Chapter 28
OLIVER
“Come on,” I mutter, adjusting the thermostat for the third time today. “Work with me here.”
The Brew is thankfully dead this afternoon, considering it’s nearly a sauna in here.
Half the student body has fled to beach towns and childhood bedrooms. A couple of grad students occupy the corner booth, surrounded by enough textbooks to build a small fortress.
An elderly professor I vaguely recognize is snoring softly near the window, an untouched scone slowly going stale beside him.
I should be grateful for the downtime. My shift doesn’t end for another two hours, and there are only so many times I can wipe down the same counter before it becomes a cry for help.
The problem is that downtime means thinking. And lately, thinking means of Ryan.
Not that thinking about Ryan is a problem, exactly. More like a full-time mental occupation that leaves very little bandwidth for things like customer service.
We kissed on a Ferris wheel.
The memory hits me for the thousandth time today. His lips were soft, and his movements were uncertain. His fingers gripped my shirt, and I’d fleetingly wished they were gripping something else. The small sound he made when I deepened the kiss made my dick hard.
I’ve spent all morning mentally scrolling through ideas for tomorrow—my one precious day off this week. And I still haven’t landed on anything worthy of what’s happening between us.
It needs to be perfect. Something that’ll stick in his memory long after the Ferris wheel kiss has faded.
Movies mean two hours of silence when what I want is to hear his voice. Miniature golf would unleash the competitive monster I become around scorecards. And the beach would turn Ryan’s fair skin lobster-red before we even laid out our towels.
The bell above the door chimes, and I look up with my customer service smile in place. Alex Donovan stands in the doorway, his fiery red hair slightly disheveled, and his large hazel eyes are set on me. Today is his day off, and what’s surprising is who isn’t here with him.
“Alex. Hey, man. Where’s Kyle?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
He approaches the counter with careful steps. “Kyle’s taking a nap.”
“A nap?”
“He didn’t sleep well last night.” Alex’s voice is soft, barely above a whisper despite the empty café. “Something about a dream where Gerard replaced all his protein bars with candy. He was very upset.”
“That sounds like something Gerard would do.”
“I think that’s what made it so upsetting. The plausibility.”
I can’t help but laugh. “So what can I get you?”
I gesture at the menu board behind me, where someone has decorated the specials with chalk drawings of dancing coffee cups.
Alex studies the board intensely. “An iced coffee, please. Medium.”
“Coming right up.”
I turn to the cold brew station, grateful for something to do. I pour the cold brew over ice, add a splash of oat milk, and watch it swirl into a caramel-colored spiral.
“Here you go.” I slide the cup across the counter. “That’ll be four-fifty.”
Alex fumbles with his wallet, extracting a crumpled five-dollar bill. His hands are shaking slightly, and I realize with a start that he’s nervous. Not in a something’s wrong way, but in a general Alex way. The baseline anxiety of someone who finds the world perpetually overwhelming.
“Keep the change,” he says.
I expect him to retreat to a table in the corner where he can be invisible, but instead, he lingers at the counter.
“Oliver? Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you ever think about how this is your last year?”
The question catches me off guard. I lean against the counter, studying his face. He’s not looking at me—his gaze is fixed on his drink, watching the condensation bead on the plastic cup.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “More lately than before.”
“I keep thinking about all the things I haven’t done with Kyle.” Alex’s words come slowly, like he’s excavating them from somewhere deep within himself. “All the experiences we’ve missed because I was too scared, or too anxious, or too focused on just surviving each day.”
“That’s understandable, given you’re…”
Alex shakes his head slightly. “That’s the thing.
I’ve been using that as an excuse for so long.
The anxiety, the fear, the—” He gestures vaguely at himself.
“All of it. But this is his last year. My last chance to actually live the college experience with him by my side instead of simply enduring it.”
I think about my senior year stretching ahead of me. The weight of expectations, another championship, preparing the team for life after I graduate, and figuring out what comes next. All the responsibilities I’ve shouldered because someone had to, and I was the obvious choice.
“What do you want to do differently?” I ask.
Alex finally looks up, and there’s something in his eyes I haven’t seen before. Determination.
