The afternoon sun poured through the tall warehouse windows, turning the copper stills into something almost molten. They dominated the back of the room, quietly humming through another batch while the scent of oak, citrus peel, molasses, and warm spice drifted lazily through the tasting room. It was the kind of smell that settled into old timber and clothing alike, impossible to mistake once you'd experienced it. Rémi stood behind the polished wood bar with a clean towel slung over one shoulder, studying a lineup of small tasting glasses with the concentration of someone conducting an orchestra rather than pouring rum. He adjusted one glass by barely half an inch. "...Better." Bernard, his enormous Irish Wolfhound, looked up from where he occupied an unreasonable amount of floor space beside the bar, gave Rémi a thoroughly unconvinced look, then sighed so dramatically it sounded like commentary. "You think precision is overrated," Rémi informed the dog in his easy French-Canadian accent. "I think standards are important. This is why only one of us has opposable thumbs." Bernard answered by rolling onto his side with all the dignity of a fallen moose. A laugh escaped Rémi before he reached for a bottle, pouring a measure of amber rum that caught the afternoon light. He lifted the glass to his nose, letting the aroma settle before taking the smallest sip imaginable. "Hm." He scribbled something in the weathered notebook that never seemed far from reach before glancing toward the entrance as the front door opened, the bell overhead giving a soft chime. "Welcome to Low Tide." He rested his forearms against the bar. "You've arrived at a dangerous hour. I'm either about to let you taste something that could become my next signature bottle...or you'll convince me it belongs down the drain."
Where: The Beach
Who: Bunny and ? @cypresscove-starters
While Bunny always enjoyed her classes. Enjoyed learning about acting and writing plays and everything to do with theater the summer was a magical time. It had been since her childhood when she would get to see her father more and travel without the obligation of school. Now it let her pursue passions she may not be great at but still enjoyed her current obsession being photography. "No stay just like that. You're gorgeous and that deserves to be captured." she said brightly. Maybe they'd find it creepy but she couldn't help herself sometimes she loved seeing the beauty in everything and it gave her inspiration when she'd go home. Maybe she'd write a short story or a one act play or something.
Mira had been perfectly content wandering along the shoreline, letting the sea breeze tug loose strands of hair from the clip at the back of her head. Days off were rare enough that she'd learned to appreciate the simple ones, where the only schedule she had to keep belonged to the tides instead of the lighthouse. She stopped mid-step when she heard the voice. "...Sorry?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder before looking around to make sure the comment had actually been directed at her. When it became clear it had, a surprised laugh escaped her. "Me?" A faint blush crept into her cheeks despite herself. "That's probably the sweetest thing a stranger's ever said to me." She recognized the young woman's face, if only in the way people who grew up in Cypress Cove tended to recognize one another. They'd never really crossed paths, Bunny being a few years younger, but she'd seen her around town often enough over the years. Mira's smile softened as she looked toward the camera. "So you're the artistic type?" she asked. "I don't mind if you take the picture. You've already committed to the compliment, so I feel like I owe you at least that." She shifted slightly, still laughing under her breath. "But you have to show me afterward. Otherwise I'm just going to spend the rest of the day wondering what on earth you found so photogenic."
MALE, HE/HIM. Hey, is that Zane Phillips? No, that is just Micah Belov around Cypress Cove. I heard they are 35 years old, and their birthday is May 10, 1991. They rest their head on the Coast but can mainly be found working as a landscape architect. Some say they are patient, thoughtful, and grounded but can be conflict-avoidant, self-sacrificing, and prone to overthinking. If they had a theme song, it would be Wildflowers by Tom Petty. I hear they are a NEWCOMER, either way Cypress Cove is home and welcomes you!
Micah Belov grew up knowing he had an older brother he had never really known. His father never hid Reid's existence or pretended the past hadn't happened. Instead, Mark spoke of him often, sharing stories of the son he'd left behind with a mixture of pride and regret. As a child, Micah imagined Reid as larger than life. A football star. A boxer. The kind of older brother every little kid secretly hopes they'll grow up to know. When he was six years old, his father finally brought him to Cypress Cove for a visit. It didn't go the way anyone hoped. Reid barely acknowledged him, his anger directed squarely at the father standing beside him. Micah was too young to understand the difference. He simply went home believing his brother wanted nothing to do with him.
