25. Jake
JAKE
She’s still here.
This isn’t our first sleepover. We had dozens growing up. Back then, falling asleep near each other felt as normal as breathing.
But this one is different.
Last night she stayed for me.
Mo is sprawled across the sectional in my hoodie, one shoulder bare where the collar slipped, a sleeve swallowing her hand.
One knee tucked up, the other stretched long.
She still sleeps like a flamingo. Hank is wedged against her ribs like a heated sandbag, snoring hard enough to rattle the whole couch.
I’ve stood in the pocket with three-hundred-pound linemen bearing down and felt less exposed than I do right now, standing in my own living room watching her sleep in my clothes.
Knowing she chose to stay.
I didn’t think I’d ever see this again.
Peace settles over me so quietly I almost don’t trust it. I haven’t felt this kind in a long time.
I carry my coffee out to the dock, easing the screen door shut behind me, which I never do.
The morning is still mostly quiet, just gulls already arguing overhead like they’ve got personal grievances to air before breakfast and the faint ding of the buoy.
A boat moves in the distance. Water taps against the pilings below.
Today’s going to be a long one. Final prep before Dog Days of Summer kicks off tomorrow. Chalk lines, booths, volunteer wrangling, making sure nobody lets Wayne near anything that plugs in or requires insurance.
This is my third year running the fundraiser for Big Dog Ranch Rescue, the biggest no-kill, no-cage dog rescue in the country.
When they handed me Hank, they didn’t just hand me a bulldog.
They handed me something to care about when I didn’t feel like caring about much of anything.
Something that needed feeding and walking and medicine and structure.
Something stubborn enough to keep climbing into my lap until I got used to the idea of showing up again.
They gave me a reason to get out of bed.
The screen door slams behind me. A sleepy snort follows, then the click of nails on old wood. Then it slams again.
I turn. Mo is standing there with her hair wild from sleep, my hoodie hanging off one shoulder, one hand rubbing her eye.
Hank stands behind her like he’s been dragged out of bed against his will.
“You let me sleep,” she says, voice rough with morning.
“You looked peaceful.”
She comes straight toward me with grabby hands “Coffee. Need coffee.”
I hand over my mug. She cups it with both hands like survival depends on caffeine, and takes a long gulp with her eyes half closed.
I lean back against the rail. “So. Adult sleepover.”
“At least you didn’t stick my fingers in water.”
“It was one finger. One time. Like twenty years ago.”
“The female gender maintains records, Jake,” she says. “We archive offenses for future deployment.”
“Then may the record reflect it was a scientifically important experiment.”
“Okie-dokie.” She takes another sip.
I watch her glance down at herself. The stretched collar. The dog hair. A faint smear of bulldog drool drying near the hem. She notices all of it but doesn’t brush any off. Just shrugs and keeps drinking my coffee like she woke up here every morning of her life.
That does something to me I’m not going to unpack before breakfast.
“So,” she says, lowering the mug. “What are we doing today?”
We.
One word.
Still enough to land.
I take the mug back, mostly so I’ve got something to do with my hands before I hand it right back to her. “Top priority is locating the guys before they cause structural damage.”
Her mouth curves around the rim. “When you say guys, you mean Wayne?”
“Exactly.”
“Can we stop by Tall Tales first?”
I look pointedly at the mug in her hands. “You are literally drinking coffee while you ask that.”
“Jake.” She gives me a look over the mug. “Your coffee doesn’t count.”
Hank presses himself against her calves and lets out a half whine, half roar that covers breakfast, attention, and several complaints about nap time.
I slide an arm around her shoulders and kiss the side of her head. “Come on. Let me feed you both, then we’ll go get the coffee that counts.”
We walk toward The Point with the kind of ease that would scare me if I looked at it too hard.
So naturally I don’t.
Charlie falls into step beside us about twenty yards from Tall Tales. He says nothing at first. Just walks. Ten seconds pass. “Morning, Emory.”
“Morning, Charlie.”
Five more steps. “Nice hoodie.”
Mo glances down at herself. Then back up at him. “Thank you.”
Charlie nods slowly. “Awful big.”
“Is it?”
“It is.” His eyes slide to me. Neutral. Suspiciously neutral. “Early morning,” he adds.
“Prep day,” I say. “Long list.”
“Mm.”
“Charlie.” His hands go up in surrender as he peels off toward the fire station. “I’m just acknowledging the time of day.”
