* * *
There are two cars ahead of them at the Fellowship of the Bean when they pull into line. Maggie sits shotgun next to Ben. Quinn fidgets in the seat behind Ben, his window already down, and he cranes his neck to see the elusive Jonah.
Gil and Selah sit in the very back, clearly trying to pretend they don’t know Quinn.
“Quinn, chill. He’s not even your type.” Maggie turns and shoots Quinn a look.
“There is no living with him at times like these,” Ryan explains from his spot next to Quinn.
“What does everyone want? I don’t want to sit around like an idiot once we get to the window,” Ben says, sounding very much like the dad he is.
“I want a half caff, half pump—” Quinn starts to say.
Ben cuts him off. “Do not make me order those crazy coffees. You want half pumps, half foam, you order it yourself.”
“Okay, Mr. Grumpy.” Quinn laughs and pats the top of Ben’s head.
Everyone else tells Ben their simple orders. When they pull up to the window, a man with a long goatee, wearing a black T-shirt, and what appear to be full tattoo sleeves, greets them.
“Hey folks, what can I get you?”
Maggie leans over the console and greets him, “Hi, Jonah.”
“Hey Maggie! Didn’t see you. What’s up with the jumbo sized vehicle?”
“Friends visiting. Friends, this is Jonah. Jonah, these are the friends.”
Jonah gives a friendly half wave. “Hey.”
From his vantage point in the back of the SUV, Gil can’t really see the coffee guy other than the tattoos and a stretched earlobe. “Hipster,” he mutters quietly.
Selah gives him a nudge. “Your retroactive, possessive caveman attitude is so charming.”
“Thanks for your sarcasm.”
“First, the lumberjack, now the guy who stands around all day in a little box selling coffee? You can’t be jealous or threatened by these guys.”
“They have location desirability.” He grumbles.
“And you have history on your side. Shut it, Morrow. Or Maggie will think you’re crazy.”
“I’m beginning to believe I am crazy.” He rolls his head, before turning his attention to Quinn, who orders his coffee while leaning halfway out his window.
“Can you do a half pump of sugar free vanilla, too?”
Ben grumbles in the driver’s seat while Quinn talks with Jonah.
“I think he’s got the order, Quinn. Put it back in your pants,” Ben scolds.
Ryan and Maggie crack up.
“Ben, there’s no stopping him. You have to let him work it out of his system,” Ryan advises.
Jonah passes their coffees through the window. Quinn’s is last and has a large dome filled with whipped cream.
“Thanks, Jonah. If I lived here, I’d visit your hut every day,” Quinn says, waving good-bye while Ben rolls up his window from the driver’s controls.
Maggie turns around in her seat. “Was he everything you’d hoped?” She winks at Ryan.
Quinn takes a long sip of his iced concoction. “And more. I need a hut boy to call my own. Or maybe Ryan will role-play hot barista with me when we get home.” He dramatically sucks his drink, and winces.
“Frozen headache.” He cringes and rubs his forehead.
“Quinn, never ever change.” Maggie faces forward, giving Ben directions back to the beach.
Gil thinks the same about Maggie.
Twenty-two
Biscuit runs to greet them when they walk up to the deck with bags of groceries and wine. Jo lies on her stomach on the chaise, but stirs when their footsteps sound on the deck.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Ben walks over to her, bends, and kisses her head.
“Mmmm,” is all that comes from Jo.
“I hope she put on sunscreen,” Ryan tuts.
“I heard you,” Jo mumbles as she turns, shielding her eyes so she can see them. “You’ll be happy to know I did.”
“Good girl.”
Inside, Maggie puts the bags on the counter and glances over at the Scrabble board.
Someone played “HUMP” and a few other words.
“Is that how you spell jizm? Is jizm even a word?” Gil asks, looking over her shoulder.
“I honestly don’t know. You’re a guy, shouldn’t you know these things?” She turns her head. He’s standing right behind her and their faces are only inches apart. Her breath hitches. She wants to kiss him, but doesn’t want an audience.
“I don’t think I’ve ever used the word ‘jizm’ before this conversation.” Gil blinks.
“Jizm isn’t a sexy word. You should probably avoid saying it.” Maggie’s voice drops to a whisper.
