing charges.

His grandfather didn’t speak to him for days, only giving him a look that was a mix of disappointment and sadness. That was a hard time for Micah, his light dimmer than usual. I stood by him as a friend, though I couldn’t quite understand why he did it other than wanting to help his grandfather. He was lost that year, and I encouraged him to join the drama club after taking a random theater class. I don’t know what he would’ve turned to if he hadn’t found that spark again. That’s part of the reason I knew he had to leave.

I spot Micah at the end of this row, and it feels surreal that we’re even here. He’s lost in thought, staring at a once-familiar boat docked in slip number eighteen. After years of completely avoiding the area, he seems pretty comfortable leaning against a wooden post, and it takes my breath away. As I near, the expression on his face makes a lump form in my throat. Nothing is better than that look. Not even when he comes. That look means the storm inside him is momentarily settled. I never thought it was right for the fishers to banish him indefinitely. He was only a kid and made a mistake he regretted immediately.

“Well, this is a scenario I wasn’t expecting,” I say, motioning to the boat bobbing in the water.

He smirks over his shoulder. “Right?”

I sidle up to the edge of the dock, where Vitamin Sea is tied to a post, looking a bit worse for wear. She was never a pretty boat, but Grandpa Malone kept her well-loved. “What do you plan on doing with her?”

“Fixing her up so I can sell.”

I don’t know why that news disappoints me. Of course, he would sell the boat, same as he’s selling the house. “You hiring someone for that?”

“Nah, this is something I can do myself.”

“Think that’s why he did it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe your grandfather felt guilty that they kept you away from the docks.”

“I don’t know, maybe? It’s how we connected, and he knew I loved it here. Though I understand the decision. One of the stupidest things I’ve ever done.”

“Yeah, it was. But you also⁠—”

“Nah, no excuses. Getting in trouble with other people was one thing, but with him, it changed everything. I couldn’t stand disappointing him.”

“That’s my point. He knew that. I’m sure of it. So maybe this is his way of making sure you get out there one last time.”

I see his eyes briefly illuminate over the possibility of being out there again. “When the time comes to spread his ashes, will you come with me?”

I hesitate, but it’s only because of how my own views of being on the water have changed since my parents’ boating accident. Even now I can imagine the Coast Guard boat, the yellow tape near the towpath. Their bodies were never recovered.

He frowns as he meets my eyes. “Fuck, sorry. You haven’t been out there since…”

“No, but it’s not because I’ve been avoiding it. Just haven’t had the opportunity.”

“Not sure a funeral send-off is a good enough one for you.”

“Or maybe it is. Bite the bullet and all that. Remember them in my own way.”

He takes a step toward me. “You don’t have to, J.”

“You were there for me, and I want to be here for you.”

“All right, but it’s okay if you change your mind.” He stares off into the water. “This is painful but also exhilarating, like I’m finally allowed to do something that was taken away from me. Even though it was me who ruined it.”

“I swear it’s all part of your grandfather’s master plan.”

He chuckles. “You might be right. Maybe I’ll invite Rosie too.”

“Good idea.” I watch as he steps onto the boat and rummages around. “Thanks for coming out here.”

I smile. “So what now?”

“I dunno. Figured I’d do some cleaning.”

“Well, since you helped out at the bar, I suppose I owe you.”

Before he can object, I step onto the boat. It’s a chance to move forward. One I haven’t considered before now. Jack avoided the beach these past few years before Aaron came along and became a reassuring force. June couldn’t dodge it, given that Cain is an avid surfer. So maybe Micah being given this opportunity presents one for me too.

A couple of hours fly by as I help him wash the hull, giving it a bit of a shine despite its age.

Micah heads to the bait shop’s vending machine to get us sodas, and then we sit and sip our drinks as we catch our breath. “Thanks for the help. She’ll need another round and then some polish, but I think I’m done for now. Thought I might take her out for a test run.”

My stomach jolts. “You sure about that? Don’t go far without letting someone know where you are.”

His eyes meet mine. It’s a natural reaction after what happened to my family, but I can’t seem to help myself.

“I’ll be okay. I’ll only head to the break wall and back. You can even watch me.”

“All right.” I stand and steady myself on the handrail. As I’m about to step a foot up to safety on the dock, I change my mind. “I’ll go with you.”

His eyebrows knit together as he scrutinizes me. “Are you sure?”

“We’ll bite the bullet at the same time. It’ll be like old times.”

Not that I ever loved fishing, but I did it to be with him. Those quiet, still times had become some of my favorites with Micah.

Instead of second-guessing me, he retrieves the key from his pocket and starts the engine. It sputters on his first two tries before sparking to life.

I suck in a deep breath and brace myself.

He’s busy untying the rope at the bow, so I help with the starboard and stern. Before I know it, I’m pushing off the dock, Micah is at the wheel, and we’re pulling into the channel toward the break wall. The water is smooth in this area, which means the ride is too.

When he looks back at me with the most gorgeous smile, I’m glad I decided to stay. I force the image of the storm and my brother-in-law’s boat capsizing that day out of my mind, focusing instead on the wind in my hair and the sun on my face.

The ride is short, but it’s enough to calm my nerves about the next time. Besides, seeing Micah in his element is well worth it.

14

MICAH

The following morning, I’m up before Aaron arrives and digging around in the spare bedroom dresser. Not sure what I’m searching for exactly, but since it has to be cleaned out, I figure I’m doing double duty. There are old photographs of my father as a kid, and I can’t help wondering at what point he turned into the monster I knew all too well. Sure, drinking himself to blackout contributed to that, but not every alcoholic is cruel the way he was. My great-grandfather had the same addiction, and now I lament never asking more questions about him. It’s likely the reason Grandpa took pity on me.

I rummage around in the closet next, making a path through musty shoes, coats, and stacks of books, only to find a fishing pole hidden in the very back. And not any fishing pole. My fishing pole, the one Grandpa claimed he got rid of after the cheating scandal. I marvel at the bamboo handle, curve my fingers around the grip as if seeing it for the first time again. There were sturdier poles made of graphite or carbon fiber, but I wanted this one as soon as I laid eyes on it.

Why did he keep it? It’s true his bark was always worse than his bite. Underneath, he cared but didn’t always know how to show it. Fuck, I can’t breathe as emotions bombard me. Gratefulness and joy that he saved a memento from my childhood. And because I treated it with care, it’s still in good condition.

I have the immediate urge to head to the docks with my pole in hand. But first, I test it out. Hold it steady and practice flicking my wrist. Turns out, it’s just like riding a bike.

The need grows in my gut, so I grab a couple of lures, some fishing line, and head out to the pier. Of course, I’m not alone. Other early dawn fishers are there, and some grumble a good morning as I find a spot to sit. I could’ve stopped at the shack to buy live bait, but for now, the lures will do fine. Besides, I’m only here to test the waters, so to speak.

As soon as I cast my line, my nervous system calms. Why haven’t I thought to scope out fishing piers in LA? It’s not like I’ve had to avoid them because I was banned. Still, feeling ashamed is a completely different animal.

Suppose I’ve been too busy trying to make it in Hollywood. Suddenly, the entire idea feels misplaced and almost foreign to me. Have I really spent years auditioning for bit parts only to get a little taste of theater? It’s the only thing that’s pacified me like fishing once did. And John. John always knew what I needed.

The morning unfolds lazily as I get lost in the peaceful act of casting my line and waiting for a bite. Some fishers like to chat and gossip, but many are like me and appreciate the silence. I would say the anonymity too, except a couple of old-timers approach me to express their condolences, so I can only imagine word has spread that Griggs Malone’s disgraced grandson is back in town. I suspect others don’t recognize me or have long forgotten what happened—unless Cap reminded them. I wouldn’t put it past him.

Aaron is sanding a baseboard when I return home. It’s strange to have him here, but I also know the more he’s present, the sooner I can sell this place and leave.

I try to sneak past him with my gear. “Oh, hey. Do you fish?”

“Sort of.” I rest my pole against the wall. “My grandfather started as a deckhand on a trawler, but he also owned a boat. Today was actually my first time fishing at the pier since I was a kid.”

“The pier?”

“Sleepy Slip near Sunrise Bay. First northern exit on the highway.”

“I don’t know that area.” He looks off in the distance. “Wait, is that where the McCoys went to high school?”

“Yep. Bay High.” I set down the tackle box, figuring it’s as good a place as any. “And obviously me too.”

He smiles. “That where Johnny gets the fresh catch for his fish fries?”

I straighten. “He still runs those events?”

He hitches a shoulder. “Noticed a sign in his bar, something about the spring festival?”

My stomach warms. “It’s a yearly celebration with plenty of food and entertainment. Guess I forgot about some of the things that happen around this town. John loves those events.”

“He’s a pretty social guy. How about you?”

“Only when I have to be,” I mutter.

His eyes brighten. “Ah, so opposites attract, like me and Jack?”

I study him. “Guess that tracks.”

He wipes his brow, and a plume of dust spreads in the room. “Assumed you enjoyed being in the public eye as a starving artist and all.”

“I enjoy acting, just not all the bullshit that comes with the industry.”

“Must be why some celebrities fade into obscurity.” He eyes me thoughtfully. “And the service industry?”

“Working at the restaurant brings a steady paycheck, one that affords me the opportunity to go on auditions.”

“Ah. Gotta make a living while you chase success.”

My stomach tilts. There’s that word again. Success.

“It would be nice to finally make a living doing something I love.” I laugh humorlessly. “But we can’t have everything.”

“You’ll get there,” Aaron says. “We both will.”

I’d say Aaron is already there, but that’s not for me to define.

I motion toward the stairs. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’ve never fished before. What do you like about it?”

Damn, this guy asks lots of questions.

“It’s not everyone’s cup of tea. Suppose it brings me a certain kind of peace. Just me and my pole, out in the elements.” I think about this morning and how bright and colorful the sun looked lifting over the horizon. “Of course, snagging a fish every now and again sweetens the experience.”

He grins. “Do you keep them or throw them back?”

“Depends if it’s supper or not. My grandfather and I ate lots of fish from his daily catches.”

“Bet that was great.”

I hum earnestly. “It was.”

We’d come home smelling like fish, but he loved grilling out back or frying the filets in butter, and I’d make a side of rice or salad before we hungrily gobbled it all down.

“Anyhow,” Aaron says, “after I’ve patched up the holes and sanded most everything down, I’m gonna paint the walls. Is there a certain color you were going for?”

I glance around the space, considering it. “What would help it sell faster?”

“Neutrals are always a good bet.”

“Then go with that.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I can’t believe you don’t want to hold on to this place. I looked up the town’s history, and this house dates back a hundred years. I’ve been admiring some of the original fixtures.” He points out the built-in bookshelves in the dining area and the bronze sconces flanking them.

“Not sure what I’d do with it.”

“Rent it out, or…I don’t know. At least register it with the historical society. That might bring in some interest. Does Aqua Vista have one?”

“Hell if I know.” I smirk, imagining men with pipes and cardigans sitting behind ornate wooden desks, poring over historical documents. “God, Grandpa would hate that—pretentious types snooping around his property.”

Aaron snickers. “I would’ve enjoyed meeting him.”

I don’t tell Aaron that Grandpa would’ve found him too fussy, though it’s likely Aaron would’ve won him over in the end.

“Believe it or not, my great-grandmother was part of a hippie commune around here.” Free love and all that. “Beth’s grandmother too.”

“Jack mentioned that as well as the history of the gold rush in this town.”

“Yep. It’s actually why my family settled in these parts at the turn of the twentieth century.” At least I know some of our history from Grandpa’s stories, considering my father never shared much of anything.

“God, I nerd out on this stuff. I keep meaning to ask Beth more.”

“You should. Anyway, gotta clean up,” I say, feeling a bit too nostalgic. That history is why this house meant so much to my grandfather. And here I am, selling it.

Aaron nods. “I’ll bring some paint swatches from the hardware store. Not sure how much of a selection they’ll have, but we’ll find something decent.”

I wave that away. “Anything you think looks good is fine by me.”

“That’s pretty trusting of you.” When he grins toothily, I can see his appeal. He’s a good-looking guy with a sweet personality.

As I’m finishing my shower, my cell rings with a call from my agent, Ken.

“How’s it going, Micah?”

I put him on speaker as I slip into a pair of sweats. “Okay. And you?”

“Fine, especially since I’ve got some news.” I hold my breath as he blurts, “You scored an audition for Cold Blade.” It’s a crime drama series that’s been around for more than a decade.

“Are you serious?” My head spins as I pace my room. “The timing couldn’t be worse.”

“You’ve got a couple of weeks to figure it out. If I were you, I’d get my ass back to LA for the audition.”

“Can you email me the script?” I’m already calculating the driving distance against my schedule for the boat and ashes, but it should all work out.

“Will do. And, Micah? I think this might be your big break.”

My stomach bottoms out. Not only because I feel so far away, but because I’m not sure what that means anymore. Hollywood doesn’t feel as shiny or promising, not like it did when I first arrived, but maybe this is everything I’ve been working toward. A steadier paycheck and a higher profile that could lead to other opportunities.

15

JOHN

Micah holds the urn over the side of the boat. “Thanks, Grandpa, for providing me a safe place to live. For being an example of hard work and discipline. You taught me a lot.”

Micah anchored the boat beyond the break wall because Rosie gets seasick. She took a motion illness pill just in case, but looking at her now, with unshed tears in her eyes as she grips the handrail and sways along with the whitecaps, I can’t tell if she’s emotional or about to puke.

Grandpa Malone made it clear he did not want a public service, and I have to believe he’d be content with this small, quiet display of commiseration.

“I’m sorry for all the stupid mistakes I made after you took me in. I’m a better person because of you, and I’m trying to make you proud.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. I think back to Micah admitting that LA is not all it’s cracked up to be, and I wonder if making his grandfather proud is another reason he’s hung in there so long. Like he’s trying to make it up to him—the cheating and trouble and disappointment he brought him.

Micah meets Rosie’s gaze. “Anything to add?”

She shakes her head. Anything she has to say to her former employer and friend is in silent prayer as she grips her cross necklace.

I utter my own thank-you to Grandpa Malone for bringing Micah into my life.

He takes a deep breath. “Okay, then. Ready?”

Rosie places her hand on the urn Micah’s holding, and together, they dump his ashes into the ocean. The current spreads them before they sink under the waves.

I clear my throat, choking up while watching them as I imagine my family members in their own watery graves. But I need to be strong for Micah like he was for me after my parents’ memorial service.

He offers me a sad, trembling smile, wrecked but trying to hold it together.

We’re silent as he pulls the anchor and starts the engine, heading back to shore, Rosie’s gaze never leaving the spot in the water where the ashes disintegrated and disappeared from sight. When we dock, I jump out to tie the boat.

Micah drives us back to his grandfather’s house, where I say my goodbyes. “I have to open the bar, but if you need me to stay, I can ask⁠—”

“No, I’ll be okay,” he replies with a tremulous grin. “Thanks for coming with me. You too, Rosie.”

“Thanks for including me. I will never forget Mr. Malone.” She frowns as she looks toward her car parked on the road. “I suppose this is goodbye for me too.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Micah chokes out as if Rosie leaving means his grandfather is really gone. I don’t move toward my own car, considering the option of staying with him this afternoon.

“There’s not much left to clear out,” Rosie says. “The rest should be sorted through by you.” She’s referring to the paperwork and mementos Grandpa Malone would undoubtedly want Micah to handle. “Soon, the house will be sold, and you’ll go back to LA.”

“You’re right. Not sure how long any of that will take. But at least come inside and let me make some lunch. There’s a few more angel statues I want to ask you about.”

She must notice how much he needs that connection with her, and likely she does too. As it was, Micah allowed her to take any keepsakes she wanted. No doubt they’ll reminisce some more over soup and sandwiches.

Relieved that Micah won’t be alone, I pop open my driver-side door. “You’re always welcome at the Witching Hour, Rosie.”

She dips her head. “Thank you.”

As I get in my car and pull out of the drive, I see Micah watching me, looking shell-shocked—and maybe also guilty about leaving Aqua Vista again.

Seth helps me open the bar, but it ends up being a slow night, giving me too much time to think.

I nearly balk at Beth arriving, though she’s been way better about not offering unsolicited advice. In recent weeks, she’s been making nightly appearances for a glass of wine, and I can’t help wondering if she’s lonely.

“Evening, Johnny. Everything all right?” She slides onto a stool. “You seem lost in thought.”

I open my mouth, then think better of it. Nodding, I pour her wine, then take a beer to a customer sitting across the bar. She sips her drink and chats with Seth. Soon enough, I’m pulled into the conversation involving the memorial service for Grandpa Malone today.

“I’m glad Micah carried out his wishes. I bet it was lovely.”

“It was,” I admit. When Seth walks away, I blurt, “Do you think people around here still remember the fishing incident?”

“With Micah and his grandad?” she asks, and I nod. “The old-timers definitely would.”

I sigh. “It sucks that he still carries that regret.”

“We all carry some around, don’t we?”

“Yeah, suppose so.” Looking back, I have many regarding my parents and Micah that I’ve had to swallow down and live with.

When our eyes meet, I can see the regret in hers too about any number of things, from her relationship with the deceased love of her life to her beef with Jack in the early days of our family’s grief. Neither of us has any room to place blame.

She twirls the stem of her wineglass. “The way I see it, letting people be wrong about you takes strength and resilience.”

Whatever anyone says about Beth, she’s usually dead-on not only in her intuition, but her wisdom too.

“True. You can never tell what battle someone is fighting inside.”

“With strangers, yes. Which is why I always try to lead with kindness.”

As if she summoned him, Walter steps inside, and I’m hoping he can hold his liquor tonight. Beth had been kind enough to drive him home the other night and even tolerates the rumors about her family he’s spread over the years. I don’t know how she does it, and I suddenly see her in a new light.

Once Walter slides onto a stool next to Mr. Kosta from the fruit stand, she turns back to me. “Micah may carry lots of regrets, but I don’t think any were ever about you. He’s always been sure of his love for you.”

My breath catches.

“Is that how you felt about Alise?”

Her eyes cloud at the name of the woman she loved, who was lost in a freak accident in the mountains. Jack thinks she grieves not being able to save her. “Definitely. Still am all these years later.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“I figured you would.” She retrieves money from her wallet and stands to leave.

I watch in a fog as she does, and my thoughts are interrupted by Walter. “Gonna serve me or what?”

I barely keep from rolling my eyes. “Sure thing. The usual?”

At the end of the night, I head home, and the first thing I do is shower off the grime of the day.

As I’m drying off, I hear a faint knock on my door, as if the visitor is unsure about disturbing me. Given that it’s well past midnight, it better be important.

I throw on sweats and head to the entryway. As soon as I see who it is, I understand the hesitation. Micah stands rigidly, his hands loosely balled at his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. I fling open the door and usher him inside.

“I just…” His gaze is wary, his expression so helpless that I can’t help but pull him into my arms and rub soothing circles on his back. It feels so profoundly familiar that my heart aches at the tenderness of the moment.

It’s not like we haven’t sought each other out before, leaned into the safety of each other’s arms, but if I know Micah, this is about something altogether different. It stems from his grief from earlier, from spreading his grandfather’s ashes. But it’s also more visceral than that.

My mouth finds his ear. “Tell me what you need.”

His eyes spring to mine and soften. “I…I need to forget for a while.”

I consider asking if he wants to talk about his feelings, about the loss of his grandfather, but I’d rather he call the shots. He came to me, nobody else, and right now, he needs whatever he thinks I can provide. And I’m more than happy to oblige.

I gather his face in my hands and stare into his eyes, but I see no regret or indecision. I press my lips to his, kissing him slowly and gently. But it doesn’t seem like enough as he moans and sways. His fingers fumble for the waistband of my sweats, and he tugs downward until my half-stiff shaft is exposed. He licks his lips, and as he stares at my cock, it hardens to full mast.

Micah sinks to his knees, his mouth on me in an instant. He licks the head and sucks lightly on the crown before engulfing the length.

“Fuck, honey.” I grip his head. “How about we get somewhere more comfortable?”

Not that I want him to stop. I only want to be able to savor anything he offers.

“Good point.”

I lead him to my bedroom, where we get busy removing our clothes. We fall back on the bed, him on top, and when our cocks slot together, he ruts against me.

My hands grip his cheeks. “Damn, this ass of yours.”

He moans as his mouth covers mine, and soon enough, our tongues are licking and tasting and battling, our lips swollen, our shafts stiff.

He drags his mouth away to catch his breath and rests his forehead against mine.

“Is this what you needed?” I murmur.

He reaches between us, swipes a finger against my slit, then lifts it to suck off the precome. “Not quite.”

I growl, hauling his face to mine and pushing my tongue deep inside his mouth. We wrestle for position, and before I know what’s happening, we’ve flipped, with him on his back and me panting down at him.

Micah scoots back against the pillow, urging me along with him. Gripping my thighs, he draws me toward his chest, and now I’m straddling his waist with my cock in reach of his mouth.

“Ah, hell,” I bite out as he leans forward and suckles the head briefly before swallowing me whole, bobbing and expertly using his tongue.

His fingers curl around my nut sac, lighting me up like an electric socket as he eggs me on. “Fuck my mouth.”

I inch my knees closer, and then we get in a rhythm where I rock my hips and moan as my shaft hits the back of his throat. “Oh God, feels incredible.”

For his part, Micah looks so blissed out, so turned on from pleasuring me, I wish I could get my hands on him too. This close, I can smell his spicy, invigorating scent, and as I’m on the verge of exploding, I reach for his hair and burrow my fingers, holding on for dear life as he rocks my world.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

He grips my thighs and doubles down as my vision blurs and my come fills his mouth. I screw my eyes shut to ride out my orgasm, and soon enough, I feel too hypersensitive and have to slide my cock from his mouth.

“So hot,” he murmurs as I roll to the other side of the bed and lie there gasping for air, unable to form words. When his hand brushes mine in the space between us, the ache in my chest intensifies. Wanting to feel our connection, I entwine our fingers, and he doesn’t pull away, only holds on tighter.

When I’ve finally caught my breath enough to look at him, I can see he’s still hard, his pretty cock curved and flushed. “Let me take care of you.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Please, I want to.” I lift our joined hands to kiss his knuckles. “Tell me what you need.”

Without a word, he releases his grasp and rolls onto his stomach. Since he knows I’m spent and won’t be able to get it up again anytime soon, I get the message loud and clear.

My fingers graze his ass cheeks, making him shiver. I lift to my knees and grab handfuls of his plump globes, admiring his smooth skin. He burrows his head in my pillow and lifts his ass, pleading in his own way to make him feel good.

So I do, parting his cheeks and running my finger down his crack, watching as his skin pebbles from anticipation. I blow on his hole, making him squirm and moan before burying my face in his crack. I lick and suck, snacking on his pink and tender hole like it’s candy. When the skin has softened enough, I poke my tongue inside and fuck him with it.

“Please, J, make me come just like this,” he sobs as he rocks against me, forcing my tongue deeper.

I grip his hip for leverage, then reach beneath him to grip his cock. I jerk him with uneven strokes as I continue licking and prodding his hole.

“Oh God, yeah, that’s…” Micah throws his head back, his skin flushed, as he spurts his release onto my hand, the remnants coating the sheets.

I release his sensitive shaft and kiss each of his cheeks as well as the small of his back before he collapses in a heap, completely spent.

When I lie back down, his arm blindly reaches for me, and he tugs me into a toe-curling, tender kiss. His fingers feather against the scruff on my jaw as his tongue flicks lazily against mine.

“Did that do the trick?” I murmur against his mouth, still tasting the remnants of my come on his lips.

He nods as his clear gaze meets mine, and for the first time since he showed up at my door tonight, he looks at peace. “Thank you. I…”

“Didn’t want to be alone tonight?”

He stiffens briefly before surrendering with a sigh. “You know me well.”

His fingers graze my arm without him making eye contact, as if he’s embarrassed by the admission.

“Glad you came over,” I whisper against his ear, then nuzzle his neck.

His limbs lose their tension, and I decide it’s not the time for talking. He sought me out for comfort and release, nothing more.

“Come ’ere.” As soon as I hold open my arms, he slides toward me, and I pull him into a tight embrace. His head on my chest, I languidly brush my fingers through his hair and hear him sigh contentedly in response.

I continue stroking and soothing until he falls asleep in my arms. I watch him, his soft breaths, high cheekbones, and eyelashes that curl enticingly upward. Micah is still the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and having him here, so close, so vulnerable, only makes me love him more. Patiently, unconditionally, no matter how far apart we are.

Soon enough, I’m lulled into my own peaceful slumber.

16

MICAH

The morning comes too soon, and I realize I’m still in John’s bed. John’s very cozy bed that I don’t want to leave. I came to him, unable to shake my sorrow, knowing he was the only person who could make me feel better. Who would soothe my soul. And now it’s proving difficult to move and get on with my day.

I force myself to sit up and stretch before rolling out of bed.

He cracks open an eye and watches me fumble around for my clothes.

“Thanks for that,” I mutter, suddenly feeling like a one-night stand.

He smirks. “It’s not like I didn’t get something out of it too.”

We share a smile, but I still feel guilty that I leaned on him. Again.

“What’s on your agenda today?” he asks around a yawn. “More fishing?”

“Actually, no. I have some lines to learn for an upcoming audition I really don’t want to miss.”

He sits up on his elbows. “Yeah? What’s it for?”

“Have you heard of the crime drama Cold Blade?”