Unlike Reid, Micah grew up with a father who had learned from his mistakes. Mark was present for every soccer game, every school concert, every milestone that mattered. He encouraged curiosity, kindness, and patience, raising Micah to believe that the best things in life took time to grow. As he got older, Micah came to understand that the father he knew wasn't the same man Reid had grown up with. Rather than making him defensive, that realization filled him with empathy. He couldn't blame Reid for resenting a version of Mark he'd never had the chance to know.
After earning a degree in Landscape Architecture, Micah built a successful career designing parks, waterfront spaces, botanical gardens, and community gathering places throughout the Southeast. He loved creating outdoor spaces that encouraged people to slow down, connect, and enjoy the world around them. His projects earned him a strong reputation, but when Mark was diagnosed with a terminal illness, work suddenly became far less important. Wanting to spend whatever time remained with his father, Micah arranged to work remotely and relocated to Cypress Cove indefinitely.
While Mark never asked either of his sons to forgive him, he quietly admitted there was one regret he knew he could never fix. The years his choices had stolen from them. Though Micah doesn't expect Reid to welcome him with open arms, he couldn't ignore the opportunity to try. He's not looking to replace the family Reid lost or convince him to see their father differently. He simply hopes that two brothers who grew up with completely different versions of the same man might still find a way to know each other.
Gentle, observant, and endlessly patient, Micah has a habit of noticing the little things other people overlook. Whether he's sketching ideas beneath the shade of an old oak tree or helping design a neighborhood park, he believes every space has the potential to bring people together. He's learned that growth rarely happens all at once, and that relationships, much like landscapes, are built one careful season at a time.
MALE, HE/HIM. Hey, is that François Arnaud? No, that is just Rémi Bouchard around Cypress Cove. I heard they are 39 years old, and their birthday is November 12, 1986. They rest their head on the Coast but can mainly be found working as the owner of Low Tide Distilling Co. Some say they are patient, observant, and dependable but can be guarded, stubborn, and emotionally private. If they had a theme song, it would be Slow Burn by Kacey Musgraves. I hear they are a LOCAL, either way Cypress Cove is home and welcomes you!
BASICS:
full name: Rémi Étienne Bouchard
nicknames: Rémi
age: 39
dob: November 12, 1986
hometown: Montréal, Québec, Canada
current location: Cypress Cove, Georgia
neighborhood: Coast
occupation: Owner & Master Distiller of Low Tide Distilling Co.
Rémi Bouchard never imagined he would leave Montréal. Raised in a close-knit French-Canadian family, he grew up surrounded by good food, lively conversation, and an appreciation for craftsmanship that shaped nearly every part of his life. After studying fermentation and distillation, he built a successful career working for several respected craft distilleries throughout Québec. It was during those years that he met the man he believed he would grow old beside. For more than a decade they built a life together, one that looked steady and happy from the outside. Somewhere along the way, however, comfort quietly became distance. By the time they admitted they wanted different futures, there wasn't anger or betrayal left between them. They had simply become different people.
The divorce was as amicable as heartbreak could be, but that didn't stop it from changing everything. Every favorite restaurant, familiar street, and daily routine became another reminder of the life that no longer existed. Rémi eventually realized he wasn't trying to escape his marriage. He was trying to rediscover himself outside of it. When an aging waterfront building in Cypress Cove became available, he took the biggest gamble of his life. He sold nearly everything he had, packed what remained into a moving truck, and headed south with little more than a dream of opening the kind of distillery he had always wanted to own.
Building Low Tide Distilling Co. demanded more patience than Rémi ever expected. Nearly every dollar he had went into restoring the building, purchasing equipment, and waiting for the first barrels to mature. There were months when he questioned whether he'd made a terrible mistake, but cutting corners was never an option. He believed good spirits couldn't be rushed, just as healing couldn't be forced. Slowly, Low Tide found its place within Cypress Cove. Part tasting room, part gathering place, it became somewhere people could linger over a thoughtfully crafted whiskey, bourbon, or gin without ever feeling rushed out the door.