“I want to say yes to things. Even if they scare me.” He takes a sip of his coffee, as if fortifying himself. “I went to the fair with everyone. I rode the bumper cars. I watched Gerard do karaoke, and none of it killed me. It was…” He pauses, searching for the word. “Fun.”
“It was pretty fun,” I agree, thinking of the Ferris wheel. Of the kiss.
“I want more of that. More moments where I’m present instead of forever waiting for something to go wrong.” Alex’s grip on his cup tightens. “Kyle helps. He makes me feel safe enough to try. But I also want to be brave on my own sometimes. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.” I nod like a bobblehead. “That makes a lot of sense.”
We stand in comfortable silence for a moment. The espresso machine hums. The professor’s snores punctuate the quiet. Outside, a student bikes past with a surfboard strapped to their back.
“What about you?” Alex asks. “What are you looking forward to this year?”
The answer should be easy. Championship. Graduation. Career. Instead, what comes out is, “I want to do something fun with Ryan tomorrow. It’s my day off, and I want to take him somewhere, but I can’t figure out the perfect location.”
Alex blinks at me, and I realize I’ve just unloaded my romantic dilemmas on the shyest person I know. Great job, Jacoby. Very smooth.
“What does Ryan like?” he asks, surprising me.
“Stars. Old things. Being outside but not too outside.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated.
I’ve been doing that a lot, especially now that I’ve stopped with the gel spikes and let my hair just flop.
“He’s not big on crowds or loud places. He likes quiet, but not boring quiet. Interesting quiet.”
“Interesting quiet,” Alex repeats, rolling the phrase around.
“I know that doesn’t make sense—”
“No, it does.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “Kyle’s the same way. He pretends he hates everything, but if you give him something calm and structured, he relaxes.”
“So what do you do with Kyle when you want to do something special?”
Alex’s cheeks flush pink. “We, um. We have picnics sometimes. In the park near campus. The one with the big oak trees.”
“Picnics?”
“Kyle packs the food because he’s very particular about nutrition, and I bring a blanket and a book, and we sit. We’ll watch the clouds or the birds or whatever.” Alex’s voice goes soft with affection. “Sometimes we don’t even talk. We just exist in the same space. It’s nice.”
A picnic. Such a simple idea. Such an obvious idea. Why didn’t I think of that?
Ryan would love a picnic. Somewhere quiet, with a good view of the sky. I could pack sandwiches. A blanket. Maybe some of those fancy sparkling waters. We could find a spot away from the main paths, somewhere private, and be together.
“Alex,” I say, “you’re a genius.”
His flush deepens into crimson.
“Seriously. A picnic. That’s perfect.” I’m already mentally planning the menu. Turkey and Swiss for me, something equally simple for Ryan. Maybe some of the brownies from the bakery case here—I can claim my employee discount.
“I’m glad I could help,” Alex murmurs, both pleased and mortified by the attention.
I hold out my hand for a high-five. “Seriously. You just solved my whole problem.”
Alex stares at my outstretched palm as though it might bite him. His eyes dart from my hand to my face and back again, calculating the social mathematics of the situation. For a moment, I think he might actually bolt. Then he raises his own hand and connects it with mine.
The slap is barely audible. More of a gentle press, really. But it counts.
“Okay!” Alex’s voice comes out approximately two octaves higher than normal. “Good! Great! I should—Kyle might be awake—I need to—bye!”
He’s out the door before I can respond, iced coffee clutched to his chest, the bell chiming frantically in his wake. Through the window, I watch him power-walk across the grass.
I shake my head, grinning despite myself. Alex Donovan, social butterfly in training. He’s trying, at least. That counts for something.
The café settles back into its afternoon drowsiness. I pull out my phone, heart hammering against my ribs as I open my messages.
Me
Hey. So I had an idea for tomorrow.
The three dots appear almost immediately. Ryan must have his phone in hand. The thought sends a warm curl of pleasure through my chest.
Ryan
I’m listening.
Me
Picnic. Just us. There’s this spot at the park. Quiet, good sky view, away from everything.
I watch the dots appear, disappear, appear again. Each second feels like an hour. What if he thinks it’s too forward? What if he wanted something more casual? What if—
Ryan
That sounds perfect.
My heart doesn’t just jump. It performs an entire gymnastics routine, complete with back handsprings and a dismount that would make the Olympic judges weep.
Ryan
What time?
