Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jack
Barnacle Brews was packed for a Friday night.
The crowd jostled around the bar as I nursed my IPA.
I’d arrived early to grab our seats and sent Cooper a quick text to let him know I’d claimed two stools at the bar.
A stranger sat on the other side of the barstool I was saving for Cooper—a tall, broad-shouldered guy in what looked like an expensive leather jacket—downing his beer like he was celebrating something.
My gaze slid over him briefly before I turned back to my drink.
Open mic night was in full swing, the small stage lit up as a woman with a guitar played a folk cover to appreciative applause.
I checked my phone and reread Cooper’s last text.
Dinner finally over. Feel like I need to scrub my brain clean. Meet me at Barnacle Brews in 20? I desperately need a drink that isn’t served with a side of judgment.
The protectiveness I’d felt when I received the message hadn’t subsided.
I’d caught glimpses of Cooper’s parents during their infrequent visits to The Coffee Cove—their stiff postures and tight smiles—but never actually met them.
Still, I knew exactly how they made Cooper feel, and it made something twist painfully in my chest.
I kept my eye on the door and waited. When Cooper finally walked in, his eyes scanned the bar until they found mine. The relief that washed over his features sent waves of warmth cascading through my veins. I raised a hand in greeting.
Cooper weaved through the crowd and nodded to locals who called out to him. Everyone in Seacliff Cove knew the owner of The Coffee Cove—he’d taken a struggling business and transformed it into the heart of historic downtown.
“Went that well, huh?” I asked. Cooper dropped onto the stool beside me. He immediately reached for the lager in front of him, which I’d ordered the moment I sat down.
He took a long pull from the glass, set it down with a sigh, and ran a hand through his hair. “Remember when we were sophomores, and I accidentally used too much salt in that batch of cookies?”
“The ones that made your roommate spit across the room?” I grinned, remembering the disaster of a study session.
“That was a more pleasant experience than dinner tonight.” Cooper took another sip of his beer, and his shoulders relaxed slightly as the alcohol began to take effect.
“Want to talk about it?” I kept my voice casual, though seeing him this drained made me want to find his parents and give them a piece of my mind.
Cooper stared at the chalkboard menu for a moment. “Same old script. Just with new dialogue. They’ll never accept that I’m gay.”
The stranger’s head snapped around. His attention lingered on Cooper as he flagged down the bartender. He had the too-confident air of someone used to getting what he wanted. I glared at the eavesdropper, who only smirked at me. The guy made my skin crawl.
I turned back to Cooper and dismissed the man. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, the sincerity thick in my voice. “They’re idiots.”
“Ryan was the saving grace.” His expression softened. “And Lily, of course. She asked what was wrong with dating boys instead of girls.”
I laughed, grateful for the brief lightness in Cooper’s eyes. “Smart kid.”
“She really is. And she told them I make the best hot chocolate.”
“See? Five-year-olds get it.” I tipped my glass toward him. “To Lily, a true connoisseur.”
Cooper clinked his glass against mine. “To Lily.” His lips twitched at the corners.
The musician finished her set to enthusiastic applause. As she packed up her guitar, the emcee announced a short break before the next performer. The volume in the bar rose as conversation filled the void.
“So,” Cooper said after a long pull from his beer. “Any more security notifications?”
The casualness of his tone didn’t fool me. I saw his tension in the way he gripped his glass, the way his foot twitched restlessly on the stool rung.
I shook my head and carefully set down my beer. “Nope. System’s clean. No new probes, no suspicious pings. We’re in the clear for now.”
The relief that flickered across his face loosened my tight gut. He relaxed on his barstool a fraction, some of the strain around his eyes easing.
“Good,” he murmured, like he didn’t dare believe it fully yet. “That’s good.”
I wanted to narrow the space between us, to cover his hand with mine, to promise him I’d guard everything he cared about with everything I had. But I didn’t move. That wasn’t the touch of a best friend.
Instead, I took another sip of my beer and forced my voice to stay light. “Told you I’m good at my job.”
Cooper’s smile appeared—smaller than usual, but real. “Yeah, you are.”
The warmth of his trust settled deep in my bones and chased away some of the leftover chill from his dinner with his family.
He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t have to. It was there in his eyes, green and steady under the low lights of Barnacle Brews, telling me without words that he trusted me to keep him safe.