About a year after opening the distillery, Rémi wandered into a local animal rescue intending to "just look." He left with an aging Irish Wolfhound named Bernard, who quickly became the unofficial mascot of Low Tide. More often than not, Bernard can be found asleep across the tasting room floor while Rémi works behind the bar, greeting newcomers with nothing more than a lazy wag of his tail.
Quiet by nature, Rémi is often mistaken for intimidating until people spend time with him. He's the sort of person who remembers how someone takes their drink, notices when they're having a difficult day, and quietly refills a water glass or slides over a bowl of pretzels without saying a word. He rarely speaks about himself, preferring to listen instead, but beneath his reserved demeanor is someone who cares deeply about the people around him. He still speaks kindly of his former husband, believing that love doesn't have to end in bitterness to come to an end. Cypress Cove wasn't meant to be a forever home. Somewhere between the smell of aging whiskey, evenings spent watching the tide roll in, and the familiar faces walking through his doors each day, it quietly became exactly that.
FEMALE, SHE/HER. Hey, is that Mika Abdalla? No, that is just Mira Marinova around Cypress Cove. I heard they are 25 years old, and their birthday is August 19, 2001. They rest their head on Ivermere Isle but can mainly be found working at the Cypress Cove Lighthouse. Some say they are curious, compassionate, and observant but can be restless, nostalgic, and conflict-avoidant. If they had a theme song, it would be Constellations by The Oh Hellos. I hear they are a NATIVE, either way Cypress Cove is home and welcomes you!
Mira Marinova grew up with the Cypress Cove Lighthouse as her backyard. While other children built forts in the woods or rode their bikes through the neighborhood, Mira spent her afternoons climbing the lighthouse's spiral staircase behind her maternal grandfather, Nikola Marinov. After immigrating from Bulgaria as a young man, Nikola eventually became the last official keeper of the lighthouse, dedicating decades of his life to preserving both the landmark and the stories it held. He taught Mira that history wasn't just something found in textbooks. It lived in weathered journals, faded photographs, old ship logs, and the people willing to tell their stories. Before she knew what career she wanted, she already knew she loved preserving the past.
Eager to experience life beyond Cypress Cove, Mira left home after high school to study Historic Preservation and Museum Studies. She spent the next several years moving between internships and temporary positions at museums, historic sites, and preservation projects along the East Coast. The work was everything she'd hoped for, but every coastal town reminded her of the one she'd left behind. She always planned to come home eventually. She simply expected it to be for a visit instead of a goodbye.
When Nikola passed away, Mira returned to Cypress Cove to help her mother sort through the lifetime of journals, maps, artifacts, and records he had left behind. What began as a temporary stay slowly turned into something more permanent. As the future of the lighthouse became increasingly uncertain, Mira realized she couldn't bear the thought of seeing the place that shaped her childhood fall into neglect. She stepped into the role of the lighthouse's steward, overseeing tours, educational programs, preservation efforts, fundraising events, and the day-to-day care of both the lighthouse and the keeper's cottage she now calls home.
The work is deeply fulfilling, but it rarely pays the bills. Between grant applications, community fundraisers, school tours, and seasonal visitors, Mira is constantly searching for new ways to keep the lighthouse financially afloat. She occasionally collaborates with the Heritage House & Coastal Museum on maritime exhibits and local history projects, but most of her time is spent ensuring the lighthouse remains open for the next generation. It's a labor of love more than a career, and there are plenty of days when she wonders if she's fighting a losing battle.
"There he is... just blowing into town and not telling me..." Chord muttered in his ear, pretending her best to be angry. She really wasn't. Now, if he had left down and didn't bother to say hi, she would have been real salty. "Assault?" She laughed and shook her head. "You call and have me arrest, why don't ya?" She teased him, giving him a gentle hug from behind. She then stepped around to walk over and flop into the chair across from him.
