2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Jesse

T ension crackles between us as Martin and I walk back to the house. The sound of the waves fades behind us, replaced by the soft padding of our feet on the pavement. Neither of us speaks.

I sneak a glance at Martin. Is he regretting that almost-kiss? Or wishing it had turned into more?

Stop. We agreed that night was a one-and-done. We're keeping this professional. Friends.

But the memory of his warmth as he stood so close to me on the beach lingers. The way his eyes flickered to my lips before he darted his tongue out to moisten his own. The way his pupils blew out wide as he stared at me.

I push open the door, and we step inside. The cool air from the AC hits us, a stark contrast to the balmy evening outside.

I can't look at him directly. My gaze darts around the room, settling on anything but his face. The moment plays on repeat in my mind. God, I wanted to kiss him. I still want to.

"So, uh…" I start, rubbing the back of my neck. "That was a nice walk." Oh god. Awkward, much?

Martin nods, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Yeah, it was."

Uncomfortable silence stretches between us. I need to say something, do something to break this tension. But all I can think about is how his lips felt against mine and the way muscles felt under my hands.

Nope. Stop. Not going to happen.

"I, uh… I think I'll turn in early," Martin says, his voice rough. "It's been a busy weekend with the move and all."

"Of course, yeah." I nod, probably too enthusiastically. "Okay, well… Good night."

He hesitates for a moment, then heads for the guest room.

Later that night, I toss and turn in my bed, unable to quiet my mind. I'm acutely conscious of Martin's presence in the house. Every time I close my eyes, I can see the images of that night months ago in my hotel room, only now they're mixed in with the way he looked tonight on the beach. The way the sunlight caught the silvery strands of his hair, his encouraging smile when I confessed how I still struggle after my divorce.

I've been replaying that night in Seattle constantly over the last few months. Up until now, I honestly believed I was misremembering how intense the connection was between us. But now that he's here, in my home, right down the hall, it's pretty clear I wasn't imagining anything. I want him again with a fierceness I don't have words for.

I groan, punching my pillow in frustration. This is ridiculous. I'm too old for schoolkid crushes and what-ifs.

It's for the best that nothing happened tonight on the beach. Really. We work together now. It would just complicate everything.

And haven't I had enough complications to last a lifetime?

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. My divorce is still fresh, the wound still raw. I'm not ready for… whatever this is with Martin. Am I?

But god, the way he looks at me. Like he sees past all my bullshit, right to my core. Like he understands me.

Stop. You're just lonely. Projecting.

I close my eyes, trying to force myself to sleep, but all I can see is Martin's face. All I can feel is the warmth of his body as he stood next to me on the beach, pressing his shoulder into mine in a small gesture of comfort.

Finally, hours later, I'm beyond frustrated. Sleep seems like a distant dream at this point. I throw off the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Maybe a snack or a drink will help settle my racing mind.

Padding barefoot down the stairs, I make my way to the kitchen. The house is silent, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the distant crash of waves outside. I flick on the light, squinting at the sudden brightness.

Opening the fridge, I scan its contents. Nothing's appealing to me, but I grab a carton of milk anyway. As I reach for a glass from the cupboard, I hear a soft noise behind me.

I turn to find Martin standing beside the kitchen island. He's wearing just a pair of pajama bottoms, his chest bare. My mouth goes dry.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he asks, his voice husky.

I shake my head, trying not to stare. "Nah. Thought maybe some milk might help."

Martin nods, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Mind if I join you?"

"Be my guest," I say, grabbing another glass.

We sit at the island, sipping our milk in silence. The tension from earlier lingers, filling the space between us. I can't help but sneak glances at him, noticing the way the low light plays across his features.

"Jesse," Martin starts, then pauses, as if unsure how to continue.

I look up, meeting his eyes. There's an intensity there that makes my heart race. "Yeah?"

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. The silence stretches between us, charged with unspoken words.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara. His gaze is intense and I feel exposed under his scrutiny. The kitchen feels too small, too intimate, with just the two of us here in the middle of the night.

"Listen, about earlier…" I start, but he speaks at the same time.

"Jesse, I…" He pauses, taking a deep breath. "I don't want to complicate things."

I nod, relief and disappointment warring inside me. "Right. Of course. We're colleagues. Friends."

"Friends," he echoes, but something in his tone makes my heart skip a beat.