“Of course. Who hasn’t?” His tone is sharp, his excitement evident. “You’re auditioning for them?”

I like that he still supports me, but I can also see that glint in his eyes. The idea of Hollywood has a way of making people think it’s glamorous when it’s usually not—maybe with the exception of awards shows and all the gowns and tuxedos.

“It’s for a side character. Not many lines, but if I get the part, it might turn into a recurring role for the most popular show I’ve ever worked on. Good for the résumé.” I wince and look away. I nearly regret telling him because if I don’t get the part, then I’m a failure again.

He smiles. “Then you should definitely get rehearsing. When’s the audition?”

“End of next week. I’ll have to leave town for a couple of days.”

He winks. “We’ll manage fine while you’re gone.”

“Ha-ha,” I lob back, though it stings, and I deserve it.

He sits upright and stretches his arms. “But seriously, Aaron will be fine without you.”

I locate a shoe under the bed, then fish around on the floor for the other one. “Of course, he will. So far, he’s amazing. I only hope he doesn’t need anything while I’m gone.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go check on him.”

“That would be cool, unless…” I bite my lip, afraid to say what I’m thinking.

He tilts his head. “Unless what?”

I wince, my stomach bottoming out. “Unless you want to come with me?”

I hear his restrained gasp. “To LA?”

“It would only be for twenty-four hours—forty-eight tops.”

“I have a bar to run.”

I expected that reaction, and it makes me regret asking. “I know you do, but unless I’m wrong, you rarely take time off.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, maybe thinking better of making another biting comment about me not being around long enough to know his schedule.

“And if I did take the day off, you think I’d want to go on an all-day road trip?”

“Yeah, you’re right, never mind.” I stand and slip into my shoes.

His hand grips my wrist. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. It might be hard for me to see you thriving, but maybe it would also be good.”

I meet his gaze. “How so?”

“I don’t know exactly. But a visit there is long overdue,” he admits, which surprises me. I know he doesn’t enjoy the city, and maybe part of me still wishes he did. “Plenty between us is long overdue,” he adds, likely referencing our separation.

I nod. “We could discuss our divorce while we’re on the road.”

Seeming hesitant, he says, “What is there to discuss?”

“Maybe how to file. And if you feel like you’re ready to go for it, then we can fill out the forms and drop them at the courthouse.”

My chest seizes as I watch him go through a series of emotions, from surprise to sorrow. I reach for him, unable to hold back. I sit and wind our fingers together. I will never not love how our physical connection makes my nervous system respond—soothed and thrilled at the same time.

“I suppose closure is something we need,” John says. “But it still makes me want to resist, and I can’t understand why.”

“Or,” I suggest, “we keep being married, fucking like we mean it, and then living without each other.”

He screws his eyes shut and swears under his breath. “Maybe I will come with you. Let me see if I can arrange something.”

Relief floods my system, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

Back at the house, I greet Aaron, who’s standing on a tarp with a roller in hand and paint cans spread around him.

“You look like you had a rough morning—or night?”

I glance at my disheveled clothes, my cheeks heating.

“Sorry, none of my business.” He quickly changes the subject. “Rosie told me you spread Mr. Malone’s ashes yesterday.”

“Yeah, it was a nice send-off.” My gaze darts around the rooms. “Why was Rosie here? Was she looking for me?”

Our final lunch together was nice. We talked more in-depth about Grandpa, and I realized how well she’d gotten to know him. I’m hoping to keep in touch with her after I leave.

“Not exactly. She said she changed her mind about keeping something you offered her?”

“Oh yeah. The angel collection. She really likes those figurines, and I’ll have no use for them.” Besides, it makes me feel good that she’ll cherish something of Grandpa’s.

“He collected angels?” Aaron asks, his gaze swinging to the leftover boxes in the foyer. I get why it surprises him. Most of the hoarding involved paper products, fishing gear, useless tools, and broken trinkets.

“Honestly? I think he did it for her.” Grandpa wasn’t religious in any way, shape, or form, not like Rosie is. “He must’ve known she liked them, so he kept amassing more, displaying them in different rooms so she could see them.”

Aaron smiles sadly. “That was so nice of him.”

“He had his moments.” I swallow roughly. “Well, I’m gonna⁠—”

“Before you head upstairs, what do you think of this color?”

I glance at the wall he’s recently painted. It’s a cross between beige and tan.

“I like it fine.”

“Just fine, huh?”

Fuck, now I sound ungrateful. I’ve never been much for decor—not like I’ve ever owned a place of my own. Obviously, I’m perfectly fine renting a tiny room in LA.

“Sorry, have a lot on my mind. I’m totally grateful you know what you’re doing and can help me with these decisions.”

“Of course.” When he smiles, I blow out a breath. “Hey, have a drink with me later? I brought some bubbly and put it in the fridge.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“A toast to your grandfather, whom I’ve never met but feel like I have working in his house surrounded by his things.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

He waves a hand. “I get overly sentimental about these things. It’s just… He obviously enjoyed the architecture style and time period, given some of the things he collected.”

His insight catches me by surprise. “What do you mean?”

He dips his head as if embarrassed. “I know it’s silly, but I notice that a lot of the magazines and newspapers he held on to had articles depicting the Renaissance period or Gothic Revival.”

I blink, considering all the stuff we tossed that seemed like pure junk, but I suppose there was a method to the madness. “Holy shit. You’re right.” It also explains why he was so hooked on historical documentaries and shows. If only I’d connected the dots…

Aaron has only been here for a short time, but it’s as if he knows my grandfather better than I do. I suddenly feel guilty for not appreciating his interests or asking more questions to get to know him better.

“Architectural nerd here,” he calls after me as I excuse myself to head upstairs. “Just ignore me.”

I’m actually glad he pointed it out, and I’ll have to thank him again after I gather myself and my emotions. “I’ll be back down in a bit for that toast.”

17

JOHN

I sweep fallen twigs from the deck to prep for my family’s arrival. It’s our usual monthly get-together that we try hard not to miss. The tradition started with my parents, and thanks to Aunt Dina’s urging, we still carry it on without fail.

I’m still distracted by Micah’s invitation to accompany him to LA and continue to feel conflicted about my answer. I have a feeling that once Grandpa Malone’s house is sold, that’s it for Micah and the town of Aqua Vista. It’s possible I’ll never see him again.

Christ, will I ever get over this man?

Maybe not in this lifetime.

As I season the meat, I feel a yearning for a heart-to-heart with my mom. She would know what to do in this situation. Instead, maybe I’ll ask my siblings for advice before Micah arrives. I invited him this morning by text because he’s been part of this tradition, and I’d like him here for nostalgia’s sake. And for my sake. Besides, he’s alone and might appreciate the company.

I fire up the grill and think about LA. Struggling with the decision is about more than just leaving my business in other people’s hands. It’s not like I never disappear for a few hours for a hookup or to get supplies, but it’s true that I’m so damned tied to my bar that a road trip feels strange, let alone with Micah. I’ll admit I felt like a fish out of water the time I visited him in the city, so maybe it’s a good idea to experience that again, maybe gain a new perspective. It might help settle things once and for all.

Besides, if this is his big break and he gets his dream role, then the distance will feel even greater. And I’ll be happy for him because it’s what he wants. And probably what he needs.

Maybe after those divorce papers are signed and we go our separate ways, I’ll even make a concerted effort to date again.

Soon enough, my family starts arriving. First Jack with Aaron, then June with Cain, followed by Aunt Dina and Uncle Chuck.

“What’s on the grill tonight?” Jack asks.

“Baby back ribs.”

“Good to know in case I don’t recognize them after they burn.”

I point the spatula at him. “Better watch out, or I’ll char your portion.”

He holds his hands up and laughs before retreating to the kitchen for a wine opener. I glance toward the driveway, wondering what’s taking Micah so long. When June joins Jack to store her side dish in the refrigerator, I step inside.

“Hey, before I forget to mention it, I might take off a couple of days at the end of next week. Ross will hold down the fort, but do you think you could check on the bar for me while I’m gone?”

They both stare at me like I’ve grown two heads.

“You’re never gone,” June says once she’s recovered. “What’s up?”

“Micah has an important audition in LA and invited me to go with him.”

They share a look, and Jack says, “And you decided that was a good idea?”

“I don’t know. Still thinking it through. He brought along the divorce papers and thought it might be a good time to file them.”

“Did he really?” June asks.

“Why so surprised? You said it needs to be done.”

Jack folds his arms. “But do you know it?”

“Of course I do. We’ll always be friends and think fondly of each other.”

“Speak of the devil,” June says, glancing out the window. My heart clenches as I watch Micah greet my family. Aunt Dina offers a hug and Cain a high five.

We head outside, and when our eyes meet, my stomach flutters like it always does—especially recollecting him in the throes of passion last night.

He hesitates behind an open seat at the table. “Hope it’s okay John invited me.”

June smiles. “It’s all good.”

“Glad to have you,” Uncle Chuck says as Micah plops down, relief in his features.

Now I wonder if he was late because he was nervous about what my family would think. But none of them act surprised to see him. We’ve always been tied at the hip, legally separated or not.

“Just like old times,” Micah blurts, then winces.

Everyone grows quiet because it’s actually not, in any way, shape, or form. Not without our three missing family members, preceded by Micah leaving well before the accident.

Right on cue, Frank shows up. He only joins us occasionally, though the invite is always open. “If it were like old times, Mr. McCoy would be yelling from behind the grill for someone to get a move on, and Mrs. McCoy would tell him to pipe down.”

Everyone laughs, and it’s enough to break the tension.

“Yeah, and Dan would be playing ball with Cain in the middle of it all.”

“Shit yeah, while I tried to keep up.” Cain chuckles humorlessly. “He would always make me try other sports.”

“That’s because he didn’t want you to break your neck on the waves,” Jack reminds him, and Aaron frowns.

“But it was okay on the football field?” Cain replies with a snort.

“Somehow, it seemed safer to him. And look what happened anyway,” June bites out, then gasps. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s okay. We should talk about them more,” I say to try and smooth it over. “It feels good to remember them as they were.”

June squeezes Cain’s shoulder. “Your dad loved you so much, and yeah, was always worried about you.”

Cain shakes his head. “I wish…”

“Yeah, I know, I wish too.” She swipes a tear before clearing her throat.

“Somebody get me a drink!” Frank says, and Micah chuckles, settling in with his own glass of wine.

Soon enough, dinner is ready, and I place the ribs on a large platter in the center of the table while June retrieves the side dishes from the kitchen.

As we pass around the food, it feels comfortable having Micah here—maybe a little bit like old times. I can see how pleased he is to be around my family again. He picks up where he left off by teasing Cain about girls and sparring with Jack about local politics.

“Does Aqua Vista have a historical society?” Aaron asks, throwing Micah a look, and I have no doubt it’s because of his grandfather’s property.

“They do,” Uncle Chuck replies after wiping his mouth. “They have records dating back nearly two hundred years.”

“No way.” Aaron’s eyes light up. “I’ll have to check that out.”

“Uh-oh,” Jack teases. “You have no idea, but you’ve just opened a can of worms.”

Aunt Dina grins as she studies Micah shoveling a forkful of food into his mouth. “Did you miss my famous potato salad?”

He nods as he swallows. “John’s cooking too.”

“Seriously? This guy’s cooking?” Jack eggs Micah on, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“Considering I’ve been subsisting on restaurant takeout and frozen dinners, this is like a king’s feast,” Micah replies, loading a slab of ribs on his plate.

I puff out my chest. “Admit it, I fed you well.”

His cheeks darken, likely remembering the frequent use of my parents’ kitchen as I cooked dinner for all of us. My mom would make some of our favorite meals, but I enjoyed being an amateur chef. It helped me make the decision to open a kitchen in my bar, with a limited menu of favorites.

“Which reminds me.” Micah wipes the barbecue sauce from his fingers. “You’re still hosting fish fries?”

“Yup, during the spring festival.”

He stares off thoughtfully. “Where do you get your supplies nowadays?”

“From the fish market over in Shark Bay Harbor.”

“You travel that far?”

I hitch a shoulder. “No other options unless I catch it myself.”

“Why don’t you get it from Sleepy Slip?” Normally, there’s an open-air market on the weekends, where you can purchase fresh catch.

“Just haven’t, ever since…” I let the sentence hang between us.

Ever since you left. Or maybe ever since they banished you.

His eyes are wide and searching as we stare at each other. As if he thought it would be business as usual once he was gone instead of my whole world being flipped on its head. My hand lifts to rub the ache in my chest.

As if to save us from ourselves, June says, “So tell us about this audition.”

“What audition?” Aunt Dina asks.

Micah dips his head, never really enjoying being the center of attention. Go figure.

“It’s a small part in Cold Blade.”

“No way,” Uncle Chuck enthuses. “We love that show.”

“What are your lines?” June asks.

I expect Micah to shrink in on himself as if hoping for a hole to open in the ground. Instead, he squares his shoulders and says in a low, smoky voice, “No way anyone thought a murder would happen here. Not in this town. It’s normally a quiet, orderly place to live. People leave their doors unlocked, for Christ’s sake.”

June and Aunt Dina clap, and Aaron whoops it up. I feel something like pride set up camp in my chest. “It’s like you’re good at this acting thing or something.”

June gives me a sad smile because it’s true, which means he belongs somewhere other than here, and I need to finally accept that.

His eyes soften as his cheeks flush. “Guess I’m all right.”

After answering a couple more questions about Hollywood, the subject switches to the surfing competition Cain ranked in, setting him up for the semifinals.

“That’s freaking amazing,” Micah says, and Cain beams. And as if trying to soak up all the updates he can get while still in town, Micah asks, “Frank, how is the service station?”

“He wouldn’t know. He’s been gone,” Jack teases Frank.

Jack is still temporarily involved in the business until all the paperwork is squared away. But also, I suspect, because it’s hard to let go of something my parents built, even if he trusts Frank to take good care of it.

“Where to?” Micah asks.

Frank looks sheepish. “A car show in San Jose.”

Micah looks confused. “San Jose?”

“His friend Rocco invited him,” I add.

“Rocco is my business partner,” Aaron explains.

“They go alllll the time,” Jack jokes in an exaggerated tone.

“Okay, enough.” Frank points his fork at his best friend. “You can mock me, but the shows do keep me up to date on newer—or older—models that might find their way into my garage.”

“Uh-huh, up to date,” Jack deadpans, and Frank tosses a rib bone at him.

“What am I missing?” Micah whispers, amused.

“Nothing really, just their usual ribbing.”

His gaze meets mine. “Glad to see some things remain the same.”

18

MICAH

Are we really doing this? It’s early morning, and we’ve traded yawns, but as we get on the highway, it feels as natural as it always did. Foreign too, though, because we’re driving toward the life I’ve created away from John and Aqua Vista.

“We need some tunes,” John declares. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on a road trip.”

I fiddle with the buttons, navigating to the closest radio broadcast, which is some pop song, and when he starts singing, I join in, off-key.

He pretends he has a microphone, and we laugh as we continue hamming it up for the whole song. It definitely lightens the tension between us, as well as the mood regarding the end result this trip might bring—our divorce.

As we drive by stunning ocean views, I think about how connected we all were as kids. “Remember that time we took our paddleboards out and Cain broke away from June and came running toward the water, begging to take him with us?”

“Uh-huh. That was only the beginning of his obsession with the water and wanting to surf,” he muses.

“Does that mean we egged him on by convincing his parents he’d be safe with us?”

He chuckles. “Maybe so. But I have a feeling if it wasn’t us, it would’ve been someone else. Anyone who would help him get out there.”

“True. Guess some people really do have a calling.”

He’s quiet a moment before he asks, “Do you think you do?”

“I don’t know. Being back on the pier the last couple of weeks makes me wonder what would’ve happened had I not cheated in the competition and been thrown out.”

He stifles a gasp. “Do you think you would’ve followed in Grandpa Malone’s footsteps?”

I hitch a shoulder. “I really can’t see it, but maybe?”

“Being a fisher is a hard life,” John points out, and I nod. “Is that why you did it? You thought it would help your grandfather somehow?”

I rub the ache above my breastbone. I haven’t thought about my motivation in a long time. “Something like that. His boat needed repairs, and he’d had a rough year on Calamity Jane due to the long drought. But mainly, it was impulsive. I was mad at the world and didn’t consider the consequences.”

One of the worst mistakes in my life. Leaving John was one too, but I didn’t see any alternatives other than being miserable. And like it or not, that would’ve affected him too. Maybe even more than my actual leaving.

The hours tick by as we reminisce and debate random topics. He tells me how he’s included not only an annual fish fry but also a summer rib fest on the back patio of his bar. He sounds happy, his business is thriving, and it makes me realize he’s right where he’s always belonged. In Aqua Vista with his family and their roots. I have roots there too, but they certainly don’t run as deep, not with my upbringing.

About four hours into the trip, I notice an exit sign with different amenities. “Want to stop for a restroom break?”

“Sounds good. Would be nice to stretch my legs.”

We pull into a fast-food restaurant and park near the door. “Nothing like junk food on a road trip.”

“The calories don’t count.”

We devour burgers, fries, and sodas before getting back on the road.

By the time we pull into Los Angeles County limits, it’s nearing dinnertime and congested. It takes forever to find an empty spot on the street near my apartment building, and it’s obvious we’ve both had enough of being stuck in a car. I see the stress lines on his forehead relax when I finally cut the engine.

“Well, at least you have more options around here than at your last place,” he says as he checks out the stores and restaurants within walking distance. I relocated to a much less sketchy place a few years ago, on La Brea, on the outskirts of West Hollywood. “Looks like you’re moving up in the world.”

I can only afford to rent a room, and I don’t have my own garage space, so I know he’s only being generous. “Don’t do that.”

John releases the grip on his bag. “What?”

“Make excuses for me. I know I abandoned our marriage.”

“Where the hell did that come from? I wasn’t even referring—” Pushing open the passenger-side door, he sighs. “You know that’s not how I see it.”

“Maybe you should,” I say over the roof of the car. “It’ll make it easier.”

“What? Our divorce?”

“Shit, we forgot to discuss it on the way up.”

He smirks, breaking the tension. “We were too busy goofing off and reminiscing.”

“True.” I smile. “Maybe we can hash out the details during dinner.”

“Not sure a no-fault divorce has many details to hammer out, but sure,” he mutters. “Unless something has changed?”

I shake my head. We’d agreed we would take the most collaborative divorce path since we weren’t adversaries, and we’d already divvied up possessions after the separation.

I text my roommate to let him know I’m here as we walk up to the front entrance. I key into the door and quickly check my mailbox in the hall before heading up the stairs to the second floor. John is quiet, scrutinizing the building, which is dated but clean, unlike my old place.

“Hey, Dennis. How’s it going?” I greet him as I step inside my apartment. I motion to John. “This is my⁠—”

“Husband, John, soon-to-be ex.” He holds out his hand while I stifle a gasp at the flippant comment. “Nice to meet you.”

Dennis smiles as their palms connect. “Welcome. I’ve heard all about you.”

John’s widened gaze swings to me, then back to Dennis. “Have you?”

Had John really thought otherwise?

Now Dennis is making eyes at me. “Hope that was cool to mention?”

I thump him on the shoulder. “Of course, all good.”

After small talk about our drive down, we head to my room. It’s small and cramped, but he doesn’t point it out. I feel silly, like a college kid who can’t afford the rent, and the truth is, most days, I can’t, subsisting on meals from the restaurant where I work and microwaveable food. And sometimes I ask myself how I got here. Not only because it’s expensive living in this town, but I’m hard-pressed to admit that I’ve never felt completely settled in LA. The lie I tell myself is that I will as soon as I get my big break.

“Do you share a bathroom too?” John asks.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, just gotta take a leak.”

“It’s down the hall,” I mutter.

I tidy up while he’s in there, embarrassed by my pile of clothes in the corner. To my credit, I left within twenty-four hours of hearing about my grandfather. As I toss my jeans in the hamper, I remember that I was way neater when John and I lived together, mostly because it was his parents’ house.

Grandpa never cared about my habits unless they imposed upon his collection of clutter. I wish I’d paid better attention to the things he held on to as opposed to tossing them. Come to think of it, he was pretty insistent on going through the mail and disposing of the trash himself. I always thought it was because he didn’t want me to lose any important papers or see any of the bills piling up.

When John returns, I take my turn in the bathroom. I stare at my reflection as I wash my hands, scarcely believing that John is actually here with me. Like I always pictured. But dreams certainly do not reflect our reality.

“Wanna get some food?” I ask from the doorway.

“Sounds good.”

He follows me out to the living room to slip into our shoes. My plan is to discuss the divorce during our meal, but John invites Dennis to tag along.

“You sure you don’t mind?” Dennis asks.

“Of course not,” I reply, honestly a bit relieved, and soon enough, we’re out the door and walking the few blocks to WeHo.

“This area is awesome,” John says as he takes in the thriving neighborhood.

“Right?” I playfully bump his shoulder. “It’s the gay mecca of LA.”

“I can see that,” he replies as his gaze snags on some men in leather harnesses in front of a gay bar. “Plus, there’s tons of restaurants to choose from.”

“Too many sometimes,” Dennis points out. “How about this taco place?”

John smiles, either because someone else made the decision or the fact that the place is unpretentious. “Sounds good to me.”

We step inside the small place with the Día de los Muertos decor and grab a booth. Once our margaritas and guac are delivered and our taco orders placed, Dennis asks, “So, you were raised in Aqua Vista?”

I watch as John licks the salt from his lips, and I have the urge to do it for him. I look away as he replies, “Yep.”

“I bet it’s picturesque.”

He nods. “Small with gorgeous views.”

“Small isn’t such a bad thing. I transferred here from a tiny town outside of Austin.”

“For your job?” John asks as he dips a chip in the guacamole.

“Uh-huh. No way to move up the ladder at that location.”

John winks playfully. “Looks like you needed to spread your wings too.”

Dennis looks between John and me as our eyes connect and hold. There’s tension in the air, but not the kind my roommate might expect. I recognize that playful glint in John’s eyes. He’s trying to make light of the situation. When my foot brushes over his under the table, he clears his throat and his eyes grow dark. He wants me as much as I want him, and the feeling is gratifying after so many years.

“Which reminds me…” Dennis says, and our gazes break apart. Christ, what he must be thinking. “This audition tomorrow sounds important.”

“It could be. If I get the part, it might springboard me to larger roles.”

“I hope it does. Keira was excited to hear it’s for Cold Blade. She said to tell you to break a leg or whatever.” His fiancée is really sweet, and I appreciate the support.

“Thanks.”

When our food is delivered, we scarf down our tacos.

“So, how was returning to Aqua Vista?” Dennis asks me.

“Sort of hard. Because of my grandfather, of course.”

I avoid John’s gaze, leaving out the other reason it’s been difficult.

“So he left you his house?”

“Uh-huh, and his fishing boat.”

Dennis’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. “Fishing?”

“Micah loves to fish,” John says. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Nope.” Dennis wipes his mouth and pushes his plate away. “Now I need to hear more.”

I cover the bases about my grandfather’s job and boat and how I enjoyed going out with him as a kid.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know this about you. So why did you stop?”

The server thankfully brings the check. “That’s a whole other story. For another time.”

19

JOHN

“I’ll sleep on the couch, and you take my bed,” Micah says, reaching for a pillow.

I stare at him. “You’re serious?”

I’m standing shirtless and ready to slip off my jeans, and he averts his eyes. “I don’t want to make any assumptions, J.”

“You’ve already slept in my bed, and unless you mind, I’d like you to stay.”

Relief crosses his features. “I also need to get up early and don’t want to wake you.”

“That’s not a problem.” I place my clothes in a pile on the floor, and we stand on opposite sides of the bed, studying the other’s form, even though we’re more than familiar with each other’s bodies. Not much has changed on Micah’s except maybe being more toned in his chest and arms. His waist is still lean, the freckles above the waistband fanning out in a pattern I’ve explored with my fingers and mouth. The growing outline of his cock against his briefs makes my mouth run dry. Before I melt under his hot gaze, I ask, “Mind if I tag along tomorrow?”

His eyes brighten. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. I have a rare opportunity to see you in action.”

I love the flush that crawls across his cheeks. “It might be a long wait. Plenty of actors vying for this.”

“That’s fine. Where else do I have to be?”

He smiles before cutting the overhead light and casting the room in shadow, save for the dimmer lamp on the bedside table. As soon as we slide beneath his comforter, I can smell traces of him on the pillows and sheets. I revel in the scent as we maneuver our limbs to get comfortable. It’s a tight fit, but it feels like old times, when we used to live with my parents. Back then, we didn’t mind being this close, and I still carry that sentiment. Though I’m sure to regret it soon enough. My heart has been splintered and bandaged and fairly mended, but now he’s seeping into the cracks again, and the pain will be palpable. Familiar and profound. But I still won’t pass up one more opportunity to be with him.

As soon as our thighs brush, the hairs on my legs tingle from the contact.

After a few minutes, I realize Micah seems unable to settle, either from nerves or the close quarters.

“You okay?” I ask, willing my cock to behave. Sleep is more important than my libido the night before an audition.

“Yeah, sorry.” His fingers graze against my knee as if he can’t help but touch me too. “Maybe we should’ve slept apart. I don’t want to keep you awake.”

I shift to glance at him. “Or maybe…there’s a better way to help you relax.”

When our eyes meet, he bites back a groan, and without further discussion, we make quick work of discarding our briefs under the covers.

