Page 93 of Ship Happens

“You’ve officially moved in!”

Owen had never felt such pure giddiness before.

“Come here.” He held his hand out, willing Jacob to take it, pulling him back to the couch gently on top of him, their kisses seemingly lasting for hours. Owen’s heart aches at the memory of just how effortless it’d been to fall in love with Jacob Morrison. He remembers feeling so settled that night, as if he’d finally come to the end of the longest day imaginable.

Like he’d finally found somewhere he could be safe, somewhere—or someone—he could call home.

“It was today, wasn’t it?” Owen recalls. “I forgot.”

“Good thing I’m here to remind you,” Jacob says as their waiter finally appears again to take their orders. They start with drinks, Owen sticking with water and Jacob ordering a glass of wine. They decide on an appetizer of roasted cauliflower with pine nuts before they order their entrees. A strip steak for Jacob, and salmon with butternut squash for Owen. And finally, they finish off their meal with tiramisu, sharing the dessert with a single spoon they pass back and forth.

And all the while, he and Jacob just talk.

Owen listens as Jacob recounts how, after a late night in the lab that stretched into the early hours of the morning, one of the techs forgot to lock one of the specimen containers, and when they came back the next day, the whole team had to spend the entire day hunting down the squid that’d managed to sneak out of their habitats.

Owen tells Jacob of a client he’d had a few months back who’d assured her friends that tattoos didn’t hurt at all. He’d been a bit confused because, at least on the surface, Owen couldn’t see a single tattoo on the client’s skin. But he’d laid the stencil down anyway, gotten his supplies ready, and when he pulled out the box of needles the woman looked at him and asked: “What are those?”

“No . . .” Jacob says, realization dawning on him.

“I’m not sure who she’d gone to before.” Owen dabs at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “If she’d only ever gotten henna done or what, but somehow she had no idea that tattooing actually involved putting a needle to skin.”

“What did you do?”

“I told her what was actually going to happen, how the needles would stab her over and over, and she just went pale.” Owen almost feels bad for laughing.

Almost.

“Your bedside manner still leaves a bit to be desired, I see,” Jacob remarks, finishing off the last dregs of his wine.

“Her friend who came with her offered to go first instead,” Owen continues. “At the first sight of blood, she decided that tattoos weren’t really for her.” Owen sips his water. “I let her keep the stencil on, though.”

“Well, that was kind of you.” Jacob chuckles.

“I’m known to be nice. When the occasion calls for it.”

Long after dessert has been finished and Jacob orders one last glass of wine, Owen a cup of coffee for himself; long after the bill is paid and most of their fellow diners have exited the restaurant, the two of them are left sitting there.

With each other.

Jacob reaches across the table, pulling Owen’s hand closer so that his can rest on top of it.

“I had a great time today,” he says with a smile, one that Owen can’t help but return. “Thanks.”

“I did too.” Owen nods. “Thanks for . . . everything. I know none of this was easy.”

Jacob nods. “I was nervous, I can’t lie.”

“Why?” Owen asks, knowing good and well how foolish of a question that is.

“Well, it’s not every day that your ex approaches you to pretend that the last year never really happened.”

Owen’s inclined to agree with him.

“And I guess I was worried that this entire day was going to be a mistake.” Underneath the table, Owen feels Jacob’s ankle slot in next to his.

“But . . .” Owen prompts, feeling the tone of what’s coming before Jacob can even open his mouth.

“But,” Jacob continues, drawling out the sound, his hand going to his chin to rub at his beard, “today felt good.”