Chord nodded. "You are right. I was not going to let you defend yourself, but I am still innocent..." She reached out to grab his finger as he pointed her. She smirked a bit and sat back, dropping her hands in her lap. "Probably? Eventually? Well, as long as you planned to visit before you jumped out of town. But Circe's been here a while and still hasn't visited so I'm not real optimistic." She laughed. "I am very happy to see you, Thierry, and I did actually come for dinner not sibling aggression. That was strictly a benefit."
Thierry let out an exaggerated sigh as she grabbed his finger, allowing her to redirect it before reclaiming it with the dignity of a man determined not to lose an argument to his younger sister. "Innocent," he repeated. "You assaulted a respected gentleman with laminated cardstock." He took another sip of his wine, entirely too composed for someone who had just been ambushed. "I shall recover." At the mention of Circe, however, his eyebrows lifted. "Now, in fairness," he said, holding up a finger, "leave my wife out of your prosecution. She has been busy setting up her gallery, rescuing your nephew from living on takeout, and convincing me that my schedule is unreasonable." He reached for the second menu resting on the table and slid it toward her. "As for me..." He leaned back in his chair. "I had every intention of coming to see you before you resorted to physical intimidation. I was hoping to surprise you." His expression turned teasing again. "Though, judging by your detective work, I suspect you've been interrogating half the town trying to determine whether your brother had arrived." He folded his hands on the table. "So." His eyes settled on her with genuine curiosity. "Tell me about you. How are you? Really?"
When Thierry asked her to look at him, Calypso hesitated. She didn’t want to look at him. She didn’t want to see the disappointment even though she knew she had earned it. She took a sharp breath and slowly looked up at him, rubbing her good hand over her upper arm. She frowned deeper as he said he didn’t hate her. He should have. She had earned a lot of hate. She nodded as he confessed to being angry, but then looked even more confused when he said it wasn’t at her. She shook her head. “Daddy, you don’t mean that…” she whispered.
Honestly she didn’t want to talk about what happened or the man that she was now running from. She didn’t want to talk about him or any of the things he had done to her. She was willing to take all of the blame. Disappearing had been her choice. Never because she was forced. But then as he said that he was glad she was alive to give an apology, she whimpered. She dropped her head, swallowing hard. “I-“ she began to speak, but it felt like sandpaper on the inside of her throat, like she had swallowed a marble. “Daddy…” she whimpered, throwing herself at him and wrapping her arms around him. She buried her face against his chest, closing her eyes tight. “I’m so sorry… I should have asked for help when I had the chance…”
Thierry caught her before she'd fully reached him, his arms wrapping around her with an instinct that had never left, no matter how many years had passed. He held her tightly against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other settled firmly between her shoulder blades. For a long moment, he didn't speak. He simply held his little girl. His eyes closed as he rested his cheek against her hair, the breath leaving him in a quiet, unsteady exhale. He'd imagined this moment a thousand different ways over the years. In none of them had she felt quite so small. "No," he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "No, bébé. You don't have to carry all of this by yourself anymore." He swallowed hard before continuing. "You should have called us. I would've come. Your mama would've come. Atlas would've come." His voice cracked despite himself. "There isn't a place on this earth I wouldn't have gone to bring you home." He leaned back just enough to look at her, keeping his hands gently on her arms. "I don't need the whole story today. I don't need explanations." His eyes searched hers with quiet certainty. "I just need you to believe me when I tell you this." His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek. "Whatever happened... whatever convinced you that you were alone...You were wrong. And we're going to spend however long it takes proving it to you."
"My bed..." Circe smirked at him. "-but if you sleep in it tonight, by tomorrow morning, it could go back to being our bed." she offered with a bright smile. Looking at him made her entire sense of self melt away. It was not Circe Devereaux. It was Mrs. Thierry Devereaux. She leaned in, kissing him again, unable to resist touching him as much as possible.