As I’m about to make a suggestion, Micah rolls on top, and I gasp at the feel of his bare torso and stiff shaft against mine. He reaches for my hands and cages them against the pillow above my head. “Is this what you had in mind?”

Hooking my legs around his thighs, I rock upward, which only serves to send a tremor along my nerve endings. “I’m certainly not complaining.”

Micah stares down at me, his eyes dark and needy, and when he bends to take my mouth in a deep, indulgent kiss, I realize this is exactly what I need too.

He releases my fingers to cradle my face, and I sigh against his warm lips. It’s a luxury to be with Micah like this, as if we have all the time in the world. I wish we did.

With my hands free, I can’t resist letting them wander over the knobs of his spine and down to his ass as he trembles against me.

Micah feathers kisses across my cheeks and jaw and against the hollow of my throat. When he rocks his hips, it sends a quake through my system as I adjust to his tender touch ramping up, and in an instant, I’m right there with him. Our kisses turn frantic, our hands greedy. In the quiet of the apartment, with the moonbeams casting banded silhouettes on the walls, this frantic need to join as one feels more like us—the us we used to be. The us we still are. Pressed so close as we use our bodies to bring each other pleasure.

Micah’s eyes are wide and searching, his lips parted, and I try to read the warring emotions in his expression. We watch each other, our lips close, breathing the same air as we rock together in a sensual dance. In that moment, we’re flayed open, our souls bare as we show each other who we are—how wounded and conflicted, apart and together.

My release is bearing down, but I don’t want this to end—this softness, this closeness to Micah. The kind of connection I missed every day for six years, the longing leaving a deep ache in my wounded heart.

“Mic,” I rasp, my eyes telling him everything.

“Me too,” he murmurs against my lips. “Just…a bit longer.”

We grind our hips together as we kiss, rub noses and cheeks, and exchange breaths. Before long, we’re both unmoored and heading for shipwreck, our rutting growing more erratic.

Micah presses his forehead to mine, moaning deep and long as he breaks apart in a surge of release against my stomach. I wrap my legs around him, holding on for dear life as I ride the same wave and crash beneath the surf, our come mixing together on my skin.

Micah flops onto the bed but stays close as we gradually come back to ourselves. We’re a heaving, sticky mess, but neither of us seems to mind. Sated and sleepy, I reach for my shirt to halfheartedly dab my stomach. Before I even finish the task, Micah is snoring softly, finally at ease.

20

MICAH

I wake up with John at my back, and though my arm is numb from being wedged beneath my torso, it feels amazing having him here. In my bed. In my city.

His soft breaths fanning across my neck make me feel warm and shivery all at once, and I never want us to leave this room. In my dream life, I’d have a much larger bed, plus an apartment I actually own.

But today is a big day, a weighty one, and I need to get moving, so I gingerly untangle our limbs.

“Good morning,” he murmurs.

I kiss his cheek. “Gonna jump in the shower.”

He mumbles something unintelligible as I climb out of bed and leave the room.

When I return, showered and changed, he’s fallen back asleep, and I feel guilty waking him again. He might be peeved if I don’t, though, even if he’s changed his mind about coming to my audition.

My mouth finds his ear. “I gotta leave in thirty minutes. You can sleep in or tag along.”

He lifts his head as if determined to hold true to his idea. “Get some coffee in me, and I’ll take a quick shower.”

I pad to the kitchen to get the coffee started, only to realize Dennis already did on his way out the door to work. I pour us both a cup and leave his sitting on the dresser. When he enters the room and spots the mug, his eyes soften. It’s what I used to do for him every morning at his parents’ house because of his late nights working at the bar.

In the car, I’m grateful for John’s silence as I recite my lines in a low rumble, trying to get my nerves under control. His hand on my knee steadies me further. Despite doing this a hundred times, this particular audition seems to weigh more, as if people are counting on me and I don’t want to let them down.

It’s likely just me and my skewed views of success. A job is a job, and I’ve been grateful for all of them. There’s a very good chance I won’t even get the role.

But still, I keep the faith as we traverse traffic into downtown LA and have to park blocks away from the building. We walk up to the fourth floor and into the cramped room filled to the brim with other actors waiting to audition. I check in while John finds us an empty space along the wall. My leg jiggles nervously until John pulls me to a newly vacated seat. He urges me to sit, and I’m grateful, so I can focus my thoughts and my breathing. John chats with the person beside him about the LA traffic, and it reminds me how personable he is. No doubt he can always hold his own.

I recognize a few other actors in the room, having been in this same predicament too many times to count over the years. They seem just as anxious about this one and, like me, aren’t too keen on small talk. Most get called in before me and either smile or frown as they walk out, likely in judgment of their performance.

John studies each person leaving the director’s office as if attempting to determine how well they’ll measure up to me. We switch places, him sitting while I pace next to him. The room slowly clears, and nearly ninety minutes later, they call my name, and by then, I only want it over with. All I can muster is a sobering look in response to John’s encouraging smile. I head toward the woman holding a clipboard and feel John following behind me.

“What are you⁠—”

“I’m his husband,” he tells her. “Is it okay if I wait outside the room to offer him support?”

She smiles sweetly at him, no doubt charmed. I expect him to be told to wait outside, but she allows us both to pass.

Once I get to the casting director’s office, I turn to say something, but John shushes me. “Break a leg. I’ll be right here.”

I walk inside and greet the three very important people in the room, which only sets me on edge. After making small talk and being asked questions about my history in the biz, the room grows quiet. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I nod and straighten, my gaze flicking toward the door, which hasn’t shut completely. I want to mention it because the idea of anyone in the hall hearing me recite my lines is legit terrifying. But it would sound ridiculous.

And then I remember how supportive John has been and genuinely proud, and somehow that bolsters me. I realize how alone I’ve felt in this career, even if it couldn’t be helped. Having John waiting for me behind that door warms my stomach.

Taking a moment to get into character, I recite the lines. I notice them exchange glances but keep their expressions neutral, which is always the case. They never want to sway an actor in one direction or another.

When I’m finished, the casting director smiles. “Good job. You’ll hear from us soon.”

“Thanks for your time.” It’s my go-to exit line, and it feels hollow on my lips.

Upon leaving the room, I’m disappointed to see John having a conversation with a random stranger. “I’m done. We can leave,” I mutter, not wanting him to see my expression. As I move down the hallway, I hear him say his goodbyes to his new friend and then jog to catch up to me.

“Hey.” He reaches for my arm to stop me. “That was amazing.”

“You heard my audition?”

“I listened near the door. Hope that’s okay?”

I nod and blow out a breath. “I wasn’t sure if you… Uh, thanks.” My face feels hot. “Though I can never really tell how I did.”

I follow him through the waiting room, down the stairs, and to the car.

“Well, if it were up to me, I’d give you the part.”

“Appreciate the vote of confidence.” I aim the key fob at my car. “But it’s doubtful I got it. Did you see the room full of talent?”

“Is that how it always is?” he asks as we get into the car.

I hitch a shoulder. “It’s true that Hollywood can feel like a small world with the same people vying for parts. There’s definitely tons of pressure and frustration. I tend to think worst-case scenario so I’m not disappointed too often.”

He doesn’t respond, only stares at me.

“What?”

“Damn, Micah.” He squeezes my thigh, sending a thread of warmth to my stomach. “It must be nerve-racking as hell. I would probably crack under the pressure.”

“Nah, you’d probably thrive, given your resilience and charisma.” I smirk. “You even sweet-talked that woman into letting you stand in the hallway.”

He chuckles. “Maybe she saw how important it was to me.”

Our eyes meet and hold. “Thanks again for being so supportive.”

As I pull away from the curb, he says, “I feel like I understand your motivation a bit more. Not that I didn’t before. It’s just that I can see the drive to try and try again. No experience would feel the same.”

“Maybe. Some people admit they’re dependent on the industry, obsessed with the energy of it. And while I don’t think that’s me, I’ve had this determination to succeed. To be able to make a living, be independent, but I don’t know if the call is as strong for me anymore.”

“It’s probably hard to get back up after being knocked down so many times. But you’re one of the strongest people I know. You take chances and shoot for the stars.”

I shake my head. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You built a successful bar in Aqua Vista. Look at the life you made by sticking to your guns.”

“Is it a life, though?” he counters. “I love what I do and being close to my family. But maybe I’m only existing.”

“I don’t want that for you, John. Nothing would mean more than to see you be happy on all fronts.” Guilt settles in my gut again. “How about some lunch before we hit the road? I’ll grab that envelope from the back seat and bring it inside. Maybe it’s time.”

John only nods as I head toward the restaurant. My heart is throbbing, but I know it’s the right thing to do.

21

JOHN

I swallow roughly as we pass by neighborhoods, some run-down, others thriving. That was not how I expected the conversation to go. I’d hoped he’d forgotten about the divorce papers. Last night, while lying in bed, I was wondering yet again if I could live here with him. I would sell the bar, and maybe we could put our money together to help us buy a little place somewhere. I could find bartending work at one of these many businesses and support Micah’s dreams.

It doesn’t feel exactly right, but maybe it could work.

Once he parks, we head inside a restaurant that reminds me of a 1950s diner. I smile as we order and pay for burger combos at the counter, then slide into a brightly colored booth to wait for our food. It’s a quirky little place that would fit in well in Aqua Vista. Even the server who brings our sodas is wearing an era-style waitress dress with a wide collar and name tag.

I wait as Micah takes his first sip. “Could you ever see me living in LA with you?”

“Honestly? No.” He frowns, and my stomach bottoms out. “No matter how much I would love to have you here with me, you wouldn’t be happy.”

“Just like you weren’t in Aqua Vista?”

“I suppose.” He glances in the distance. “I don’t think you’d enjoy living in a city. Aqua Vista and the bar, that suits you.”

I square my jaw, not only because he’s right, but because it solidifies for me that he’s content here and this is probably the end for us.

“How bad do you want to sell the house and disappear from small-town memories?” I laugh humorlessly.

“I never want to leave you, J.” The anguish in his expression makes my gut churn. “I’ll admit I’m appreciating more things this time around.”

My eyes spring to his. “Like what?”

“Hanging with you, of course.”

I wink. “That’s a given.”

He chuckles, which helps lighten the mood.

“Fishing has sort of inspired me again. It feels good to hold my rod. Did I tell you I found it way back in the closet?”

My lips part in surprise. “So he didn’t get rid of it after all?”

Grandpa Malone was so angry. He knew disposing of his pole would be punishment enough for Micah. That and being unwelcome anywhere near the docks.

“You might’ve been right.” He sips his soda thoughtfully. “Maybe it was Grandpa’s plan to get me back on the docks. And on his boat.”

“I’m convinced,” I reply as our food is served. “You know of any fishing docks in the area to scout out?”

He shakes his head. “Guess I’ll have to ask around. Maybe Dennis will know or friends from work.”

That sits heavy in my gut. The idea that he might pick up where he left off as a fisher except here instead. But what did I expect?

After we eat in comfortable silence, I suggest, “Did you want to stop by work before we leave town?”

My request is sort of selfish because I wouldn’t mind seeing where he spends most of his nights.

“That would only confuse the situation. I’m lucky my boss gave me extended time off and that my job will be waiting for me when I return.”

I crumble the wrapper my burger came in. “Maybe you won’t have to return at all.”

He swallows his last bite. “What do you mean?”

“That you’ll get the part, duh.” I wink.

“Oh yeah. That.” He averts his eyes. “I told you I don’t set myself up for disappointment.”

I push my tray aside. “I get that, but I’m proud of you. You’ve worked hard and really improved over the years. Your acting is great.”

“Thanks. Too bad I haven’t been able to break in anywhere.”

I tap his hand. “Maybe this is the one.”

Micah hitches a shoulder as if unable to allow that idea to take hold, and it unsettles me. “I’m proud of you too, you know.”

I swallow my fry. “For what?”

“Like I said, look at the business you created all on your own. It’s become the Aqua Vista watering hole.”

“More like water cooler.” I smirk. “I hear all the gossip.”

“But you’re built for that, always have been. I’m not really made for Hollywood, even if I do love the acting part.”

“Maybe that’s what’s blocking you—not fully believing in yourself.”

He arches a brow. “You think?”

“Worth a shot. Positive thinking, manifestation, and all that.”

He chuckles. “Like those ridiculous affirmation cards Beth carries in her shop.”

We share a smile.

I lean toward him and murmur, “I’ll be okay, and so will you. I have to trust that.”

He nods as the server refills our sodas.

“Which reminds me.” He lifts the manila envelope and pulls out a stack of papers.

“Wow, that’s a lot to file.”

“It is.” He winces. “A bit more complicated than our separation.”

“Suppose it makes sense,” I reply, studying the forms. Since it’s final.

“It works the same in that one of us files the initial petition for dissolution and pays the court fee.”

“I’ll split the cost with you.”

“Appreciate that.” He fans out three pages. “But along with the petition and summons forms, there’s also a property disclosure form.”

“You mean Grandpa Malone’s house and boat?”

“Uh-huh. I didn’t own them during our separation. But now that I do…”

“I don’t want any of it,” I blurt out. “It doesn’t belong to me. Just like you didn’t want anything to do with me inheriting my parents’ house.”

“I figured you’d say that. But we still have to fill out the forms.”

The server leaves us alone while we’re sorting through the documents. We agree on everything in the dissolution, even the wording of irreconcilable differences. When all is said and done, there are a couple of areas we can’t answer without looking into our own records.

“I can get that information to you once we’re back in Aqua Vista.”

“Sounds good. And when I return to LA, I’ll officially file at the courthouse.”

I feel a cold punch to my chest. “What happens after that?”

“They send you a summons, a court date is set, and according to the website where I downloaded the forms, it’ll take about six months.”

I watch, unable to speak, as he collects and stores the forms in the envelope.

“Well, that feels heavy,” Micah mutters, filling in the silence where I can’t.

“But it’s what you want,” I blurt, feeling raw and achy.

“It’s not what either of us wants.” His expression fills with sorrow and regret. “But it’s what we need.”

“Yeah, I know.” I try for humor. “Unfortunately, I’ll no longer be able to get out of hookups by admitting I’m married.”

His eyes widen. “Do you really?”

“Nah.” I smirk. “I let people know upfront that I’m legally separated.”

“Yeah, same.” A flush dots his cheeks. “Well, not for every hookup.”

My stomach sours, but still, I have to ask. “Have you ever dated anyone?”

“Why would I?”

“Because we haven’t been together in years?”

“But you’re the only one I ever wanted to be with.”

Goddamn, this man will be the death of me. He says all the right things, but it doesn’t matter because we can’t make it work. And trying again might be even more painful.

Our eyes connect, and I hope Micah sees all the underpinnings of truth in mine. That no one could ever take his place. He will always be the love of my life.

I slide out of the booth. “Maybe our divorce will free you up to find some companionship in this godforsaken town.”

“Don’t count on it,” he mutters, following me out.

22

MICAH

The twinge in my chest feels like barbed wire. Fuck, filling out those forms seemed definitive. And not in a good way.

Yet here we are, singing and hamming it up four hours into our drive back to Aqua Vista.

Because we’re friends and we still love each other.

I pull into a fast-food place for a quick dinner, a bathroom break, and to stretch our legs. We decide to take our food to go and eat on the way.

John is behind the wheel now, and the car is quiet as we prepare to eat. Just like old times, I unwrap his chicken sandwich and place it on top of napkins in his lap before taking a bite of my own.

It comes so naturally he doesn’t even blink. “Thanks.”

When he’s halfway done, I feed him some fries dipped in ketchup because I know he likes that, but also so we don’t make too much of a mess. He laughs when I wipe some mayo off his mouth with a napkin, and I have the urge to follow the motion with a kiss. But now that we’ve made a final decision about our divorce, it doesn’t seem appropriate.

“Do you think maybe we were never meant to be?” I hold my breath as I clean up the wrappers and ketchup packets and place the empties in the bag at my feet.

“I don’t know. I always hoped it just wasn’t the right time.”

“Yeah, same.” I sigh. “Were you serious about living in LA?”

He hitches a shoulder. “Not like I haven’t considered it a thousand times over the years. I think, eventually, one of us would end up resenting the other.”

“Suppose it’s easier said than done. On my worst days, I pretended, though.”

He glances my way. “Pretended?”

“That one day you’d show up in a moving truck.”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Early on, I thought maybe I could do it.”

“Like the time you stayed in LA for a couple of weeks?”

“Yeah. But I…”

“You missed Aqua Vista and your bar. Your family too.”

“I did, but never as much as I missed you,” he admits. “So I told myself it was only temporary. That somehow one of us would figure out how to make it work in the same city. I’m sorry, Micah.”

“No, don’t be. It’s not realistic. But I’m glad it wasn’t only me.”

His eyes are soft as he murmurs, “Never.”

We grow quiet as I watch the passing landscape out the passenger window.

“Why did you never beg me?” John’s voice is tight, hesitant, as if he’s been storing up the question for a long time. “Plead with me to move?”

“Because I saw how out of sorts you felt during that two-week stay.” No way our love could’ve sustained that divide between us, no matter how much I wanted him to consider it. “Why didn’t you ever beg me to stay?”

He curves an eyebrow. “Would you have?”

“Probably,” I admit. “You were the one who gave me the confidence to take a chance.”

The corners of his mouth turn down as if he regrets the initial conversation that launched the whole idea way back when. “And if you hadn’t gone, we’d have only ended up in the same place.”

I blow out a breath because it’s true. And like he said, I might’ve ended up resenting him—and the town even more.

“It’s like Beth said about the sun and the ocean.”

He momentarily takes his eyes off the road. “Huh?”

I wave a dismissive hand. “Oh, you know how she is. Always has some sort of metaphor for life’s lessons or whatever. Something like, the sun and the ocean are sure of each other but can only connect for fleeting moments in time because the horizon keeps them apart.”

“Whoa. I’ll admit that one’s deep…” He trails off as if considering it.

“She predicted I’d leave town too, remember?”

He winces and looks away.

“Do you believe she truly has a gift?” I ask.

“I don’t know for sure, but hey, more power to anyone who thinks so.”

“Yeah, suppose so.”

“And her meditation sessions in the park seem to draw a crowd.”

“Wait, that’s a thing?”

“Uh-huh. She uses instruments or, like, sounds to help you relax.”

I drift off because it reminds me of yoga on the beach near the Santa Monica Pier.

John says, “She was right about Aaron and Jack.”

My eyes swing to him. “What did she say?”

“That Aaron would be back in Aqua Vista.”

“Couldn’t that have happened regardless?”

“Definitely. So maybe she meant we’ll remain in each other’s lives in one form or another.”

I don’t love the idea of being only friends, but it seems the most likely path.

When John reaches for my hand over the console between us, my heart staggers. I wonder if that sensation will ever go away or if anyone will ever make me feel like he does.

We hold hands on and off the rest of the way to Aqua Vista, as if clinging desperately to our connection for as long as we can.

We’re both pretty tired once we make it back to town.

“How about a celebratory drink?” John asks as we near his bar.

“Sure. For…?”

He shrugs. “Finally filling out the papers. And your audition, of course.”

“Fair enough.” I untangle our fingers as he parks, and I instantly miss the warmth. “Maybe we can see this as a fresh new start.”

“Sounds good.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

It doesn’t feel right in my gut either. The guilt is still present, and the air is heavy with tension as we exit the car.

We just need to learn to live with it. This new normal.

Besides, once the house is sold, we’ll likely only catch up with each other online or through texts.

I inhale sharply through my nose. Fuck, I can’t imagine not having John in my life.

I thought something would magically be decided one way or another. I didn’t think I’d still be living in the gray so many years later, wondering what in the hell we’re doing.

Technically, not anymore. Before we know it, the divorce will be official.

Was this part of your plan too, Grandpa? To force us to finally accept our separation? I could see you doing it. You always did like to teach me a lesson.

And boy, am I learning that life is messy and uncertain, with a few moments in between when it’s not.

It’s undoubtedly not ambiguous now as I follow John inside, excited to just be with him one more hour in one more day. I’m sure of you.

“You’re back,” Ross says from behind the bar.

“Yep, how did it go?” John glances around.

“Fine. You should leave more often.”

“You ass!” He pulls out a barstool for me. “How about a couple of beers?”

We sip and talk and soak up having our thighs and arms brush every now and again. If I could bottle this feeling and take it back to LA with me, I would.

23

JOHN

A few days later, I stop by Grandpa Malone’s house, and the smell of fresh paint assaults my nostrils as soon as I enter. Everything in the foyer and living room seems brighter and brand-new. “This place is looking better already.”

“Right?” Aaron’s finishing up painting a window sash in the dining area. “It’s amazing what a little declutter and an update will do for a room.”

“Along with someone who knows what they’re doing.” The compliment makes Aaron smile. “Is Micah around?”

He motions toward the second floor. “Upstairs. Been there all morning.”

I climb the steps to his room, the space still so familiar.

We spent plenty of time here in high school when we were first getting to know one another and falling in love. When Micah was grounded or in trouble, which seemed like always, I would climb the trellis outside his window. He’d let me in, and we’d try hard to be quiet while we talked and touched and kissed until our mouths were swollen, but we could never get our fill. Grandpa Malone caught us a couple of times and eventually made the message clear that I was to use the front entrance.

I knock on his bedroom door, noting the worn, warped wood. The house is old, but I can see how Aaron would find it appealing. “Come in.”

I enter Micah’s room and find him sitting on the floor, a shoebox in front of him.

“What are you up to?”

His eyes brighten upon seeing me. “I found this in the closet.”

The lid is off, and inside is stuff from his childhood—trading cards, playbills, fishing lures—and even more memories begin to flood my brain. Tears streaming down Micah’s cheeks after the cheating incident, locking himself in his room, skipping school and watching endless hours of movies to numb his mind. Me holding him, urging him to return to classes before he flunked out.

“Someday, I’ll be in a movie.”

Micah loves action-adventure and sci-fi most of all.

“I don’t doubt it.” We’re side by side on the bed, arms touching, neither of us having the willpower to scoot away. It’s been happening more and more, us sitting or lying too close, as if a magnet is pulling us together.

He grits his teeth. “No matter what the locals say.”

“What do they say?” My question is hesitant, given how upset he seems.

“That I’ll never amount to anything. Just like my father used to tell me.”

“Fuck him.” Anger surges inside me. I have this need to protect Micah, to shelter him from any more hurt. “And don’t you dare let them make you feel that way.”

“I can see why they do,” he mutters. “I’ve been in trouble most of my life.”

“My mom says you’re just misunderstood.”

He snorts. “Guess that’s one way of putting it.”

I meet his eyes. “Why do you do it, then?”

“Do what?”

“Get in trouble so much.”

He lifts a shoulder. “At first, it was resentment. I hated my home life, hated my dad, but maybe after I moved here, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy—that’s what the social worker said—like I wanted to show them all how bad I could be.”

“Mom’s never believed you’re bad,” I murmur. “Neither do I.”

I hear his breath catch. I can’t look at him—all I can do is focus on staying still, hoping he never decides to scoot away. Instead, he settles in, his arm relaxing against mine, the contact making the hairs on my arm tingle. I exhale, feeling like I can breathe again just having him near.

My mom had no idea at the time about my growing feelings for my best friend, and I thought they were just on my part. I didn’t realize he shared them until the night we woke up tangled together in my sheets. It was the first time I felt how hard he was against me before he bashfully rolled away.

I sink down on the carpet next to Micah as he lifts a silver ring from the bottom of the box.

My heart throbs upon seeing his wedding band. “I put it in here for safekeeping last time I was home—after we decided to separate.”

“Mine is stored away too.” In the bottom of my underwear drawer. Some days I miss the feel of it on my finger. The feeling of belonging to someone. Not that a piece of jewelry always reflects what’s in someone’s heart.

He frowns as he twists it in his fingers. “It’s tarnished from not being used.”

I reach for the band to inspect it closer and notice the copper showing through the silver finish. “It’s not like they’re real. We couldn’t afford much at the time.”

We’d stepped into a shop on the strip in Vegas and randomly bought a couple of silver rings after attaining our marriage license. They were cheap and essentially amounted to costume jewelry.

“That’s what I liked about them.” I smile fondly at the memory. “That our wedding was no frills, only you and me, an idea born out of love and some dumb rings.”

“Yeah, me too.” His expression is earnest as he sets the ring in the box again, making the ache in my chest grow.

“What are those playbills from?” I ask, trying to ease the intensity of the moment.

“High school.” He smirks as he lifts the program with A Christmas Carol displayed on the front. “Remember when Ms. Hart was doubtful I could stay out of trouble, let alone stick to a schedule, but she gave me the part anyway?”

“Not only were you the perfect Ebenezer Scrooge,” I tease, “but I remember how excited you were to be included at all.”

“I’ll always be grateful for that opportunity.” It was the beginning for him, of finding something meaningful again and getting his life together.

Not that he knew what to do with himself after we graduated. I was busy with opening the bar, and he worked available shifts in my family’s businesses. Micah was essentially lost without a plan until I suggested he attend theatrical workshops outside Aqua Vista. But it still didn’t seem like enough. I always had an inkling we’d end up exactly where we are today.

He thumbs through the program. “I wonder what Ms. Hart’s up to nowadays. Think she’s still running drama club?”

“You can always drive over to Sunrise Bay. See if she’s still around.”

“Maybe I should—or not. Why would she want to see a former student?”

“Are you kidding?” I elbow him playfully. “You were one of her favorite people. She’d love to hear what you’re up to. Or maybe she already knows.”

He frowns. “Doubtful.”

