NINE
Afew weeks later, Kieran had finally started learning how to live in Encinitas without hovering at the edges of it.
The Substack had given his days some shape. After Emory’s relentless encouragement—and the unexpected response to his drunk blog post—he committed to doing it. Honestly? San Diego went live two weeks ago, and to his surprise, people were reading it.
Sure, he only had twelve subscribers, mostly friends he knew, but it was enough to make him show up.
So he started attending things. Checking out places Reddit recommended—and a few it warned him about.
One night, he caught a small concert at the Encinitas Library, sitting in a room full of people old enough to remember vinyl the first time around, while a trio played gentle, earnest music that made the sky feel closer.
Another night, he squeezed into Belly Up Tavern in Solana Beach, beer in hand, shoulder to shoulder with regulars who had clearly been coming there since the nineties and intended to keep doing so forever.
He learned which taco shop stayed open late, which breakfast place didn’t rush, and which corners of town smelled like salt and eucalyptus at dusk.
He’d even started chatting with Devon, the barista at his usual coffee spot, FOAM, the one who called him “bud” and never asked invasive questions. Turned out Devon ran a monthly book club at the Cardiff-by-the-Sea Library.
“It’s mostly locals,” she said, wiping down the espresso machine. “We pick all sorts of shit. Last month was a memoir about competitive cheese-making. You’d fit right in.”
“That’s either a compliment or an insult,” Kieran said.
“Both.” Devon grinned. “You in?”
Kieran surprised himself. “Yes.”
On a bright Saturday afternoon, he stopped into Cliffside Market for an overpriced sandwich and whatever side looked the most irresponsible. He was halfway down the aisle debating chips when he heard his name.
“Kieran.”
He turned, already smiling.
Rory had a basket hooked over his arm, looking annoyingly good.
“Hey,” Kieran said. “Fancy running into you somewhere that smells like tri-tip.”
“Hard to avoid.” Rory’s gaze tracked down Kieran’s chest and back up, unhurried. “Haven’t seen your car much.”
“I started a Substack. Something stupid to keep me busy while I’m job hunting.”
“I know what Substack is.” Rory stepped closer, reaching past Kieran for a jar of honey on the shelf behind him. He didn’t need to get that close. “And that’s not stupid. What are you writing about?”
“It’s…” Kieran’s brain fogged. Rory was right there, forearm brushing his shoulder, smelling like salt and warm skin. “Just, uh. Stuff. About here. The town. Things I’ve noticed.”
Rory pulled back with the honey in hand, eyes still on Kieran’s face. “Yeah? Like what?”
“I don’t know. Coffee. Tacos. The light.” Jesus. He had become a stoned poet in a grocery aisle. “My best friend Emory bullied me into it.”
“Emory sounds smart.” Rory’s mouth curved. “Send me the link.”
“So you can roast my opinions on fish tacos?”
“So I can see what catches your eye.”
They stalled a beat too long, the hum of the store filling the space, neither of them in a hurry to break it.
“So,” Rory said, shifting the basket again. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Uh. Laundry. Picking up dog poop. Living wild.”
Rory lifted his eyebrows, looking almost impressed. “You want to go to the beach?”
“Sure,” Kieran said, too quickly. “I’m a beach professional.”
Rory’s smile widened a fraction. “Cool. Meet you in the driveway, say ten-thirty?”
“Great,” Kieran said, already picturing a towel, a book, the comfortable distance he’d learned how to keep.
They walked to the checkout together, talking about nothing, music, the Substack, the strange loyalty people had to certain grocery stores. At the exit Rory paused.
“Tomorrow?” he asked.
“Tomorrow.”
Rory nodded once, satisfied. “Wear sunscreen.”
“I always do,” Kieran said, offended.
Rory laughed and headed for the parking lot, leaving Kieran standing there with his sandwich and a feeling that buzzed pleasantly under his ribs.
Kieran pretended to be calm.
This involved staring out the passenger-side window of Rory’s truck with intense, fraudulent interest in the coastline.
