36. THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SIX
They took the side roads home, windows down, Kieran’s arm resting on the door.
Rory’s free hand found his without looking. “So,” he said after a moment. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Yeah?”
“You know how Vera called me the ‘next Kelly Slater’ at the gallery?”
Kieran smiled. “I do. You looked mortified.”
“I was. But also...” Rory paused, choosing his words carefully. “It got me thinking. There’s this surf competition that happens every year right before Labor Day. The classic down at Beacon’s. The one I used to compete in.”
“And you’re thinking about entering again?”
“Yeah.” He paused, his eyes tracking the road ahead. “I haven’t done it since Britt died. But lately I’ve been thinking maybe I should sign up.”
Kieran was quiet for a second. “Then you should.”
“You think?”
“I think you already know you want to. You’re just looking for me to swoon over how good you are.”
“I don’t know if I’m still any good.”
“You’re better than good. I’ve seen you surf.”
“You’ve seen me casually. And you were too busy eating sand to pay attention.”
Kieran laughed. “Fair. But even from my horizontal position in the ocean, I could tell you knew what you were doing.”
They slowed at a red light, and Rory glanced over at him. “You should sign up too.”
“What?”
“The competition. They have a beginner division.”
“No fucking way.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve stood up on a surfboard for approximately three seconds before falling off and nearly drowning.”
“You didn’t almost drown.”
“I inhaled an entire ocean’s worth of saltwater.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“It’s really not. And you know it.”
The light turned green and Rory accelerated, still grinning. “Come on. It would be fun.”
“For you to watch me humiliate myself publicly in front of an audience? Probably.”
“I’m serious. You could take a few more lessons. Practice. By September you’d be decent.”
“Decent is a strong word.”
“Functional then.”
Kieran shook his head. “Some of us are meant to be spectators.”
Rory laughed. “Okay, fine. But you’ll come and watch?”
“Obviously. I need to see if Vera was right about the whole Kelly Slater thing.”
“She wasn’t.”
“We’ll see.”
They passed through Leucadia, the road winding along the coast. Kieran watched the ocean appear and disappear between the houses.
“I like this,” Kieran said.
Rory glanced over. “Like what?”
“I don’t know how to explain it. The surf competition stuff, the side roads, your hand on the gearshift.” He paused. “Whatever we are.”
Rory squeezed his hand. “We are just us.”
They turned onto their street. Rory pulled into his driveway and cut the engine, but neither of them moved to get out.
“You want to come in?” Rory asked. “I could make us lunch. Or we could hang out.”
“Yeah,” Kieran said. “I’d like that.”
They climbed out and Kieran followed Rory inside. Rory tossed his keys on the counter and opened the fridge. “Sandwiches okay?”
“Perfect.”
Kieran sat at the small kitchen table and watched Rory pull out bread, deli meat, cheese, mayo.
“You know,” Kieran said, “a few months ago, if you’d told me I’d be sitting in a kitchen in Encinitas watching my boyfriend make me a sandwich after we both got STD tested together, I would’ve thought you were insane.”
Rory paused, turning to look at him. “Boyfriend?”
Kieran’s face heated. “I mean—is that—are we—shit, that came out unexpectedly.”
Rory set the butter knife down. Slowly. Crossed his arms. Leaned against the counter with an expression that gave away absolutely nothing.
“I really appreciate you saying that, but…I’m sorry. I don’t think so.”
Kieran’s stomach dropped through the floor. “I…okay. That’s—yeah, no, that’s totally fine. I shouldn’t have assumed. We never even talked about it and I…”
“Kieran.”
“—threw it out there like an absolute moron, and if that’s not what this is, then—”
“Kieran.”
He stopped. Rory was smiling. Not a little smile. The full one. The one that crinkled his eyes and made him look ten years younger and infuriatingly pleased with himself. “I’m kidding.”
Kieran stared at him. “You’re kidding?”
“Yeah.”
“You just watched me have a cardiac event. Over sandwiches.”
“Turkey and Swiss, specifically.”
“Fucking asshole.”
“Hey now, that’s not very boyfriend behavior.”
Kieran opened his mouth, closed it, then picked up a chip from the bag on the table and threw it at Rory’s chest.
Rory caught it. Ate it.
“You’re the worst,” Kieran said.
“And yet?” Rory picked up the knife and went back to the cutting board like he hadn’t just stopped Kieran’s heart for three full seconds. “Boyfriend.” He said it quietly. To the sandwiches.
But Kieran heard it.
Then Rory glanced up. The joke was gone from his face. What was left was the look of a man who’d been waiting for someone to call him that and didn’t know it until he heard it.