“I think she’s followed your career. Last time I saw her was years ago, though, with a group of teachers celebrating the beginning of summer break at the bar. We chatted for a bit.”

His eyebrows rise to his hairline. “So you told her I moved to LA?”

“Uh-huh.” Micah sulks, no doubt worried about what she thinks of him leaving. “She seemed excited for you.”

He nods as he replaces the items in the shoebox and closes the lid.

“Anyway, is there a reason for the surprise visit?”

“Thought I’d help with anything you need.”

“I actually think I’m all set.” He stands and wipes imaginary dust off his knees. “I only have one more area to sort through, and Aaron’s about to start priming Grandpa’s room.”

I follow his lead by standing and straightening my clothes. “If he needs help painting, I’m all in.”

“I’ll let him know. Though he’ll likely turn you down like he did me. I have a feeling Aaron is pretty meticulous.”

I smirk. “You’d be right. Ask Jack how much he was allowed to help with other projects.”

“Even the space Jack bought in town?” he muses.

“No clue.” I raise my hands. “And I’m certainly not stepping in the middle of that discussion.”

He snickers. “You’ll have to send me a photo when it’s all finished.”

My gut churns. “Will do.”

“So, um, I was thinking of taking the boat out for a couple of hours.” Micah chews the inside of his cheek. “Want to join me?”

My instinct is to decline, not only because I’m not a big fan of boats but because the more time we spend together before he leaves, the worse it’ll be when he finally does. But I can’t seem to help myself. Besides, I trust Micah, and I know he won’t go too far out. “Only if you can get me back in time to open the bar.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

We say our goodbyes to Aaron as we head out the door.

Once on the dock, Micah stops in his tracks in front of the bait shop. Following his gaze, I spot a young adult, possibly in her twenties, behind the counter.

“Must be his granddaughter,” he mutters and opens the door. “I see Cap agreed to get some help.”

She frowns and shifts uncomfortably. “My grandpa had a stroke.”

His face falls. “I’m sorry to hear that. How is he doing?”

Another woman exits the back room, and I can see the likeness, so I can only assume she’s Cap’s daughter. “The doctors say it’ll be a while before he’s on his feet again. In the meantime, we’re helping out around here.”

“Please send him my regards.”

“Poor Cap,” I say as we head down the dock to the boat. “Sounds like you and he have been getting on?”

Micah nods. “Since I first showed up here. He didn’t give me any attitude about what happened back then, and I’m pretty sure he’s told the old-timers to leave me be about it too.”

“Glad to hear it.”

We work quietly together, steering the boat out of the harbor and onto the water. It reminds me of the good old days when it was only the two of us in the early morning hours, sometimes before school, but mostly on the weekends. That must be the reason I can’t tear my eyes from him. Micah looks so damned peaceful out here. Confident too. His composure is different from the one he displayed during the audition process, but it’s unfair to compare the two. One has high stakes, the other is only a hobby. A hobby his grandfather made into a career.

No doubt Micah recognizes the gravity of this place and the boat being linked to his grandfather. There’s history here, and though he won’t readily admit it, it might prove hard for him to leave it behind.

We drop anchor and fish for the better part of two hours, just talking and enjoying each other’s company. Not that I’m truly fishing, only indulging him. And he throws back every catch anyway.

I watch as he closes the tackle box and stores our rods. “Maybe you should’ve saved some cod for my fish fry.”

He straightens. “You think?”

“Uh-huh. Would be awesome.”

“Next time out, I’ll keep that in mind.”

As we head inland, I point toward the pier in Sunrise Bay that leads to the high school. “Let’s dock and go ashore. See what’s what.”

I can see the glint in his eye. “Are you serious?”

“Why not?”

Once there, I help him tie the bow line around a cleat while he handles the spring line near the stern. With the boat secured, we step onto the dock and shake out our sea legs, then head toward the high school, identifying landmarks from our younger days, like the gymnasium and the flagpole where we’d meet each morning.

“Outside of the newer benches,” I observe, “it looks about the same.”

“But smaller,” Micah points out.

“Isn’t that always the case?” I muse.

“Well, except when it comes to Grandpa’s house.” A bewildered look crosses his features. “Somehow, it seems bigger.”

I don’t draw attention to the fact that he lives in a bedroom in someone else’s apartment. But that’s not at the heart of his comment. It’s more that inheriting the house is overwhelming and sobering for a kid who essentially came from nothing. I want to beg him to embrace the history of the Malone family in Aqua Vista, but it would undoubtedly fall on deaf ears. Micah’s got to feel he’s part of his heritage to believe it, instead of an abused child pawned off on his grandfather.

We hear a bell ring, and soon enough, kids file out of the building on their lunch break.

As a group of students get settled at one of the many picnic benches, Micah steps closer. “Excuse me, does Ms. Hart still work here?”

“Yep,” one of the girls replies, then points toward the nearby parking lot. “That’s her car.”

“And there she is!” another student exclaims, and we see her, her shoulder-length black hair now mixed with gray.

Micah sucks in a breath as if his past has come full circle.

24

MICAH

I panic when the student flags Ms. Hart over to us.

“No, you don’t have to—” I take a step back, but John is behind me, and his chest feels like a column of solid piling from the underside of a dock.

The moment she recognizes me, her face splits into a grin. “Micah Malone? Is that you?”

I dip my head as all the students in the vicinity turn to stare. “Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s so good to see you.” Her legs eat up the distance, and she pulls me into a firm hug. Her vanilla scent stirs up so many warm memories—the late practices, her unwavering support, John’s love inspiring me to be better, the flowers Mrs. McCoy presented me with after performances, even as it felt silly to want them so much.

“You too,” I croak out because I admit seeing my old drama teacher is one of the highlights of this visit.

When we draw away, she glances over my shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise to see the both of you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” John replies, stepping forward.

She eyes the two of us, seemingly with a different question on her lips than the one she asks. “So, what brings you to town?”

“My grandfather passed away.”

She frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good man.”

“He was, thanks.” I shift awkwardly. “So I’m only tying up loose ends.”

She pats my shoulder. “Must feel overwhelming. Does this mean I might see you around?”

“I don’t have an exact departure date. It depends on⁠—”

“Will your visit extend to the spring festival?” she asks in a high-pitched tone.

I’m momentarily confused as to why she’s asking me, but then I remember the drama department is traditionally part of the entertainment. “Are they still putting that on?”

“Of course,” John says with a smirk. “It’s one of Aqua Vista’s highlights.”

I smile at the memory of starring in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Whereas other schools might’ve performed it around Halloween, the town’s tradition is the spring. My grandfather would say welcome to the quirkiness of Aqua Vista. “I might still be haunted by the headless horseman. It was too realistic.”

Ms. Hart grins. “All our props are a bit worse for wear, but they still do the trick.”

I mock-shiver. “I have no doubt.”

“It’s really all about the acting.” She winks. “And you are probably the best Ichabod Crane we’ve ever had.”

My cheeks feel hot. “I don’t know about that.”

John nudges me, and I think about his words—believe in yourself. “But thanks. Those were some of the best years of my life.”

I’d been part of a small theater production in LA, and though I enjoyed it, I never pursued another role because it didn’t quite quench my soul like it had in high school. I thought for sure Hollywood would provide that for me, but I’d been wrong on that front too.

“I might be around for the festival. It depends on how fast my grandfather’s house sells.” Not that I have to be around for the actual sale because of Chuck’s involvement, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. “If so, I’ll be sure to catch the show.”

“Feel like helping pre-production?” Her pleading eyes meet mine. “I mean, if you’re not too busy.”

“Help with what?”

She glances toward the high school. “Our cast this year is quite chaotic. My assistant went on maternity leave, and, well, you were once my star student who went off to Hollywood, so maybe you could offer some pointers?”

My heart balloons, but my gut churns, making me feel disoriented—and a bit petrified. I don’t need anything else anchoring me to this place. Besides, what could I actually offer her or those kids? I’m still trying to get my own act together, so to speak.

“With everything I have going on, I…I’m not sure if I’ll have the time. I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure about that?” John asks, and I throw him a pointed look.

“Yes, of course,” Ms. Hart says. “I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. Guess I was feeling a little stressed and a lot nostalgic.” Her face flushes with regret. “But if you ever want to visit your old stomping grounds, we rehearse most days after school.”

I think of the stage and the costume closet, which all felt so magical years ago. “I appreciate that.”

“Good luck with everything, Micah. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Break a leg,” I call out as she heads back toward the school, and she waves to us.

I can feel John’s hot stare as we return to the dock. “You sure you don’t want to help out?”

“Work with high school kids, some of whom are probably as horrible as I was?”

“Payback and all that.” John snickers. “Plus, you said those were some of the best years. Unless you only meant being with me.”

“That’s a given.” My stomach warms. “Sure, it was great to see her. She inspired me, helped me find something meaningful after I wrecked everything else.”

John stays silent as he helps me unmoor the boat, and once I steer us into the channel leading toward Sleepy Slip, he blurts, “I still think you should consider helping. Your whole face lit up when Ms. Hart mentioned it.”

I scoff. “Did not.”

“Sure did,” he lobs back. “I’ve only ever seen that expression when you’re fishing.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” I tease. “I light up for you too.”

His cheeks tinge pink. “Nice one.”

“I meant my heart, you dork.”

“Sure you did,” he deadpans.

By the time we’re back in my grandfather’s driveway, I’ve focused on Ms. Hart’s offer a little too much.

After we say our goodbyes and I head inside, I’m restless. Aaron is either finished for the day or out on a supply run, and it makes the house feel too empty. Though I’m glad he’s not here to see how out of sorts I am.

Once I’ve finished my lunch, I head to my car with the idea of driving to the bar and asking John if he needs help. Instead, my car steers toward the high school as if it has a mind of its own.

After the dismissal bell, I wait in the parking lot as the school empties of students and staff. Listening to the chatter outside my window, it’s evident things haven’t changed all that much since my graduation. Students still group together to gossip and share details about their lives. I can also spot the loners and outcasts like me, backpacks slung over their shoulders, relief in their expressions that another school day has ended.

Before I can question my motives even more, I’m out of the car and heading toward the building. I stop in the office and ask where to find Ms. Hart.

“Is she expecting you?” the school secretary asks.

“Yes.” I log my name in the visitor book, and then she hands me a name tag to adhere to my chest. I turn toward the hall, thankful she’s not someone who recognizes me.

But the principal does, which doesn’t surprise me since I spent so much time in that man’s office. “Micah Malone?”

I hold up my hands in case he thinks I’m up to some trouble. It’s an old habit that’s hard to break. “Principal Matthews.”

“Well, look at you. Our very own Hollywood star.”

I scratch the back of my neck. “Not exactly.”

“Regardless, I’m proud of you.” His smile seems genuine. “So, what brings you here?”

“Ms. Hart invited me to her practice for the spring festival.” My stomach sours under his scrutiny, and I lob the first excuse that comes to mind. “I happen to be in town because my grandfather passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll make my way to the auditorium now.”

I breathe out as I traverse the long hallway, memories flooding me: kids side-eyeing me as I leave the principal’s office yet again. Meeting John’s bright gaze as he waits for me outside the office door. He never lectured me, only offered his support and care, sometimes in the form of notes in my locker. Wish I’d saved those in my shoebox too. We might’ve gotten a kick out of reading them.

Pushing open the auditorium door, I suck in a breath upon seeing the space that used to represent independence, safety, creativity, and conviction but now seems stuffy and cramped in comparison to my lofty ideals. The students are onstage, Ms. Hart guiding them from down below, so I make my way to a row behind her.

The seat creaks as I sit, causing Ms. Hart to glance back at me. Her harried expression changes to one of surprise. She smiles, waves, then quiets the students.

“I’m impressed you’ve learned most of your lines,” she tells them, “so today we’re going to run through stage blocking. By the time dress rehearsal comes around, we need to know backward and forward not only our lines but our positions onstage.”

Most students look around warily, while a few seem confident.

“Let’s take it from the top.”

I smirk as most of them seem flustered and some downright confused about where to stand. A couple exit stage left, no doubt to reenter on cue, which is all part of making a play run smoothly. Without key movements during recited lines, it would all seem like chaos.

A guy with floppy brown hair and a tall stature clears his throat. “We have murders in New York without the benefit of ghouls and goblins.”

As the lead, he recites his lines in a strong voice, even if I don’t hear the heart in it. The other characters, however, stand awkwardly around him, seemingly unsure about what to do with their limbs.

My feet take me closer to Ms. Hart as I watch the messy scene play out.

“See what I mean?” she mutters.

“I do.”

“So you’ll help?”

“Not sure what I can do that you haven’t tried already.”

“Extra hands and ideas are always welcome, Mr. Hollywood Actor.”

“Obviously, live theater is different, but I don’t have to tell you that.”

“The baseline is the same. You still have to learn your lines and be on cue.”

“As well as in character,” I add. Though I’ll admit, live theater has always made my heart pump harder because any mistakes are immediately visible to the audience.

Ms. Hart claps loudly. “Attention, students. Let’s welcome Micah Malone to our rehearsal. He’s a former student who lives in LA and has gotten small roles in commercials and film. He’s here to assist me.”

Some look impressed, others bored.

“I’ve been right where you are, so if it’s okay, I’d like to give you some pointers.”

Most of the students move closer to the edge of the stage to listen. “It’s true what Ms. Hart said about memorizing your lines being vital, but setting up the scene for the audience is just as important.”

“What do you mean?” asks the girl who plays Ichabod’s love interest, Katrina Van Tassel.

“What I mean is, you need to envision every scene. Not only where your character stands, but how they react to each line. You must get inside their head, understand their motive and how they might feel in that moment. It’ll help you connect with the story you’re telling and the audience.”

“And each other?” the kid playing Ichabod asks.

“Exactly. Ichabod is a flawed character. In the scene I just watched, he thinks he’s better than the townspeople. That he’s intellectually superior and above their old-fashioned ideas and customs. Including their belief in the supernatural.”

“Micah is absolutely right,” Ms. Hart says. “So how would Katrina, Brom, and the other townsfolk respond to his superiority complex? Feel it in your gut. Show it in your features and words.”

When Ms. Hart instructs them to take the scene from the top, I can’t help feeling energized. And as the students attempt to work off our advice, I’m thrumming with energy. The sort of energy I haven’t felt in a long while.

25

JOHN

“What’s the occasion?” Jack asks as I join him and Aaron on their morning hike in the mountains. That’s the thing about Aqua Vista. You get the best of both worlds. In one direction is the coast. In the other, the Santa Lucia foothills. We’re an underappreciated location, and most find us through the Jack of All Trades service station that used to be run by my parents, then by Jack, and now Frank. It’s the only gas station on a long stretch of highway, so we have lots of people passing through on their way to other destinations.

I don’t take advantage of the beauty of our location enough because I work so damn much, but after tossing and turning last night, I felt I needed to be in nature and also hang out with my brother.

“Needed the fresh air. Plus, the spring flowers.”

We don’t have the type of spring weather that the eastern part of the US is graced with, but we do have an array of spring flowers that pop up as the temperatures begin warming.

“Glad to have you.” Jack lifts his camera and snaps away at a field of lavender, and just beyond, I notice poppies and calla lilies.

“These photos are gonna be great,” Aaron says as we traverse the trail.

“I have no doubt,” I reply. “Which reminds me. Any snags with the sale?”

Jack sold his business to his best friend, Frank. Aaron’s business partner, Rocco, invested in it. It’s currently undergoing renovation to add a snack counter, updated bathrooms, and bolder colors to match the quirkiness of the town. Jack had no desire to change the plain aesthetic left over from our father, but Frank appears to be all in on Rocco’s ideas. I fall somewhere in the middle. An update is probably long overdue, but most travelers only pass through town, so the vision would be lost on them.

“All the paperwork has been signed and filed, so I think we’re all set.”

“Yep, smooth as butter,” Aaron adds, and Jack rolls his eyes before wrapping an arm around him and kissing his head. It’s certainly strange to see my grumpy brother so affectionate, but Aaron seems to bring it out of him.

“And the space in town?” Just like I started with a completely blank slate opening the bar, Jack is doing the same in the former butcher shop on Main Street, where he plans to open a retail business to feature his photography.

“Aaron is dividing his time between helping me plan and finishing the Malone house.”

“Does that work for you?” My gaze swings to Aaron. “If it feels like too much⁠—”

“No way. I love being part of both projects.”

“Glad to hear it.” I’m simultaneously relieved for Micah and bummed that Aaron doesn’t have to draw out the renovation to keep the man I adore in town.

“Speaking of Micah… How’s that going?” Jack asks hesitantly.

I think about our trip to LA, which felt like a whirlwind because it essentially was. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything, except maybe the one part. “We filled out the divorce papers.”

“You did? Micah didn’t mention anything. Not that he has to,” Aaron sputters. “But I didn’t even catch a hint after your trip, and normally, I’m pretty good at reading his mood, you know, being in his company every day.”

Jack steadies Aaron’s shoulders. “Take a breath, babe.”

Aaron stops on the trail and blows out a puff of air. “Sorry.”

“No worries. I’m glad you and Micah have become friendly,” I admit. “It was actually one of his selling points for having me accompany him to LA. He brought the papers with him so we could discuss the divorce.”

Saying it aloud leaves a raw taste in my mouth.

Jack frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all cool.” I push out the words. “I got to hear him audition, and it helped me understand how far he’s come and why he continues hanging in there. He’s so close to making it big.”

As we fall into a comfortable silence, I think back to how Micah’s face lit up seeing Ms. Hart. And on the boat too. It all feels so muddled, my brain and heart warring with each other, trying to find a good enough reason to make him stay.

At the halfway point, we stop to hydrate.

“Some might disagree,” Aaron says, “but I think your relationship with Micah is amazing.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asks him, clearly taken aback.

“It’s obvious they love and respect each other on a level most separated couples wouldn’t.” Aaron lifts the water bottle to his lips. “At least not after so many years.”

“That’s because our distance has to do with circumstances outside our marriage.”

“After all this time, do you honestly still believe that?” Jack swipes a forearm across his mouth. “I still think if he wanted to be with you, he would make it happen.”

“There are no opportunities for him here. We tried the long-distance thing. I stayed with him for a couple of weeks and ended up hating LA. You know this.”

“Yeah, okay.” He paces back and forth. “I just worry about you.”

“You’re a good brother,” Aaron says and kisses his cheek.

His face grows red. “I try.”

“Do you?” I playfully nudge him.

“Maybe not hard enough,” he mutters.

“So you and Micah have become friends, huh?” I ask as we start our descent.

“I think so?” Aaron winces as if doubting himself. “He told me all about how he loves fishing and how he got into acting.”

“Speaking of which, we met Ms. Hart in Sunrise Bay.” My gaze swings from Jack to Aaron. “She was Micah’s drama teacher and the one who fostered his love of theater.”

“Yes, he told me all about her. That’s awesome.”

“She asked Micah if he was interested in helping with the production during the spring festival.”

Jack glances at Aaron. “I was telling you about all the activities, remember?”

“Uh-huh.” Aaron’s eyes light up. “Is he gonna do it?”

“I’m not sure. They always perform The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and back in the day, he was the lead.”

“Ichabod Crane?” Aaron asks, and I nod. He opens his mouth to ask something else, then changes his mind. Maybe why that specific play in the spring, but by now he’s used to the oddity of this town.

“He loved it.”

“And was good at it,” Jack admits.

“Was he good at fishing too?” Aaron asks. “He walks out of the house with his pole every morning.”

“Has it become a daily thing?” I smile to myself. “It centers him, always has. Used to go out with his grandfather.”

“I heard. What a nice memory,” Aaron muses.

Jack throws me a severe look. “Until he ruined it.”

“Whatever.” I sigh, experiencing whiplash from Jack’s moods about my husband. “He made mistakes. We all did.”

“How did Micah ruin it?” Aaron asks, his tone tentative.

“I’ll fill you in later,” Jack grumbles.

I stop abruptly. “Why are you so anti-Micah?”

“I just don’t want you hurt,” he huffs out. “It would be great if you could finally move on.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to move on from the love of your life. Could you easily move on from each other?” I ask purposely.

“Oh, am I the love of your life?” Aaron teases.

Jack rolls his eyes. “For the time being.”

They smile at each other, all lovey-dovey, and it makes me wish I hadn’t asked.

But I still want to make my point. “If Aaron decided he had to go back to San Jose, what would you do?”

“I’d follow him,” Jack replies without hesitation, and obviously liking that answer, Aaron intertwines their fingers.

“Right…so I’m as much to blame as Micah, don’t you see that?”

“I suppose I do.” Jack’s eyes soften. “And now that you’ve got the paperwork squared away…”

“Micah will file them, and a court date will be set.”

Jack squeezes my shoulder. “I’m here for you, brother. Always.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

We continue our hike, making small talk, Jack pausing often to take wildflower photos. By the time we exit the trail, we’re sweating from the exertion and increase in temperature.

I wave as I walk to my car. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

26

MICAH

I’m out on the pier by myself, and it’s so peaceful. As the sunrise streaks across the sky in striations of orange and pinks, more fishers arrive, but no one disturbs me. It’s an unspoken rule around here this early in the morning. Likely everywhere, so even if I do decide to try out a fishing pier in LA, I might enjoy it just as much. Might.

Is this what you wanted for me, Grandpa?

Why else would you leave me your boat?

I messed up bad, and you knew how much I loved it out here.

I’m out of bait by midmorning, so I pack up my tackle box and carefully lift the cooler containing cod and perch for John’s fish fry. It’s helpful that the fish move to the shallows to forage this time of year. My catch won’t feed the masses, but it’s my own contribution. I might try increasing the donation next excursion on the boat.

I notice Cap’s granddaughter behind the counter as I pass by the shack.

“How’s he doing?” I call from the doorway.

She grimaces. “Progress has been slow.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll keep him in my thoughts.”

Nothing ever stays the same. That hangs heavy in my heart as I leave the pier.

A couple of fishermen passing by chat me up about Cap’s condition. They must recognize me from back in the day, and I’m grateful they only offer their condolences without making any comments about me. Hopefully, they’ve realized I’m no longer that angry kid who did something dumb and almost ruined my grandfather’s reputation.

I clean up at home, then run some errands in town before grabbing lunch at John’s bar.

His face lights up upon seeing me, and I will never get used to that feeling. Of having someone in my life who loves me unconditionally. “Where’ve you been hiding the past couple of days?”

John and I have texted, but I still haven’t told him about my most recent decision.

“Oh, you know…some fishing, working on the boat, then heading to drama club rehearsal.”

His grin widens. “That’s fucking great. Glad you decided to help.”

My face heats from his keen enthusiasm. “I figure why not since I’m here for at least another few weeks.”

“Damn straight.” He knocks his knuckles on the bar top. “Burger and a cider?”

“That would be great.”

By the time he places a burger in front of me, I’m famished, so I down it in a few bites, mindful of the high school’s dismissal time.

“How’s the renovation going?” he asks after he serves another customer a plate of wings.

“Good.” I dab the napkin at my mouth. “Aaron is finishing the second floor, and then he has to do some staging, as he calls it.”

“Bet it’ll look great.”

“No doubt.” I push away my plate and place my card down to pay. “Gotta run.”

He glances at the time. “Rehearsal?”

“Yep. And meeting Rosie afterward.”

That takes him by surprise. “Yeah?”

I nod. “I agreed to write her a letter of recommendation.”

“Cool. Plus, it’ll be nice to catch up.”

“It will.” For some reason, it feels right to maintain that connection to my grandfather. Maybe I’ll even find out something new and interesting. “And before I forget, I caught some fish this morning and stored it in my freezer.”

His gaze snaps to mine. “Thanks. That’ll certainly help if we run out.”

“I can deliver it to the bar, or feel free to stop by anytime.”

Our eyes snag and hold a moment too long for a couple about to divorce, and though I’m excited to help Ms. Hart with the play, it’s becoming increasingly harder to leave John’s company.

“Think you’ll be around if I want to grab that fish from your freezer?”

My stomach warms from his intense gaze. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He gives me that sexy, smirky look that’s reminiscent of when we were kids. It meant alone time and intimacy. “Looking forward to it.”

As I hop in my car and drive toward the high school, a memory surfaces of John and me skipping school to be together junior year.

“I want to show you something,” he says as he leads me to a trail in the foothills behind my grandfather’s home. He’s loaded us up with waters, granola bars, and two blankets, as if we might get lost and need a search party. That thought makes my stomach squirm because I’ve heard stories of people running into bobcats or getting lost out here, some never making it home.

“How the heck do you know where you’re going?” I step forward tentatively after stumbling over a root.

He chuckles. “Lived here my whole life, know all the secret places.”

“Secret, huh?”

“I promise it’s not far.” He reaches for my hand and knots our fingers together. “Come on.”

As we ascend the path, I start to relax, trusting that John knows what he’s doing. After a solid ten-minute hike, the trail leads to an outlook where you can see the entire valley below. We seem to be the only souls around, save for the deer scooting out of our path and birds chirping in the underbrush.

He leads me to a patch of grass near a gigantic boulder and spreads a blanket out, setting the rest of the supplies nearby.

I inhale the mountain air as I take in the view. “It’s peaceful here.”

“I think so,” John replies as he sits and pats the space beside him.

We open the water bottles and devour a couple of granola bars as we discuss the classes we skipped and the homework we’ll have to make up, both of us agreeing it’s worth it. “I still have to get home before my grandpa gets home from the docks.”

“No worries. We won’t stay long.”