And I’d never wanted to be worthy of that trust more than I did that evening.
We fell into an easy conversation about work. The familiar rhythm of our friendship asserted itself. I was in the middle of explaining a particularly stubborn issue when the stranger interrupted me.
He extended his hand to Cooper. “I’m Brad. In town on business.”
Cooper reluctantly shook it. His expression shifted to what I recognized as his professional face—the same polite, slightly distant look he used with difficult customers. “Cooper. Welcome to Seacliff Cove.”
“Thanks.” Brad’s smile widened in a way I immediately disliked. “I have to say, I didn’t expect to find someone like you in a small-town bar.”
Cooper raised an eyebrow. “Someone like me?”
“You know.” Brad’s eyes traveled over Cooper in a way that made my stomach clench with sudden irritation. “Good-looking. Well dressed.” He lowered his voice. “Sexy. You stand out.”
I made an involuntary noise, something between a snort and a scoff. Cooper shot me a glance, and I quickly composed my features into neutral attentiveness, though I knew my eyes probably betrayed my distaste for Brad’s clumsy line.
“Thanks.” Cooper turned back to his beer. “But I’m just here to enjoy the music with my friend.”
Brad was undeterred. “Let me buy you a drink. What are you having?” His voice slurred.
“I’m good.” Cooper lifted his still-half-full glass. “But thanks for the offer.”
“Come on,” Brad persisted, and leaned closer to Cooper. “One drink. I’d love to hear about the local spots worth checking out. I’m staying for the next three or four weeks. We’d have time to…explore.” Brad’s beer arrived, and he took a long pull.
“You should try the visitors’ center,” Cooper suggested, his customer service voice still intact despite the growing tension obvious in his shoulders. “They have great maps of the area.”
Brad laughed as if Cooper had said something charming rather than dismissive. “I prefer a more…personal tour guide.” His hand came to rest on the bar near Cooper’s, not quite touching but definitely invading his space.
My jaw tightened as I watched Cooper grow more uncomfortable with each passing second.
“As I said, I’m here with someone,” Cooper replied, his voice pleasant but firm. “But thanks for the offer.”
“Your friend won’t mind.” Brad cast a disparaging glance at me. “Right, buddy? I’m just borrowing him for one drink.”
The casual dismissal, coupled with the way he’d been ignoring Cooper’s polite rejections, made something snap inside me. “Actually, I would mind,” I said, my voice sharp.
Brad’s attention slammed fully onto me. “I didn’t realize you had a claim on him,” he said, his tone carrying an unpleasant edge.
“He doesn’t need to have a ‘claim’ on me.” Cooper’s professional demeanor slipped. “I already said no. Three times.”
Brad’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his smile remained. “No need to get defensive. Just trying to be friendly.” He leaned in toward Cooper again, his voice dropping. “The offer stands when you’re ready for some real company. I’m at The Westcott, room 212.”
Cooper didn’t respond and turned more fully toward me instead, trying to physically shut Brad out of our space. I could see the stress in the set of his jaw, the tight line around his mouth.
“Everything okay?” I asked quietly.
“Fine,” Cooper assured me, though Brad still watched him.
“One drink,” Brad repeated, and his hand moved to rest on Cooper’s shoulder. “What’s the harm? Unless your friend here makes all your decisions for you.”
Cooper stiffened at the contact. A flash of genuine anger crossed his features. Something protective and fierce rose inside me. I didn’t think, didn’t plan, didn’t weigh consequences. I just acted.
“He’s not my friend,” I said, my voice steady despite the sudden racing of my heart. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Cooper’s eyes widened. His gaze darted to my face in shock. Brad looked between us, clearly skeptical.
“That right?” he asked Cooper. “Doesn’t seem like you’re very couple-like to me.”
Cooper was still staring at me, surprise written across his features. I held his gaze and tried to communicate silently. This was a way out—if he wanted to take it.
Brad’s smirk grew more pronounced. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Nice try, but—”
I leaned toward Cooper, our faces just inches apart. “May I?” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.
Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips to his.
I’d meant it to be quick—just enough to sell the story—but the moment our lips met, everything else disappeared.
The bar, the conversations, Brad, all of it faded away.
All I knew was the softness of Cooper’s lips, the faint taste of lager, and the overwhelming reality that after years of imagining this moment, it was actually happening.