“I’ll let you know when I’m ready to start dating, alright?”
That answer seems to satisfy her, for now.
Quiet chewing fills the silence between us, but as I munch on my apple, my mind drifts.
Do I even know what I want in a partner, truly? I think about everything I’ve been avoiding all my life—these desires buried deep inside, smothered by years of shame and denial. I’ve kept myself busy, hiding in my work so I don’t have to face the truth staring me down every time I’m alone with my thoughts.
Do I really like menthatway? Or was me coming so hard I nearly blacked out while watching gay porn just some weird one-off?Maybe it’s something I like in theory but not in practice. Maybe the only way I’ll ever know is by actually letting myself explore it—even if the thought scares the hell out of me.
“You alright?” Olivia asks, concern etched in her voice.
I blink back to reality, realizing I’ve been completely zoned out, squeezing an apple core in my fist. Huffing a laugh, I toss it onto the ground beside us.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Just thinking.”
She snickers. “Careful, Ash. Don’t hurt yourself.”
When I flip her off, she shoves my shoulder with a grin. I wipe my hands on my jeans and nod toward her half-eaten sandwich. “Hurry up and eat. We’ve gotta get back to work.”
She straightens and gives an exaggerated salute. “Yes, boss.”
A groan escapes me. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? It’s true.” She laughs. “Don’t give me that look. I know you missed me while I was away at college.”
I’m ready with a snarky comeback, but the words stall in my throat. Instead, something softer pushes through.
“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “I did.”
Her grin shifts into something warm and fond. For a moment, it feels like we’re kids again, enjoying Mom’s cooking together after a long day spent sweating in the orchard.
Then she picks up her sandwich and takes an enormous bite. “Good,” she mumbles through her food. “’Cause I missed you too.”
Chapter Nine
Troy
ThedoorcreaksasI push into Old Harbor Tavern, the trolley bumping over the threshold, stacked kegs rattling softly. Warm, sticky air envelops my skin, lingering with the scents of spilled beer and stale cigarette smoke. Chatter fills the air, mixed with an old grunge rock song pulsing from the old jukebox.
As I haul the kegs through the crowded space, my eyes drift automatically, cataloging familiar faces.
When you live somewhere as small as Claremont Shores, it’s easy to recognize locals. After being here for only a few months, I know most of the regulars around town—even if I haven’t gotten all their names yet. You see the same people everywhere: the single supermarket, the one dive bar, the handful of boutiques.
Admittedly, I’m guilty of people-watching. Mel used to tease me and call it creepy, but I’ve always thought it’s just curiosity—an appreciation for the infinite narratives unfolding around us. Now, living in this cozy lakeside town, my life almost feels like a real-life Hallmark movie. These people are the cast, familiar faces moving through their routines, each carrying a unique story.
I keep moving through the tavern, the trolley rattling softly as I weave through the room. My gaze finally lands on the bar, and there’s Luke behind it with an easy grin, sleeves rolled up, deep in conversation with someone perched on a stool.
When I round the corner, I see who he’s talking to.
Ashton.
He looks exhausted. His blue henley shirt is clinging to him, hair mussed, skin flushed and damp like he hasn’t fully cooled down yet. An ice-cold beer is sweating in front of him, his forearms resting on the bar as he talks to his brother.
I school my expression into something neutral. I’ve gotten very good at pretending to be an aloof, mysterious asshole. Internally, though, my heart does that stupid little flutter that makes me dizzy.
“Troy!” Luke booms when he spots me. “So good to see you!”
“That what you tell all your distributors?” I ask, steering the kegs behind the bar.
