Chapter 14

"Jesus fuck."Luca's breath escaped in heavy gusts. Dell dropped his head, rested his forehead between Luca's shoulder blades. "Dell, that was so good. What the fuck."

Dell brushed his lips over Luca's tacky skin.

"It's always good," he said, struggling to get his own breathing under control.

"I know, but—" Luca made an unintelligible noise. Dell smiled. Luca was loquacious tonight. Lighter. "Whatever that was, thank you for it. Fuck. I think I needed that."

Dell had broken routine. There had been no beer tonight, no small talk by the kitchen island. When Luca had opened his door, Dell had simply stepped in, taking Luca's face in his hands, Luca's lips in his teeth, pressing forward until Luca's back hit the kitchen counter.

Luca hadn't seemed to mind.

"Me too." Dell planted a last kiss in the small of Luca's back as he pushed himself to standing. "Be right back."

After he'd cleaned himself in the bathroom, after he'd returned with an extra towel for Luca, he arranged himself on the mattress again, an arm behind his head.

Luca, to Dell's pleasure, shifted himself over until his face was within nuzzling distance of Dell's breast. Dell wrapped his other arm around Luca's back, welcoming him closer.

After a few minutes of comfortable, pulse-calming silence, Dell said, "This is kind of a weird ask. But would you mind playing with my hair?"

Luca didn't move, but he smiled against Dell's skin, pale against his own tanned face.

"Play with your hair?"

Dell was too sex-drunk to even be self-conscious.

"Yeah. Like, scratch my head."

Luca laughed a little before he adjusted himself enough to reach up a hand, fingers sifting into Dell's sandy hair.

"You really don't have a lot to play with here, you know."

"I know, but just—" And then Luca's fingers curled, his short nails making work of Dell's scalp. Dell sighed in contentment, eyes drifting closed. "Yeah. That's good."

"Hard to believe we've fucked this many times," Luca said after a minute, "and I'm still learning your kinks."

"Not a kink," Dell murmured, but shit, it felt so good, maybe it was. "Just feels good." And then, "Thank you."

Luca was quiet another minute, fingers continuing to do their thing, before he murmured back, "You're welcome."

And maybe if Dell hadn't been so tired, maybe if he was a better person, maybe if he had taken even a second to get his brain functioning better, he would have stopped the night there. Fallen asleep to a scalp massage, Luca's body heat at his side.

Instead, for absolutely inexplicable reasons, he opened his mouth again.

"I think I'm developing feelings for Mae."

Luca's fingers stilled in Dell's hair. As they very well should have.

"And Mae is…"

Holy hell. What was Dell doing?

He swallowed, caught between an awkward laugh and a flush of embarrassment. In his mind, everyone within a sixty mile radius now knew who Mae was. But Luca did keep to himself. Like Dell. Or, like Dell used to.

"The person who's renting out the shop, on Main Street."

"Ah." Luca's fingers retreated from his head. Dell winced at the loss. "The Portlander?"

"Yeah." And after an excruciating moment of silence, "Sorry. I don't know why I told you that."

Luca flopped onto his back. Dell wanted him close again, didn't want to talk like this, both staring separately at the ceiling, like it was some big serious thing.

"They said to tell you hi." Jesus Christ, every sentence that came out of Dell's mouth was worse than the last. "They're looking forward to carrying your book one day, in their bookstore."

Silence. Until, strained, Luca asked, "You told Mae about my book?"

"I'm sorry," Dell said immediately, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm sorry. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."

And for one irrational second, he felt a hot, flashing bolt of anger at Mae. If Mae hadn't crashed into his world, if she hadn't been so persistent. Maybe he and Luca could have started to build something different. Maybe everything about this moment could be different.

But just as quickly, it faded, the anger switching on himself. It was on him that he'd negotiated with Mae Kellerman in the first place. That he'd never kicked her out of his ADU.

Because the truth was, in some private part of himself, Dell had liked her from the start.

"It's okay," Luca said, but the way he barely said it, a half whisper, Dell didn't know if it was.

A long, painful stretch transpired until Luca said, "So," voice back to normal, hitting Dell like a punch to the gut. "Was this a goodbye fuck?"

"No."

"I mean, it was a fucking great one, if so. Good job on that."

Dell turned on his side, feeling frantic at the odd timbre of Luca's voice, needing to feel Luca's shoulder against his chest.