When he said several weeks, Circe's eyes lit up. She nodded. "Good, perfect..." She laughed, hugging him tight again. "See, it is your bed. Your apartment... Your wife..." She hummed, brushing her nose against his when he did. "Oh..." The mention of a guided tour made her almost frown. "Blind leading the blind, my love... Aside from the university, the restaurant I have been eating nightly, and the gallery, I don't explore very much." she admitted. Always too distracted. Always too busy. "-but we will explore together..."
Her eyes wandered back toward the painting and she sighed. "I suppose I could make the call now. Rip it off like a bandaid..." She wandered toward the phone and began to dial the number. "They are going to be so very angry..." she sighed. "The Voodoo soul in me doesn't always do customer service well..." Especially when she was being yelled at.
Thierry smiled into the kiss, the expression lingering even after she pulled away. "Mm." His eyes danced with quiet satisfaction. "There it is. My eviction notice has already been rescinded. I had hoped the appeals process would be shorter in Georgia." He watched her for another heartbeat, the way she looked at him, the way she said your wife as though it were still the greatest title either of them had ever earned. "It has always been our bed," he corrected gently. "Distance is inconvenient. It is not legally binding." When she admitted she barely knew the town herself, he smiled. "Perfect. I have restored buildings in cities where I knew fewer streets than I do here." He shrugged lightly. "The best way to learn a place is to get lost in it with someone you enjoy. We'll find the coffee shop that makes terrible espresso but excellent pastries. We'll accidentally take the scenic route three times. You'll show me where Atlas lectures." His smile widened. "And at some point I fully expect someone to tell me a piece of Cypress Cove history that is almost certainly exaggerated." As she began dialing, he noticed the subtle tightening in her shoulders before she'd even spoken a word. Without interrupting, he crossed the room and settled beside her, lifting his hands to rub the tension from her shoulders. "You know," he said quietly enough that only she could hear before the call connected, "they are allowed to be disappointed. They are not allowed to make you responsible for disappointing them. You are giving them the truth." His eyes found hers for just a second. "That is the kindest appraisal anyone can offer." His mouth curved into the faintest smile. "And if they insist on shouting..." he murmured, "...remember that I have spent thirty years negotiating with antique dealers. I find angry collectors oddly nostalgic."
Bones laughed and shook her head, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. “I took your advice. I’m just saying you almost didn’t give it in time and I almost had no choice. Don’t ever make me resort to Google. Eating seafood will kill us if we resort to Google.” She realized she was touching him a little too late and she blushed, pulling her hand away. She took a sip of her Screwdriver. “Your opinion was much needed. I appreciate it.”
“Europe ruins a lot of things. Not just the food…” Bones was more than happy to be home, but she was certainly finding out that America was mundane and she was so freakin’ bored. When he warned her, Bones playfully rolled her eyes. “Don’t lie. You know you are a fine piece of ass. You don’t need a random stranger to tell you that.” She gave him a small wink. When he said he was supposed to meet someone, her heart sank but then he said he’d already done that and she nodded. “Exploring can be good. Opening yourself to new opportunities and new people… I find that my day became significantly more fascinating because you chose not to go home yet.”
Thierry's eyes flicked briefly to her hand when it settled on his arm. "Now who's overthinking things?" he asked with an easy smile, his gaze lifting back to hers after she withdrew her hand. "I wasn't about to let you wander into seafood unsupervised." He chuckled quietly. "Though I appreciate the vote of confidence. My professional reputation as an oyster consultant remains intact." When she declared him a fine piece of ass, he actually laughed, shaking his head as he looked down into his drink for a moment. "You know," he said, "it's been a very long time since anyone has complimented me with quite that particular phrasing." His eyes met hers again, amused. "I'm choosing to take it as high praise." The mention of Europe changing more than food made him pause. "Mm." He nodded once. "That part I understand too." Then she told him her day had become significantly more fascinating because he'd stayed. Thierry studied her for a second, the smile returning to his face. "Well." He lifted his glass in a small toast. "That's fortunate." He tapped the rim lightly against hers. "Because I was just thinking exactly the same thing." Almost on cue, the bartender appeared with a platter, setting down the baked oysters first, followed by the blue crab. Thierry gestured toward the oysters with theatrical seriousness. "All right, Sophia. Moment of truth." He folded his hands on the bar. "I'm invested now, so I'd appreciate it if you show me how well you swallow."
