Page 107 of Beyond the Stroke

“I prefer to view myself as a devoted husband.” He opens the door to his Jeep for me, then climbs in and starts the engine.

“I was thinking of having some people over for a bonfire on the beach tonight. Are you okay with that?”

“It’s your house. You don’t have to ask me.”

“It’s our house,” he says so matter-of-fact it surprises me. “And I’ll always check with you.”

I stare at him for a second, lips parting before I can think of a response.

“Fine,” I say eventually, pretending to roll my eyes. “But only if there are s’mores.”

“It wouldn’t be a bonfire without them.”

“Then I guess I’ll allow it,” I say, failing to hide my smile.

Rory hums, satisfied, and puts the Jeep in gear. We drive a few blocks in comfortable silence.

“Oh, by the way, I already picked up some dark chocolate for the s’mores.”

I glance over. “From the grocery store?”

“No, that little place off Highway Seven. The one with the tiny parking lot and the sign that just says ‘Cacao.’”

My eyebrows lift. I’ve only been there a few times because it’s next to a gas station on the far end of Coral Cove and not convenient to get to.

“You went out of your way?”

He shrugs casually, eyes still on the road. “You mentioned once that it was the best dark chocolate, smooth and not too bitter.”

I blink at him. That’s it. No big speech. No bragging. Just…he remembered and took action.

I turn toward the window, pretending to look at the ocean, but really I’m trying to calm the flutter in my chest. Because maybe this is what it feels like when someone really sees you.

twenty-seven

. . .

RORY

After Summer’s doctor appointment, I went with her to walk her afternoon dogs, then dropped her off to work at the café.

I clean up the house, which takes longer than usual because Summer’s stuff is sprawling all over the house. Her van always appeared tidy, but maybe that’s because there was less space for things to roam.

A trail of her books on the coffee table.

A chipped mug full of paintbrushes on the kitchen counter.

Her favorite oversized cardigan tossed over the back of the couch.

A pair of flip flops abandoned by the front door.

And hair ties, so many hair ties, around doorknobs, next to lamps and every surface in between.

I cheerfully put things back in their place because damn if I don’t get off on it. Summer’s chaos tangled up with my calm makes this place feel more like home.

Then, Edgar and I nap on the couch for an hour before I have to hop on a zoom call to record a podcast with Lane Talk, aswimmer-focused podcast that discusses training, competition, and balancing life outside the pool.

For me, podcast interviews are easy. Talking with people and talking about swimming are two of my favorite things, so it’s not until the hosts, Cullen and Patrick, bring up my marriage that I’m thrown off.

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