I didn't mind the routine we had going here-awake before dawn, on the water all day, fish market followed by work fixing up my boat in the afternoon, dinner around sunset, bed shortly after-but I needed something more tonight. Back in California, most of my days were spent talking. Taking calls, sitting in meetings, hearing from my coders, arguing with my board. There was always someone or something that required my attention, and being here with Owen was still strangely quiet for my tastes.
Gesturing to the open seat beside him, Owen said, "Yes, but I have some conditions."
"Anything," I said, dropping into the open rocking chair. Before coming to Talbott's Harbor, I would've ascribed rocking chairs to grandmothers and nurseries, and nothing much else. But these were just right.
"No questions," Owen said. I bit back a groan at that. "You've asked all the questions necessary, and I need a break." I opened my mouth to reply, but he held up his hand. "No. No, this isn't an opportunity to ask why. Just live with it."
"I'll try," I said, rocking back in the chair. I could see why Owen enjoyed this. It was just like being on the water. "It would be really terrible if I died of curiosity, though."
Owen snarled and slammed his book on the table beside him. "How would that even happen, McClish?"
I held out my hands, shrugging. "I can think of a number of ways," I started, "but I'll keep them to myself. I don't want to bother you."
He hissed out a breath and I was convinced he grumbled, "Oh, for fuck's sake."
I had to suck my lips between my teeth and bite down to keep from laughing. "We don't need to talk," I said. "We've got the ocean and the stars, and there's no need to talk. This is great. You do you, Bartlett."
I glanced over at him. He was actively growling, and that was probably fine for him because he couldn't turn himself on with that sound. I did not possess the same immunity. With my hands folded over my crotch as casually as I could manage, I gazed out over the water and focused on identifying all the constellations I could find. It was good, distracting work, and it would've kept me distracted if not for Cole's huffing and sighing and snarling.
Such a moody one, this Owen Bartlett.
"All right," he said, finally breaking free of his growl-fest. "How would one die of curiosity?"
"Marie Curie comes to mind," I mused.
"How do you figure?" Owen snapped. "She discovered radium."
"Oh, yes, and polonium," I agreed. "It killed her."
He reached for his whiskey and took a hearty gulp. "Right. You're not discovering new elements tonight."
I nodded toward him. "And the cat."
Owen waved his glass in front of him. "What cat?"
He was getting riled up, and I loved that shit. A few days ago, I pretended I didn't know the difference between flat head and Phillips head screwdrivers for the simple pleasure of his exaggerated reaction.
"The one killed by curiosity," I replied. "That cat. Poor bastard."
Owen sighed as he shook his head, but it morphed into a chuckle. Soon, his shoulders were shaking as he laughed. I laughed too. I couldn't help it. The deep, full-bodied sound was contagious.
"I don't know about you, McClish," he said as he patted his belly. "I just don't know."
"What do you want to know?" I asked.
He considered his whiskey for a moment before saying, "You're from California? That's where you grew up?" He sipped, and then shot me sharp glance. "It would explain a lot."
"I am," I said carefully. I longed for a drink to occupy my mouth and hands. I hadn't thought that far ahead before venturing out here. "But-I mean-not the California most people associate with California."
Owen regarded me over his glass, an eyebrow bent. "There are multiple Californias?"
I murmured in agreement. "Northern and Southern," I said. "But there's more to it than that. It's a collection of ecosystems more complex than anything contained within conventional notions of statehood." Both of Owen's eyebrows were arching up into his hairline now. "When people think of California, they think of Los Angeles and San Diego. Surfing, beaches, girls rollerskating in bikinis. But that's not the whole story. You have the South Coast but also the North and Central Coasts. There's the Sacramento Valley, the San Joaquin Valley, and The Valley. There's the Cascades, the Sierras, and the Inland Empire. And then there are the big cities. Bay Area, Los Angeles, and San Diego."
"That was an extremely long way of telling me that California is a big place," he said. "This is why you're not allowed to talk."
I leaned toward him and rapped my knuckles on the arm of his chair. "I forgot about Orange County. Add that to the list."
"Is that where you live?" Owen asked. "Or where you're from?"
I shook my head, laughing. "No and no," I said. "Like I said, people associate California with beaches and bikinis, but that's not how it is for everyone. I grew up about three hours east of San Diego, right along the Colorado River and the Arizona border. It's hot and dry and mostly flat, and the only kind of trouble you can get into out there is stupid trouble."
"You speak from experience," Owen said. "Nearly running your boat aground isn't your first brush with being a damn fool, I take it."
Why did I enjoy this man's insults so much? I couldn't explain it, but I wanted him to keep going. Pick apart my privilege-soaked preferences and deride my expensive polo shirts. Tear down my quirky for the sake of wonky mannerisms. Strip it all away.
"If you're asking whether I hacked into Palo Verde High's student information system and deleted all of my unexcused absences from skipping ninety percent of my calculus classes-" I held up my hands and then let them fall. "Then, yes, I might've found myself in a bit of trouble."
"Of course," Owen muttered.
"But I'll have you know," I added. "I only got caught because I took the final exam. The teacher didn't recognize me. I should've skipped that too, and then hacked back into the SIS to give myself a grade. Should've. Didn't. Me and my goddamn morals."
Owen stared at me for a long moment, his eyes narrowed and his brow crinkled. "Are there any consequences in your world, McClish?"
"There are," I said, breaking away from his gaze. "There are definitely consequences." I cleared my throat as I sneaked a glance at him. His attention was on the stars now. "Anyway, I live in Palo Alto."
"Which is in the Bay Area," Owen supplied. "Near San Francisco."
"Right," I said. "My sisters are all over the place. One in Denver, the other outside of Baltimore. My mom lives in Palm Springs now. I tried convincing her to check out Balboa Island or Marina del Rey, but she prefers the inescapable heat. I only visit her in the winter. I can't deal with summer in the desert. I feel like I'm trapped in a dehydrator and turning into beef jerky."
"You'd make for some fine jerky," Owen said, laughing.
"As would you, Bartlett," I replied. There was no humor in my tone, but I couldn't hold back the smile.