"Luca. No. Doesn't have anything to do with us. I just…" Dell rubbed his forehead. This could not be the last time he saw Luca. That hadn't been the plan at all. "Sorry. I know we don't share shit like this. Nothing's even happened between me and them. They'll probably be back in Portland in a few months anyway. Don't know why I said it."

Luca looked at him. His eyes seemed sad. Fuck.

"It's okay, Dell," he said after a minute, sounding more like himself. "We're not…beholden to each other. You know that. It's okay." And then, breaking eye contact to stare at the ceiling again, "They're opening a bookstore?"

"Yeah."

Luca made a small sound of approval in his throat. "Cool."

His hair was really starting to grow in now, a thick layer of fuzz. He was beautiful.

"I know I'm a pathetic bastard," Dell said a few minutes later. The space between them had grown more comfortable again by degrees, but Dell knew he had fucked it up, that it wasn't the same. "But can you put your hands back in my hair again?"

And thank fuck, Luca actually laughed a little.

"Yeah, Dell." He turned toward him, pushing Dell's body back down. Dell could've cried in relief at the pressure of Luca's body over his again, at the return of his fingers to Dell's scalp. "I can do whatever you want."

Dell really didn't know what the hell he was doing, then, looking into Luca's hazel eyes. This perfect specimen whose bed he was somehow lucky enough to share every now and then. Who he wasn't beholden to, because Dell had made sure that was the case. Because Dell, when he first moved to Greyfin Bay, hadn't trusted himself to be close to anyone.

And now, after years of being goddamn careful, Dell might have accidentally gotten himself just…absurdly fucked up.

"Will you still make me coffee in the morning?"

"Yeah, Dell. I'll still make you coffee."

Luca ran his other hand along Dell's stomach, and like that, Dell was back again. Luca noticed, running his hand lower, giving Dell a slow stroke.

"I just have one request," he said, eyes focused somewhere on Dell's chest. A rueful look pulled on his lips before he lifted his gaze to Dell's eyes.

"Anything," Dell gusted out, already breathless from the combination of what both of Luca's hands were doing.

"When we're doing this," Luca said, eyes suddenly serious, "if you start picturing Mae? When I'm touching you? I'm out."

"Luca," Dell managed. Except Luca was increasing his speed down there, spitting into his hand, digging his nails harder into Dell's scalp, and Dell groaned, eyes closing as his back arched.

"Dell. I'm fucking serious."

"Know you are," Dell breathed. "Fuck." He couldn't believe this was still feeling so good, so electric, after how vigorously they'd both gone in the first round. After the conversation they'd just had. "Luca." He fluttered his eyes back open, made himself use every inch of focus to meet Luca's stare, even as Luca continued his punishing pace on Dell's dick. "If you think anyone could focus on anything other than you when you're touching them—" Dell sucked in one more breath. "You're out of your fucking mind."

Almost too fast for Dell to prepare for it, Luca kissed him.

And kissed him, and kissed him, until, blessedly, Dell's brain shut off, and Dell and Luca returned to the spaces they knew best.

* * *

It would have taken Mae longer to notice if it hadn't been for the breeze.

"Cold as tits in here," she mumbled to herself as she booted up the computer. She took a sip of her tea; she'd installed a kettle on the small table next to the fridge in the office. Speaking of tea—Mae needed more. Which, as a lifelong hoarder of overflowing tea drawers, was hard to believe, but if she was going to maintain a reasonable stash at both 12 Main and Dell's ADU, she needed more of the good stuff. Meaning, the good stuff from her favorite tea shops in Portland, varieties not stocked at the IGA.

Although maybe there was someone, some small farmer somewhere, who made good stuff here, too. Maybe she could sell it in the shop. She rubbed her hands together, trying to get warmth into her fingertips, before noting tea research on her to-do list.

Secret good coastal tea or not, she knew she'd have to return to Portland sometime soon, regardless. She'd been putting it off, didn't want to seem too weak, too needy, returning to the city too soon. Wanting to prove to herself, to Dell, to Liv, to Greyfin Bay, that she was here. All in.

But the air was getting colder as the days grew deeper into October, the winds from the sea stormier, and she hadn't packed the bulk of her winter clothes. She needed to visit the storage unit to retrieve her good boots, her winter coat, all the hats and scarves Vik and Steve had knitted her over the years. There were other things she missed from the storage unit, too, that weren't as necessary but that she longed for, the more the ADU felt like home: framed photos, more books, kitchenware.

