14. Jake
JAKE
Isit at the end of the dock with my feet hanging over the edge, beer in hand, Otis Redding playing low on my phone beside me.
The bay is smooth as glass tonight. Hardly a ripple on it. Out past the pilings, the channel marker blinks steady in the dark, one pulse at a time, proof that something out there is still moving even when everything here feels stuck.
I tip the bottle back and let Otis do what he can.
Maybe the beer helps. Maybe the song does. Maybe neither of them’s got a shot.
Hank is stretched out beside me, sound asleep, snoring like an old man. I rub behind his ears, slow and absentminded. “I’m really thankful for you,” I tell him. “I don’t say that enough.”
His ear flicks, so I know he’s listening.
“You make everything better. And I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I look out at the water for a second longer, then down at his heavy head resting on the dock. “I love you.”
He scoots just enough to press more of his weight into my leg, lets out one big breath, and settles deeper. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I know.”
I turn the volume up a notch and hit repeat.
My head feels as thick as the humidity. The longer I sit here, the heavier both get. Then I hear footsteps coming down the dock behind me. Hard soles. Familiar pace.
“Uh-oh,” Charlie says. “Otis is playing.”
His voice carries easy over the water. The kind of voice that doesn’t rush into anything. Charlie is like a big brother to me. If he told me the sky wasn’t falling, I’d believe him even if it was already halfway down.
“What’s going on, my friend?”
I don’t turn right away. Just reach into the cooler, pop another beer, and hold it out behind me. He lowers himself beside me and waves it off. “Still on duty.” I bring it back and take a pull instead.
Charlie looks out across the bay. “In all the years,” he says finally, “I think the department’s responded to your place maybe twice.” He glances at me. “You gonna tell me why tonight made it three? Because of what today is?“
I take another drink.
Don’t answer.
Charlie doesn’t push. He just waits. That’s what real friends do. They don’t fill the silence. They sit with you inside it.
After a minute, I glance over. “Thanks for remembering.”
He gives me a look. “Jake.”
“I mean it.” I stare down at the label, peeling at the edge with my thumb. “And sorry I didn’t call you back today.”
“You never have to apologize to me. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.” He exhales and reaches over, giving my shoulder one firm squeeze. “Your parents were better parents to me than my own ever were. I’ll never forget today.”
There are only two people left in my life who’ve seen me lose it all the way.
Ryan, when Mo left.
Charlie, when my parents died.
I stare out at the dark line where the water meets the sky and let that sit there between us a second.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Charlie asks.
Beside me, Hank wakes up just enough to lift his head, give a low snort, then drop it across my thigh, anchoring me in place. “My day was already…” I shrug. “A lot. Tonight just added to it.”
“Does that have anything to do with who I saw leaving the restaurant?”
I pick at the label again. “She came to see me.”
“That’s big.”
“It is.” My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to.
He waits, so I keep going.
“I almost kissed her.”
“What stopped you?”
I let out a breath that turns into something like a laugh. “Smoke alarm. The universe. A piece of salmon. Take your pick.”
He side-eyes me. “You’re blaming seafood?”
“It was over buttered,” I mutter.
“Tragic.”
“Very.” I try to smile, but it doesn’t quite make it to my mouth.
“And then?” he asks.
“And then I sent her away.”
Charlie’s quiet for a moment. “Why?”
Because I’ve already scared her once in my life. Because I told her I loved her and watched her go still.
Because ten years later, I can still hear the exact way she said thank you, polite as a stranger, like I’d offered her a favor instead of my whole damn heart.
I take another drink. “Because I don’t want to rush her,” I say instead. “And patience isn’t exactly my brand.”
Charlie turns toward me a little more. “How long have we been friends?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Longer.”
“Okay. Longer.”
“You’ve loved Emory longer than that.”
I don’t argue.
“You’re the most patient man I know,” he says. “And the most forgiving. Don’t start rewriting yourself just because you’re nervous.”
I drag my thumb down the side of the bottle. “I never thought I’d get another shot.”
He doesn’t answer.
“I made peace with that,” I go on. “Or I told myself I did. Told myself it was fine. Then she walks back into town like nothing ever changed.”
“And everything did.”
“Yeah.” A breeze shifts across the dock. Otis keeps singing about wasting time.
“She’s temporary,” I say quietly. “She always has been. Summers. Holidays. Now this.” I shake my head once. “Every time I start thinking past tomorrow, something reminds me not to. I keep hearing that countdown.”
Charlie leans back on his hands. “I was on scene when Maddy broke her leg.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Tripped over one of those inflatable inner tubes she insists on hanging everywhere. Went down in slow motion. Arms flailing like a whirlybird.”
“It’s not funny, but knowing Maddy, it’s funny.”
Charlie’s mouth twitches. “It’s a little funny.”
“Kravitz was filming,” he adds.
“No surprise.”
“Point is, things line up sometimes. Not by accident.”
I take another drink and let that roll around in my head.
“She falls. Emory comes back. You two end up alone in a kitchen with ten years’ worth of feelings and one smoke alarm between you.”
“That’s a bold narrative.”
“I’m a fire chief,” he says. “We deal in cause and effect.”
I look back out at the water. “I know she’s only here for a while,” I say. “That part doesn’t change.”
“No,” he agrees. “But that doesn’t mean it’s the whole story.”
Otis starts over again.
After a minute, Charlie says, “I don’t think the universe stopped you tonight.”
I glance over.
He shrugs. “I think it nudged you.”
“By setting off a smoke alarm?”
“Subtlety’s overrated.”
That gets a quiet huff out of me.
He looks at me. “You scared?”
I don’t bother pretending otherwise. “Yes.”
“Of what?”
I keep my eyes on the water so I don’t have to look at him while I answer. “Getting it wrong again. Pushing too hard. Not pushing enough.” I pause. “Her leaving. Me standing here like a chump.”
Charlie lets that sit. Then, in that same calm voice, “You know what I’ve learned?”
“What’s that?”
“When something’s meant to be rushed, it feels frantic. When it’s meant to last, it feels steady. Even when it scares the shit out of you.”
He’s right. Nothing about Mo feels frantic. Not even when it’s wrecking me.
After a minute, Charlie pushes himself to his feet and dusts off his hands.
“Trust the timing,” he says. “Trust yourself and maybe trust her a little too.”
I look up at him and nod once. “I’m trying.”
“Good.” He reaches down and claps my shoulder. “But now I’ve got paperwork to finish thanks to some dumbass who walked away from a hot pan.”
“Sorry, Charlie.”
He grins. “Quiet night otherwise. Keeps the guys on their toes.”
“I know the feeling.”
He points at me. “Get some sleep, twinkle toes.”
Then he bends down and scratches Hank’s neck. “You’re on duty,” he tells him. “Take care of your dad.” Hank lifts his head like he understands every word and has already accepted the assignment.
Charlie heads back up the dock, footsteps fading out.
I turn Otis up a little. Hank shifts closer until his weight is pressed solid against my leg. I sit there and let myself think about it. All of it. The fear. The hope. The way Mo’s hair caught the kitchen light tonight. The way she looked at me. The split second she leaned in.
I turn and look across the water toward her window above the bakery. Dark.
She leaned in.
That wasn’t my imagination.
The tide keeps coming in. The channel marker keeps blinking. The song keeps playing. And I let myself believe something I’ve been fighting hard not to believe.
Maybe this isn’t temporary.
Maybe not this time.