Page 75 of Ship Happens

“Whoa . . .” Owen gasps, steadying himself as Jacob opens the sliding doors to the balcony. A cool breeze blows Owen’s hair away from his face, salt air filling his lungs as he breathes in.

“Look at that,” Jacob says, stepping next to him, his hand still wrapped around Owen’s. Owen has a sneaking suspicion that it’s no longer a method of support; Jacob probably just wants to hold his hand.

Can’t he just let this moment be? Enjoy this pocket of time where nothing really has to matter except the two of them witnessing this once-in-a-lifetime view? He looks over at Jacob, staring at the sky with a gleam in his eyes.

“Beautiful,” Owen murmurs.

“Yeah, it is.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t think that, maybe that’s a step too far. But tonight he doesn’t care. He wants to look at Jacob, to appreciate the fine lines of his face, that straight edge of his long nose, and those full lips. He wants to study the shape of those eyes, the faint creases in the corners from when Jacob would rather squint to read something than wear his glasses.

There are so many words that Owen could use to describe him.

Gorgeous, handsome, pretty, stunning, precious, exquisite.

But no other word seems more accurate than beautiful.

“What time is it?” Owen asks.

“Uh . . .” Jacob eyes his watch. “Fifteen minutes past midnight.”

“We missed the countdown.” Owen half pouts.

“You missed the countdown,” Jacob corrects, smiling at him. “Snored right through it.”

“You could’ve woken me up!” Owen adds.

“You were too cute,” Jacob says, looking back toward the sky. “Just sleeping there.”

Oh. Owen pauses, sure his cheeks are heating up. Jacob’s are.

“Sorry,” Jacob says, ending the hold he has on Owen’s hand so that he can rub at the back of his neck.

“Stop apologizing, Jacob. Please.”

“Okay.”

Owen turns back toward the ocean, watching as the lights dance along the starless sky.

“What?” Jacob asks, able to tell that Owen is thinking too hard about something. Because no one has ever known Owen the way that Jacob has.

“Nothing,” Owen says, clearing his throat. “Happy New Year, Jacob.”

“Happy New Year.” He says the words with a smile that rolls Owen’s stomach.

Jacob stares down at the water. “Can I say something? You might get angry at me, but I want to say it.”

“What is it?”

Owen watches Jacob’s throat bob up and down as he swallows. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Huh . . .”

“But that’s not the smart thing to do.”

Owen’s mouth goes dry, staring at this man that he gave so much to, that he’s taken so much from. The breeze blows Jacob’s hair away from his face, like he’s a prince in a fairy tale, come to rescue Owen from his tall tower.

“I’ve got to admit, Jacob . . .” Owen starts to say, the words heavy, because he knows what he wants right now, even if he shouldn’t. “I’m sick of doing the smart thing.” There’s an unfamiliar boldness to Owen’s words, one that he’s not sure he’s ever recognized in himself before.