She could probably make it another month, though.

She took another sip, shivered. She'd turned on the heat as soon as she'd walked in the back door, like always; it didn't normally take this long to warm up.

And then her trans flag fluttered.

Mae looked toward the front window.

And saw the brick, sitting a few feet from the fluttering flag, surrounded by broken glass.

She brought her tea with her when she walked around the counter. Took another sip as she stood by the broken window. Stared down at the shards lying on her beautiful new rug.

"Well," she said to herself. "Shit."

She pulled her phone out of her hoodie's pocket and called Vik.

"Hey," she said when Vik picked up. "I think I've been hate crimed."

"Excuse me?"

An irrational laugh threatened to escape before she could get the words out.

"I think someone threw a brick? Through the front window of the shop?"

"Shit. Mae, oh my god. Are you all right? Did it just happen? Were you there?"

"No, no, they must have done it overnight. I just got here. I'm fine."

"Do you have security cameras?"

An actual laugh rumbled through Mae's throat. "No. No, in all my meticulous planning, somehow I never thought about security. But—" She laughed harder. "It's a small town, right? I thought shit was supposed to be safe here."

"Mae," Vik said. "Are you all right?"

Mae knew, in her rational brain, that she should be more upset. But it felt like such a cliché that it was almost hard to take it seriously. She stared at the rust-colored brick at her feet and her first thought was if she could make it into some kind of cute display piece for the shop, or to help fortify her raised beds out back.

"It's possible I'm not processing this correctly," she assessed.

"I have to say," Vik said on a sigh, "I particularly hate whenever people throw shit through windows. Feels a little too Kristallnachty for me. Even when the protestors I agree with do it."

"Oh." Mae immediately sobered. "Yeah."

"Here with the Jewish trauma to bring down the party any time. So should I come?"

Mae blinked, still staring at the brick. It, unfortunately, seemed less funny by the second.

"What?"

"I want to come. I'm sure you'll have it cleaned up by the time I'm able to get there, but I want to be there anyway. Feels like being there when one of us is hate crimed is sort of a friendship requirement."

"Oh." Mae finally tore her eyes away from the floor. "No, Vik, it's okay. I promise. You don't have to do that."

"I can tell Heben there's an emergency. Because there is."

"No, no." Mae scratched her head. "Isn't it high holy days time for you anyway? It's?—"

A knock on the door. Mae jumped, heart suddenly thudding in her chest. Vik was talking, but Mae couldn't hear them. Cautiously, from somewhere outside herself, she took the five steps to the door.

On the other side stood Liv and Olive.

"Hey, hon," Olive said. "Where's your broom?"

They were inside before Mae could say anything.

"Mae? Mae, you there?"

Distantly, Mae knew she needed to respond. To anyone.

But she found herself unable to do anything but stare at her beautiful turquoise front door, marred by black spray paint. Two simple words, dripping and ugly:

Go Home

* * *

Dusty from the hardware store was boarding up Mae's front window when Dell arrived.

Olive and Liv had made quick work of cleaning the glass, which was good, as Mae's limbs, like her brain, were having trouble working correctly. Her feeling of uselessness as they shuffled around her, as Liv made calls, only increased the panic in her chest. She needed to do something. This was her store. Her store.

"Thank you," she said again, flushed and frustrated, as Liv handed her the piece of paper with the contact info for the glass guy, who wouldn't be able to come up from Newport until next week.

"Gotta stop thanking me, love," Liv said. "Like we've said about ninety times now, you need to go take a rest."

When the heavy clomp of feet sounded behind her, Mae closed her eyes. How could she take a rest when people kept showing up? She'd already talked to the police, which had made her skin crawl; Marty from the Small Business Association had shown up, too, full of frowns and platitudes like, "This isn't who we are," and "We'll make this right." Except this was who we were, not just Greyfin Bay but everywhere, and you couldn't quite make it right.

Even Freddy Hampton had stopped by. Kind of. He mostly just looked at the damage and rubbed his jaw, a tense look on his face, before muttering a quick, "Let me know if you need anything," before leaving.