We fall into a comfortable silence, and though I was hot and clammy just five minutes before, it feels cooler under the shade of the trees. I shiver when a chill travels over my bare legs.

Lifting the second blanket, John wraps it around our shoulders. “Strange how it can feel nippy up here. We can leave if you want.”

“No, I like it here…with you,” I admit. I’ve been getting braver telling John how I feel, whereas he’s more of an open book.

“Me too.” John absently trails a hand across my thigh, and my stomach tingles in anticipation, the thought of fitting our mouths together out here with no one around making my head swim.

As if reading my thoughts, John shifts closer, and when our gazes meet, I can see the question in his eyes. Want to make out again? Little does he know, I want to do more, think about it at night in bed, but I’ve been too chicken to make the first move or even bring it up.

But as John angles his head and stares into my eyes, then down to my lips, I know we’re on the same page. At the very least, he wants to kiss me too. “Micah? Do you…?”

Feeling bold, I flick my tongue against John’s bottom lip. I’ve learned plenty of tricks from our hours-long make-out sessions. John groans and digs his fingers into my waist, tugging me closer. That action alone is enough to make my dick hard.

When his lips part, I crush my mouth to his, desperate to kiss him again, to explore his mouth with my tongue. John seems just as eager as he urges me to straddle him. This is a new position, one I like because now we’re super close, chest to chest, groin to groin.

I groan as John tangles his fingers in my hair and deepens the kiss.

“Oh my God, J…this feels so good.” Now it’s my turn to cup his face and drag his lips to mine. Our mouths stay joined until they feel bruised, but I couldn’t stop kissing him if I tried. As the light bathes us through the canopy of trees, I feel heated again, and not only from the sun.

I can feel John’s hardness like a wooden post through his shorts. The fabric separating us creates just the right amount of friction, but after a few minutes more, it feels too raw and like it’s not enough. Keeping in mind we’re outdoors and only hidden by trees and a blanket, I find the courage to brush my fingers against John’s zipper.

He hissed through his teeth. “That feels good. Do it again.”

So I do, rubbing him through the material as he squirms and groans. Hand on his button, I ask, “Is this okay?”

“Please.” John adjusts the blanket higher around our shoulders and devours my mouth again. His tongue probes deep as he rocks his hips toward my hands, letting me know just how much he wants me to touch him.

I unbutton and unzip John’s shorts with shaky fingers, then lower his briefs until his cock protrudes. Even in the shadow of the blanket, I can’t stop staring at how thick and full his shaft is.

John’s voice is hesitant when he asks, “Is something wrong?”

“No…I just never…”

“We can stop.”

When he tries to scoot back, I grip his shoulder. “I don’t want to. Unless you do.”

“No, I…I want you to touch me. So fucking much.”

“Me too.” Feeling emboldened, I encircle his shaft and stroke upward. I hear John’s breath hitch.

“Feels good. Have you ever done this before?”

“No, have you?”

“Not like this.” His eyes soften. “Not with you.”

I blow out a breath, not stupid enough to pretend I’m his first. But his words are like a salve. He wants me to touch him, to kiss him, to spend time with him. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, and I can’t tell if it’s only a crush or way more.

John leans back, positioning his arms on the blanket behind him to allow for more room. He feels warm and solid in my palm as I pump his length, testing the same method I use on myself.

“God, that’s—” John screws his eyes shut, panting shallowly.

I realize how completely exhilarating it is to make him feel this good just with my hand. After another minute, I fall into a decent rhythm, using my thumb to stroke the underside of his glans, which he seems to like if his shuddering breaths are any indication. “Does this feel okay?”

“So good.” John’s voice is raspy, which makes my entire body tingle. His eyes are open, blissed out as he watches me. “I…I’m gonna come.”

I lean forward to seal our mouths together, and our tongues stroke in time with my fingers and his shallow thrusts into my hand. Another minute more, and he groans his release against my lips, his body quivering, warm come spurting between us. It’s the most intimate moment of my life, and I feel on top of the world.

I let go of his softened shaft, and John uses the edge of the blanket to clean his stomach and my hand. I feel happy, dreamy, as he reaches for me and plants a kiss on my lips. “Can I touch you too?”

I’m not saying no, not after watching him and trying not to adjust my growing hardness in my shorts.

As soon as I nod, he unfastens my shorts, wasting no time pushing down my waistband and taking me in hand. And, oh God, it feels different when it’s someone else stroking you with the perfect amount of care and pressure.

I groan and arch my back, trying to draw it out and not lose it in the first minute he gets his hands on me.

“You feel so good.” John watches me with wonder in his eyes. “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.”

My cheeks heating, I bury my face in his shoulder, trying to hold it together.

“Hey.” He kisses the side of my head. “If you didn’t know how fucking much I like you and want to be with you, now you do.”

His words set my nerve endings on fire. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt safer or more cared for. I’m afraid to be vulnerable in front of him, but I also feel like I can let myself go. Just a little.

Or maybe a lot. Not a second more, I moan and shudder as I break apart and spurt all over his hand.

“So hot,” John murmurs against my ear.

“Tell me about it,” I reply, and John chuckles.

After we clean up a second mess, we lie side by side on the blanket, hands knotted together, as we look at the glimpses of blue sky through the trees and talk about our dreams.

27

JOHN

“Hey, Frank, what’s up?” I ask as I serve him a beer later that evening.

“The usual.”

“Working around all the remodeling?”

He sighs. “Exactly.”

“It’s still hard to believe this is actually going down and Jack is allowing it.”

“Right?” Frank smirks. “Plus, Rocco is in town. Mr. Anal Retentive himself.”

“Oh, I’m sure he just refers to himself as detail-oriented,” I reply, and he laughs. Rocco is a pretty interesting character. A cutthroat businessman with a softer side when it comes to vintage cars and his nonna’s lasagna. Frank appears to enjoy his company quite a bit. Otherwise, why would he spend so much time with him and enter into this arrangement for the service station?

“Where is the man? Haven’t seen him recently.”

“He only sweeps into town when he can. Besides, he’s getting married this summer, so he’ll be even busier.” He looks away as if the subject makes him uncomfortable.

“I thought the wedding was postponed.”

“It was, but they’ve been working through their…issues, apparently. So it’s back on.”

Or perhaps it has to do with Rocco’s fiancée, Corrine. She seemed nice enough when I met her last summer at the rib fest, but according to Aaron, she’s as high-maintenance as Rocco, especially regarding the wedding planning, which has driven up the cost. Given how modestly Micah and I tied the knot, the notion feels foreign to me.

“Right now, he’s with Aaron. Business stuff to handle.”

“Got it.” Likely, they’re at Aaron’s place or Jack’s. “Let me know if you need anything.”

At closing time, I lift my phone and scroll to Micah’s name.

The pull between us feels more intense lately—ever since our road trip and the divorce papers. Like any day I don’t see or talk to him, I’m losing time.

There are two cars I recognize in the driveway as I pull up to Grandpa Malone’s house. Micah, Aaron, and Uncle Chuck are in the living room, holding a bottle of what looks like sparkling wine when I enter.

Micah’s eyes are full of mirth as he swings his gaze toward me. His smile falters briefly, and it takes my breath away. Something is up. “Are we celebrating?”

It’s hard not to notice the staging that has already begun, given the new pillows, fresh flowers in vases, and modern artwork on the walls. Aaron’s renovation is so remarkable that it hardly looks like the same place, so maybe that’s what all the excitement is about.

“I got an offer on the house,” Micah announces.

My shoulders stiffen. “Is it even on the market yet?”

“Nope,” Uncle Chuck replies with a delighted expression.

“Rocco met me here yesterday,” Aaron explains, “and after I gave him a mini tour, he threw out the idea of buying the place. It was a pretty impulsive reaction, so we have stuff to sort out. But he’s as good as his word.”

My emotions are warring with my thoughts. “I’m confused. Doesn’t your business primarily buy commercial properties?”

Aaron nods. “That’s why another conversation is needed. This purchase is personal.”

“He wants to own a home in Aqua Vista?” I try to temper my tone. “Doesn’t he live in San Jose and is about to be married? Or maybe he plans to rent this place?”

Uncle Chuck throws me a puzzled glance, and I can understand why. I’m acting a bit irrationally. “I made it clear that the locals prefer residents over tourists.”

Aaron winces. “He knows that was a point of contention between me and Jack when I bought my home.”

I do remember Jack’s suspicions about Aaron when he returned to Aqua Vista, intent on making himself comfortable around here.

“So again, it begs the question why.”

Uncle Chuck frowns as he sets the bottle of wine near the glasses on the table. I feel out of sorts and, no doubt, sound absurd. Why the hell would I care so much about Rocco’s intentions? The sale of the house before it’s on the market is good news for Micah and saves Uncle Chuck a lot of work.

“I haven’t met Rocco yet.” Micah’s voice wavers. “But why does it seem like you have doubts about the man?”

“I don’t. Fuck, sorry. I guess the news just surprised me.” I blow out a breath. “The guy came across as brash when he first rolled into town, but now I can see he’s a solid guy with good business sense.”

Uncle Chuck nods and glances at Micah. “Suppose he knows a good deal when he sees it.”

“Besides, he’s in town enough due to the investment in the service station,” Aaron points out. “And he and Frank have become pals, so maybe he plans on longer visits.”

“Or a second home for him and Corrine,” I add, trying to sound more reasonable. It makes total sense now that my nervous system has calmed a bit.

Uncle Chuck heads to the kitchen and comes back with another glass. “Plus, he put in a good offer.”

I glance at Micah warily. “Are you absolutely sure you want to sell to him? Or…at all?”

He hesitates. “That was my plan from the beginning. It’s only icing on the cake that it’s someone everyone knows. Besides, I could use the money to get a more permanent place in LA.”

“True,” I choke out, then screw my eyes shut at how perfectly everything is taking shape.

“Speaking of LA, I was called back for a second audition,” he announces.

“That’s amazing,” Aaron exclaims, but his gaze is guarded, perhaps recalling the conversation from our hike.

My heart pounds at the news, pride and discomfort constricting my chest. “Congrats! I knew you could do it.”

“Good for you, son.” Uncle Chuck claps him on the shoulder.

“Sounds like you’ll be heading back earlier than expected,” I force out.

“Actually, no.” He offers a small smile. “This audition is by video call.”

“Lucky that,” I remark, trying to steady my breathing.

He nods. “Besides, I made a commitment to see the spring festival through, and I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“I’m sure Ms. Hart, of all people, would understand that you have a great opportunity⁠—”

“No,” he interrupts sharply. “Don’t want to disappoint anyone else.”

The room grows quiet as our gazes clash. I’m not sure if he’s referring to me, my family, his grandfather, or all of the above. I want to counter the sentiment, but I can’t seem to make my lips form words. My head is spinning with too many thoughts while my heart is taking a direct hit.

Thankfully, Uncle Chuck breaks the ice. “Then I guess we have stuff to celebrate.”

Aaron reaches for the prosecco, carefully removing the wrapper and popping the cork. “Everyone grab a glass.”

“When luck meets opportunity,” Uncle Chuck calls out as we clink glasses.

“Don’t forget hard work,” Aaron adds.

Micah and I stay silent. I take a sip, but it doesn’t go down well. Obviously, Micah’s trip is coming to an end, and it’s a bitter pill to swallow. I knew he wouldn’t stay forever, but at least we have a few more weeks to hash out anything left unsaid.

I’ll have to force myself to move on after I grieve him all over again—my own fault because I could have kept my distance, but why would I want to? Any time I can get with Micah is precious, but closure will be good for us. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Jack shows up with Aunt Dina, who brings takeout from the Asian restaurant in town. I half expect Frank and Rocco to make an entrance next, but apparently, they’re busy at the service station. According to Micah, they plan to officially meet at the property tomorrow.

I can feel Jack watching me, but I shrug him off. No way I want to admit he was right, despite how well I saw this coming.

After the leftovers are packed away, our family and friends leave one after the other. Glancing toward the kitchen, I suddenly remember the original reason for my visit.

“I’ll grab the fish from your freezer on the way out.”

“J, wait.” Micah’s hand on my arm stills me. “I don’t want you to leave. Can we just…sit out back by the fire? Or do you need to head home?”

It’s been years since we built a fire with the backdrop of the mountains and watched the embers slowly fade into ashes until well past midnight.

“I’d like that.”

Micah opens another bottle of wine while I start the fire, using kindling and newspapers left over from Grandpa Malone’s stash. Once it’s blazing, we sit beside each other on the wicker furniture with the faded floral-print cushions. It’s obvious Aaron hasn’t tended to this outdoor space yet, but I suppose now it’s unnecessary.

Something catches my eye on the west side of the property. It’s a twister of smoke and sparks, so his neighbor must be having a bonfire of his own.

“Burning leaves again,” Micah bites out. It’s not allowed in these parts because it can contribute to air pollution, but some folks do it anyway. “Apparently, Grandpa suggested he use them for compost or mulch, but he didn’t listen.”

My gaze is fixed in that direction. “Rosie tell you that?”

“Yeah. She also mentioned he and Grandpa had some sort of dispute regarding the property line after he moved in. I wouldn’t put it past him to be the one who started those rumors about my grandfather. So screw him and whatever he’s doing over there.”

I wince. “You might want to give Rocco a heads-up about him.”

“Good idea.” He takes a gulp of his wine. “J, I know hearing the news⁠—”

“It’s okay.” I watch the flames dancing in front of us. “This is just everything falling into place.”

“Guess so,” he mutters. “Promise me something?”

“Micah, don’t— I have a feeling I know what⁠—”

“Please,” he insists.

“Fine,” I huff out. “Say what you have to say.”

He angles toward me. “Promise you’ll try to date and find someone who gives you what you deserve.”

I push the words out because I know it’s what he needs. “I will.”

His eyes dim as he nods. It’s not difficult to spot the anguish that matches my own.

After another moment, I say, “You promise too.”

“I don’t need⁠—”

“Yeah, you do. Just because your dreams took you in a different direction doesn’t mean you don’t deserve things too.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I promise.”

His expression is solemn, and I can see the emotions bubbling beneath the surface. He averts his eyes as if he doesn’t want me to see how wrecked he feels.

I’m a mess too, but I still need to know we’re on the same page. “You okay?”

“Yeah…or I will be.” He rubs at a spot right above his heart. “I knew this day would eventually come, but it still feels raw and achy, almost like it did the first time I left you and the time after that when you left LA.”

“And the time after that,” I interject, “when you drove off after my parents’ funeral. Seems we’re always leaving each other.”

He nods. “But as kids, we spent every moment together until graduation and even after. We got married, for Christ’s sake.”

“Come here,” I say, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Sometimes life is shit. But this right here…”

“Will always feel like heaven.” Micah buries his face in my neck, and I hold him the way he needs right now—and I need it too. Like he’s been unmoored for far too long and needs a solid place to anchor his heart. And I’ll always be that for him.

After a while, we lie down with our limbs intertwined, breathing the fresh mountain air, finding comfort in each other. When I feel his muscles relax, I know we’ll be okay, even without each other.

But the longing for this man I’ve adored my whole life will never go away, no matter the distance between us. Every look, every touch makes my heart swell with such a profound ache that it feels like it might burst through my chest and float away. And maybe it will, maybe even back to LA with Micah.

I won’t need it anyway. I will always love Micah Malone with every fiber of my being, even if my heart is torn to shreds and barely hanging on.

When a cool breeze feathers over our skin, I shut my eyes. We drift in and out of our silent reverie, and I know I should untangle myself and leave, but I can’t. I won’t. Not now. Shifting to a more comfortable position, our cocks rub together. Micah gasps and strengthens his hold as if afraid I’ll drift away.

“J, you always feel so good against me,” he murmurs. “I wish I could stop wanting you, needing you, but that time is not tonight.”

My heart lodges in my throat as I brush my lips against his temple. He only needs to look up at me before we’re pushing out of our shoes and jeans, leaving our shirts and underwear on even though no one can see us.

Micah shifts so we lie side by side again. He draws me closer, and when our shafts realign, I rock against him because I want and need him too. No matter how much it hurts.

Our tongues tangle and our hands roam as we rut against each other. We drag out the inevitable, grinding deliberately, if painstakingly slow, in our torturous, desperate drive to connect. We watch each other with bald, blatant need, our lips lingering close, trading breaths in the intimate airspace between us. This time, communicating with our bodies somehow feels as transcendent as it does right. Always right.

Our foreheads rest together as Micah wraps his fingers around our shafts and strokes in a tight hold. My hand joins his, and together, we pump us into the heavens.

“J, oh God, J.” His voice is hoarse as our come mixes on our clammy, warm skin.

Neither of us moves as we catch our breath and wait for our hearts to stop galloping. We drift off to the sounds of owls hooting and crickets playing a melody only for us as we hold on to each other for as long as we can.

28

MICAH

“Hey, Micah, I’m Rocco Giordano. Sorry I missed you the other day.”

“No worries.” I shake his hand as he steps into the foyer. “Good to meet you.”

Aaron and Frank are behind him, and I usher them inside and close the door. I’m not sure if Frank is here for moral support or plain curiosity.

“Hope it’s all right to take another look around?” Rocco asks, his gaze focused on the fireplace, which has been updated with refurbished wood on the mantel.

“Be my guest.”

I follow as they move from room to room, Aaron explaining the history of the architecture and the work he’s done. I’ve learned quite a few things myself from my daily chats with him.

“This is just as amazing the second time around,” Rocco remarks as he slides a hand across the granite countertop in the kitchen. The lighter stone color really helps the mosaic backsplash stand out. This is the only room Aaron had help with installation from the supplier. He painted all the cupboards himself.

“Aaron is very good at what he does.” I try to see the place from a buyer’s perspective. I might be doing the same in LA, though the houses won’t have the same craftsmanship. Aaron invested his own money into the remodel, absolutely convinced he would get it back twofold, and based on Rocco’s offer, he was right.

“He is.” Rocco straightens. “I also tend to know a good thing when I see it.”

I nearly crack a smile at the bravado Rocco exudes. Instead, I nod. No reason to doubt his good sense.

“Aaron will tell you.” He nudges his business partner’s shoulder. “I’m an awesome salesman.”

Frank smirks. “Sure, let him stroke your ego even more.”

Rocco gives him a look I can’t quite read, and for the first time, I’m very curious about their friendship. They certainly seem like an odd pair, with Rocco decked out in an expensive-looking suit and Frank beside him in a grease-stained Jack of All Trades shirt. But they seem very comfortable around each other. Comfortable enough to rib each other.

As we head upstairs to the main bedroom, Rocco makes a detour to check out the guest bathroom, where Aaron has updated the paint and vanity.

“What does your fiancée think about you owning property out here?”

“Since I invested in the service station, I figure this gives us a good excuse to visit Aqua Vista.” Rocco tests the light socket in the hallway. “Besides, I’ll need to check on Frank to make sure he’s not fucking anything up.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “Think you’re funny, huh?”

“Frank will do great,” Aaron says. “And the customers will appreciate the new amenities.”

“What sort of amenities?” I ask as we enter the main bedroom that Aaron staged with neutral bedding and walls so it would appeal to most buyers. And even without the planned artwork he was going to install, it obviously worked for Rocco.

“An actual snack counter, fresh coffee, and vending machines that carry more than water.”

I snicker, wondering how Jack feels about that. “It’s a good idea.”

“Right?” Rocco tugs the lapels on his blazer. “I’m glad he listened to me.”

“Excuse me? I suggested it first,” Aaron retorts, and Rocco smiles warmly at his friend. I can only imagine the bickering that went down when Aaron told him he planned to live in Aqua Vista.

It makes me yearn for John to be here right now to provide backup. For what exactly, I’m not sure. Considering this is my life and mess to deal with, it’s a good thing he’s not.

My bedroom door is closed, the clutter behind it off-limits since Aaron hadn’t finished staging before Rocco decided to throw his hat in the ring. Since it’s the same size as the empty guest room, Rocco doesn’t complain. By the time I leave town, I’ll have the last of the stuff on the floor packed and ready to donate or keep.

“Where do you stay now when you come into town?”

“Either with Aaron or Frank,” Rocco replies as he opens the closet, which is on the smaller side due to the period the house was built. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to be rid of me.”

I smile blandly, another question niggling at my gut, inspired by John’s inquiry the other night. “Not that it’s any of my business, but what do you plan on doing with the place when you’re not in town?”

“Not exactly sure.” He glances at Aaron, who’s standing near the window. “Maybe it can be turned into an Airbnb, so it brings in extra income.”

“The old-timers will love that idea,” Frank teases. “But it’s not unheard of.”

“I mean, imagine the draw.” Rocco’s gaze is trained toward the foothills. “The ocean one way, the mountains the other.”

“Do you hike or surf?” I ask, suddenly curious what Rocco does for recreation.

“Hell no,” Rocco replies, and we all laugh. “I enjoy seeing the sights by car. I’m more of a spectator, if you will.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Frank adds, and I realize he has similar tendencies. Another thing they have in common. “Besides, the way you were downing those drafts last night, you’d never last in the mountains.”

“Not fair,” Rocco pouts. “I was thirsty.”

“I’m sure there’s water in beer,” Aaron quips.

“In wine too,” Frank adds with a wink.

“Okay, I get the message loud and clear. I need healthier habits.”

I can’t help smirking at their banter. It makes me ache for easy companionship, the kind I had as a kid.

“You’re right. Aqua Vista does have quite the appeal.” I motion for him to follow me to the balcony, where I throw open the French doors and breathe in the fresh air. For the first time, the house and surrounding landscape don’t make my stomach tighten. Instead, I feel nostalgic. After all, it’s not Aqua Vista’s fault that I had such a crappy upbringing and brought loads of baggage with me.

Rocco watches me closely as he steps toward the railing. “Are you having second thoughts about selling?”

“Not at all. My life is in LA.” I blow out a breath. “I think I just never fully appreciated the town, or this property for that matter.”

“Neither did I, at first.” Rocco thumps Aaron’s shoulder. “He had to convince me, and now I see the beauty.”

“Hey, not only Aaron,” Frank says with a pout. “I swayed you too.”

Aaron throws me an amused glance. “You two bicker like an old married couple.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Rocco’s face flushes and Frank gets busy scrutinizing the wrought-iron chair I’ve fallen asleep in countless times.

Aaron barks out a laugh. “I’m only messing with you.”

I try to break the awkwardness with another pressing question. “Any chance you’re interested in adding a used boat to the sale of the house?”

“A boat?” Rocco looks around the yard below.

“My grandpa left it to me. He worked on a fishing boat, and I helped sometimes.”

Rocco glances at Aaron. “Chuck didn’t mention it. Neither did Aaron.”

“That’s because I’m hearing about it now,” Aaron tells him.

“I would have no clue what to do with a boat.” He winces. “And I also don’t need any added stress.”

“No worries.” It was foolish to upset the apple cart. The boat sale will have to remain separate. “I only thought of it since you mentioned traveling and being a spectator. Nothing like being out on the water during the sunrise or sunset.”

Frank’s eyes widen. “Well, listen to you. Sounds like you’re missing it.”

“Nah, I’ve gotten my fill since I’ve been back.” The lie comes easily to smooth the path away from this discussion. “I’m sure one of the fishers at the docks will take the boat off my hands.”

“Why not take it with you?” Rocco asks.

“No place to store it.” I don’t mention that I barely have room for myself.

“Speaking of the docks, I hear Cap had a stroke,” Frank says, then to Rocco and Aaron, “He’s run the tackle shop on Sleepy Slip for decades.”

“Yeah, it’s a bummer.” I rub the back of my neck. “He’s been a fixture for as long as I can remember.”

Frank nods. “Maybe someone in his family can take over the business.”

“His daughter and granddaughter are helping out, so we’ll see.”

“Maybe they’ll give the place a facelift while he’s away,” Frank teases.

“Like the service station,” Aaron adds excitedly.

“Eh, I don’t know.” Frank shrugs. “Some things are better left in their original condition. That place has character, you know?”

“This house does too,” Aaron argues. “But a little upkeep never hurt anything.”

“You’re right,” I admit, considering how Cap’s shack could do with some new paint. “And you did an incredible job.”

Aaron beams before suggesting we head back downstairs, and we make small talk as I walk them to the door.

Rocco reaches out to shake my hand. “I’ll get in touch with Chuck so he can draw up the paperwork.”

My stomach tilts uncomfortably, but it’s likely only nerves. “Sounds good.”

Aaron playfully elbows Rocco. “Look at you. About to become a bona fide Aqua Vista resident.”

He huffs out a laugh. “So much for your town curse.”

“You heard those ridiculous rumors?”

Damn, I hope it doesn’t include my grandpa’s house being haunted or whatever the kids are saying. Though he wouldn’t be here if he had a problem with it.

“Frank told me some things. Aaron too.” He holds up a finger. “Oh, and Beth.”

“I forgot you’ve been talking with her,” Frank says. “Careful, she might forecast your future.”

“She was right about me,” Aaron admits.

I open my mouth to confess the same, then clamp it shut.

Looks like the horizon is doing its job keeping John and me at arm’s length. Or should I say, in different cities?

“She did make a prediction.” Rocco’s tone is a cross between amusement and discomfort. “But only because I asked, and even then, I was half joking.”

Frank nudges him. “You didn’t tell me this.”

He narrows his eyes. “Because I still think it’s bullshit, and I didn’t exactly like what she had to say.”

“Well, don’t leave us in suspense,” Frank eggs him on.

“She said I would end up with the love of my life,” he mutters.