Esme laughed and nodded. "I like being called a professionally qualified food taster. I support that title. Although, this is significantly different than what my family would serve." BBQ pork nachos were a lot more Americanized then some of the things at The Salty Cowboy. It was so good nonetheless. She smirked and offered an innocent little shrug. "It is exactly what an untrustworthy person would say so I guess you have to get the nachos and find out whether I'm trustworthy or not."
As Rhys put a hand on his chest and asked about her emergency hot sauce, Esme nodded. "You don't carry emergency hot sauce? Your food must be really boring..." she teased him, watching him start to walk backwards through the crowd. "You better not take a bite of those nachos until you are back on this bench. I need to see your face when you try them!" she insisted.
Rhys slowed to a stop, turning back toward her. "Hang on," he called, pointing at her now. "You've added terms and conditions. I thought I was just buying lunch. Now I've apparently agreed to a live taste-test with an audience." He laughed to himself, shaking his head. "I've never had someone so invested in my first bite of nachos." He glanced toward the stand again before looking back at her. "And that's coming from someone who's photographed food festivals on three continents." He raised two fingers to his brow, giving her a little salute. "But deal, no bite till I get back." When he reached the ordering window, he found himself glancing back toward the bench again. She was still happily working through her own tray, and despite having met all of five minutes ago, it was strangely entertaining watching someone enjoy themselves so much. His order was finally handed over and he eyed the mountain of barbecue and melted cheese. "You've set the bar dangerously high." True to his word, he resisted the temptation to steal even one chip. "I feel like you're about to judge me harder than any photography critic ever has," he said as he reached her, lowering himself onto the bench beside her. "No pressure or anything." He picked up a single loaded chip but stopped just before taking a bite, glancing sideways at her before popping it into his mouth.
Dutton chuckled, watching Apple closely. "I can imagine it will be really hard for him to go back to regular life. Back to the mundane, not having new friends giving him snackies every five seconds." He gave a small little click of his tongue, reaching through the fence to pet Apple's nose. "He is just very handsome and deserves to be told it ever five seconds..."
As they introduced themselves, Dutton gave a small nod. "That's why you are so confident that he is a little menace... Children always behave worse for their parents." He took a small step back, tucking his hands in his pockets. "He probably recognizes that I, too, am little so it gets me special privileges for long term friendships.
Beck shook her head with a small laugh. “Well, now you're just encouragin' him,” she said. “Next thing you know he's gonna expect applause every time he walks into the barn.” She watched Apple happily nudge at Dutton's hand again before looking back at him with a grin. “I think you've got a point there. They always save their best behavior for company.” She rested her elbows on the fence. “Meanwhile, I get attitude if breakfast's two minutes late.” At his theory, she laughed again. “You know what? I bet you're onto somethin'.” Her gaze flicked between Dutton and Apple. “He's probably lookin' at you thinkin', finally, somebody who understands the struggle of everyone else puttin' things on the top shelf.” Her smile softened into something a little more thoughtful. “I don't think Apple cares much what people look like, though.” She reached over to rub the little horse's forelock affectionately. “Long as you're kind to him, he's pretty convinced you're worth knowin'. Animals are refreshingly uncomplicated that way.” She glanced back toward Dutton with an easy smile. “So... do you always spend your carnival visits making lifelong friends with livestock, or is Apple just the lucky one today?”
Sadie shrugged. "I like making friends and sometimes your best friends are the ones that you use kindergarten techniques on..." she teased, "Do you remember how easy it was in kindergarten? You just walked up to someone and started playing with them. Instant best friend..." She watched Nora step up and peak into the baker box. She smiled and shrugged innocently. "I have good taste..."
When Nora suggested that Georgia or Cypress Cove had a way about taking care of people, Sadie shook her head. "I can't relate because I am from New York and nobody takes care of anyone in New York. Dog eat dog out there. But aren't the O'Reilly almost more Irish than Georgian or Cypress Coven..." She teased, almost laughing at the way she made up words.
