Chapter 9 #2
Ben and Julie exchanged another smile that could only be described as radiant.
“Fully valid,” Ben said. “I wouldn’t want my favorite maid of honor any other way.”
Emerson abruptly catapulted himself out of the booth.
“I’m going to get more chips.” He held up the empty plastic tray as proof, absurdly grateful for its existence, impressed with himself for coming up with an excuse for his strange behavior.
He just—he missed the physical connection of having a partner, sure.
Emerson would love to be touched. The entire left side of his body, alarmingly cold now without Luca next to it, was proof of that.
And he knew he wasn’t without love. He had Daisy, after all.
He was surrounded with love every second of his existence while she still breathed.
But he missed this. He missed the love of friendship. Because that was what most of marriage was, anyway. Jayden had been the best friend Emerson had ever had for so long, and now every dropoff and pickup of Daisy was—it was hard, and stilted, and it was all Emerson’s fault, and he missed it.
“And I have to hit up the bathroom,” Luca said, the sound of his voice startlingly near. Emerson blinked up at him, processing that he must have sidled out of the booth right after Emerson did. “Be back in a second.”
And then Luca was turning, and walking, so Emerson was turning and walking too, even if he was positive Luca was doing it much more naturally.
It was crowded at the Greyfin Tavern, the main dive on Greyfin Bay’s Main Street, being that it was a Saturday night in August. The crowd was a mix of tourists and locals—a few had already said hey to Luca, like he was well known here—but no matter what the mix of patrons, Emerson had never felt fully comfortable here.
He’d never been a big dive bar person in general—he’d much rather be at Bay Books, next door—but the owner of the bar, Freddy Hampton, had always given Emerson bad vibes.
He’d prefer to be back up the road at the brewery he’d met Luca at last week, watching Matt the bartender.
But Ben had wanted to get drinks in Greyfin Bay, show Julie the town where he was getting married, so Emerson hadn’t been able to say no.
Someone jostled into Emerson’s side, tipping him toward Luca. Luca pressed a hand against Emerson’s lower back to steady him. It was brief—a light pressure and then gone—and Emerson knew it was Luca just moving on instinct, Luca just being kind. But it also felt intimate. Felt protective.
Emerson missed that, too.
“You okay?”
They had reached the bar—at least, the very far edge of it, the only slightly open space—and even though Luca had mentioned using the restroom, he hadn’t moved from Emerson’s side. He leaned closer to Emerson’s ear.
“You seem tense, but Ben and Julie are great. And chill. You said you’re friends, right? I can’t see them being upset about the farm.”
Emerson swallowed. Luca’s voice was so close, and low, his breath warming Emerson’s neck. The bartender was all the way at the other end of the counter.
“It’s my first time meeting Julie,” he eventually said, even though Luca already knew that.
He’d been right there, part of all the introductions outside of the Tavern an hour ago.
Emerson tried again. “I am friends with Ben and Alexei. Sort of. We met at a farmers’ market, and they’re CSA customers, and—” Another unintentional shove from a stranger, this time pushing Luca’s chest into Emerson’s shoulder.
Luca squeezed an arm onto the bar, turning his body more fully toward Emerson’s, as if to protect them.
As if to cordon off a little cove at the end of the bar, just for them.
Emerson licked his lips, throat suddenly dry.
“I watch their dog sometimes. And I like them, a lot. But Jayden was always better in social situations.”
“I think you’re doing just fine on your own,” Luca countered. “Both Ben and Julie seem excited to hang with you.”
Emerson only shook his head, not needing to point out that Luca had been leading most of the conversation: about Julie’s life back in Nashville, where Ben was originally from, too; about his life as a fisherman; about honeymoons and wedding guests.
“Ben is always excited to hang with anyone; it’s just who he is. And he’s excited about his wedding because he’s in love. It’s great hanging out with them here, getting drinks and talking, but when we get to the farm—”
Emerson rubbed his eyes, kept his fingers there, pushing against his eyelids, keeping out the light. So that when he felt Luca move even closer, his lips almost brushing Emerson’s ear, his other senses were extra focused to feel it.
“I’ve lived on the farm for a week now, Emerson.
And I know that’s probably not very long in your mind, but I have to tell you, again, that your farm is pretty fucking wonderful.
And if we leave soon, before sunset, if we get to that wildflower field around the same time you showed it to me last week, when the world’s all golden? ”
Emerson’s hands were frozen on his cheeks.
Luca’s question hung in the air around them, unanswered, but every word leading up to it had sparked through Emerson’s skin—Emerson, fucking wonderful, that wildflower field, golden—kindling low in his belly, and he prayed behind his eyelids that this bar was still as dark as he thought it was because he was growing physically aroused just from Luca Yaeger talking to him.
Emerson felt a soft touch trailing down the back of his shoulder.
And then, all at once, the heat surrounding him disappeared.
Hands finally dropping from his face, Emerson blinked back into the world around him: the bartender finally making her way down the bar, Luca’s arm now gone from the counter.
“I’m just saying,” Luca said from what felt like a mile away, even if Emerson knew he’d only taken a small step back. “They’ll love it. Anyway, I’m off to find that bathroom now. See you back in the booth.”
Luca took another step, disappearing into the crowd. Emerson stared straight ahead at the other side of the bar, where more tipsy patrons waited for attention.
Maybe he’d made up that last touch. The caress of his shoulder blade.
Because that would’ve been different, would’ve been more than close quarters in a small booth, the unintentional touches of moving through crowded rooms. Luca deciding to lift his arm, to bring down his hand on Emerson’s back—that would be… that would have to be on purpose.
Right?
He’d probably hallucinated it. Or he hadn’t, but he was overthinking it. Maybe Luca was just a touchy-feely guy. Emerson had barely let himself get close enough to him this week to know. But he’d seen him give Daisy a few hugs. Had watched him cuddle with Moomoo, once.
Emerson was losing it.
And if he wanted to secure a paycheck he was relying on, he had to get it back together.
He refilled their basket of chips, and with a long, shallow breath, returned to the table, and the side of Luca’s thigh, waiting for his.