Mae knew, in the last corners of her brain, that Olive and Liv were probably holding back even more people from showing up, but each new pair of eyes only made Mae more embarrassed. Olive had asked, once everything was cleaned up, if they should start a GoFundMe for the cost of the glass replacement; Mae had only shaken her head. She found, with each passing second, that she didn't want to post about this, on GoFundMe or Bay Books's socials or anywhere else. She didn't want anyone else's money but Jesus and Steve's. She just wanted her window and her door back, and for no one else to know this had ever happened.

"Mae." Dell's voice was low and quiet. "What's going on?"

For the first time in hours, Mae's chest loosened. But only by a degree.

She turned to see his furrowed brow, his downturned lips, almost hidden underneath his beard.

She wanted another hug.

Simultaneously, unbidden, the image of the Dell she first met flashed behind her eyes: scowling at her on the front porch, rolling his eyes at her across an empty room. This room.

Told you so, that Dell whispered in her ear. Next to every sidelong glance she'd received from every stranger since she'd hung up her flags. What did you expect?

"Everything's okay," she pushed out. "Liv fixed everything for me."

"Not true, actually," Liv said from her side. "If I could fix everything in this town…" She trailed off, staring toward the front door. "Well. Life would be different."

"What happened?" Dell asked, more forcefully.

"Just a tiny case of a brick thrown through a window overnight." Mae shrugged, avoiding Dell's gaze. She felt jumpy, anxious. She acutely wanted to be alone.

"And a little spray paint," Liv added. She shot Mae a look. "We can take care of that too, you know."

"No." Mae rubbed her forehead. "I can do that. I would like to. By myself," she added, looking first at Liv, and then Dell.

Liv acquiesced first. "Got it. We'll get out of your hair, then." She squeezed Mae's shoulder, gave Dell a nod. Mae sensed more than saw her gather Olive and finally, a minute later, quietly leave the shop. I need to get them a present, Mae thought. She'd get them each something nice. Like flowers, or candy not purchased from bigots. Something the opposite of broken glass.

Dell remained unmoved.

Until the door clicked shut, and he took a step forward, arm outstretched.

"Mae—"

She stepped back, away from his embrace.

"I just have to get the paint from the office," she said, leaving a wide berth as she walked around him.

He was still standing there, still frowning, when Mae returned with the can of turquoise paint she'd purchased a month earlier, a fresh roller and tray. And after only a second of awkward silence between them, Mae's shoulders sank. She wanted to be alone. But maybe she didn't want Dell to go. Not really.

"Is it okay if I work on the shelves?"

She breathed out. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be okay."

And only then did the memory flash through her mind. Her and Dell, asleep right here on the rug, a mere few days ago. Only then did she wonder what would have happened if the brick-thrower had acted that night. If it would have hit the back of her head. Dell's face.

She swallowed down a swell of nausea.

Dell gave her one last look, like he was mentally calculating the pros and cons of saying anything else. Of reaching for her again. But eventually, he only gave her a nod before heading to the back door. Mae took a deep breath and put on her headphones. Started Jesus's playlist.

And then she stood on the front walkway, in full view of Main Street, and poured out her cheerful paint once more.

* * *

Hours later, Mae rubbed her eyes as the computer screen started to go blurry.

Dell had left an hour ago to feed the dogs. He had installed two of the floating shelves before he left, just offset from each other in the brief wallspace between the counter and the window on the left side of the building. Mae's eyes kept drifting toward them, the shine of the varnish Dell had lacquered over the reclaimed wood they'd purchased together. A relief, a gift, to keep her eyes distracted from the cheap plywood that now constituted her beautiful picture window.

Mae gave herself a shake before focusing again on the order form in front of her.

She knew she should head home, too, or at least, back to the ADU—go home—but somehow she couldn't make herself leave the shop. As if her mere presence could stop anything else from happening. She didn't think anything else would, really; cowards were typically not super persistent. They had done their job. And it had been effective.

Still, Mae lingered.

Maybe something in her body knew. Maybe she knew she was waiting.

The knock on the door made her jump, but for the first time all day, she didn't feel scared.

"Everyone else wanted to come," Vik said, bag dropping off their shoulder onto the floor. They didn't look at the window, didn't glance at the rest of the shop. They only had eyes for Mae. "But I told them no. Since you said you didn't even want me to come, I thought it'd be too much. Is that okay?"

Mae let herself be wrapped in Vik's arms.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, this is okay. This is perfect."

"Well," Vik added, into Mae's hair, "I would've let Jackson come. But he has to watch his sourdough."

And Mae laughed, before she finally started to cry.