“And?” Aaron’s eyebrows pull together. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.” He shifts awkwardly as if recounting their interaction makes him uneasy. “So I pointed out that I am marrying Corrine. Beth looked away and didn’t respond.”

“So?” Aaron scoffs. “That doesn’t mean⁠—”

He huffs out a breath. “Then she said, I wish you all the best.”

The foyer grows silent.

“Well, you did ask.” I wince.

“I did.”

I shrug. “It all depends on what you believe.”

“True, and like I said, it’s all BS.”

I notice Frank is suspiciously silent.

We shake hands again before I close the door behind them.

I lean against the wood and look around the space. With all the clutter gone, it looks clean and sleek but also stark and not lived in, which makes sense with all the updates.

Did I really just sell my grandfather’s house?

29

JOHN

The next few weeks seem to intensify at lightning speed. The bar feels more crowded, especially in the lead-up to today’s spring festival.

While that’s kept us busy, along with this evening’s fish fry, I’m also glad to see how much Seth has stepped up to take the load off. He’s gunning for more responsibility, and if he keeps it up, I’ll be more than glad to delegate.

Micah has been busy with the sale of the house, his second audition, which he thinks went well, prepping his grandfather’s boat for sale, and the play. We still text constantly and see each other when we can. He’s stopped by for one meal or another nearly every day.

I glance out the window to the shining sun, which feels refreshing after the moderate temps and rainfall as spring takes hold. There’s a certain energy in town, an excitement about the season that you don’t feel many other times of the year. Almost like a rebirth, a reprieve from the unpredictable weather. Though spotting the migrating gray whales is always a sight.

I pat Ross on the back. “Think you can cover for me for an hour?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

A moment later, I’m out the door, and the closer I get to the large grassy field where most events in town are held, the more my stomach scrambles with nerves. I stand to the side of the constructed stage, careful not to disturb Micah or Ms. Hart. They’re busy giving a pep talk to the students, who look great in their wardrobe and makeup.

There’s a nervous anticipation in the air that brings me back to our high school days and watching Micah behind the scenes. I can’t hold back my smile once my gaze lands on the lead, seeing how closely he seems to be listening to Micah’s direction. It only solidifies how much Micah is meant for this sort of thing, and I can’t fault him that, not that I ever did.

By the time the play begins, the rows of chairs are completely filled, and June joins me on the sidelines with a blanket so we can sit on the grass to watch the production.

“I’ll admit he looks happy behind the stage,” June whispers to me. “Like he’s really enjoying himself in that role.”

“He’s definitely passionate about helping the students.” As soon as he decided to help Ms. Hart, he went all in, never missing a practice and going above and beyond for the kids, even staying after rehearsal to help the lead actor go over lines.

She presses her arm against mine. “Sorry, kiddo.”

I offer a sad smile. “You haven’t called me that in a while.”

“Thought maybe you needed your big sister’s support. I know you’re hurting even if you act all diplomatic about everything.”

“Yeah…yeah, I am.” The dull throb in my chest hasn’t gone away since he showed up in town. “But it’s still right to let him go.”

She doesn’t argue, only says, “Jack told me about the divorce papers.”

Us filling them out still feels surreal. “He’ll file them when he returns.”

“And when is that?”

“He wanted to see this production through. Plus, all the paperwork for the sale of the house.” I pause to take in the headless horseman, which makes many in the audience gasp. “So likely soon.”

She frowns. “Sounds like he’s about done tying up loose ends.”

“Suppose it’s long overdue.”

She pulls me in for a hug like she did when we were kids. Except I’m way bigger now, so her arm barely fits the breadth of my shoulders.

We watch the rest of the play in awe because, outside of a couple of slip-ups, it’s entertaining and successful, given the applause at the final curtain. A couple minutes more, and the kids file out to take a bow. June and I are loud with our whoops and hollers, especially when Ms. Hart appears with Micah, and they lift their arms high before bowing as they get showered with praise.

“That’s Micah Malone,” a man behind me blurts. “What’s he doing back in town?”

“Obviously didn’t make it in Hollywood,” the woman beside him says.

I turn to glare at them, and they avert their eyes, undoubtedly embarrassed to have their comments overheard. They know nothing about Micah as an adult, and few took the time to try and understand him as a kid. Thank God for people like Ms. Hart, who put all her faith in him. My parents too.

June says her goodbyes so she can help Aunt Dina at Honeycomb, and I wait a bit longer, hoping to catch Micah’s eye.

I near the stage and wait at the bottom of the steps as Micah busies himself, helping Ms. Hart and the students clear the props as best they can so the production crew has less to clean up.

When he sees me, he grins and descends the steps two at a time. “You made it.”

“Of course I did. Great job!”

“Oh, I didn’t do anything. It was all the kids.”

“But you helped them perform better.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

“Oh, please don’t be modest,” Ms. Hart says, carrying an armload of costumes down the steps. “If I could bottle up your enthusiasm for theater, I would.”

“Where do you think I got it from?” he retorts, and she smiles.

It’s true—I haven’t seen Micah this animated since high school drama club.

I wait as many of the students hug Micah and Ms. Hart, introduce their parents, and then say their goodbyes. Fuck, that’s so good to see. He deserves that.

“All right, I’m going to head back to the high school,” Ms. Hart says.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Micah tells her.

She eyes us. “Take your time. No rush.”

I hold up my hands. “I need to get back to my bar anyway. Feel free to stop by for drinks on me.”

“We might just take you up on that,” Ms. Hart says. “Fish fry for dinner?”

“We’ll be heating up the oil and pans in a couple of hours.”

Micah nods and smiles. “See you later, then.”

I walk back to the Witching Hour, stopping to chat with townsfolk on the way. I briefly step inside Honeycomb to buss Aunt Dina’s cheek, and then I wave to Beth, who is thankfully busy with a trio of customers in her shop next door.

I walk into a hopping bar and immediately get to work, picking up any slack from Ross and Seth. Before I know it, it’s the dinner rush, and we’re serving fish and chips to most of the patrons. I help in the kitchen for a while, but thankfully, I hired the best staff, and they have it all handled. Jack and Aaron stop in with his mom, Isabel, and her friend Mae, who runs the inn and motel. When the guys see how busy we are, they offer extra hands to run food to tables, which I always appreciate. I’m so distracted I don’t even notice Ms. Hart and Micah have pulled up two stools at the bar until they wave to get my attention.

I smile as I take their drink orders. “Be right back.”

I serve Micah a cider and Ms. Hart a white wine, which she says will pair well with her fish dinner. Speaking of which, I grab their plates from the kitchen and set them in front of them. “The perch you caught for me,” I point out.

Micah’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

“I’m actually not sure, but I’m pretending it is.”

“Oh goodie, I’ll pretend too,” Ms. Hart says as she inhales a forkful of beer-battered fish.

“Need my help?” Micah asks when the door opens and more people step inside.

I wave him off. “Just enjoy your dinner.”

I check in on them when I can, as well as on Uncle Chuck, Aaron, and Jack, who grabbed a table in the corner with the ladies.

When I see that Micah’s and Ms. Hart’s plates are clean, I reach for them. “On me. For entertaining the town this afternoon.”

Ms. Hart grips her chest. “You are the sweetest.”

“Thank you,” Micah mouths.

I’m not sure how much more time passes before I see Ms. Hart stand and grab her bag. “Stop by before you leave town?”

“I will,” Micah replies as an air of solemnity descends between them, maybe because all their hard work has come to an impressive end. Micah used to say the week after a production felt like a letdown, and I get that sentiment. Sort of like it does after the rib fest and fish fry. Like you can finally catch your breath but lament all the energy and excitement leading up to the event.

“We might lock you in the costume closet and only let you out to help us for our fall production,” Ms. Hart teases Micah.

I wink. “If you need any help with that, let me know.”

Ms. Hart laughs as they hug, and then she waves as she heads out the door.

Micah seems lost after she leaves, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“How about that help you offered?”

He nods, gratitude and relief in his expression.

It reminds me of how lost he seemed the month after returning from our wedding in Vegas. Happy but adrift, and I did everything I could to keep him occupied.

It’ll never feel as peaceful, contented, and clandestine as it did our first night back in town before we told our families we were connected for life. Till death do us part.

It’s late when we arrive home, so we tiptoe down to the basement, to our bedroom, careful not to wake my parents.

Once undressed, we fall into bed, exhausted but giddy with excitement.

“I can’t believe you’re my husband,” I exclaim as if we haven’t tested out the word the entire trip home. “And I like that you kept your name. For when you make it big.”

“Shhhh, they’ll hear us,” Micah says before winding his arms around my neck and planting a kiss on my lips. “Husband.”

“Fuck, I love hearing you say it.” I blame Micah for being too adorable, too irresistible, as I lick down his throat and give in to the urge to suck a mark into his skin right above his breastbone.

Micah grunts, his fingers gripping my neck. “What the hell?”

“I’m marking you,” I tease. “You’re mine now.”

“Always have been. Always will be,” he murmurs, and my shaft stiffens just like that. Just by uttering those words, he makes my chest swell and my cock hard as nails.

When I draw a nipple between my teeth, Micah hisses.

I snicker as my hand covers his mouth. “Now who’s loud?”

“I can’t help it when you do that.”

He squirms against me as I focus on the other nub, his eyes blazing even in the dim room. “Let’s make it official.”

“Didn’t we already do that in the hotel room? Not that I’m complaining.”

The memory of us making love all night, sometimes slow and sweet, other times fast and hard, arouses my senses even more. I lick down his stomach, grasp his thighs, and nip at each hip bone before soothing the sting with my tongue.

Micah’s fingers tug at my hair. “You always make me hard. Especially when you’re inside me.”

“Nothing I love more.” I inhale his scent as my nose grazes across his groin, his coarse hair tickling my lip. The head of his shaft bumps my chin, precome tacky against my jaw. I angle my head to lap at his cock, savoring the salty taste as a fresh burst awakens my taste buds.

When I increase suction and take more of him between my lips, Micah arches and rocks his hips, spurring me on. My tongue licks and twists in time with my mouth, and I sense that I’m already bringing him to the edge.

“Fuck me, J.”

I pull off and reach for the lube, but his fingers still grip my scalp as if they have a mind of their own and aren’t quite finished reveling in my giving him head. I chuckle to myself, enjoying how responsive he is to my every touch.

I take firm hold of his thighs and spin him to his stomach. Micah clutches the pillow and buries his head, his moan muffled.

“Damn, this ass.” I knead his cheeks, feathering soft kisses on each side as he writhes against the mattress. Impatient as ever, Micah lifts to his knees and slides his hands behind him to part his cheeks, inviting me in.

“Fucking hell,” I growl, drawing his hips closer and wasting no time swiping the length of his crease with my tongue. He gasps as I get to work on that tantalizing hole, licking, sucking, and nibbling around his tender pucker.

Skin softening, I prod my tongue inside as Micah groans and squirms, fisting the sheets. He tastes like sweat mixed with the fancy soap from our hotel room, and I can’t get enough of wriggling my tongue into his hole until he’s a pleading, sobbing mess. “Please, J.”

I pull back after one last lick and reach for the lube, liberally drenching my fingers and cock as he rolls to his back. It’s his favorite position because he likes watching me. I confess I like it too.

My hand winds around his neck as I bend forward to bring our mouths together. He eagerly kisses me back, nipping my lip and sucking on my tongue until my eyes practically cross with raw need.

When my finger reaches down to his taint, he lifts his knees to smooth the way. Prodding my finger inside his hole, his lips part, his eyes glassy. I make quick work of adding a second digit. Our eyes hold as I thrust in and out of his ass, and soon enough, there’s bald desperation in his gaze.

I remove my fingers and adjust my hands to the underside of his knees. Going bare is one of the best feelings, but I can’t help drawing out the anticipation. “Tell me how much you need me to fuck you.”

“I need it bad. Don’t want anyone else inside me. Only you, my husband, the man of my dreams,” he murmurs, and my heart nearly gives out because, holy fuck, hearing those words from the man I love is heady.

I bend to kiss his jaw, cheeks, and lips before I line up my cock to his entrance. His entire body trembles as I prod against his hole, barely penetrating it.

“I’ll never want anyone but you,” I whisper as I rock farther inside. He gasps as his eyes spring to mine. His face is flushed pink, his gaze soft, a sheen of sweat dampening his bangs.

My hand trails up his chest to his shoulder, squeezing for leverage. I shift to his neck, my fingers caressing his fluttering pulse, content that it matches my own.

My initial thrusts are shallow as I grow accustomed to his tightness and heat, the pressure perfect, like we were always tailor-made for each other.

I watch as, inch by inch, my shaft slips between his smooth, round ass cheeks. When my entire length disappears inside his body—inside my husband, my forever love—I nearly unravel right then and there.

I pull almost all the way out, then watch how my cock splits Micah in two again, admiring how fucking hot and debauched he looks.

“Feels so good. Love you so much.” He sighs, seeming completely adrift as my shaft throbs inside him.

My fingers tighten on his thighs as I toggle between leisurely rolls and deeper thrusts, dragging moans and sobs from him.

“Love you more.” I bend to fit my mouth against his, his tongue dipping past my lips and flicking tenderly against mine.

We groan in unison as I push his knees higher and change my position. My pants turn hoarse, and I’m dying to lose myself, but I also need to prolong this incredible feeling.

I can feel his cock leaking between us, so I draw back enough to fit my hand around his warm, stiff shaft and begin stroking.

His hand reaches blindly to grip my thigh as his eyes search mine. “I might die if I don’t come right now.”

My hand grips the back of his knee as I drive into him harder, my other palm messily jerking him off until his hand replaces mine. He pumps his cock in earnest as I watch him chase his orgasm. My knuckles graze his chest, brushing over his hardened nipples, making him writhe and moan.

A vivid flush intensifies over his cheeks and chest before his eyes roll back and he shudders, finally letting go. Hot come spurts between us as he pants roughly, his hole gripping my cock like a tight glove.

Soon enough, I feel the familiar quiver in my groin as my balls feel impossibly full. A tidal wave pulls me under as I shatter, pumping all my seed inside him.

I collapse on top, my skin hot and clammy, my pulse hammering frantically against his. Our fingers intertwine, our mouths and tongues connecting messily until our breaths even out.

We lie pasted together, sticky come lining our stomachs and dripping down his legs, and I want to beat my chest like a damned gorilla that I get to have him—love him, indulge him, and even argue with him.

Micah hums in satisfaction, and as our gazes hold, I know with razor-sharp certainty that I will never feel for anyone what I do for Micah Malone. No matter what life brings us.

30

MICAH

I’m lying in bed, thinking about the play and how much joy I got out of it, how alive and accomplished it made me feel. Would I be able to do something like that long-term? Give up auditioning for acting roles and work in theater instead, in any capacity, from costume to production crew?

I sigh. It’s where I started eight years ago, with few opportunities around here, and it wasn’t enough. But maybe I’d have more prospects in LA and still be able to keep my job at the restaurant. At least with the money from the sale of the house and boat, I’ll have more wiggle room. I roll over and bury my head in my pillow as an icy, thorny feeling jabs at my chest. When all is said and done, I will have nothing left of my grandfather—or John—except my memories, and that will have to do.

The sharp trill of my cell phone startles me. It’s my agent.

My gut churns as I reach for it. Just because I thought the audition went well means nothing. I’ve been in this position dozens of times before. I brace myself for bad news. “Hey, Ken.”

“Are you sitting down?” he asks, then blurts, “You got it! You’ve officially been offered a limited role in Cold Blade.”

I practically spring out of bed as my heart pounds. “No fucking way!”

“The cast has a call time in a couple of weeks, so you need to get your ass home.”

It’s all familiar by now—meeting the other actors and crew, setting up the scene, and rehearsing the lines, no matter how few there are—but this time, it feels different. It weighs more because it’s a popular show and will look amazing on my résumé.

“Guess it’s a good thing this house is closing soon.”

“Congratulations. Looks like everything is finally lining up for you.”

I smile blandly because the well-wishes don’t quite land. “Thanks.”

I get dressed, then root around the pantry for food but come up short. So I head into town for breakfast. The weather is perfect, the sky a vivid blue, and I feel—dare I say it—proud of myself for killing it in my audition.

“Hey there, handsome,” June says as I find a stool at the counter. “I enjoyed the play the other day.”

“Thank you.” I smile, but my stomach quivers when I imagine John’s reaction to hearing the good news from LA.

June takes my order, then turns over a mug and fills it with steaming coffee. I doctor it with cream and sugar and enjoy my first few sips.

As I dig into my pancakes, I feel someone sit beside me.

“I’ll have the same,” Beth says to June. “But make them blueberry.”

“Good morning,” I say as she flips her cup and June pours the coffee. She sips while I check emails on my phone from the production company.

After several seconds of silence, Beth leans forward to catch my eye. “Seems you got lots on your mind.”

“I definitely do.” I almost tell her I got cast in a popular show, but John needs to hear it first. Instead, my voice wobbles as I throw out, “My grandfather’s house sold, so I’ll be hitting the road soon.”

She smiles. “Dina told me the news. Rocco is a good man, and I’m sure he’ll make good use of the property.”

It feels like a ball of jagged ice is trapped in my throat. I didn’t think I’d feel this way—so emotional, so forlorn about leaving a place I was never sure about to begin with.

We make small talk as we eat and sip from our second cups. June is too busy to say much else to either of us, but I can’t help wondering if it’s purposeful, a protective thing regarding her brother. But that’s ridiculous. We’ve always been friendly. I consider her family. Always will, even after the divorce.

As we pay our bills, Beth glances at me. “Suppose this is it, then.”

“Seems so,” I admit. Though I might see her again at the bar, I won’t have much reason to shop in town again. “Guess you were right about me and about…the sun and ocean.”

“I don’t enjoy being right, you know. Not when it involves something like this.” She smiles sadly. “Just remember that you’ll always belong. To us and to him.”

Fucking hell, Beth. Way to muddy my emotions further.

We say our goodbyes to June, and then I hold open the door for Beth. We head in opposite directions, me for groceries to tide me over for a few days and her to the shop.

It’s a quick trip, and with two bags in hand, I find a bench and inhale the salty sea air, attempting to reconcile my conflicting emotions.

I lift my phone and text John. I got the part.

Congratulations!

Thanks. I’m actually glad not to hear the stiffness in his voice, though I know he’s genuinely happy for me.

Good timing, too, since you sold the house. Suppose this means you’ll be heading out?

I swallow thickly. In a few days.

You’ll keep me updated about how it goes? And about the divorce too?

Yeah, sure.

What about the boat?

Good question. Next on my list. Gonna ask around.

Good luck.

I’m so lost in thought I barely register Mr. Goodson sitting down and playing his ukulele. I acknowledge him with a nod, then relax and listen for a while, thinking back to our conversation when I first arrived in town, the better part of two months ago.

“Being married that long means you’ve both evolved into many different versions of yourselves. You’ll grieve who they were a million times over, but the key is to embrace who they’ve become.”

John and I have undoubtedly evolved apart and, in a sense, even together.

When he finishes the final stanza, I stand.

“That was lovely. See you later, Mr. Goodson,” I say, though that’s unlikely.

“All is not lost, young man,” he declares with as much confidence as he did that day.

I stare at him. “What do you mean?”

“I can see the pain written all over your face.”

“I…well, no. I just have a lot going on right now.”

He scrutinizes me for a long moment, and I wonder why I can’t just tell him the truth.

“I assume you’re leaving, aren’t’cha?”

That’s when I realize he’s privy to town gossip as well, must be hearing all the goings-on right from this very bench.

“Yes, sir. I am. And though I’m happy about my future opportunities, I feel conflicted about them too.”

“Always remember your roots.” He winks. “Good luck to you, young man.”

“I, um…thanks.”

As I walk away, I suddenly remember the rest of our conversation that day.

“Real love is eternal. It keeps you rooted even when you’re split apart.”

I deposit my groceries in the pantry before heading back to my car. Once I park at the dock, I walk toward the warehouse.

The same man wearing the Sleepy Slip storage logo on his shirt approaches me. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you know anyone willing to take my grandfather’s boat off my hands.” I look away from his probing eyes. “I live in LA.”

He adjusts the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “I can ask around and keep an eye out. Plenty looking for boats around here. Not sure what you’ll get for her, though.”

“Yeah, I figured. But I did my best to clean her up and give her a good polish.”

He takes off his ball cap, scrubs his scalp, then flips it backward. “That’ll help.”

“Great. I’ll be leaving town in a few days and would like to rent storage for the boat again. Until she sells. So how about I give you my contact information?”

We trade information, and soon enough, I’m on my way back to my car. That’s when I see a familiar woman helping a man with a cane down the dock. When I realize who it is, I jog to catch up to them.

“Good to see you, Cap.”

He stiffens as he turns to look at me. He looks ill, and one side of his face is drooping from the effects of the stroke, which likely makes it hard to form words. “You…too…Micah.”

His daughter looks wary as she grips his arm. “He was determined to come here today.”

“Stubborn, huh?” I tease. “Can’t say I blame you.”

“Don’t want…to waste more time…staring at four walls…” He’s winded by the time he gets out the sentence, so I just smile and nod.

“Need any help?” I ask.

“All…good,” he says, and I know better than to try anyway. Instead, I speed ahead to hold the door open as she walks him to the bait shop and they step inside. Before the door shuts, I take stock of the supplies on the shelves, the bulletin board to share town news, and the peeling paint inside and out. As if I’m taking a snapshot of this moment, though I’ll undoubtedly be back again before I leave town.

I stand by my statement that some things are better left in their original condition. Because change is hard and nostalgia beckons the soul. Besides, there’s no telling what’ll happen in six months’ time for any of us.

31

JOHN

A few days later, I receive a text from Micah. How about a final boat ride?

As I drive toward the dock, I’m not sure how I could refuse him. This is likely it. Everything feels so final because it essentially is.

As soon as I see Micah standing on the casting deck of his grandfather’s boat, my breath catches. I will always have that image of him as my last.

“You look good up there,” I call to him. “You sure you’re ready to give this up?”

He smiles. “The boat or the fishing?”

I step onto the deck and steady my feet. “Both?”

“No way I can take the boat with me.” He motions toward the bait-and-tackle shop. “I put word out at the shack and warehouse that I’m looking for a buyer.”

“Good plan.” If I remember correctly, there’s a bulletin board where fishers pin stuff they’re selling or are interested in buying. Old-school style, but it works.

“In the meantime, she’s going back into storage at the warehouse.”

“Then I suppose we need to give Vitamin Sea one last good run.”

He meets my eyes and nods. “Untie the stern?”

I make my way toward the back of the boat to loosen the rope while he takes the bow side. When he gets behind the wheel, I push us off, and soon enough, we’re heading to the open water.

He slowly increases the speed, making the water spray from the sides of the boat, and I’ll admit it’s exhilarating. He loops around the bay a couple of times before slowing down. We float as we take in the view of the horizon and beach.

“How about the fishing?” I ask, returning to our previous conversation about what he’s giving up. “I’m sure you can find similar places in the LA area.”

He cuts the engine but stays seated instead of reaching for his pole. “Wouldn’t be the same.”

“Why not?”

“The vibe is different there.”

“Maybe there’s a vibe you just haven’t found yet,” I offer.

“In all this time? Doubtful.” He sulks. “I wish I could bring this small-town energy with me, but life is a bit more complicated than that.”

“Tell me about it,” I mutter, reaching for a water bottle from his cooler. “Maybe focus on the positives of LA. What do you like most about it?”

He stares off in the distance. “The opportunities for acting jobs.”

“That’s obvious. Anything else?”

I can name things off the top of my head when I think about the epicenter of where he lives, including his eclectic neighborhood and all the places within walking distance. But imagining the constant congestion of traffic and people makes me shudder.

“The beach, I guess,” he replies. “Though I rarely visit. And the food variety.”

“Wow, what a list,” I deadpan. “But I bet you can’t name stuff about Aqua Vista either.”

He thumps my knee. “You, of course. That’s always number one.”

My chest aches with sadness and longing. “What else?”

“Coming back here helped me appreciate a few things.”

I take a swig of my water and replace the cap. “Do tell.”

“There’s a certain charm to the simpler, slower pace of a small town, even with everyone being in my business,” he teases. He might be unwilling to admit it, but I know he longs to redeem himself with certain folks. “Then there’s my love of fishing, appreciating the life my grandfather built, catching up with old friends.”

“Like Ms. Hart?” I ask as another boat passes close by.

“Yeah.” Micah lifts his hand in a wave as boaters are known to do. “That was a lot of fun.”

“Did it remind you how talented you are, even behind the scenes?” I’m not sure Micah has ever really considered that possibility.

“Sure, but I’m still a dime a dozen.” He puffs out a breath. “Too many people vying for too few jobs. Getting this part doesn’t guarantee anything. But I am grateful for the opportunity.”

The silence grows between us, each lost in our thoughts as we enjoy the sun warming our faces and the soft wind cooling us down.

“So what now?” I finally ask.

“I don’t know. Considered casting my rod in the water, but not feeling it today.”

I study him, noticing the shadows beneath his eyes and the wrinkles lining his forehead. “That’s surprising.”

“Got too much else on my mind.” He stands and starts the engine, which coughs and sputters before firing up. “Grab lunch with me? I don’t have much food at the house, and I’m not sure I want to go into town, but I can still⁠—”

“How about soup and sandwiches at my place?”

“Sure, why not?” His eyes brighten. “Just like old times.”

We head back to shore and secure the boat to the dock.

