I don't hug him back, my hands awkwardly full with the plate I'd been holding. Gary swaps it out for the to-go box he's packed, giving me a knowing look.
Gary's fingers tighten around the to-go box before he presses it into my hands, the warmth of the plastic seeping into my skin. "What you just ate wasn't dinner. That was barely a snack. Take this home, Andrew. Please."
I stare down at the box, suddenly feeling like a charity case. "Gary... I can't. You've already done enough."
"Nonsense." His smile is warm, genuine in a way that disarms me completely. "Also," he adds, his tone shifting to something more conspiratorial, "I'm organizing a thing this weekend. Want to come?"
My stomach knots at the word "thing."
"What kind of thing?" I ask, my voice tighter than I intended.
"A camping trip." His eyes light up, and I can tell he's passionate about this. "It's not far, right on the beach. I reserve a group site once a month. It's low-key, just a few of us queer folk hanging out, drinking cheap wine around a fire pit." He pauses, studying my face. "You could bring Ted. I'd love to meet him. Plus, it's a good chance to expand your circle beyond... well, beyond work."
The mention of Ted sends a pang of guilt through me. We'd had that second date on the beach in Malibu—beautiful sunset, mediocre conversation, and a lingering sense that we were ships passing in the night. I'd been distracted all evening, my mind wandering back to Vince's laughter, to the way his muscles had strained against his shirt during our run that morning.
"I'd like to go, but..." I trail off, searching for an excuse that sounds reasonable. "I don't have a tent or sleeping bag. I haven't gone camping since I was a kid with my dad."
Gary waves a hand dismissively, the gesture sweeping away my flimsy objections. "Frank and I have extra gear. Say you'll come. You're my newest friend, and you have to come. Be part of my crew, Andrew. You'll love it." His eyes plead with me, and I realize how much this means to him.
The idea of a social gathering, my first in this new city, makes my palms sweat. But I've made a promise to myself to push past those fears, to stop letting my anxiety dictate my life. And I do love camping—the smell of pine needles, the crackle of a campfire, the way the world seems to quiet down under a blanket of stars.
"I'll come," I say, the words feeling both terrifying and exhilarating as they leave my lips.
Chapter 12
The Special of the Day
Vince
I'msoakedtothebone from the rainy run when I get back home, my shirt clinging uncomfortably to my skin like a cold, second skin. I turn the shower water hotter than usual, steam immediately fogging up the glass as I step in, not even flinching at the icy blast that hits me first before the warmth takes over.
On autopilot, I lather soap into my washcloth and over my chest, but I can't shake the image of Andy, shirtless and grinning in the rain, out of my head—the way his muscles had glistened, his laughter echoing through the downpour, making everything feel absurdly alive.
By the time I'm sitting at my kitchen table in a bathrobe, steam still rising from my heated skin, I know I can't let the day go on without calling Gary. My knee bounces restlessly as I rake a hand through my damp hair, the towel still draped around my shoulders, droplets of water tracing paths down my back. He'd better answer.
Finally, on the fourth ring, Gary picks up.
"Why are you calling me this early, you gorgeous dickhead of a friend? Not all of us wake up before dawn to maintain washboard abs."
"Gary, I need help."
He sighs dramatically. "With what?"
"Andy."
Another sigh. "Vince, hun, maybe stop spending so much time with him. You're doing this to yourself. I can't help you. Nobody can help you." He chuckles, the sound groggy but amused. "Honestly, this is what you get for thinking you can be bi and still pretend to be straight."
"That's not what I'm doing, Gary. Don't twist it," I snap, my voice sharper than intended. "I'm not pretending to be anything. I'm bi. Right now, I want a woman. End of story."
A dry laugh crackles through the phone. "Oh, Vince. Sweetheart. I love you, I really do, but are you hearing yourself right now? You're treating your sexuality like a damn menu item you can order off or on depending on the special of the day. That's not how this works, and you know it."
"This is out of my hands, Gary. You know it'll change things in a way I won't be able to recover from."
Gary sighs, the sound crackling through the phone. "Vince, listen to me. I know you're worried about coming out publicly, but this isn't the 1940s anymore. You're not going to get blacklisted for being with a man." His voice softens. "Your career won't suffer—people won't stop casting you. Your daughters loveyou; that won't change. If their friends say anything, your girls are strong enough to handle it. They're more resilient than you give them credit for." There's a pause before he continues gently. "If you're feeling this deeply about Andy, then you need to be honest with yourself and with Sam. You have people who care about you, who'll support you no matter what. Don't make this harder than it needs to be by carrying it all alone."
"No. I can't come out right now. It'll mess everything up."
Gary doesn't respond immediately. When I think he might finally be giving up, he speaks again, softer. "What's the worst that could happen?"
