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He straightens his spine, looking more determined. “No. I got this. And I’m excited about the rally.”

“How does it work?” I ask. “Marching drag queens?”

“There’s an international conference of oil executives, here to plan a new massive drilling effort that would violate all kinds of environmental treaties. And they were silly enough to book a hotel across from a public park with an amphitheater that anyone can reserve.”

I quirk up a smile. “And your friend was clever and saw the opportunity.”

“He’s always felt that drag could change the world. Now our favorite queen Frida Dolphins is going to take her message directly to the people in charge.”

I laugh. “Love the name.” I give his hand one more squeeze. “And I’m excited for you and your friends. Just make sure to rest when you can, okay?”

A political rally does not sound like the kind of thing I could handle at the moment, but I see Elliot’s determination.

I respect how committed he is to his ideals, his friends, and his art, and I want to support him in that.

Our natural world is important to me, and I’m impressed and grateful that he’s fighting for it.

“I’ll take it easy,” he agrees. “I’ll have to, anyway, to avoid the spotlight. The message of this thing needs to be climate action now , not shipwrecked twink at it again .”

I laugh. “I understand. Lying low is also my current work strategy. But regardless, let me know if I can do something to support you.”

“Making dinner for us is pretty fantastic.”

I smile. “In that case, let’s eat.”

I put some gentle electronic music on in the background and pull the ceramic pan from the oven.

The fish is whole and intact, fins and tail and head, perfectly browned and buried in tomatoes, greens, onions, sauce, and colorful spices.

Olives, peppers, and pickled things follow from the fridge, all spread on the wooden kitchen table.

Elliot takes my hand before we sit. “Imagine if we’d had this at the island.”

“Just an oily olive would have been enough to make me weep.” I pull his chair out, enjoying the chance to take care of him properly. “Sit. Please. Can I offer you some wine?”

“Bring it on. Whatever you want to serve me, I’m ready for it.”

“It’s a Greek white, Moscofilero,” I say as I pour us each a glass, then sit. “I can cut the fish. It’s a little tricky.”

“Because the head is still on?” Elliot scoffs as he leans forward to cut in.

“I ate dirty clam, remember? Anyway, I don’t know how to cook something like this, but I do know how to eat something like this with etiquette.

” With perfect form, he cuts a generous slice and serves it to me first. “This is beyond mouthwatering.”

We settle in with our first tastes, and Elliot lets out a little moan of appreciation.

“Damn,” he says. “Your dating game is strong.”

“I’d usually ask a guy to a restaurant.”

“I like how it is between us,” Elliot says. “Extremely intimate and also unfamiliar. Makes total sense for our trajectory. And I’m having a great time.”

I sip some wine, crisp and floral, and then take a bigger drink. “I’m glad you like it.” I gesture around my condo with the glass. “Because dating me includes a lot of this. Five nights a week of it, at least.”

“Are you threatening me with a nourishing dinner in a cozy home?”

I chuckle. “No. I’m just reminding you that I’m not as socially active as you are. More than anyone else, I spend time with my sister.”

“Then I can’t wait to get to know your sister better,” Elliot says, enjoying his meal with little hums of appreciation that tickle me.

“I do like when a partner motivates me to do something social,” I add, not wanting to give him the wrong impression.

“I have interests beyond my hiking club. I like taking advantage of the city, trying new things. I get antsy when I’m in a rut for too long.

But these nights at home are important to me, too. ”

“I’d love to bring you to events as my date, when you’re up for it, and I don’t mind going out by myself or with my friends, either.

More of a quiet life would be good for me, actually.

I know it’s good for my art when I have uninterrupted focus.

Right now, it feels like I’m always trying to do twenty things at once. ”

“I’ve never dated an artist,” I tell him. “It sounds enjoyable to watch you at work.”

I’ve seen enough of his illustrations now that I understand his passion even better. There’s humor and empathy and joy all wrapped up in the drawings, Elliot’s spirit in each piece.

We meet eyes across the dinner table.

“It’s good to be alone with you again, Hank.”

He’s terribly handsome as he smiles at me, desire flickering across the table between us, his beard scruffy.

Whatever else might be true, it feels right to have Elliot here. In my home, at my dinner table.

“I’ve missed you,” I tell him.

Elliot leans forward across the table, and my energy pulls me toward him. The dishes clatter as I put my hand on the table to catch my weight, and Elliot and I join in a kiss.

His beard rubs my bare skin, and my mouth opens as our tongues meet. I groan under my breath as we deepen the kiss, our first since we were rescued. It’s scorching and slow, and it only makes me want to kiss him longer, harder.

When we ease back, my heart is pounding. Elliot takes a big drink of his wine, catching his breath.

“I missed that, too,” Elliot says.

I sit back in my chair. “Every bit as hot, even without death hanging over us.”

Elliot laughs. “And unlike the last time we kissed, no Baronet Spencehill watching from down the beach.”

I laugh, too. “Hell. Don’t remind me.”

Elliot leans forward, eyeing me with our nearly empty plates between us. “Want to show me the bedroom?” he asks. “I’m wearing a fresh pair of socks for you.”