Fredric’s fingers danced along the edge of his plate until he found his fork. “Anything I should know?”
“Rough chopped peppers and some chicken to the left,” Agatha said. “Rice on the right. I put some lemon and garlic butter on it.”
Fredric had spent years mastering his plate, subtly feeling around in a delicate, careful way so he wouldn’t embarrass his wife. And he began to move his fork around to feel the edge of his food before he realized what he was doing, and he stopped. He waited a beat, waited to see if they’d say anything, if he would notice the subtle shifts of someone embarrassed.
But none came.
And maybe it was because they were strangers, but likely they just didn’t care.
He found the edge of the chicken with his finger, then picked up his fork and dug in. Agatha wasn’t wrong—it was good. It was rich and filling—something like home, or at least, the flavor of what Fredric imagined home-cooked to be. Because he’d never had that, and with each mouthful, he felt oddly cheated out of a real experience.
“So,” Agatha said after a beat, “did I interrupt a heavy conversation?”
“Fredric was talking about his son and his son’s boyfriend,” Ted offered, and Fredric smiled around his bite. “They ran away from home.”
Fredric laughed and shook his head. “His boyfriend works as an astrophysicist in Paris. They live in a small flat, and they don’t get back here to visit very often.” He stopped and tipped his head toward his plate. “I miss him.”
“Because you’re lonely?” Agatha asked, and Fredric heard her boyfriend mutter something, but she didn’t take it back or apologize, and he loved that about her.
“I think I am,” he admitted. He grabbed his beer and took another long drink, setting his fork down. The anxiety of this dinner—of bearing even pieces of his soul to strangers—was killing his appetite, but he also didn’t want this moment to end. The experience was rich and important. “I think I was more afraid of the idea than actually feeling lonely. My son thinks I should start dating. My daughter thinks I should become a monk.”
The pair laughed, and he got a whiff of subtle perfume as Agatha leaned a little closer to him. “You’re really good looking, Fredric, you could totally date.”
“She’s not wrong,” Ted offered.
Fredric felt his cheeks heat. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. I think I’m a little old for the club scene.”
Agatha hummed like she was giving it some actual thought, and then he heard the sound of her fork hitting an empty plate. “What about an app?”
“Oh god,” Fredric breathed out, because he didn’t live under a rock. He’d read plenty of hilarious threads about online dating failures, and the interns at his office had been a non-stop source of college online dating bullshit.
“It’s actually not that bad,” Agatha insisted. “Frankly, I think the medium gained a bad reputation because people only like to talk about the really fucked up stories.”
“Are there other kinds?” Fredric couldn’t help asking.
“My brother met his wife on one.” Ted’s voice was soft, and it was full of something that sounded a bit like pride. “It was supposed to be a hook-up, but they got ice cream, and she slept over at his place and just…never went home. They got married like six months later.”
“She told me she moved in because he had the better couch,” Agatha said, like that solved all the mysteries of the universe. “Anyway, you’re not really a vulnerable demographic. I mean, that’s not true,” she said after a beat. “Being disabled does put you at risk. But you’ve got us, and we can make sure you’re never in a situation you can’t get out of.”
Fredric bit his lip, because it was so much more than being lost, and he didn’t really expect her to understand that. Even meeting clients, there had always been an edge because he had to work ten times harder to prove he was worth hiring—even with his reputation for winning cases. And dating would be so much worse.
However, something inside Fredric sparked to life. Like maybe he was actually willing to give this some thought. Like maybe instead of taking a ginger step toward the cliff, he could take a running leap and open his arms wide, waiting and trusting someone to catch him as he fell.
Trusting he’d survive if they didn’t.
“You should let us help you set it up,” she said after his continued silence. “Just give it a couple of dates, and if it sucks, you can delete it.”
He bit his lip, and no was on the tip of his tongue, but then he remembered all those years lost. He remembered Agatha’s soft words on the beach. He lets me find my happy, and god—god—he wanted at least a taste before he decided whether or not he was giving up on having anything else after Jacqueline.
“I’m terrified,” he admitted, then hesitated for a long second. “But I also think I might be ready to try.”
Agatha touched his arm, and he could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “That’s the perfect place to start.”
Chapter 4
“…heated floors, automatic shutters, and a bidet that…”
Ilan drifted in and out of Jack’s realtor spiel, not really in the mood to be around people, but he needed to find something sooner rather than later. And part of him felt like he was betraying his best friend by choosing Crescent Cove, because it was the place Julian had been forced to watch his ex-husband get married, and it was the place he’d felt the betrayal when he learned Archer had lied about who he was.
Except, Ilan reminded himself, it had all worked out in the end. It was the place Julian had been crushed, but it was also the place he’d fallen head over heels for the one man who actually deserved his love. And even if Ilan knew that would never happen to him, he couldn’t help but wonder if Crescent Cove would bring him something like contentment.
“…prepared to take a cash offer, but they’ll negotiate if you want to go through the bank.”
Ilan blinked, then walked over to the door and tugged on the little handle that opened up the wooden blinds. It overlooked the intracoastal, the path to his own private dock needing a little bit of work. But the buyers had left a kayak on a rack, and the water level was high enough that he could actually use it if he wanted.
He closed his eyes and listened to the waves that crashed on the shores across the street, and he felt more settled than he expected to, being jobless and homeless.
Ilan’s life always felt strange, like he was a man playing pretend in someone else’s shoes that were a few sizes too big. He’d grown up with big dreams, but no real idea how to accomplish them because people like him—people who came from his world—they didn’t find money or success. They just chased the idea of it until they settled and maybe found something they could call happiness.
The truth was, he expected to be like his parents. Poor, working even when they should have retired, but ultimately happy with how life had turned out.
But wealth had crept up on him. He didn’t wake up one morning after graduating with a mini-mansion and a sport’s car. He spent his residency eating boxed mac and cheese and tuna. He had months of shut-off notices, and the carpet in his apartment was at least ten years old. He wore his shoes until there were holes in the bottoms, and when his first real paycheck after he had MD at the end of his name hit his bank account, most of it was gone to loan debt and his dad’s medical bills.