“I’ll meet you at your place. Gonna let the warehouse know the boat’s ready for storage.”

He’s still standing motionless, staring at the boat and water, as I make my way back to my car. I consider staying, but I figure he needs time to let go of something he’s only just found again.

My stomach throbs as I drive away. Once home, I pull out sandwich supplies, heat the soup on the burner, and set the table.

Micah shows up about ten minutes later, and he still seems distracted, looking around the house as if noticing it for the first time. It’s different from when we lived here as kids. I’ve put my stamp on the decor, but there are still remnants of my parents everywhere. Photos and dishes, trinkets and leftover furniture.

“Smells good,” Micah says as he sinks into a chair and dives into his lunch. We eat and discuss his departure time tomorrow as if it’s a casual, offhand topic and not killing us.

He helps me clear the table, and as he’s absently placing his plate in the dishwasher, his gaze snags on something in the other room. He makes a beeline to a bookshelf lined with framed pictures. He lifts the one of us from high school graduation. His grandfather even posed with my parents for that one.

And then there’s the one of us newly married, showing off our rings.

I step up behind him to glance over his shoulder. “God, we look so young. I couldn’t even grow facial hair.”

He laughs as he twists toward me. His fingers stroke the scruff on my chin. “Glad you finally can because it’s sexy as hell.”

“Micah,” I sigh, as much in appreciation as frustration.

“Sorry. Can’t help loving you. Wanting to be with you.”

I screw my eyes shut, willing myself to get my emotions in check. “I’ll never stop, Micah Malone.”

He pulls me into an embrace so tight I can scarcely breathe, but I also don’t care because it’s too excruciating to let him go.

“I can’t…I need you, Micah. I need you so fucking much.”

“Need you too,” he murmurs against my ear.

“Show me how much,” I tell him, my voice filled with anguish as I grasp the back of his shirt.

And then Micah’s breath is against my lips, his tongue sweeping the seam of my mouth as if asking permission, and there’s no fucking way I’m saying no. Our kisses are slow as we take our time exploring, memorizing with lips and teeth and tongues. In that moment, I’m certain no one else’s mouth or taste will ever do. He’s ruined me for all others. When I pull back to catch my breath, the angst in his eyes tells me he feels as wrecked as I do.

We burrow our hands in each other’s hair and moan into each other’s mouths until we’re both hard and needy. We undress each other between kisses, leaving a trail on the way to the bedroom. Part of me doesn’t want to have this room represent our last memory, but the other part wants to smell him on my sheets for days.

Micah urges me back on the mattress, kissing every part of me he can reach, from my nipples to my hip bones, licking and nipping, making blood rush to my cock. It’s exactly what I need. For him to consume me. To stem the tidal wave of grief swelling in my heart. If only for a couple of hours.

Micah retreats momentarily to grab the lube from my nightstand. I watch as he coats his fingers, then reaches behind my balls to rub the slickness over my hole. The cool sensation makes me shiver, and as he works the tip of his finger inside, I fight the urge to cringe.

“You’re so tight, baby,” Micah croons. “Are you sure…?”

“One hundred percent.” When I lift my knees to my shoulders, he swears under his breath as he looks me over, and I feel flayed open, just as I did professing my love junior year—after my woodworking class, where I made him a rough carving of a sailboat. Micah had been afraid to tell me it had warped and rotted the following week. I force the foreshadowing out of my mind because I know we’re more than that.

When he leans forward and flutters his tongue over my sac, I groan. My muscles turn liquid as he sucks one of my nuts and simultaneously fucks me with his finger. “More,” I tell him, squirming beneath his mouth. I’m the impatient one this time, wanting to get on with it, to feel him inside me, even knowing I haven’t bottomed in a while.

Micah watches my reaction closely as he pushes a second finger inside.

“Holy hell.” I tremble, my eyes rolling back because the sensation is a prickly sting with just a tinge of pleasure.

He persists by pumping his digits and rubbing against my prostate, which makes me gasp and writhe in bliss but also in frustration.

And then my nerve endings flare to life like an electric current when Micah slides my cock inside the heat of his mouth. He sucks me with flawless pressure, still opening me with his fingers, and my thoughts blur to static while raw pleasure permeates my senses.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Micah murmurs. “Just look at you.”

I part my lips to respond, but I can only manage a low moan.

Fingers stuffed inside me, he bends forward to connect our mouths in a messy but perfect kiss. I whimper shamelessly, my fingers hooking around his nape to keep our lips and tongues connected.

When we finally part, Micah’s mouth is shiny, his eyes a bit dazed. He removes his fingers, and I instinctively clench, needing to feel that fullness again.

Micah promises to only be a second. “Need a condom.”

“No,” I blurt, setting my soles down on the mattress. “Wanna feel you bare.”

Micah’s gaze captures mine. “J…I…are you sure?”

“I get checked regularly.” My voice is hoarse and needy. “You?”

I hear his contented sigh. “I do too.”

He opens the lube and applies it liberally to his cock, and then he’s hovering over me again, the tip of his shaft brushing my balls.

Lifting my knees, he scoots forward, and I breathe out as the cockhead breaches my rim, slowly, ever so slowly. I dare not rock no matter how much I want to because this time, the burn is more intense, more overwhelming, even as he shallowly thrusts to help me get accustomed to the feeling.

Micah grits his teeth as if holding back. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

A moment later, I feel his balls brushing against my ass, and he’s fully seated inside me.

“So fucking good. But I need you to move.” I squirm and rock before he takes over, pulling almost all the way out, then driving forward again, setting a pace that transforms the leftover sting into a ripple of soul-stirring bliss.

And underneath that pleasure is a profound peacefulness that inhabits every inch of me. Because this is Micah and me joining in our rawest sense. He makes my heart quake, my skin buzz, and being connected like this is the purest form of love. I know this man. Know him deeply and intimately. I’m sure of him. Always have been and always will be.

I rock to meet his every thrust, the bed shaking from our effort as he fucks me fast and hard. It’s exactly what I need. To feel every inch of him. For hours after. Even if it destroys me.

Sweat is trickling down my back and pooling at his temples, and when our eyes catch, he momentarily stills as if to meet the weight of the moment head-on. To capture it, bury it deep for when he’s hundreds of miles away.

When the intensity of his gaze becomes too much, I close my eyes and wind my fingers around my shaft, concentrating on stroking myself into oblivion.

“Ah, hell.” My body twitches as a warm, tingling flush moves through my limbs and pools in my nuts.

In another moment, Micah’s hand is there on top of mine, jerking in time with his thrusts. It doesn’t take much longer for my back to arch, my mouth opening on a soundless gasp as I sail beyond the edge of the horizon, my come spurting all over my chest.

Micah thrusts jerkily before he’s meeting me there, his body rigid, his groan deep as his orgasm rips through him. He unloads inside me, riding out his orgasm with slower, longer thrusts before he slumps on top of me.

We quietly pant as we cling to each other, our hearts thundering in unison, my legs loosely encircling his hips. It’s another minute before I feel the wetness against my throat. My eyes sting in response as I try to blink the tears away.

He wipes his eyes as we break apart, but we still don’t speak—or maybe can’t find the words for what we feel or just shared.

I nearly protest when Micah rolls off me, my body feeling too weightless, too empty after his bulk and mass anchored me in place. But it’s only to grab a damp towel to wipe us down as I lie nearly lifeless, barely able to process what the next hours might feel like.

When he tries to dab at the come trailing down my legs, I still his hand. “Leave it. Want it there.”

I hear him swear under his breath before he sets the towel down and gathers my face in his hands.

I know this is it. This is goodbye, and I want to screw my eyes shut, to not remember his shattered gaze. But I keep looking back, memorizing how he appears with his hair messy from my hands and his mouth puffy from my lips.

I need to. All we have left is this moment.

Micah bends to kiss me so tenderly that my eyes close automatically. I sigh when his lips draw away. I keep my lids shut as he rifles around for his clothes because I can’t bear to watch. My chest is so tight, I can scarcely breathe, and when I hear the door close behind him, the tears finally come.

32

MICAH

I can’t wipe my tears fast enough, so I say fuck it and let them come as I drive away from Aqua Vista. It feels too permanent. I should be excited about the opportunity ahead, but for the moment, I’m not. Instead, I’m emotional in a wholly different way. I honestly didn’t think leaving would affect me so much, having stayed away for years.

But I suppose between the house, boat, and marriage, I’ve always maintained a tenuous connection, almost like I could return at a moment’s notice. Not that anyone would want me after all I’ve done.

Except maybe John and Ms. Hart—and possibly the drama club kids.

I turn up the tunes and sink into the long drive, stopping halfway through for food and to stretch my legs. It was way more entertaining having John with me on this lonely stretch of highway.

The farther I get from Aqua Vista, the more unsettled I feel. What the hell is wrong with me? Must be nerves and the pressure of succeeding. But also the deep ache of being away from John, potentially for good. Leaving him was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Even harder than the first time because, back then, we still had hope and plans.

By the time I pull into Los Angeles proper, I’m mentally and physically exhausted. When I have trouble finding parking near my building, the ball of frustration in my gut knots even tighter. It’s not lost on me that I’ve gone from an entire house to myself, parking included, to vying for a spot on the street while renting a small room.

When I can finally turn off the engine, I grab my bag and one of the boxes of personal items from the house and walk the two blocks to my apartment.

Dennis and Keira are on the couch, having Chinese takeout. It smells divine, and my stomach growls.

“Hey, welcome home,” Dennis says. “And dig in. We’ve got plenty.”

“Damn, thanks, let me just put my things away.”

I head to my bedroom to deposit my things, wondering where I’m going to fit the other mementos I saved from my grandfather’s life. They might have to stay in the trunk until the sale of the house goes through and I make some decisions about housing. I’ll admit it feels disconcerting in this cramped bedroom—and city—after enjoying Aqua Vista for the first time in a long while.

I remove my toiletry case, then head to the bathroom to take a leak and clean up.

By the time I’m finished and back in the kitchen, Dennis and Keira are already cleaning their dishes. I grab a plate and fork and dig into the beef and broccoli container. I confess I missed the food, and I stifle a moan because it tastes so good. I sit at the table with a soda and my loaded plate and scarf it down.

Keira is on her phone and heading toward Dennis’s bedroom for privacy while he fills his water glass at the sink. “Long drive, eh?”

I nod around another bite of food. “All good around here?”

“Yeah, Keira’s been dealing with a work emergency, but other than that, we’ve just been wedding planning.”

“Exciting.” I reach for an egg roll and take a bite as Dennis watches me.

“It is, but a ton of work. I’m trying to help as much as I can.”

“Do you have a date set?”

He smiles. “Next summer.”

“Plenty of time.” I wink. “For both of us, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

I absently graze my fork through the leftover rice on my plate. “I’m not sure what your plans are for the apartment, but I want to find a place of my own now that my grandfather’s house has sold.”

He grins. “Look at you, moving up in the world.”

I nearly choke on my soda. “I suppose it’s about damn time.”

“It’s not like you’ve been lazing about.” His glass clinks as he sets it in the sink. “You’ve worked your butt off and finally got a kick-ass role.”

“Thanks.” I wait as the sound of a police siren fades outside. “Feels a bit…surreal.”

“I bet. I suppose a little nerve-racking too?”

“Definitely. But…” I trail off with a yawn.

Dennis is staring at me. “What were you gonna say? Are you having doubts?”

“Nothing like that. Unless we’re talking about me.” I grab a napkin and wipe my mouth. “It’s just… Shouldn’t I feel more excited?”

He folds his arms thoughtfully. “You did have a long travel day.”

“True. Or maybe after all this time, I’m too jaded.”

“Understandable. It’s a cutthroat industry with more rejections than anyone could ever get used to.” And he’s seen me through most of them, even when I tried to hide my mood. “That’ll likely change on your first day. You love being on set—at least, that’s what you’ve told me.”

“I do. Just ignore me. It’s been a long couple of months.”

He thumps me on the back. “Give yourself a break. And a good night’s sleep.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Keira returns, seeming exasperated, and as she describes the call with her IT boss, I get busy clearing my plate and storing the containers in the fridge. Afterward, we retreat to the living room, where Dennis tells me about a new restaurant that opened around the corner. “Thanks for the heads-up. Indian takeout on me next time.”

“Was it hard leaving Aqua Vista?” Keira asks, and I stiffen. We’ve shared details about our childhoods over the years, and given that she was born and raised in LA, she’s always seemed curious about life in a small town.

“Very,” I admit.

The corners of her mouth turn down. “Sorry to hear that.”

Dennis’s tone is tentative as he asks, “Why do you think?”

I blow out a breath, right on the edge of blubbering again.

“None of our business,” Keira says when I don’t respond right away.

“It’s okay. Just been working through it.” I’ve been a sounding board for them—mostly Dennis—for as long as we’ve been roommates, regarding anything from work to his overbearing parents, so I don’t mind sharing. “Grandpa’s house sold, and soon enough, his boat will too, so it feels like I’ve cut all my ties to the place.”

“Makes sense,” Keira replies. “Bet it was hard saying goodbye. But no one can take away your memories.”

Dennis nods. “And you still have John—whom I enjoyed meeting, by the way. It’s clear the two of you have a strong bond.”

“We do and will always be friends.” That thought lands like a thud in my stomach. “But we finally filled out the divorce papers, and I’m supposed to file them.”

Keira grips my hand. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s heavy, man,” Dennis adds. “Maybe that’s also the reason you’re feeling out of sorts.”

“No doubt.” Heaviness settles in my chest. We’ve been through the reasons so many times, but I still voice them. “But what other solution is there? His business and family are there. There’s no acting community in Aqua Vista. Unless you count the high school.”

Keira shoots Dennis a glance. “What do you mean?”

“Somehow, my old drama club teacher recruited me to help her with the spring production before I left town.” I make my tone ominous. “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.”

“Sounds cool. But isn’t that more of a Halloween thing?”

“Welcome to the quirkiness of Aqua Vista.” I smile. “Nobody seems to mind.”

“I love that.” Dennis gets comfortable against the couch cushions. “How was the experience?”

I can’t help smiling at the memory of it. Of the kids’ enthusiasm. Their need for affirmation from an adult. Never imagined that adult would be me, so go figure. “It felt good, actually. Really fucking good.”

Keira smiles. “Your face brightened just now, so you must’ve really enjoyed it.”

My heart stutters because it reminds me of what John told me.

“Your whole face lit up. I’ve only ever seen that expression when you’re fishing.”

“It obviously solidifies how much you love acting,” Dennis points out. “Maybe the key is putting that energy into your role in Cold Blade.”

“Absolutely.” I decide I need to snap the hell out of it. “Thanks for the support. See you in the morning.”

Dennis holds out his fist to bump mine. “That’s the spirit.”

33

JOHN

I’m restless, so when dawn hits, I decide to get dressed and join Jack and Aaron for a hike in the foothills. Despite my good intentions, my car has a mind of its own and heads in the opposite direction toward the docks. Micah has only been gone a few days, we haven’t spoken since, and though I’m dying to hear from him, I also think it’s a good idea to keep our distance and lick our own wounds for now. Besides, I’m sure he’s busy getting back into the swing of life in LA, from work to the upcoming casting call and maybe even filing our divorce papers at the courthouse.

My heart throbs with such a deep ache that the only way I can figure to momentarily alleviate it is to be nearer the place he loves. Maybe the peace he finds with the ocean will rub off on me. I’m actually grateful he got me on that boat and in the water because my siblings and I have been avoiding it like the plague ever since the accident. Or at least the boats. The beach has seemed like a good compromise.

I walk down the dock and step inside the bait shop to buy some gum. Cap is sitting behind the counter, his cane propped beside him. His granddaughter is stocking a shelf and wriggling her nose at the smell of something in a bucket nearby. Probably worms or grubs. I snicker to myself because I’d feel the same.

“Wh…what…brings…you…in?” Cap asks, struggling with the words. I feel bad for the man, but I can tell how much he’s missed being around these parts. Why else would he show up for work like this? Unless it’s to keep an eye on his family members. Wouldn’t put it past him. I’m the same with my bar.

“Just this.” I randomly select gum and place the pack on the counter. Then, my gaze travels toward the bulletin board, where the sales flyer hangs for the boat. “But I also wondered if you’ve heard…if there’s been any interest in the Malone boat.”

“Not that I’m…aware of.” He scowls. “But…you know what somebody…d…did have an interest in?”

I straighten at the question. “What’s that?”

“To buy this…sh…shop.” I can see all over his expression how much that irks him, and maybe it’s more about pride than anything else.

“Is it even up for discussion?”

“Nope.” He folds his arms. “Besides…if it was, it would have to…to be the right…p…person under the…r…right circumstances.”

“You mean like your family members?” I can see Emma fidgeting in my side view, much like she did around the bucket. “I hear they’ve been doing a good job holding down the fort during your recovery.”

He nods and motions toward his granddaughter. “B…but they have other…interests. Emma just…g…graduated high school and…p…plans to start college. And my…d…daughter, Mary… already has a full-time j…job over in Sandy Springs.”

“Well, it’s nice to have help from time to time.” I rap my knuckles on the counter. “I’ve learned that the hard way. Take care.” I wave goodbye and head toward the door.

“Wait, mister.” Emma walks over to us. “One person did ask about the boat, and I told them to inquire at the storage warehouse.”

My stomach squeezes at the news, but what did I expect? This is a fishing community, and the boat seems solid enough. “Okay, thanks.”

Once back on the pier, I walk to the end of the row and turn right, even though Vitamin Sea isn’t there, let alone Micah. I stare at the ocean, at the other boats moored in their slips, at the fishers already gathered for their day. That’s when a large vessel heading out to sea catches my eye. Calamity Jane. She’s been repainted a darker shade of blue, and I smile despite myself, imagining Grandpa Malone helping release the cages filled with the day’s catch. The air would smell like a mix of fish and salt water, much like it does now, but more pungent the closer you got.

I watch as the ship disappears over the horizon as if I only imagined it, and I’m filled with such profound melancholy that it almost feels like an omen. For what, I don’t know. Christ, listen to me. Beth would be proud.

I walk back to my car and wave as I pass by the shack again. My gaze snags on the warehouse, and my feet take me toward it. No harm in inquiring there too.

A man with a toothpick hanging out of his mouth approaches me. His name tag reads Bert. “Can I help you?”

I almost tell him I’m related to Micah through marriage. Instead, I pretend I’m just a customer. “I’m interested in the Malone boat that’s for sale.”

“Sure, follow me.”

I have no idea why I’m pretending I’m interested, but it feels like the safer option for now. As opposed to the other emotional responses surging in my gut. “Have there been many offers?”

“Only one, but the man lowballed him,” he throws over his shoulder.

“Oh, I see. So he’s not budging on the price?”

“As of now, nope.” He grimaces. “Though I don’t know how much interest that’ll get him.”

I have to wonder if his stubbornness on the value is by design. So he doesn’t have to let go of it just yet.

When we get to the dry stack where Vitamin Sea is stored, I walk around the hull, pretending to check the finish. “Seems in good shape.”

“For her age, you bet.”

The decision clicks into place, and I know it’s the right one even if I can’t fully unpack the why of it just yet. “I’d like to put in an offer for the full asking price. But on one condition.”

Bert shifts his toothpick as if skeptical. “What’s that?”

“That the buyer remains anonymous. I’ll pay cash. Give me a couple of days.”

“All right, then,” he replies, studying me cooly. “I’ll let Mr. Malone know.”

Feeling calmer than I have in days, I head to my car and slide behind the wheel. Micah will likely be disappointed to hear the news, but I won’t stay anonymous forever. Or maybe I will. Depends. For now, it feels best.

By the time I get to my house, I’ve come to the realization that my impulsive purchase is predicated on the desire to keep a piece of Micah for myself. Or rather, something he treasures. And you never know, maybe with time, I’ll become a boatman or a fisher. I don’t have many hobbies outside of work, so I just might surprise myself.

That night, I feel halfway human again, even whistling to myself as I greet and serve customers at the bar. The idea of being able to hold on to something that represents Micah and our life together brings me temporary peace.

“You look better than I expected,” June says as she slides onto a stool.

“I’ll have to agree,” Jack adds from behind her. “We’re here to offer support, brother.”

Sadness filters through June’s gaze. “We know how painful it’s been for you.”

I press against the stitch in my chest. “Appreciate that.”

I keep my emotions at bay and fill their drink orders, but after a few minutes of chitchat, it’s getting harder to keep my earlier decision to myself.

“I bought a boat today,” I announce nonchalantly.

Well, it’s not official yet, but I have savings enough that I can manage it.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jack nearly spits out his beer. “You going through a mid-life crisis or something?”

June shushes him. “Let him explain.”

“It’s a used boat. Small enough to handle.” I blow out a breath, wondering if I should’ve kept it to myself a while longer. I'm not sure why I expected anyone to understand. “One I’m already quite familiar with.”

My siblings stare at me until the answer registers in June’s expression. “You bought Micah’s boat.”

“I did,” I admit quietly, and the idea still feels right in my gut.

But I can see Jack winding up. “Why the hell would you⁠—”

“I don’t need anyone to question me,” I bite out. “I’m a big boy and can make adult decisions for myself.”

“Yes, you can.” June throws my brother a severe look. “I’m sure you have your reasons. Even if they’re nostalgic.”

“You’re right. Sorry.” Jack studies me. “Maybe you think Micah will come back for it. Or maybe you plan to take it to him at some point.”

Those thoughts have crossed my mind, even if the logistics don’t line up. Still, I don’t admit it. “Actually, Micah won’t know I bought it. Cash purchase.”

“Can you even aff⁠—”

“Of course he can,” June hisses, and I want to kiss her for trusting me. Jack will come around eventually, but he’s got to ride me and brood about it first.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Besides, I thought it would be good for us.”

Jack’s eyebrows knit together. “Good for us?”

I smirk. “Yeah. We live near the ocean. None of us have been brave enough to step foot on a boat since the accident.”

June’s eyes widen. “Johnny, I don’t think⁠—”

“Micah got me out there.” I smile sadly. “I was terrified, but it turns out I enjoyed myself. We never ventured far beyond the break wall and never chanced it if a storm was brewing.”

A sobering quiet descends in the air, swirling around us. It’s still painful to talk about, but we’re getting there.

June’s late husband, Dan, was an avid boater, and she seemed to only tolerate it. They went for long rides more than she liked, but I thought sailing eventually grew on her. It certainly did on my parents. They looked forward to being invited for a ride. The day of the accident changed everything. The idea of being in the middle of the ocean in any sort of vessel was a trigger not only for June but for all of us.

June leans forward. “Isn’t it enough that I attend Cain’s tournaments?”

I squeeze her hand. “It’s a start.”

Jack blows out a breath as if finally resigned to the decision. “Don’t let Aaron get wind of this.”

I huff out a laugh, and it’s contagious. In fact, I’m laughing so hard I have to wipe my eyes with a napkin. June and Jack aren’t too far behind. It feels good, like a release.

“What’s so funny?” Aaron asks as he pulls up a stool, and it only makes us laugh harder.

34

MICAH

“Okay, thanks, Bert.” I end the call and slip into my shoes.

My heart sits heavy over the sale of the boat, though I’ll be grateful for the money in my bank account. Not that I didn’t think it would sell, more that it might buy me time. For what, I’m not sure. As it stands now, I’ve given up the house and boat, but I can’t bear to file those divorce papers just yet. I will, soon, because that’s what we agreed.

The last few days have been a blur of laundry, practicing for the role, and showing my face at the restaurant to let my manager know I’m back in town.

“Glad to see you,” he says as I slide onto a stool at the bar. “When do you want to pick up some shifts?”

“As soon as possible.” Anything to keep my mind occupied.

He smiles. “Tomorrow works.”

Louis, one of the bartenders, approaches with a cider and the menu. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty well.” I take a quick glance at the food selections I know all too well. “I’ll take the steak salad.”

He nods. “I heard you scored a part in Cold Blade.”

“I did.” I smile, but it doesn’t feel genuine. More like I’m going through the motions. My heart is still in Aqua Vista with John, but I’ve got to get my head back in the game. At least I’ve searched everything about the show online and even binge-watched the last season so I could catch the vibe. With luck, it’ll all go my way.

“My buddy who worked on the set last season said if you do well, they might ask you back for a recurring role.”

It’s something I’ve wanted for so long, so why do I feel so underwhelmed by the notion? “That would be nice.”

“Right?” He gives me a knowing glance. Louis is a model trying to break into the industry as well. He’s done some catalog work, but he’s vying for something bigger, just like the rest of us.

Though I’m not sure if that’s my goal anymore. What was Aaron’s definition of success? “It’s success by my standards, not by society’s. Because it makes me happy. And not all accomplished people are.”

This entire time in LA, I’ve been trying to prove something not only to myself but to the people I love. I needed to show that all the pain was worth it for some unnamed version of success. I never stopped long enough to ask myself if anything had shifted or changed. Was it still something I wanted? Guess I’ll have a clearer idea after starring in Cold Blade.

I make small talk with Louis and other servers on shift, curious to see that I’m back in town. Their concern and well-wishes are nice but feel superficial, which only drives home the idea that I don’t have many strong connections in this town. And maybe if it wasn’t for John, I wouldn’t in Aqua Vista either. But I like to think I improved once I got my head out of my ass.

When my salad is served, I reach for the salt and pepper. “Hey, do you happen to know any good fishing areas around here?”

“Fishing?” Louis asks. “An unexpected question coming from you.”