"All those things apply to everyone, including me, but I'm still eager to make it work." She gave a firm nod before taking a pastry herself and taking a small bite. She shrugged. "I don't really know. I just always cared about people and I always wanted to make their lives easier. I always wanted to be everyone's friend..."
Nora laughed softly, shaking her head. "You know, I don't actually remember kindergarten very well." She leaned against the counter, taking another small bite of the lemon cake. "But I'm fairly certain walking up to strangers and announcing you're their best friend gets a little less effective after you're six." She glanced down at the cake before pointing the fork toward Sadie. "Although..." She swallowed. "If pastries are involved, maybe you've found a loophole." The mention of the O'Reillys drew another smile. "That's probably true." She shook her head lightly. "But I secretly hope Colm never loses his accent." She watched Sadie as she explained. "That's..." She searched for the right word. "Kind...Doesn't it get exhausting, though?" she asked honestly. "Wanting to help everyone?" She leaned back against the counter. "Maybe that's the part I don't understand." Her gaze met Sadie's. "Because I know people who care deeply about the handful of people they love. I'd do anything for Nina. For Seth.. But everyone?" She gave a small, almost apologetic shrug. "I don't know if I'm wired that way."
Nora stood outside the front door for almost two full minutes. She'd dropped Nina off with Seth a little while ago. Nina had practically skipped inside after reminding Nora, very matter-of-factly, that Seth made better grilled cheese than she did. Now she was here, staring at a door. It wasn't that she didn't know how to ask someone on a date. It was that she couldn't remember the last time she'd wanted to. For years, every decision had belonged to someone else. Every outing had been monitored, questioned, approved, or turned into an argument. Somewhere along the way she'd stopped wondering what she wanted because wanting things had become exhausting. Now she wanted something. She opened the door and stepped inside, finding him in the living room. "...Hi." The word came out far too formal for someone she'd shared a roof with for months. "I was wondering..." She hesitated. "Would you..." She sighed. "I had this planned...I wanted to ask if you'd go on a date with me." She looked up quickly before she could lose her nerve. "I know we've had dinners together and movie nights and..." She smiled to herself. "Whatever it is we do where we accidentally end up spending every evening together. But we've never actually gone on a date." She gave him a small smile. "I thought..." She looked back at him. "Maybe we could."
Bastian was pretty sure he enjoyed taking Bennett for his daily walk along the beach just as much a Bennett did. It was a nice way to unwind after a long day and as much as Bastian had tried to escape the town he had to admit Cypress Cove was beautiful. Especially this time of day as the sunset and painted everything in gorgeous hues of pink, and orange. Bastian was so enamored by the stunning view that he hadn't noticed his grip on Bennett's leash slipping.
The next thing he knew Bennett had broken free of his grasp and was bounding happily towards another figure making their way down the beach. "Bennett!" He called after him. "Get back here right now!" He said chasing after his dog. "Bad boy." Bastian scolded Bennett after he reached them and was able to grab ahold of his leash again. "I am so sorry. He never does this. I don't know what got into him." He insisted apologetically. "Are you okay?" He asked.
Rhys had been halfway back toward shore when the dog appeared. One second he was carrying his board tucked beneath one arm, barefoot and damp from the evening surf. The next, a blur of fur came barreling across the sand toward him with all the confidence of someone who clearly believed every stranger existed solely to admire him. "Mate, you've got some speed on you," Rhys laughed as Bennett skidded to a stop nearby, tail wagging hard enough to threaten structural integrity. He crouched automatically, reaching out to scratch behind the dog's ears just as Bastian caught up. At the apology, Rhys glanced up and immediately shook his head. "No, no. You're alright." His Australian accent rolled easily through the words. "I've had far more dangerous encounters than an overly friendly dog." He stood, shifting the surfboard against his hip while Bennett continued attempting to make himself the center of the conversation. "Pretty sure he's apologised already anyway." Rhys nodded toward the dog's enthusiastic tail. "Or he's demanding payment in belly rubs. Hard to tell." His eyes dropped briefly to Bennett before returning to Bastian. "I'm fine. Promise." Rhys offered his free hand. "Rhys Hale."