Me
I’ll pick you up at five. That gives us time to eat before sunset. We can watch the stars, too, if you want.
Ryan
I’ll be ready.
I stare at my phone screen, grinning like an idiot. The professor snorts in his sleep. One of the grad students glances up, notices my expression, and quickly looks away, probably assuming I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I have. Maybe this is what losing your mind feels like when it’s the good kind of loss.
An hour after my shift, the Hockey House kitchen has become a war zone.
“No.” I brandish my butter knife like a weapon, blocking Gerard’s reaching hand. “Absolutely not. Step away from the sandwiches.”
“But I’m hungry!” Gerard whines, his massive frame somehow managing to look pitiful. “And those look so good! Just one little corner.”
“These are for tomorrow. For my picnic with Ryan. You have your own food.”
“The fridge is empty!”
“There’s literally a rotisserie chicken in there. Nathan bought another one this morning.”
“That’s Nathan’s chicken! He’ll kill me if I touch it!”
“Then perish.”
Drew materializes at Gerard’s elbow, surveying my spread with the keen eye of a predator assessing prey. I’ve laid out everything on the counter: fresh bread from the bakery, sliced turkey and ham, three kinds of cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and the fancy mustard that costs more than my hourly wage.
“This is adorable,” Drew announces. “You’re making a little picnic for your little boyfriend like a little housewife.”
“He’s not my—we haven’t—” I sputter, feeling heat climb up my neck. “We kissed once. That doesn’t make him my boyfriend.”
Gerard takes advantage of my momentary distraction to lunge for a slice of cheese. I slap his hand away without looking.
“OW!”
“I have peripheral vision, Gunnarson. And reflexes. Try again, and I’m telling Elliot about the time you ate his emergency chocolate stash.”
Gerard gasps, clutching his chest. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
He retreats, grumbling, to the kitchen table, where he slumps dramatically. Drew decides that theft isn’t worth the effort and settles for psychological warfare instead.
“So,” he drawls, hopping up to sit on the counter, his giant ass dangerously close to my tomato slices. “A picnic. Very romantic. Very old-fashioned. Very…Ryan.”
“That’s the idea.”
“What’s the plan? Sandwiches, sunset, and seduction?”
“There’s no seduction planned.”
“Oliver.” Drew’s voice drops into something almost sincere. “You’ve been pining after this guy for months. Years, even. You finally kissed him, and now you’re handcrafting artisanal sandwiches for a sunset picnic. At some point, you’re going to have to acknowledge that this is heading somewhere.”
I focus on layering turkey onto bread, not meeting his eyes. “I know where it’s heading. I just don’t want to rush it.”
“Why not?”
“Because Ryan’s never done this before. Any of it. Dating, kissing, relationships—I’m his first everything.” The knife pauses in my hand. “I don’t want to screw it up by moving too fast.”
The kitchen goes quiet. Even Gerard stops his dramatic sulking to stare at me with understanding.
“That’s sweet,” Gerard says softly. “You really care about him.”
“Yeah. I really do.”
Drew slides off the counter, and for once, his expression lacks its usual sardonic edge. “If it helps, I think you’re doing it right. The picnic, the taking it slow, all of it. Ryan’s lucky to have someone who gives a damn about his pace.”
“Thanks, Drew.”
“That said”—the smirk returns—“if you don’t make a move eventually, I’m going to lock you two in a closet and refuse to let you out until something happens.”
“That’s kidnapping.”
“Eh, you call it kidnapping, I call it tactical matchmaking.”
Gerard perks up. “Ooh, can I help with the closet plan?”
“No one is helping with any closet plan because there is no closet plan.” I wave the butter knife again for emphasis. “Now, both of you, out of my kitchen. I need to finish these sandwiches in peace.”
“Your kitchen?” Drew raises an eyebrow. “This is a communal space, Captain.”
“Not tonight, it isn’t. Out.”
They go, but not without protest. Gerard casts longing glances at the cheese, and Drew lets slip an incredibly creative suggestion for my picnic that has me nearly chucking the knife at his head.
Finally alone, I return to my sandwiches. I find myself smiling as I work. Tomorrow, I’m going to take Ryan Abrams on a picnic. We’re going to eat sandwiches and watch the sunset, and maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to kiss him again.