I can see why. It’s not like I’ve done much in LA beyond working, attending acting classes, and going to auditions. “I was an avid fisher when I was a kid, and being back in my hometown these past weeks made me rediscover my love of it.”

“There’s obviously plenty of fishing piers on the beaches, but maybe you’re looking for something less public?”

“That would be nice.”

“I have a buddy who likes Echo Park Lake.”

I shake my head because that one is smack-dab in the city, and just like Venice Beach and Santa Monica Pier, it seems too congested. In fact, this whole city feels that way this time around. Like I can’t breathe or find peace. Likely, I’m just being dramatic.

“Even more remote?” he asks, and I nod. “You sure you’re not missing your hometown?”

Fuck yes, I think, and the visceral response blindsides me. Never in my life would I have imagined missing Aqua Vista. John, of course, but not the actual place, along with the people, the history, the quirkiness, and the quaint beauty.

Instead of admitting to my confusing thoughts, I reply, “Hell no.”

Louis snickers. “I’ll ask around.”

“Appreciate it,” I reply, then dig into the rest of my meal.

After finishing my cider and paying the tab, I head out the door. “See you tomorrow.”

Back on the sidewalk, I skirt around a group of tourists, wishing I’d driven instead of walking the few blocks. But the weather is pleasant, and as soon as I push past this active district, I’ll have more breathing room. Not like I had in the foothills or even on the pier, but it’ll have to do.

As I pass by a newspaper stand, something catches my eye. It’s the history magazine Grandpa had stacks of piled in the spare room.

“Can I help you?” the man asks.

“Oh, um, sure.” I reach for the magazine and set it in front of him for purchase. It’s ridiculous because I could’ve held on to any of the ones stashed in Grandpa’s house, but it was all a blur at the time, and truth be told, I didn’t appreciate it enough. Or maybe at all.

I sit on a nearby bench and rifle through the pages, trying to see the significance of the different subjects through my grandfather’s eyes. This edition doesn’t have any articles depicting the Renaissance period or Gothic Revival, but my gaze catches on an ad for an architectural magazine featuring a Tudor-style home. I smile because even though it’s random, it reminds me of him. Makes me feel like he’s here with me, though I have to wonder if he’d disapprove of my recent choices.

I briefly shut my eyes, imagining Rocco living in my grandfather’s house after the awesome renovation Aaron completed. It doesn’t sit well, but maybe that’s because I don’t know what my grandfather would’ve wanted of me. According to Rosie, he figured I’d sell it and the boat too. Looks like he was right. Fuck, I can’t shake the feeling that my decisions were too rash, but what could I do after being offered this role?

As if my agent can read my mind, my phone pings with a text from him. Production company emailed your contract. Make sure to sign it before you show up next week.

My fingers hover over the letters before typing: Will do.

Another contract, another final decision. Not that I’m reconsidering the offer for Cold Blade. Just that I wonder if another actor would be way more enthusiastic about it. Instead, I feel numb. But like Dennis said, I’ve had a lot of critical things happening in my life the last few months; weighty decisions too. So maybe signing a contract for a job doesn’t seem like such a big deal after all that. More so, it feels like just one more thing to consider in my already overcrowded brain.

As I walk around an adult with a group of three teens, I think of Ms. Hart. Did she ever have acting aspirations? I never asked her, and I wish I had. Or maybe she always knew she wanted to teach, and with her love of theater, it was a good meshing of her interests. Sounds so simple and effortless. Not like this tight ball of tension in my gut, making me question everything.

I scroll to John’s number and consider texting him all my confusing thoughts. Is this what success is supposed to feel like? If so, why is it so anticlimactic? But it still feels too fresh and would only muddy the waters. Distance is good for us. And besides, he’ll hear about the divorce papers soon enough. When I get the courage to file them.

Needing to inhale more fresh air, I push to my feet and walk away from the crowded stores and restaurants. In the adjacent neighborhood, I spot a house for sale and take the time to imagine myself buying property of my own in the near future. That puts me in a better mood. Owning something in LA instead of renting a room. It sounds ridiculous since I just sold the property I inherited. But at least it gives me something to look forward to here, in the city I’ve lived in—existed in—for the better part of seven years.

That thought solidly in place, I call Chuck. He answers on the first ring. “I was just about to give you a jingle.”

“Great minds and all that,” I reply. “I was wondering when you think would be a good time to start looking for a place of my own down here.”

“Soon, if you can help me tie up a couple of loose ends with the paperwork.”

“Of course. Is there something we missed?”

“Do you know anything about the boundary dispute between your grandfather and his neighbor?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, did that man say something about the property line again?”

“He did more than say something. He filed something.”

35

JOHN

A week after the purchase of the boat, I invite June and Jack to Sleepy Slip. The boat is still docked in slot number eighteen, and I watch as they maneuver their way around fishers and boaters to get to me. Neither looks particularly thrilled, but I appreciate the effort they make to meet me here.

I’ve planted myself midship as they approach, hoping to convince them that the structure is stable even as it gently sways.

“I still can’t believe you bought this,” Jack remarks as he takes in her weathered structure facing starboard.

“Let alone stand on it,” June adds.

I snicker. “I promise it’s not so bad.”

“Whatever you say,” Jack mutters.

“Hear me out. The boat is tied securely to the dock, and it’ll stay that way.” I motion to the picnic basket at my feet. “I brought a bottle of wine and some dinner for us to enjoy.”

June’s eyes widen when I open the lid. “Is that pie from Slice of Life?”

I wink. “Sure is.”

She scoffs. “You don’t play fair.”

I chuckle and hold out my hand for her to join me. She teeters a bit before finally taking hold of my fingers. She has a death grip on me as she carefully places her foot on the gangway to step down on the boat deck. I let go when I think she feels secure enough. “See, that’s not so bad.”

“It’s only because of the pie,” she teases.

I glance over her shoulder to Jack, who looks a bit green, and now I feel bad for even suggesting this outing. “You can bow out if it’s too much⁠—”

“No, I’ll be good. Baby steps and all that. I just didn’t know how it would make me feel,” he admits.

June’s expression softens. “I think the idea is to help this sting less for all of us. Being together helps because it’s definitely hard.”

Suddenly Jack steps toward the gangway, gives a little hop, and then he’s standing in the boat as if he had to go for it or he’d chicken out. I don’t blame him for holding on to the grab bar as he gets his bearings.

“Okay?” I ask, and he nods.

“Let’s get more comfortable,” I suggest, motioning toward the cushioned bench. June sits beside me, and Jack plants himself right next to where he was standing.

Trying to keep things casual, I talk about adding a Halloween-themed party at the Witching Hour this coming fall as I unpack the picnic basket. June helps me with the pasta salad while I hand the bottle and opener to Jack to help distract him.

“It’ll be fun.” I eat a forkful of food. “You’re not required to dress up, but Seth suggested decking out the bar with spooky decorations.”

“Right up his alley,” Jack remarks as he pops the cork.

“Plus, you gotta capitalize on the name of the bar.” June holds out her plastic cup so Jack can fill it with wine. He pours ours next, and then I hand him a plate.

“This isn’t so bad,” June says as the boat sways gently. “I forgot how pretty the view is out here.”

“I hoped it would help you focus on the good memories.”

“It does.” She glances at our brother, who’s busy finishing the last of his wine. “How about you, Jack?”

“I’ll admit this was a good compromise. Not sure I’ll ever be ready to go for a ride…”

“I’m not there yet either,” I reply. “And I know how ridiculous that sounds, but step by step.”

Jack nods. “It’s just that every time I think about them being out there…”

June grips his arm. “I know, me too.”

“Me three.” I stare beyond the break wall. “But in a way, it also makes me feel closer to them. Is that strange?”

“No.” June’s eyes fill with unshed tears. “I understand what you mean.”

Jack sighs. “Not a bad way to look at it.”

We sip and eat and make small talk, and it ends up being a pleasant evening with my siblings that I will always treasure.

As I dish out the pie slices, Jack says, “I think we figured out what to do with the space in town.”

“What?” June asks around a bite.

He waves his fork. “Sort of like a lifestyle shop with my framed photos and the furniture Aaron restores, and maybe local artists’ wares.”

“I love that idea,” June exclaims.

I grin. “Like the Pottery Barn of small towns.”

June flutters her eyelashes. “Does that mean you’re going to put me to work at the shop?”

Jack winks. “You are the go-to employee when we all need you.”

“I’d be happy to help.”

“Me too,” I add.

As dusk sets in, we hug and say our goodbyes.

“You’re not coming?” June asks.

“Turns out I like watching the sunset from the boat.”

Jack thumps my shoulder. “Maybe next time.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks for joining me.”

I watch them walk off hand in hand before turning back to the horizon. As the sky grows darker, I lift my phone to snap a photo. I finally understand Micah’s draw to this place. I consider sending him the pic but change my mind. Soon. First, I need to get my boating license and learn how to dock and drive this thing beyond the break wall.

My plan is to eventually tell him. Maybe after he moves out of his apartment and buys something of his own. I would offer to haul the boat to him—no chance in hell I’d be brave or experienced enough to cruise there. Christ, just the idea of it scares the shit out of me.

I pour myself the last of the wine and head to the bow for the best view. I sit with my legs crossed, sipping and watching as the sky transforms into an impressive array of watercolors.

I’m startled by a gasp from behind me. I turn and nearly drop my wine.

“Micah?” It feels like I’m dreaming, and for a split second, I wonder if I’ve fallen asleep. “What are you doing here?”

“I…came back to tie up loose ends and had the sudden urge to see her. I know she doesn’t belong to me anymore, but I thought a chance meeting with the owner might help reassure me she’ll be well cared for.” He lifts a foot to the gangway. “Why are you on my grandfather’s boat?”

I hold out my hand. “Hi, I’m the new owner of the boat, and I’ll absolutely take good care of her.”

“You…what?” He grips his chest and inhales sharply. “Why would you do that?”

“Dunno, exactly. Just felt like something I needed to do.” I watch as he plants his feet on the deck. “It felt…right.”

His eyes are wide and searching as he grips the handrail and maneuvers to the bow. “But you don’t even like⁠—”

“You helped me appreciate being out here again. I don’t have my license yet, so I’ve only been showing up to watch the sunset and sometimes the sunrise.”

He blinks as if he can’t make sense of anything I’ve just admitted.

I set the plastic wineglass beside me. “The truth is, being here makes me feel closer to you—and them.”

“Them?” Micah sets down his bag and squats to eye level.

“My family. Maybe that’s macabre, but⁠—”

“It’s beautiful.” Our gazes catch and hold. “You’re beautiful.”

I screw my eyes shut as the ache in my chest intensifies.

“I still don’t understand why you’re here.” My voice is ragged as I try to control the emotions bombarding me. “Is this about the divorce? I haven’t been served yet, so I wasn’t sure⁠—”

“Looks like you might have something to add to the financial disclosure form,” he teases.

That hadn’t even occurred to me. “Suppose I just thought this was me holding on to the boat—for you. So, technically, she still belongs to…us.”

“Fuck, John.” He shifts to his knees, his expression filling with anguish. “You don’t know how much this means to me. I’m afraid I made an absolute mess of everything.”

I want to reach for him and tug him against me, but I hold back. “What do you mean?”

He motions with his hand. “By leaving behind everything that’s important.”

“Are we talking about the boat?”

“And the house. But most of all, you.” He dips his head. “I’m so fucking sorry for making your life miserable.”

“Babe, we’ve been through this. None of this has been intentional.”

“No, but…” He puffs out a breath. “Being back in LA made me realize…that I don’t want to be without you anymore.”

“Neither of us ever wanted that.” My heart thumps wildly. “But life is more complicated than that. Love is too.”

“Maybe it shouldn’t’ve been.” He briefly balls a fist, then releases it. “I could never fully fathom that my family has a history here. I never felt like I was part of that legacy. But cleaning out my grandfather’s house made me appreciate him more, appreciate this place.”

“I’ve always hoped you’d get to that point. After all, you kept your family name, even if you thought it was for different reasons.” When his lips part, the tightness in my chest lifts briefly. “But nothing I said seemed to convince you that you belong here.”

“You’re right. I couldn’t see it. Or, at least, I wouldn’t let myself see it.” He stares into the distance. “Then it hit me that I don’t belong in LA either.”

I frown. “No, I don’t believe you do.”

His eyes spring to mine. “Why didn’t you tell me that? You made it seem like I needed to leave in order to⁠—”

“Because you do belong in theater in some way, shape, or form.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Your acting is great, and LA has the most opportunities to help fulfill your dreams.”

“Maybe those dreams have changed. Or were misplaced to begin with.”

“Not sure I follow. What about the part in Cold Blade?”

He averts his eyes. “I turned them down.”

“What?” I straighten at the news. “Why? Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

He shakes his head. “I thought it was. Turns out I was wrong.”

I brush a trembling hand through my hair. “I…don’t know what to think.”

Micah is silent for a long moment before his gaze meets mine again. “I realized that I feel the most peace and contentment when I’m with you.”

“Micah…”

“Please, let me finish.” His breathing is labored as he tries to get his thoughts together. “I feel similarly when I’m on this boat or fishing. But the most unexpected revelation I’ve had is that working with Ms. Hart and those kids was deeply fulfilling.”

“I could tell it was,” I reply in a hoarse voice. “But I didn’t think it fit with your goals in LA.”

“I thought I had something to prove. That I had to make it in Hollywood.” He grimaces. “Because if I didn’t, then leaving you wasn’t worth the risk.”

“Babe, you didn’t need to prove anything except that you were going after your dream, no matter the outcome.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I jeopardized this.” He motions between us. “Our life together. And I hate that I ruined that for you. All these years, I’ve grieved what we once were.”

“Hey, I made my own decisions. We were in this together.”

Micah sits heavily beside me, and we fall into silence, each lost in our thoughts. I lift my wine and down the rest of it. I grieved us too, but now I want to embrace whatever this has the potential to be, even if it terrifies me.

“So what now?” I’m finally brave enough to ask. “You sold your grandfather’s house⁠—”

“Technically, no. The house can’t close because there’s a hitch. That’s the reason I’m in town.” He eyes me. “Well, one of them.”

“What sort of hitch?”

“The title can’t be transferred to the buyer if there’s a property dispute that hasn’t been legally resolved.”

“Dispute?”

He arches a brow. “Remember the leaf-burning neighbor?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep. Filed a complaint about the property line, and it never got decided.” He smirks. “Can’t help thinking Grandpa is interfering again.”

I huff out a laugh. “I regret not thinking he had it in him.”

Micah grins. “Maybe his bark wasn’t worse than his bite.”

“So if the house isn’t closing…”

“That means I still own it. I plan to speak to Chuck about it. Rocco too.”

“Are you sure about all this?” It’s too difficult to even accept Micah is here right beside me, let alone that he’s considering staying. “What if the same problems creep up? You don’t have a plan when it comes to your career⁠—”

“I do, actually,” he blurts. “It involves revising what success and contentment mean to me. Fishing again, maybe teaching theater in some capacity—or at least being involved in smaller productions in the general area. If Ms. Hart was able to make a career of it, then maybe I can too.”

“Fuck, Micah, you have thought this through. You sound surer of yourself than I’ve ever heard you.” My eyes sting, and I blink rapidly, willing the tears away. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“I’m sorry I’m springing all this on you.” He grips my arm. “I don’t even know if you’re willing to give us another chance after all I⁠—”

“How can you think I wouldn’t? I hurt you too. I didn’t fight for you or go with you. I have my regrets too.” I knot our fingers together. “I bought this boat and thought maybe…hell, I don’t know. Maybe I would go to you, ask if I could stay. Sell my bar, even. I’m fucking lost without you.”

He breathes out, and his eyes soften. “I don’t ever want to be away from you again.”

The words are a balm to my soul. But then I remember… “What about the divorce papers?”

He roots around in his bag and pulls them out. “I brought them in case I was wrong. In case you wanted to be the one to file them.”

Even the thought makes me clench my teeth. “Never.”

“So maybe they need to be torn up?”

On impulse, I reach for them, and we rip them in half together. “Whew, that felt good.”

“It did.” His smile is mesmerizing. “I love you so fucking much.”

“Come ’ere.” I pull him closer and kiss his temple. “I love you too. We’ll figure the rest out together.”

He buries his face against my shoulder. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”

I cup his jaw, forcing him to look at me. When our eyes meet, I tap our mouths together, and it feels like the universe has set itself right again. We press closer with lips and tongues and hands as if we can’t get our fill.

And then we stay there, discussing the details of Micah’s return, sharing hopes and dreams, and enjoying each other’s company like we always have. Eventually, he lays his head on my lap, and I relish the feel of his silky waves as I run my fingers through his hair.

“I figure Beth was wrong about us,” he murmurs.

“How so?”

“We’re not the sun and the ocean.” He steals a glance. “I’m the ocean, and you’re the moon.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the moon has a gravitational pull on the ocean. And no matter how far I’ve spun away, you’ve always brought me center.”

I kiss the top of his head. “Home is where you always needed to be.”

“Home is you.” Micah’s fingers find mine, and he laces them together. “I’ve always been sure of that. Sure of you.”

EPILOGUE

Micah

It’s the day of the annual rib fest, and the bar’s patio is crowded. I’ve helped where I could leading up to the event, but I’ve also been busy with other prospects. It’s only been a few months since I moved back to Aqua Vista, but I’m finding my way and enjoying myself in the process.

Cap agreed to sell me Hook, Line, and Sinker as long as he could still work the counter and be part of the fisher community. John figures it’s a good investment to bring in revenue, and Aaron helping with minor renovations like paint and a new sign will undoubtedly make it a bigger draw. It’s been like fulfilling a portion of a dream I didn’t even realize I had. Being part of Sleepy Slip and serving the fishers’ needs feels like redemption.

I’m also helping Ms. Hart with the drama camp she runs in the summer months, and my involvement has given me ideas of my own—like operating something similar in the future, but for adults. She’s also begged me to assist her during the school year, and there’s no way I’d give up the opportunity. Turns out, I don’t need an official degree to run the club after school, but my acting credits certainly helped sell the idea to the principal. And who knows, maybe I’ll even consider getting my bachelor’s. It’s still a shock how much I enjoy teaching these kids, even if it’s not in an official capacity.

It appears that turning down that Cold Blade role is the best decision I’ve ever made. My agent dropped me, which wasn’t unexpected since I’m done with that life and have no regrets. And even when the guilt occasionally creeps up, John reminds me that the most important thing is that we made our way back to each other.

The afternoon is busy, and time seems to fly. I help serve food and drinks as I chat with the regulars—even those who’ve misunderstood me over the years. Instead of continuing to doubt whether I belong here, I’ve jumped straight in, confident that I do, with a little help. Aaron dragged me with him to register the house with the historical society, and in the process, I learned a bunch about my family’s roots in this town. Beth’s, too, and lately, we’ve been meeting for lunch and sharing tidbits about what we’ve read or discovered. Her great-grandmother led a women’s suffrage rally, and mine was part of it too. Go figure.

Beth hasn’t tried steering me one way or another since I’ve been back. She’s only been a solid support to John and me, which I appreciate.

“I’m so glad you found your path,” she’s said countless times.

John’s hired a DJ to play some tunes as the afternoon turns to night, and before he starts spinning records, I figure it’s as good a time as any. I ask to borrow the mic, my fingers trembling as I grip the chain around my neck. John wears a similar one with a tarnished wedding band. We’ve promised to replace them in the future. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”

John’s perching behind the grill—despite having plenty of help, he can’t seem to delegate during these events—and I see his lips part in surprise at my interruption. Jack’s eyes widen, and June and Cain focus on me from a picnic table where they’re sitting with Frank and his date, Becca, a woman John told me he saw briefly last year.

Rocco is notably absent because his wedding takes place in a couple of weeks, and apparently, he’s been stressing about the details, whatever that involves. Rocco was bummed about my grandfather’s house but understood, ultimately agreeing to rent it from me when he stays in town. The extra income will help, given the debt I’ve accrued with the renovations, and that way, John and I can maintain both properties. We call my grandfather’s place our mountain house and use it when we want more of an escape.

Chuck was elated when I returned to Aqua Vista to retake ownership of the house, more so because of what it signified—that John and I were back together.

“Thank you for coming today to support this bar and the best person I know, John McCoy. When I moved here as an angry kid with a lot of baggage, I didn’t appreciate this town enough. I found the love of my life here, but then I moved away for a while to figure myself out.” I clear my throat as the shame rears its ugly head. “But now I’m back for good, and I hope to get to know some of you better. My grandfather, Griggs Malone, was an integral part of this town, and I hope to honor my family’s legacy.”

I see Beth clapping, as well as Jack’s family—my family. They’ve embraced me wholeheartedly, and I couldn’t be more grateful. At the family’s first barbecue after my return, June brought a cake that read Welcome Home, and it moved me to tears.

“That said, I know how much people around here enjoy a good tradition. Would you mind joining me, John?”

As John makes his way over, someone in the crowd whistles—Aaron, I suspect. He’s the only one I’ve shared my plan with, and given Jack’s blank stare, I’m impressed he hasn’t spilled the beans.

My gaze snatches on a person I’ve only met a handful of times. My infamous neighbor, Mr. Leaf Burner himself, who I’ve only recently learned is named William. And only because my very charming husband helped smooth the way.

John somehow got William to drop the dispute as long as we allow him to stack his woodpile over the property line. He also agreed to stop burning leaves once John offered him a couple of free beers at the bar. Looks like he’s shown up to make good on the promise.

“What are you doing?” John whispers when he gets to me.

“Making a speech.” I wink playfully, though my stomach is trembling something fierce. “I’m almost finished.”

When I drop down to one knee, I hear a few gasps, but my gaze is laser-focused on John, whose eyes immediately soften as he stares down at me.

“John McCoy, I adore you. You are my person. The man who offered me unconditional love even when I didn’t think I deserved it. I want to grow old with you. To take care of you the way you always deserved. I am helplessly in love with you. That has never changed.” I fumble around in my pocket and pull out the sparkly white-gold ring. “Will you marry me all over again?”

John appears speechless, and for one moment, I think I’ve blown it, presenting a ring publicly like this. But then he holds out his hand, and as I slide the ring on his finger, he shouts, “Fuck yes!”

The patio goes wild with cheers and whistles. Even the DJ gets in on the action, and I vaguely hear Aaron telling everyone around him that he was in on the proposal.

John pulls me to my feet and plants a long kiss on my lips. I wind my arms around him in a tight embrace, and it feels like coming home. Again.

His mouth finds my ear. “You’re not going to believe this, but I bought you a new ring too.”

My pulse spikes as I draw away. “You did not.”

“I did. Guess it’s destiny and fate and all that.” He grins in that charming, sexy way I’ve always loved. “But I’ve got work to do, so I’ll save my speech for tonight. Should we sleep in the mountains?”

My heart flutters as I nod. “Nothing sounds better.”

* * *

Thanks for reading DEAR JOHN! pink heart

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PERFECTLY FRANK

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ALSO BY CHRISTINA LEE

*Find links to these books HERE!

Standalones:

A Breath Apart

Love Me Louder

Kickflip

A Kaleidoscope of Butterflies

Have Mercy

Incandescent

Undone

Love Song

In the Gray

Aqua Vista Series:

Just Jack

Dear John

Perfectly Frank, coming soon

Roosevelt College Series:

XOXO

Until We Meet Again

Franklin U 1 & 2 Multi-Author Series:

Making Waves (#7 but also stands alone)

Tongue-Tied (#6 but also stands alone)

Fated Series (High Fantasy/PNR)

Moon Flower

Moon Spell

Easton U Pirates series:

Bat Boy

Home Plate

Perfect Score

So This is Christmas series:

Beautiful Dreamer

Beautiful Temptation

Under My Skin series:

Regret

Reawaken

Reclaim

Redeem

Roadmap to Your Heart series

The Darkest Flame

The Faintest Spark

The Deepest Blue

The Hardest Fall

The Sweetest Goodbye

Standalones with Riley Hart:

Of Sunlight and Stardust

Science & Jockstraps

Wild at Heart

Forbidden Love series with Riley Hart:

Ever After: A Gay Fairy Tale

Forever Moore: A Gay Fairy Tale

Boys in Makeup series with Riley Hart:

Pretty Perfect

Pretty Sweet

Pretty Wild

Co-written with Nyrae Dawn

Free Fall series:

Touch the Sky

Chase the Sun

Paint the Stars

Spinoff from Free Fall series:

Living Out Loud

Co-written with Felice Stevens

Heartsville series:

Last Call (MMM)

First Light (MM)

M/F books that can all standalone:

All of You

Before You Break

Whisper to Me

Promise Me This

Two of Hearts

Three Sacred Words

Twelve Truths and a Lie

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Once upon a time, Christina Lee was a wardrobe stylist in New York City. She spent her days schlepping clothes, hailing cabs, and on the hunt for the perfect lip gloss, which became a bit of an addiction—along with books and coffee. You could always find her perched in a corner booth of a favorite diner sipping a dark roast and reading.

She currently lives in the Midwest with her husband and kiddo—her two favorite people. She’s been a clinical social worker and a special education teacher and while very rewarding, they still didn’t feel like an exact fit. It wasn't until she began writing a weekly column for the local newspaper that the bells went off in her head. She could finally draw from her real-life experiences and vivid imagination to write fiction—and she’s never looked back. 

Christina is Lambda Literary Award finalist for Of Sunlight and Stardust. She writes romance in different sub-genres, but mostly with LGBTQ characters because representation matters and everyone deserves a happily-ever-after.