“I agree. Jizm is a terrible word.” He gazes down at her lips.
“Can we agree to stop saying jizm? Make some sort of pact?”
“Done. I’ll never say jizm again.” He sticks out his hand to shake on it.
Maggie grabs his hand.
“Say what again?” Quinn interrupts. “Ew, who played jizm? Is that how you spell it?” He grabs some tiles and spells “TWAT,” and then walks away.
“Twat? Really, Q?” Gil asks. “Whose idea was this game anyway?” He strokes Maggie’s palm with his thumb.
Her eyes flutter briefly. The feel of his touch runs down her spine. “What?” she asks, realizing she hasn’t been paying attention since Gil took her hand.
“I asked whose idea was this anyway.”
“What idea?” Maggie furrows her brows. Is he talking about them holding hands?
He squeezes her hand. “I was talking about the debauched Scrabble game. Not this.” He squeezes again.
Her Gil-induced fog clears and she looks at the board.
“Oh, right. Dirty Scrabble was much more hysterical in college.”
“I agree. Nothing shocks us anymore.”
“You still surprise me,” she says softly.
“I do?”
She glances down at their joined hands. “You do.”
He brings their joined hands up to his lips and kisses the back of her hand.
“That’s a good thing. I’ll take it.” He lets go, walks over to the counter, and begins unpacking the meat, putting it into the fridge.
Maggie stands at the table, staring at the board, and trying to calm her heart. She sees a word and plays it.
* * *
A few hours later people are spread around the house and out on the deck. Jo has given up her sunbathing for a shower and proper clothes. Selah sits outside with her iPad, scrolling through lumberjack sites. Ben takes out his phone on the sofa. Jo takes the phone and threatens to remove the battery if he doesn’t stay off of it for the rest of the evening. Gil and Ryan sit at the table outside while Quinn stacks rocks on the beach.
Maggie looks outside from where she makes sangria in the kitchen. She smiles seeing all her favorite people in one place. A contented sigh escapes and she realizes she hasn’t felt this happy in a long time. She adds a few blackberries and green apple slices into the pitcher of Rosé sangria, and puts it in the fridge to chill.
Cranking up the volume, she blasts Alicia Keyes on the wireless speakers for her iPod. Looking out to the deck, she sees Gil turn around and signal for louder.
She grabs the speakers and brings them out to the deck with her, placing them on the railing
“Better?” She sits down next to Gil.
“Definitely better.” He squeezes her knee.
“What are you two talking about? I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She puts her own hand on Gil’s.
“Patagonia,” Ryan answers.
“The clothing company?”
“No, the place. I’d love to take a trip down there.”
Maggie stares at Gil. “You went to Patagonia?” She’s amazed by all his travels.
“I did. I went about three years ago. I needed to escape myself and the furthest end of the ea
rth sounded like the right place to do it.”
“Did it work? Did you escape yourself?” Ryan asks.
“Not really.” Gil chuckles. “Turns out you can’t run away from yourself. Life? Yes. Yourself? No. It was an enlightening trip.”
Maggie does the math in her head. Three years ago would have been after Lizzy’s death, and after things fell apart in Gil’s marriage. She reminds herself he hasn’t been her best friend in a long time. There is a lot to learn about this Gil.
“Wherever you go, there you are.” Ryan quips. “Such a clichéd statement but true.”
“Absolutely.” Gil nods.
“Patagonia. Wow. I’ve never even been to South America,” Maggie says.
“I went to a dermatology conference in Sao Paolo once, but barely left the hotel,” Ryan says. “That’s the thing with medical conferences and traveling for work. You might as well be in any conference center in the world.”
“Medical conference in Brazil sounds like a cushy trip,” Maggie comments.
“It was interesting. Not in the same way as hiking around Patagonia or a visit to the Galapagos would be. Different natural, or unnatural wonders, as it were.”
“If you want glaciers, you could always hike to the Blue Glacier over in the Olympics.” Maggie gestures to the mountains looming to the west.
“Glacier? Really? Aren’t those disappearing?” Ryan asks.
“I think they are. Glacier Park will be glacierless in a few decades,” Gil answers.
