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He’s found me again.

8 OSCAR

It shouldn’t shock me to see Poet in the Joker. He lives here now and it’s the closest pub to his farm. And yet I find myself surprised. Pleasantly so. As if I’ve been blessed by Saulė to cross paths with Poet tonight.

My entire being hums with the need to touch him.

In any capacity.

But I resist, for the moment Jack needs from me as I reach over the bar and cup my palm to his face just long enough for him to reclaim his focus and give it to me. “This is Folk’s brother. He can read your lips if you are close enough.”

The puzzle piece Jack’s been missing slots into place. He nods and leans closer, repeating what I presume he said before I got here.

Poet orders a neat gin with ice. He nudges me. “Want one?”

I already have a glass cradled in my hand—a fact Jack doesn’t miss. I wonder if he’ll put it all together, but I don’t see how he can. I’ve told no one about the time I spent with Poet Whitlock two summers ago, no one about the time I’ve spent with him since, and I never explained to any of my friends why I stopped drinking beer in favour of crisp, neat gin.

Jack brings Poet his drink and waves his money away. Then he’s gone again and I am alone with Poet in the most crowded space on earth—this slice of it, at least.

“You are here,” I tell him. Because it’s true.

Poet grins and says something, but it’s so loud in the Joker tonight I can’t hear him and the urge to tug him outside is so very strong I almost do it.

But I can’t. Someone shouts my name from across the bar, reminding me I have other commitments tonight, and all I can do is hold Poet’s gaze for as long as I have and hope he sees the murmured plea on my lips. “Wait for me?”

He nods. Slowly. “Okay.”

Something settles in me, even as anticipation creeps into my nerves, sharp and sweet. I’m hustled away by the fishermen who want Sol and I to sing with them tonight. Wind up in the nook of the Joker where the drums and banjos wait for us. And we do sing and I love it. There have been times when I’ve lived for it. For the swell of voices around me and the comfort of old stories carried in ale-thick harmonies and laughter. A culture that gave me a home when I left my own behind.

Tonight should feel no different. The way the whole pub moves as one being beneath the full moon hanging over the sea. The way it loosens the binds work and responsibility keep so tight most of the time, and lets me lean into Sol as we sing of storms and terrors, and lovers with sharp tongues waiting for us on distant shores.

I should forget myself. For a little while, at least.

But tonight I cannot settle.

My gaze keeps straying.

To the bar.

To Poet.

I can’t believe he’s here. Or how much I like that he is. That he’s stayed and remains at the bar, leaning against the old wood, one foot hooked behind the other, an easy smile for Jack every time he checks on him.

That smile.

Every time I see it, heat unfurls low in my body all over again. Like it did two years ago and it took being alone with him to truly understand what it meant.

I knew before I kissed him, though. Looking back, I see that now, and I haven’t done much thinking to come to terms with it. Being attracted to Poet sits right in my bones. It’s what happens next I cannot fathom.

I don’t know what to do.

It’s why I didn’t kiss him when I saw him last. I wanted to see if I could be around him without it. And I can—of course I can.

But I don’t want to be.

I want to kiss him.

I want him.