Mo watches him go. “He knows.”
“Everyone knows.”
She looks over at me. “How?”
I gesture broadly at Blue Crab Bay. Willard tips his hat from his bench. Mrs. Kravitz lowers binoculars. Old Man Humphrey squints over the top of whatever paper he’s pretending to read.
Mo exhales. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
I hold the Tall Tales door open for her and Hank. “It’s the Blue Crab Bay way. Nobody minds their business. It’s in the town charter.”
The second we step inside, the whole place goes quiet.
Not even trying to be subtle.
A woman near the pastry case smiles too wide.
Somebody at one of the round tables whispers something that includes the word finally.
From the back, a man says, “Well look at that,” like he’s spotted a rare bird.
“Little family outing,” someone whispers loudly.
“The hoodie confirms it,” somebody else adds.
Mo tips her head up toward me. I lean closer. “I don’t know why I expected discretion.”
“Optimism builds character,” she mumbles.
Walt doesn’t even attempt to hide how pleased he is. “What’ll it be?” he asks, nodding toward the chalkboard.
THE WALK OF SHAME LATTE
THE MORNING AFTER MACCHIATO
THE SLEPT OVER SPECIAL
I stare at him. “You too?”
He shrugs. “This is what I live for.”
Mo laughs, and half the shop turns just to look at her doing it. “We’ll take two Slept Over Specials,” she says louder than necessary.
I look at her. “Really?”
She glances up at me, grin still there. “Who are we to deny the town joy?”
Walt points at her with his pen. “That’s exactly the spirit I was hoping for.” He goes to make the drinks while Hank patrols for dropped pastry crumbs and old women who might have cookies in their purses.
Holey Moley is loud before we even walk in. Maddy’s voice carries straight through the door. “...and I’m telling you Hattie, a glazed doughnut wrapped around a sausage would revolutionize that hot dog cart of yours.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” I say as we step inside.
Both Maddy and Hattie turn. One look at Maddy’s face and I know we’re in trouble. “Well, look who rolled outta the hay.”
“Granny,” Mo groans.
“I didn’t start the rumor,” Maddy says. “I’m just maintaining momentum.”
“You’re gossiping about your granddaughter.”
Maddy sets a hand to her chest. “We don’t gossip, dear girl. We simply share prayer requests with details.”
Miss Hattie cackles so hard she has to grab the counter.
Frank slides a pink box toward me and leans in close, lowering his voice like we’re conspiring instead of standing in a doughnut shop at eight in the morning.
“On the house,” he whispers. “For stamina.”
I nearly choke on my coffee.
By the time we make it out of Holey Moley and across to The Green, the whole place is already in motion.
Clipboards everywhere. Chalk lines marking lanes. Folding tables half dressed in banners and donation jars. A microphone giving feedback in angry little bursts every thirty seconds. Somebody inflating something shaped like a paw print. Somebody else dragging coolers.
Bethany stands in the middle of it all with a clipboard and the expression of a woman one inconvenience away from felony charges. She’s directing volunteers like an air-traffic controller with zero patience for human error.
Wayne, naturally, is “helping.” Which mostly means moving cones nobody asked him to move and pointing at things with the confidence of a man who has never been burdened by self-doubt.
“Why are you here?” Bethany asks him without looking up.
“Restoring order.”
“You’re moving cones.”
“You see moving cones. I see providing an invaluable service.”
She moves one right back where it was without breaking eye contact. “There. Order restored.”
Wayne opens his mouth to argue, sees us, and immediately forgets every other thought in his head.
He breaks into a sprint.
“Oh no,” Mo mumbles.
He reaches us and hugs her hard enough to lift her clear off the ground.
“Wayne… oxygen…“
He sets her down, keeps hold of her shoulders, then leans back and squints. “You’re wearing his hoodie,” he says, pointing.
“Yes.”
“That is Jake’s hoodie.”
“I’m aware.”
“At—” He checks his watch. “Eight twenty-one in the morning.”
“Wayne.”
“In daylight.”
“Yes, Wayne. In daylight.”
He turns toward me in slow motion. “I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“I’ve been tracking indicators. Eye sparkles. Stance proximity. Emotional lean angles.” He pats his pockets, looks around, mumbles, “Damn it,” then looks back up. “I had a chart.”
“You did not have a chart.”
“I absolutely had a chart.”
