2
Ursine Adventures passengers crowded the tender boat to the private beach, most already shirtless, with sunscreen slicked across their broad shoulders and thick chests. Aaron squeezed into a corner seat near the back, questioning his decision to come.
It’s just a beach. You’ve been to beaches.
Not like this, though. Not surrounded by a hundred gay men who seemed perfectly comfortable in their skin while Aaron felt… small.
“Mind if I sit?”
Aaron looked up. Nash stood in front of him, holding onto an overhead rail as the boat rocked. He wore board shorts and a faded t-shirt that said Brew Local, sunglasses pushed up onto his head.
“Yeah. Sure.“
Aaron moved his backpack to make room.
Nash dropped into the seat beside him, and the space became tighter. Their shoulders brushed. Aaron caught the scent of sunscreen mixed with something else—maybe laundry detergent.
“Did you bring snorkel gear?“
Nash asked.
“The cruise line provided some. It’s in my bag.”
“Same. Though I’m not sure how much snorkeling I’ll do. I’m more of a sit in the shade and drink beer kind of beach guy.”
Aaron smiled. “That sounds more my speed, too.”
“Good. We can be boring together.”
The boat’s engine roared to life, and they pulled away from the cruise ship. The water shimmered blue—turquoise near the shore, deepening to sapphire farther out. Aaron had grown up near water, but Louisiana’s coastline was murky. It was nothing like this.
“First time in the Bahamas?“
Nash asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“Second. We came through here on a fishing trip years ago. Before—“
He paused, shaking his head. “Well, anyway. It’s beautiful.”
Before the breakup, Aaron thought. Before whatever happened with the ex in Lumberton that made Nash leave for Spoon.
“You miss it?“
Aaron asked. “Mississippi?”
“I miss my mama. She’s still there. Not much else, though. Lumberton got small—not the town itself, but the life I was living there. I felt like I was shrinking to fit.”
Aaron knew what he meant.
“What about you?“
Nash shifted to look at him. “Are you from DC originally?”
“Louisiana. Outside of Baton Rouge.”
“No shit? I thought I heard it in your voice last night. Just a little bit, around the edges.”
“I’ve been gone twenty years. Thought I’d trained it out.”
“Why would you want to?”
Aaron shrugged. “Seemed easier. In DC, in the law I practice, sounding too Southern makes people assume I’m—”
“Less smart,“
Nash finished.
“Yeah.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Maybe. But it’s also reality.”
Nash didn’t argue. They fell silent as the boat approached the beach—a crescent of white sand backed by palm trees, the water so clear Aaron could see the sandy bottom. Ursine Adventures had set up colorful umbrellas, beach chairs, coolers, and a grill that already smelled incredible.
The boat thudded against the dock. Passengers filed off, whooping and laughing as they hit the beach. Nash stood, offering Aaron his hand.
“Come on. Let’s grab some shade before it disappears.”
Nash took Aaron’s hand, pulled him to his feet, then stepped back to let him lead. Aaron crossed the gangway with Nash close behind—one hand on Aaron’s shoulder, drifting down his back as they stepped onto the dock.
They found two chairs under a palm tree at the far end of the beach, away from the cluster of people. Nash dropped his bag, peeled off his shirt, and Aaron forgot how to breathe.
He’d known Nash was big, but seeing him shirtless was something else entirely.
Nash’s body was perfect in its imperfection—broad chest covered in salt-and-pepper hair, solid muscle cushioned by the slight swell of a belly—a build that came from living, not gym-sculpting. Light skin said he spent little time shirtless. A few freckles dotted his shoulders, and a scar on his left side that looked surgical. He was the kind of man Aaron had always noticed but never had the time or courage to pursue.
Aaron realized he was staring.
Stop. Jesus Christ, stop.
“You coming in the water?“
Nash asked, oblivious.
“Maybe later. I just wanna...“
Aaron gestured at his bag. “Get settled first.”
“Fair enough. I’m gonna cool off.”
Nash jogged toward the water, moving with surprising grace. He ran through the shallows until the water was deep enough, then dove forward. Aaron saw him surface, water sluicing off his shoulders, hair plastered to his head. He swam a bit, then started bobbing with the waves, jumping when they rolled in.
You are in so much trouble.
Aaron pulled off his own shirt, self-conscious in a way he hadn’t been in years. He wasn’t ashamed of his body—he’d made peace with being short, stocky, and hairy a long time ago—but next to Nash, he felt even smaller. Compact where Nash was broad, plump where Nash was thick.
He spread out his towel, sat down, and tried to focus on something other than the man currently playing in the water like an overgrown kid.
His phone buzzed. Work email. He should check it.
You’re on vacation.
He left the phone face down on his towel.
The water was beautiful, the sand warm, and the sun felt good on his skin. This was nice. He could do nice.
“Aaron!”
He looked up. Nash was standing in the waist-deep water, waving him over.
“Come on! The water feels amazing!”
You came here to relax. To try new things. To be human.
Aaron stood and walked to the water’s edge. The first touch was cool—then perfect. He waded in, feeling the sand shift beneath him as the water rose to his knees, then his thighs, then his waist.
Nash was grinning at him. “See? Not so bad.”
“It’s nice,“
Aaron admitted.
“Come out a little farther. You can see fish.”
Aaron followed Nash deeper. The water was now chest high, and he marveled at the small tropical fish that darted around their legs—bright yellow and electric blue. The bottom was sandy and clear, easy to see even at this depth.