Text Message --> Thierry Devereaux: Thierry Devereaux, I know for a fact that you did not come into this town and not bother to stop and say hi to me. You know, that really hurts. I thought I was more important to you than that, but no. Not you. Not Circe. Neither one of you stopped to say hi to me! I'm gonna call Mama and she is going to whoop your butt the next time she sees you! Now, turn around before I slap you with this menu.
Chord quickly hit the send button and then stepped up and swatted Thierry in the back of the head with the menu. She immediately laughed and tossed her arms around his neck, hugging him from behind. "Hi, big brother... You know you missed me..." She teased him, leaning in and kissing his cheek. She stepped around and took an uninvited seat in the empty chair across from him. "When did you get into town?"
Thierry had just lifted his wine glass when his phone buzzed. His eyes dropped to the screen. Then narrowed as he started to read the text before widening slightly. "Mon Dieu." He just finished reading as the menu smacked the back of his head. He closed his eyes for a second, already knowing exactly who it was. "There she is." He caught her arm as she draped herself around his shoulders, turning his head just enough to accept the kiss to his cheek before reaching up to pat her hand. "First of all," he said, looking offended, "that was assault." Then he turned in his chair to look at her properly. "Second of all..." His hand came up to cup the side of her face briefly. "Hello, bébé." There was a warmth in his expression that very few people ever saw. Not the polished charm and easy confidence. When she dropped into the chair across from him, Thierry leaned back and sighed dramatically. "You sent the text and attacked me before I even had a chance to answer." His gaze narrowed. "Which means you never intended to give me a chance to defend myself." He pointed a finger at her, shaking his head. "I got into town a few days ago." He lifted his glass before she could object. "And before you start, I was working. Circe was working. We were going to come see you this weekend...Probably...Eventually." The smile he was trying to suppress finally won. "You know, for someone threatening to call Mama, you seem awfully happy to see me." His eyes flicked toward the menu she had weaponized. "Are you planning to order dinner, or did you come here strictly to commit acts of sibling aggression?"
Esmeralda laughed. “My family owns The Salty Cowboy so any time I get nachos from a different place and it gets that sort of reaction, you know it has to be good…” She smiled softly, taking another one of the chips and taking a bite. She tried her best to keep her face even, but damn, these were so good. She did a little side shimmy. “You can’t trust everyone who says trust me! That’s horrible and dangerous, but you can trust me. I would never put you in a life or death situation. But these are pretty good…” She promised, smiling at him.
As he tried to mimic her facial expression, Esme bushed and cleared her throat. She watched him step back toward the food line. She shrugged. “If you get some of these nachos, I will share some of my emergency hot sauce.”
Rhys laughed at the little shimmy, the sound warm and easy as he paused halfway toward the food stand. “There it is again,” he said, pointing at her with mock accusation. “That reaction. Nobody does a happy dance over mediocre food.” The mention of her family owning The Salty Cowboy made his eyebrows lift. “Right, so you're not just some random carnival attendee. You're professionally qualified.” He nodded thoughtfully. He glanced between her and the tray again, watching her attempt and completely fail to hide how much she was enjoying it. “And for the record,” he added, “the phrase you can't trust everyone who says trust me, but you can trust me sounds exactly like something somebody untrustworthy would say.” He teased. When she offered the emergency hot sauce, he stopped walking altogether and pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. “Emergency hot sauce?” he repeated. “You carry hot sauce around with you? Actually, no. Don't answer that. I feel like the mystery's better.” Shaking his head, he finally turned toward the stand again, beginning to back away through the crowd. “Alright, you've convinced me. If I disappear for twenty minutes, assume I've either found enlightenment through barbecue or gotten distracted photographing a goat wearing a ribbon somewhere.” He started walking backward another few steps before calling over the noise of the carnival. “And if these nachos are as good as advertised, I'll consider the hot sauce."
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