“What will they call it then?”
“The Park Formerly Known as Glacier? Or maybe a symbol?” Gil quips.
“Even more reason for you to come back out west, and hike the Blue Glacier while it still exists,” Maggie says.
“Can you imagine Quinn hiking a glacier?” Ryan asks, looking over the railing at Quinn on the beach.
“I’d do the trip with you. It’s pretty short. Thirteen miles up to the glacier, you can camp on the way up or on top. Three day round trip starting in the Hoh rainforest. Pretty cool.” Gil sounds excited about the prospect of the trip with Ryan. Maggie smiles, thinking another connection has been made in the group.
“Maybe you and Quinn can come back next summer and we’ll do a trip out to the Olympic Peninsula,” Gil offers.
“As long as Maggie is out here, I’d love to make an annual trip. I know Quinn misses her.” Ryan winks at Maggie.
“It’s nice to be missed. Sounds like a great plan and I might even join you on your mountain trek.”
“Maggie May mountain climbing?” Gil gives her an exaggerated look of disbelief. “Where is the beret-wearing, red-wine-drinking, pale girl from college?”
“It was my idea to hike the bluff the other day, remember? I hiked in college, at least down to the beach on campus and occasionally through the thousand acre woods.”
“You had a thousand acre wood on campus?” Ryan asks. “That’s one big campus.”
“Technically, they have a thousand and ten acres. The tree huggers live in their tree houses deep in the forest.”
“People live in tree houses on campus? What kind of hippie school did you all go to?” Ryan asks sounding more curious. “Quinn failed to mention tree dwellers.”
“Not everyone lived in a tree house. I don’t think anyone lived in them—had sex, smoked pot, and pretended to be Thoreau for a while, and then it would rain or get cold so they’d abandon the tree house for the next hugger,” Gil explains.
“Evergreen is the ultimate Liberal Arts college, though most of us Greeners turn out okay,” Maggie says.
Ryan shakes his head. “We had dining clubs and ties. No tree houses or nude beaches for me.”
“Quinn told you about the nude beach?” Gil cringes.
“Wasn’t a nude beach by the time we got there. Sadly,” Selah says from her lounge chair, joining the conversation.
“Not fully nude, but I do remember some topless activity.” Gil waggles his eyebrows.
“Perverts in the woods is the reason campus cops shut down the nudity.” Maggie elbows Gil. “Perv,” she says, looking at him.
“Who needed the nude pervert beach when our apartment in Olympia had the roof deck?” Selah asks.
Gil smiles. “That was a good summer. I’m still grateful it was one of the sunniest ones on record.”
It’s Selah’s turn to say, “Perv.”
“I think even the doctor would back me up on being a healthy twenty-year-old boy.”
“Sorry, Gil, but breasts have never been my thing. Unless Quinn was naked sunbathing, you are on your own.”
Maggie glances at Selah. They both look at Ryan and giggle.
“Was there ever any doubt? Quinn was all about no tan lines,” Maggie says.
Gil groans. “I was not expecting to witness that. Ever.”
On cue, Quinn walks up the stairs from the beach. “Whatcha talking about?”
“Your naked ass, as a matter of fact,” Ryan answers.
Quinn chuckles. “Summer of ’90? Omnia Extares, and all that school spirit.”
Gil scrubs his face as if trying to erase the memory and the conversation. “I don’t think the college’s founders meant ‘let it all hang out’ literally. Then again, maybe they did.”
“No tan lines.” Quinn sighs.
“Don’t remind me.” Gil groans again.
Quinn plops down on the arm of Ryan’s chair. “Any reason we’re talking about that summer in particular?” He studies Maggie, and then Gil.
“No, we were talking about Ryan and Gil hiking the Blue Glacier next summer. Not sure how the topic turned to your ass,” Maggie says.
“Are you sure you weren’t talking about blue balls?” Quinn throws a look at Maggie.
“Glacier, not balls, Q.” She stares back at him.
Quinn shrugs. “Speaking of cold things, what about the rumor of sangria?”
“Oh, right! I forgot I put it in the fridge to chill.” Maggie gets up. “Who wants sangria?”
