Page 13 of Ship Happens

Then Jacob sniffs, his nose high in the air like an old cartoon character. Owen is sure he’d start levitating if he could.

“Is that blueberry cobbler?”

Owen turns off the alarm on his phone as it ticks down to the final seconds and opens the oven. No reason the dish can’t come out now.

He hears the soft thump of Fitzwilliam dropping to the floor again, and Owen glances at Jacob over his shoulder. “Yep.”

With his oven mitts on, Owen pulls the skillet out very carefully and lets it rest on top of the stove. Jacob and Kaitlyn’s mother had given the skillet to him for Christmas years ago, shortly after she’d pulled Owen to the side and said the words “The backbone of a good kitchen is the skillet.” She’d spent hours teaching him how to properly clean and reseason it, helped him make her special cobbler in it, treating Owen like he were her own flesh and blood.

When the lid comes off, the kitchen is filled with the sugary scent of the baking blueberries. A few have burst through the crust, splotches of vibrant purple coloring the gold.

“Smells amazing.” Jacob hovers over the dish, no doubt having to stop himself from drooling everywhere.

“Mm-hmm . . .” Owen hums, biting back the words he wants to say.

Jacob hesitates, shifting on his feet uncomfortably as a silence stretches between them.

“It’s great to hear, about the shop . . . I mean.”

“Thanks,” Owen replies bluntly. “Looks like you were wrong after all, huh?”

Shut up, shut up, shut up, Owen pleads with himself. But it’s like his mouth has a mind of its own. A brazenly bold mind that doesn’t seem to care that he has to spend the next few days sharing an apartment with Jacob.

At least the couch in the breakroom at Sunset Tattoo is sort of comfortable. Maybe he can just camp out there?

Shock registers on Jacob’s face for a split second. “Yeah, I guess I was.” He swallows after the words. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to apologize to you about what I said—”

“Hey!” Owen interjects, forcing a smile. “Don’t even worry about it!”

“Owen, stop interrupting—”

“What is there left to say, Jacob?” Owen asks, ignoring Jacob’s wishes. “You made things pretty clear on that last phone call.”

“I still . . .” Jacob’s hand goes to the back of his neck, just like it always does when he’s nervous. “I thought that we could talk.”

“Well, I don’t particularly want to talk to you,” Owen tells him, the words tasting bitter. “I’m prepared to play nice; I’m not just going to ignore you. That’d only make things worse for the both of us.” As he says the words, he pulls the carton of vanilla ice cream out of the fridge where he’d set it to soften.

“So that’s all we’re going to do?” Jacob asks. “Play nice?”

“That’s pretty much the only option . . . isn’t it?” Owen stares, pondering the careful expression on Jacob’s face. He almost looks disappointed. Like he’d come back wanting more from Owen.

“Come on,” Owen tells him. “Grab those plates and help me carry everything.”

“Jesus Christ, Owen . . .” Kevin gawks at all of the desserts as they’re laid out on the coffee table. Actually, they’re all gawking.

“Too much?” Owen asks sheepishly as he sinks into the couch.

“I feel prediabetic just looking at this table,” Abigail says.

“Can I divorce Hailey and marry you, Owen?” Ravi asks as he bites into the patishapta, muttering something in Bengali.

“I’ll allow it,” Hailey replies, snagging a cookie for herself. “So long as Owen is okay with being a trophy husband.”

Next to Owen, Kaitlyn gently prods him with her foot. Having been friends for so long, Owen likes to think that he and Kaitlyn have perfected the art of talking to each other without even saying a word.

You okay? her expression seems to ask.

Owen nods, hoping that the look he gives her is reassurance enough. He probably could’ve kept things a little quieter in the kitchen. But it’s too late now. Another problem doesn’t arise until Jacob decides to plant himself right in front of Owen as Ravi puts on The Muppet Christmas Carol. The lights are turned off and anyone who has someone to cozy up next to does as the Greek chorus of Gonzo and Rizzo lay the scene.