“It’s beautiful,“
Aaron said.
“Yeah.“
Nash wasn’t looking at the fish, though. He was looking at Aaron.
The moment stretched. Aaron became aware of how close they stood. How the water made everything feel more distant and more immediate. How Nash’s chest rose and fell with each breath, water droplets caught in his beard.
A wave rolled in, stronger than the previous ones, catching Aaron off-balance. His feet slipped on the sandy bottom, and he pitched forward.
Nash’s hands caught him—one arm around his waist, the other gripping his shoulder, steadying Aaron against the current. Aaron’s hands pressed against Nash’s chest.
“Are you okay?“
Nash’s voice was low, concerned.
Aaron could feel Nash’s heartbeat under his palm. Could feel the solid strength of him, how Nash held him like he weighed nothing at all. “Yeah,“
he managed. “I’m good.”
Nash didn’t let go, but his grip loosened.
“You sure?”
Aaron looked up. Nash’s hazel eyes—green, gold, and brown mixed—found Aaron, as if he were the only thing that mattered.
“I’m sure,“
Aaron replied, but he didn’t move.
Neither did Nash.
The water lapped around them. Someone laughed on the beach. A bird called from the palm trees, distant.
“Aaron,“
Nash said. “I’m gonna do something, and you can tell me to stop if you want.”
“What—”
Nash kissed him.
It was gentle at first—just a press of lips, salty and warm. Aaron made a sound he’d regret later and kissed back, one hand sliding up to Nash’s shoulder, the other pressed against Nash’s chest.
Nash tightened his hold, pulling them closer, and the kiss deepened. Aaron felt the scratch of Nash’s beard against his skin, the way Nash’s hand flexed on his hip, the way his own body fit against Nash’s larger frame.
He felt small—not diminished, though, but cherished. Protected. Desired.
When they finally broke apart, Aaron was breathless.
“Was that okay?“
Nash asked.
“Yeah.“
Aaron’s voice was hoarse, mind spinning. “That was definitely okay.”
Nash grinned. “Good. Because I’ve been wanting to do that since you tasted my beer yesterday and looked at me like I’d just handed you the answer to the universe.”
Aaron laughed, surprised. “I did not look at you like that.”
“You absolutely did. It was the sexiest thing I’ve seen in years.”
“You think corporate legal structures are sexy?”
“I think you talking about corporate legal structures is sexy.“
Nash’s hand traced small circles on Aaron’s hip. “I think you getting all intense and focused is sexy. I think—” He stopped, smiling. “—I should probably stop talking before I embarrass myself.”
“Don’t stop,“
Aaron urged.
They stood there in the water, holding each other, and Aaron felt something shift within him. Something that had been tight and controlled for years was loosening, unfurling.
This is what you came here for. Not the beach. Not the vacation. This.
“Come on,“
Nash said. “Let’s go sit down before I do something really inappropriate in front of a hundred people.”
“Like what?”
Nash’s grin turned wicked. “Use your imagination, counselor.”
Aaron’s face heated, and Nash laughed as he took his hand, pulling him back toward shore.
They took three steps before Aaron realized Nash was still holding his hand.
They spent the afternoon under the palms, drinking beer and talking—really talking. Not the careful professional conversation from the tasting, but the kind of talk you have when you realize you want to know everything about each other.
Nash told him about learning to brew, about the years of trial and error, about the first batch that tasted good enough to share. About moving to Spoon and meeting Tucker, about Mayor Titus and Project Haven, about building something from nothing in a place that welcomed him.
Aaron shared his journey—law school, his first discrimination case win, how civil rights work felt like moving an ocean with a teaspoon but doing it anyway.
“You’re alone a lot,“
Nash observed. Not a question, just a statement.
“Yeah.”
“By choice?”
Aaron considered. “I don’t know anymore. It started that way. Easier to focus on work without distractions. But it just became... habit, I guess.”
“You lonely?”
No one had ever asked Aaron that.
“Yeah,“
he admitted. “I think I am.”
Nash reached over, took Aaron’s hand. “Me too. Was, anyway. Lumberton got lonely after—after the split. Spoon’s better, but it’s still... I’ve got friends. Tucker, the regulars at the tavern. But I haven’t had—“
He squeezed Aaron’s hand. “—this. Someone who gets it.”
“Gets what?”
“That you can love what you do and still feel like something’s missing. That you can be proud of what you’ve built and still wonder if there’s more.”
Aaron looked at their joined hands—Nash’s larger, callused and strong, engulfing his own.
“The cruise will end,“
Aaron said.
“I know.”
“I live in DC. You live in Georgia.”
“I know that, too.”
“This is probably a bad idea.”
Nash smiled. “Probably. You want to stop?”
Aaron thought about returning to his cabin, to his laptop, to the emails he’d been ignoring. About going back to DC and pretending this never happened. About sitting at his corner table at David’s, alone, wondering what might have been.
“No,“
he said. “I don’t.”
“Good.“
Nash lifted Aaron’s hand, pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Because I’m not ready to stop either.”
The sun was lowering, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Ursine Adventures passengers were packing up and heading toward the tender boats.
“Guess we should get back to the ship,“
Nash said.
“Yeah.”
Aaron didn’t move.
“Or,“
Nash said, “we could take the last boat and stay here a little longer.”
“And do what?”
Nash’s expression was full of promise. “Whatever you want.”
Aaron kissed him.
This time, there was no hesitation—just want and warmth—their arms holding each other close as the sun set over the Bahamas.