The first mistake had been saying yes. Micah knew that almost immediately. The second mistake had been not finding a convincing excuse during the following week. By Friday afternoon he had drafted at least six. Work emergency. Family obligation. Migraine. Food poisoning. Sudden death.
Not his own. That felt excessive.
Still, by the time Saturday morning arrived, he was standing at the marina staring at a small white sailboat with MERCY painted across the stern in fading blue letters. He considered leaving. A gull landed on a piling nearby and screamed at him. “Good morning to you too,” he muttered.
“Talking to the wildlife already?”
Micah jumped.
Bennett appeared beside him carrying a small cooler and two paper bags. He looked entirely too cheerful for eight in the morning. “You came.” The words were simple. Not surprised. Not relieved. Just pleased. As if Bennett had never seriously considered the possibility that Micah wouldn’t.
“Apparently.”
Bennett laughed. “Excellent. I brought sandwiches.”
“Before we’ve even left?”
“I know my audience.”
Micah couldn’t argue with that.
Ten minutes later he found himself aboard Mercy helping cast off lines while internally questioning every decision that had led him here. The water lapped gently against the hull. The familiar pull settled into his chest almost immediately. Not unpleasant. Never unpleasant. Just different. Like some invisible thread had finally released.
The bay spread out around them in shades of silver and blue. He felt it. The shape of it. The movement beneath it. The strange awareness he had never successfully explained to another human being. And there it was. The reason he almost hadn’t come. Because eventually Bennett would notice.
Maybe not today. Maybe not next week. But eventually. The way Micah could stare at a current and know where it was heading. The way he could feel weather arriving before the clouds appeared. The way he sometimes went quiet and listened to something nobody else could hear. The way water occupied space inside him that words never could. Eventually Bennett would notice. And then what?
The sail filled overhead. Mercy leaned gently. Bennett handed him a line. “Hold this.” Micah took it automatically.
A few minutes passed. Then a few more. The shoreline drifted farther away. The marina became smaller. The city softened into the background. Neither of them talked much. Which turned out to be unexpectedly nice. Bennett seemed perfectly content to let silence exist without trying to fix it.
Around noon they anchored in a quiet cove. Micah sat on the bow eating a sandwich while Bennett rummaged through the cooler. “You know,” Bennett said eventually, “for a guy who looked like he was being escorted to his execution this morning, you’re doing pretty well.”
Micah nearly choked. “What?”
“You were nervous.”
“I was not.”
“You absolutely were.”
Micah opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Bennett grinned. “It was kind of adorable.”
Micah stared at him. “Please never use that word again.”
“No promises.” The grin widened.
Micah shook his head and looked back toward the water. The sunlight scattered across the surface. A hundred thousand shifting pieces. Beautiful. Comforting. Dangerous. Home. Without realizing it, he smiled. A small one. The kind that usually appeared when nobody was looking.
Unfortunately Bennett was looking. “There he is.”
Micah frowned. “There who is?”
“That guy.”
“What guy?”
“The one who’s been hiding behind all the anxiety and overthinking.”
“I don’t overthink.”
Bennett laughed so hard he nearly dropped his drink. The sound echoed across the cove. Even Micah couldn’t keep a straight face after that.
The afternoon slipped past almost unnoticed. A little sailing. A little talking. A lot of quiet. No revelations. No disasters. No moment where Bennett looked at him differently. No moment where he suddenly realized Micah was strange and complicated and not worth the trouble.
By the time they returned to the marina, the sun was beginning to settle toward the horizon. They secured the boat together. The familiar knot of uncertainty returned as the day wound down. Because this was usually how things worked. People drifted in. People drifted out. Especially once they got close enough to see the strange parts.
Micah grabbed his backpack. “Thanks.”
Bennett looked up from coiling a line. “For what?”
“The sailing.”
“Oh.” As if the answer were obvious. “You’re welcome.”
An awkward pause settled between them. Micah shifted his weight. “Anyway. I’ll let you get home.”
“Sounds good.” Another pause. Then Bennett added casually, “How does next month sound?”
Micah blinked. “For what?”
“Sailing.”
“What?”
Bennett looked genuinely confused. “The next trip.”
“There is a next trip?”
“Obviously.” The answer arrived with such complete certainty that Micah forgot to respond. Bennett slung the cooler over his shoulder. “I was thinking maybe the islands this time.”
“This time?”
“Sure.”
Micah stared at him. Bennett stared back, then finally sighed. “You know, for a very smart person, you miss some extremely obvious things.”
“Such as?”
“I like hanging out with you.” The statement landed with all the weight of a harbor anchor. Simple. Matter of fact. Entirely sincere. As though there were nothing unusual about it. As though friendship were the easiest thing in the world. Before Micah could figure out what to do with that, Bennett was already walking toward the parking lot. “See you Monday, Captain Overthink.”
“I’m not overthinking.”
“Sure you aren’t.” The laugh floated back across the dock.
Micah watched him go. Then looked out at the water one more time. The day had not gone according to plan. No rejection. No awkward revelations. No confirmation that he was too strange to keep around. Just sailing. Sandwiches. Conversation. And apparently another trip already scheduled without his knowledge. A slow smile appeared despite his best efforts. Then he headed toward Driftwood. For the first time in a very long time, not trying to think of reasons to leave.
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