He waited until Rory merged onto the highway—committed now, no exits—before pulling his phone out of his pocket and tilting it low, shielded by his thigh.
KIERAN: okay. don’t freak out.
The response came instantly, as if Emory had been waiting her whole life for this moment.
EMORY: too late, already screaming, where are you, what’s happening?
Kieran glanced sideways. Rory was relaxed, one hand on the wheel, music low. Gleefully unaware that Kieran was internally unraveling.
KIERAN: I’m in my neighbor’s truck. He’s driving us to a beach.
EMORY: which beach?
Kieran had asked the same question ten minutes ago.
Rory had glanced over casually. “Black’s. It’s chill. I think you’ll like it.”
And then he’d turned the music up, as if that explained everything.
So Kieran had done what any reasonable person would do and panic-googled it under his phone screen.
KIERAN: I think he might be taking me to...a nude beach? He said “Black’s Beach” and Wikipedia says it’s clothing-optional.
He could feel her scream through the phone.
EMORY: THE NUDE BEACH IN SAN DIEGO? BLACK’S BEACH? ONLY THE MOST FAMOUS NUDE BEACH ON THE WEST COAST!
KIERAN: Testicle-forward it seems. RIP.
Rory laughed at something on the radio, oblivious.
EMORY: TESTICLE FORWARD? I’m putting that on a throw pillow ASAP. WHO IS THIS MAN?
KIERAN: Long story. I’ll tell you soon. I didn’t even know until five minutes ago.
EMORY: STOP. YOU FOUND OUT EN ROUTE?
Kieran shifted in his seat, watching cliffs rise ahead of them.
KIERAN: I’ve never even skinny-dipped. I’m barely comfortable shirtless.
He typed the next one without thinking.
KIERAN: What if I get sunburned…down there?
EMORY: Okay let’s workshop this. You look fine. MORE than fine. did you bring SPF 90 and a hat? if your dick turns red I will bully you forever!
Kieran squeezed his eyes shut.
KIERAN: THIS IS NOT HELPING
EMORY: then why are you still in the truck??
That one landed.
Kieran glanced at Rory again. Rory caught the look, smiled briefly, like he was checking in without pressing.
KIERAN: Because he’s just being nice. Neighborly. I’m like 98% certain he’s straight anyway.
EMORY: WHAT STRAIGHT MAN TAKES ANOTHER MAN TO A NUDE BEACH??
KIERAN: Rory. He’s like that. Totally carefree. Probably thinks this is normal bonding.
EMORY: babe. BABE. no straight man does this
KIERAN: You don’t know him. He’s very San Diego.
EMORY: “very San Diego” is not a sexuality
KIERAN: You know what I mean. Chill. Easygoing. Doesn’t overthink things like normal people.
EMORY: or he’s into you and you’re being oblivious
KIERAN: I’m not being oblivious I’m being REALISTIC
EMORY: OH. So this is a test! What are you gonna do with it?
Kieran stared at the road ahead.
KIERAN: Probably cry. Or faint from heat exhaustion. Make up ridiculous scenarios in my head?
A message came in rapid fire.
EMORY: THE ONLY TEARS YOU SHOULD HAVE IN YOUR EYES ARE FROM GAGGING WHEN YOU GIVE HIM HEAD.
Kieran clapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing.
KIERAN: 911
EMORY: Do it, pretty sure dick sucking is legal in this state
KIERAN: EMORY!
EMORY: He could’ve at least given you a heads up so you could’ve manscaped a little
Kieran’s whole face went hot.
KIERAN: block me
EMORY: If you’re a full chia pet down there just tell him you’re “keeping it organic” and refuse to elaborate ;)
“You good?” Rory asked.
Kieran nodded too fast. “Yeah. Totally.”
The truck rolled on toward the cliffs, the ocean opening wide and exposed ahead of them.
Kieran leaned back in his seat—don’t freak out.
Somewhere, Emory was already designing the throw pillow.