She fetches the pitcher and a stack of vintage iced tea glasses. When she returns, the sun moves behind the clouds and the air cools. Maggie pulls her sweater tighter around herself.
“Chilly?” Gil asks, rubbing down her arm.
“A little. I don’t think we’ll get rain, but it might be colder tonight.”
“We definitely should make another beach fire. Or a fire in the house,” Gil says.
Ben and Jo join them out on the deck.
“Speaking of tonight, will you manly men handle the grill? We can do the prep and dessert,” Maggie suggests.
“What’s for dessert?” Jo asks.
“I was thinking we could make s’mores around the fire,” Maggie says.
“Classic. Good choice.” Jo nods.
“Oh, you’ll never go back to plain bar chocolate and marshmallows after Maggie’s s’mores.” Quinn practically drools.
“There’s Nutella involved,” Maggie simply states.
“Nutella? I’m in.” Jo smiles.
“What is it with women and Nutella?” Ben ponders aloud. “Jo keeps it in the cupboard and eats it with a spoon. I’ve never seen her put it on anything.”
“That’s not true. I made Nutella pizza once,” Jo explains.
“Nutella pizza?” Gil and Ryan ask at the same time.
“Like with pepperoni and sausage?” Gil looks horrified.
“No, no, no.” Jo makes a face. “Dessert pizza with only chocolate.”
“Phew. Thought you were talking about weird pregnancy food stuff.” Gil sounds relieved.
Ryan and Quinn exchange looks. Maggie watches them have a silent conversation, and then Quinn nods.
“So, speaking of pregnancy foods…” Quinn begins.
“You’re pregnant!” Maggie starts laughing.
“Um, Maggie, hate to point out the obvious, but Quinn lacks a uterus to be pregnant,” Ben argues.
Maggie’s eyes grow
wide and she gapes at Quinn. Her mouth opens and hangs there.
“Q? Are you really?”
“Wait, what are you talking about?” Gil glances between Maggie, Ryan, and Quinn.
Maggie’s eyes fill with tears. “Really? This is your news?” she asks Quinn, then places her hand over her mouth.
Quinn’s eyes are getting glassy. He nods and grabs Ryan’s hand. “We’re having a baby.”
“Oh, Q,” Maggie cries and launches herself around the table to hug Quinn. She’s full out crying now. She hugs Ryan, too. While the three of them hug and cry, the rest of the table sits in stunned silence.
“How’s Quinn pregnant? He doesn’t even look it. I mean, I know there have been advances and all, but I’m still pretty sure you still need eggs and a uterus,” he says, sarcastically.
“Oh, Ben.” Maggie laughs, wiping her tears. “Shut up.”
Ryan wipes his own eyes. “We have a surrogate, Ben. She’s carrying the baby for us. Donor egg, but our sperm.”
Ben nods in understanding. Jo and Selah both join in the hugging of Quinn and Ryan.
“Congrats, guys,” Gil says. “I didn’t even know you wanted kids.”
“We never thought kids were an option for us. We knew we might be able to adopt, but it wasn’t something we wanted to do. Hell, we never thought we’d be able to get married, let alone have kids of our own,” Quinn says, wiping away tears with the heels of his palms.
“So when is the baby due?” Maggie asks, using her sleeve to wipe her cheeks.
“January. We’re past the first trimester. That’s why we both wanted to be here this weekend—to share the news in person.” Ryan beams with happiness.
“Quinn’s having a baby.” Jo smiles with motherly pride.
“Our Quinn is going to be a father,” Selah says, sounding a little stunned, and a tiny bit betrayed.
“Selah, you will be the coolest Auntie ever. We promise never to make you change a diaper, or babysit until the kid can tell Monet from Manet.” Quinn attempts to comfort her.
Maggie raises her glass of sangria. “To Quinn and Ryan, the coolest dads any kid will ever have.”
Everyone clinks glasses and Maggie covertly rubs her nose on the cuff of her sleeve.
Gil hands her a bandana from his pocket.
She takes it, wipes her eyes, and blows her nose, then tries to hand it back to him. Realizing she is trying to give him his bandana covered in her snot, she laughs.
Geoducks are for Lovers Page 18