He spins in a circle, hopping up and down like that’ll help him see through structures and people, and bellows, “RYAN KNOX. WHERE YOU AT?”
“I’m right here,” Ryan says without moving.
Wayne points at him dramatically. “Tell them I had a chart.”
Ryan pulls the brim of his hat lower. “Yeah. He had a chart.”
Bethany mutters something under her breath. I glance at her. “Did you just call him Chuckie?”
She stares at me for a few seconds before answering. “No. I said fuck me.”
Wayne either doesn’t hear or decides to ignore her.
He leans toward Mo, and his voice loses the performance. “You look happy.”
Mo smiles. Big. “I am.”
Wayne looks skyward and mouths thank you like somebody upstairs finally answered his emails. Then he snaps right back into himself.
“Good,” he says briskly. “Because if this ends in emotional catastrophe, I will not recover.”
I won’t either.
Wayne points at me. “I mean it. I’ve emotionally invested in this relationship.”
“You’re not in this relationship.”
“I always believed.”
“You always bellowed.”
“Jake. Belief is loud.”
Mo gestures toward him as he turns and begins re-measuring imaginary airspace between cones. “Is he going to be okay?”
Before Ryan or I can answer, Wayne whips back around. “I knew it would happen at a public event.”
“Wayne.”
“No, think about it. This is cinematic. There are dogs. There are baked goods. There is organized competition.” He sweeps one hand toward the booths. “Wet tee shirts are practically implied. This is how legacies begin.” He digs his phone out of his pocket.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Documenting.”
“For what?”
“The future wedding slideshow.”
Mo nearly chokes on her Slept Over Special. “Wayne!”
“What? It’s smart to gather B-roll early.” He glances up and notices Bethany watching him from across the grass.
He waves.
She raises one finger.
The middle one.
Wayne turns to me slowly. “Did she just flip me off?”
“Yes.”
“In broad daylight?”
“Yes.”
He turns back and watches her another second, then smiles in a way I don’t trust at all. “I’m gonna marry her.” He adjusts his sunglasses and walks straight toward her anyway.
A minute later I hear, “I don’t like your tone.”
“I don’t like your existence.”
Ryan leans toward me. “Five bucks says she rips his meat off.”
“Five says she does it before the day is over.”
The morning keeps unspooling around us. Volunteers moving in crooked but earnest lines. Dogs barking. A speaker playing country music. Somebody calling for extension cords. Somebody else calling for zip ties.
It’s a mess, but it’s our mess.
Ryan drifts over toward Willard’s bench like he belongs there, which somehow he does almost instantly. Willard says something. Ryan laughs. Chip takes a peanut from between Ryan’s fingers like this has been their routine for years.
Mo stands beside me, taking everything in. Her hair’s up now, strands blowing in the breeze. She’s still wearing my hoodie. One hand tucked half inside the sleeve. The other wrapped around her coffee cup.
She looks happy.
And because I’ve spent most of my life loving her in ways that had nowhere to go, seeing her fit inside this morning that easily is more than I know what to do with.
She looks around at the booths, the banners, the people pretending not to watch us while watching us. “This feels like something,” she says quietly.
I look at her.
Yeah.
It does.
I reach down and lace my fingers through hers. She looks at our hands first. Then up at me. I tighten my hold before I ask it.
“Will you be my partner tomorrow?”
She tilts her head. “For what?”
“All the events.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“Including the one where I crawl around blindfolded and trust you not to send me into a mud pit?”
“Especially that one.”
She tips her face toward the sky, tapping her chin with one finger. “Hmm... Okay.”
Across The Green, Wayne detonates. “WHEELER! BETHANY WON’T LET ME RIDE THE INFLATABLE FIRE HYDRANT.”
“Wayne,” Bethany calls calmly without looking up from her clipboard, “yell one more time at full stadium volume and I’m assigning you to scoop shit.”
“Threats don’t work on me.”
“It’s not a threat,” she says. “It’s volunteer redistribution.”
He squints at her. “You can’t redistribute me.”
“Watch me.”
Mo laughs. Head tipped back. Full laugh. Unrestrained.
Happy.
I hold it to memory.
That laugh. This morning. Her hand in mine. My hoodie on her. The whole town acting like our business is municipal property.
I hold all of it.
I’m getting good at holding things quietly.
I know better than to trust a good thing too fast.
Doesn’t stop me from wanting to.