We fall silent again, the only sound the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall. I force my gaze away, staring intently at my glass of milk.

"It's just…" Martin breaks the silence, his voice low. "I can't stop thinking about that night… after The Open Door party..."

My head snaps up, eyes wide. "You too?"

A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, me too."

The admission hangs between us and my heart pounds as I stare into his eyes. Every fiber of my being screams at me to lean in, to close the distance between us, to feel his lips against mine.

But fear paralyzes me. What if I'm misreading this? What if I mess everything up? There's a lot at stake… The shelter project, our friendship…

Panic rises in my throat. I can't do this. I'm not ready. It's too much, too soon.

Before I can stop myself, I'm on my feet, the barstool scraping loudly against the floor. Martin looks startled, his eyes wide with confusion.

"I, uh… I just remembered," I stammer, clutching my empty milk glass like a lifeline. "I have an early call tomorrow. So, ah, I should probably, um, you know, get some sleep?"

It comes out sounding like a question. So. Awkward.

I back away from the island slowly, like I'm trying to escape some kind of wild animal. "Thanks for the company, though! Good night!"

I turn and bolt from the kitchen, hating myself for being such a coward. Once I'm safely inside my room, I lean against the closed door, my heart pounding in my chest. Martin's footsteps fade down the hall followed by the soft click of his bedroom door. The house goes silent again.

I realize I'm still clutching my empty milk glass in my hand. Smooth, Greenwood. I roll my eyes and set it down on the nightstand, my fingers shaking slightly. Fuck, I really am a sad sack.

I collapse onto my bed, burying my face in my pillow. Sleep seems even more impossible now.

Goddammit. I am well and truly fucked.

Over breakfast the next morning we both act as if whatever happened between us in the kitchen last night was some kind of dream, studiously ignoring it, even though it's constantly on my mind.

Over the next few weeks, we fall into a comfortable rhythm. I usually work from the Greenwood Energy offices three or four days a week, while Martin works from my home office, laying the groundwork for the shelter and job training center I want to build for LGBT young people.

We usually eat dinner together, and then we almost always take a walk on Moonlight Beach.

He's easy to live with, and the truth is, I love not coming home to an empty house every night after work.

I noticed after the first few days that he always gets distracted before he can finish his second cup of coffee, inevitably leaving his half-full mug in random places around the house. It's turned into a game between us, with Martin finding ever more ridiculous places to stash his half-empty mug for me to find when I get home. I've discovered it everywhere from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table to tucked inside the mailbox. It makes me laugh every day.

A few days later, I arrive home after a particularly long, hot day spent at a job site in the east part of the county. We're in the middle of a relatively rare heat wave in SoCal, and the temperature this afternoon had soared to over 100 degrees while I was stuck outside helping the contractor solve a thorny solar panel installation issue. Normally the first thing I do when I arrive home is seek out Martin to check in, but right now I'm so uncomfortable, a shower is my top priority.

"Hey, Martin, I'm a disgusting, sweaty mess, so I'm heading straight up to shower," I call, eager to wash off the frustrating afternoon.

After peeling off my clothes, I step under the water with my eyes closed, focusing on how good the cool water feels on my overheated skin. Opening my eyes a moment later, I'm greeted by the sight of his coffee cup, a non-breakable version for today, perched neatly on my soap dish.

My bark of laughter echoes through the bathroom, and somehow it makes my long, hot, miserable afternoon into something funny as opposed to something irritating.

After my shower, I find him in the office.

"You outdid yourself today," I grin, presenting him with the cup.

His warm laugh wraps around my heart, squeezing it in a way I don't want to acknowledge. "Ah, you found it already? I was hoping it'd take you longer."

You know," I say, leaning my hip against his desk, "normal people just finish their coffee."

He swivels in his chair, eyes twinkling with mischief as he beams up at me. "Well, where's the fun in that, Jess?"

I roll my eyes, but I can't keep the smile off my face. It's these silly, funny moments that make me realize how much I've missed laughing. Even before my divorce, life with Andrew hadn't exactly been overflowing with joy, and these few weeks with Martin have showed me what I'd been missing without even realizing it.

"Just wait," Martin says, waggling his eyebrows. "Tomorrow's spot will blow your mind."

"Can't wait," I grin at him, already looking forward to it.