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Eddie’s been through worse than this.
Structure fires, highway pileups, forty-eight hour shifts where he ends up covered in blood or some other bodily fluid, or worse.
But none of that has prepared him for the absolute chaos that is a Saturday morning at the aquarium.
He’s been standing in the same spot for twenty minutes, sweating through his t-shirt, inching forward with a crowd of tourists who apparently think “line” means “vague clump of humanity.” A toddler’s wailing about a balloon somewhere ahead, a stroller keeps tagging his calf from behind, and Eddie’s patience is dissolving by the minute.
Christopher doesn’t notice any of it, his crutches click lightly on the pavement with every half-inch they move forward and he’s got a little notebook tucked into his pocket, insistent on collecting as many “fun facts” as possible. He’s been talking about this trip for weeks—practically begging—until Eddie finally promised they’d go the next time he got a full day off.
Now here they are. The one day Eddie could’ve slept in, and instead he’s about to pay fifty bucks (per person) to have fish stare at him judgmentally behind two panes of glass.
He’s not ungrateful. He loves that Chris is this happy—loves to be the person making him this happy. He’d take every day off for the rest of his life doing whatever Chris wanted and never feel like he’s missed out on a single thing as long as he gets to see his son smile as big as he is right now—it’s just, he’s tired. His eyes feel gritty, his head’s still half back at the firehouse, at their last call—a call he’d be happy to never think about again but weighs on him all the same. And to top it all off, it’s about one hundred and ten degrees outside, the sun testing his ability to keep a smile on his face despite his current internal misery.
At the front of the line, a guy in khaki shorts and a bright blue polo is waving his arms to direct traffic.
He’s tall, tanned, hair sticking up in a messy kind of way that probably takes effort. His badge says Aquarium Staff, and underneath it, a sticker that says, call me “Buck.”
Eddie thinks that can’t be his real name, and if it’s not, he wonders where the nickname comes from, though honestly, the name at all feels redundant. The man looks like a “Buck.” Overly chipper, a smile that shows too much teeth, optimism radiating off him in waves, hurting Eddie’s ability to stay firmly planted in his pity party.
“Okay folks!” Buck calls out, hands cupped around his mouth in a mock megaphone. “If you’re in line for tickets, stay to the right! Members and online reservations, left side! And just a heads up—the jellyfish tunnel is closed today, but don’t worry, the sea turtle rehab exhibit is fully open!”
Christopher perks up immediately, half-focused as he tries to talk while also listening to the abundance of sea turtle facts Buck is spouting off. “Dad, did you hear that? Sea turtles!”
“I heard,” Eddie says, smiling down at him, adamant to keep his bad mood to himself.
Buck continues, somehow not sweating at all in the heat. “Beautiful day for the aquarium, huh? Keep those hats on, stay hydrated, and we’ll get everyone inside soon!”
Eddie mutters under his breath, “Sure. Can’t wait.” Then, without meaning to, he rolls his eyes. Not at Buck exactly—just at the situation, the crowd, the noise, the overstimulation of everything combined.
Except, with his good luck, Buck’s looking right at him when it happens.
Their eyes meet for half a second. Buck’s smile falters, just enough for Eddie to notice and feel a pang of guilt, enough for an intrusive thought to slip in: he smiles too pretty to ever be frowning. Followed by the dissatisfaction of being the one that put that frown on his face. Followed by a moment of panic when he realizes, did I just call another man pretty?
The corners of Buck’s mouth twitch, the bright, practiced enthusiasm dimming like someone flicked a switch.
Eddie looks away immediately, clenching his jaw, pretending to focus on Christopher, but he can feel the weight of the moment—of Buck’s eyes still on him. When he looks back up, risking a glance, Buck gives him a disappointed scowl—one he’s used to getting from his mom but not the cu—no, seemingly friendly aquarium employee. Somehow it didn’t take more than three words to offend the human embodiment of sunshine.
Christopher tugs on his sleeve, oblivious to the encounter. “Dad, do you think the sea turtles will be awake?”
“Yeah, buddy,” Eddie says. “Bet they’re all wide awake.”
…Unlike him.
By the time they finally reach the doors, Eddie’s convinced the line is actually a test of moral endurance. He’s sweating, his back aches, and the blast of cool air inside feels like an act of God.
He’s fishing his wallet out, thinking about how overpriced aquarium tickets are, when a familiar voice greets them:
“Welcome to the aquarium! Big day planned?”
Eddie looks up.
Of course it’s him.
Buck’s standing behind the counter now, still in that bright polo, hair slightly mussed from the humidity but somehow looking even more annoyingly good. His badge gleams in the overhead lights.
Christopher’s face lights up. “It’s you! You were outside!”
Buck leans forward a little, the smile he gives Chris actually genuine. “Hey, I remember you! You excited to meet our turtles?”
“Yes!” Chris says, practically bouncing. “I brought my notebook to take notes! I wanna be a marine biologist someday!”
“That’s awesome,” Buck says warmly. Then his eyes flick to Eddie—and the smile drops. Just barely. Still polite, still customer-service friendly, but there’s a distinct edge now, a fakeness, a hint of I remember your stupid face, eye-roll guy.
Eddie gives a tight smile back. “Yeah, he’s been looking forward to this all week.”
Buck nods. “Beautiful day to be here, huh?” His tone is cheerful, but it’s the kind of cheer that feels... pointed. As if he’s mastered the art of weaponizing politeness when it comes to assholes that can’t be bothered to wait patiently.
Eddie, too tired to notice the landmine he’s walking toward, exhales and mutters, “Yeah, nothing like spending half my paycheck to watch fish that are stuck in a cage their whole lives.”
Buck blinks once. Twice. The fake cheer drops completely for a second before he pastes it back on. “Well, good news,” he says, his voice a notch flatter, “most of them are rescues. They wouldn’t survive in the wild, so they’re plenty happy letting us take care of them.”
Eddie winces. “I didn’t mean—I’m sure you’re—sorry. Long morning.”
“Sure,” Buck says lightly, but it’s obvious he’s still annoyed. “That’ll be one-oh-eight even.”
Christopher, blissfully unaware, is marveling at the shark plushies near the register. Eddie pays, murmuring a thanks.
Buck slides the tickets over, smiling professionally again but not quite reaching his eyes. “Enjoy the aquarium,” he says. Then, pointedly to Christopher, “You’re gonna love the sea turtles, buddy.”
“I will!” Chris says, grinning.
Eddie’s cheeks are hot as they move away from the counter. He tells himself it doesn’t matter—he’s not here to make friends. Still, when he glances back, he catches Buck watching them walk away, his expression unreadable and Eddie can’t help but wish Buck liked him.
And for reasons he doesn’t really want to think about, that sticks with him.
The aquarium is darker, making the sound of the crowds vibrating off the walls feel softer. The first few exhibits are small tanks filled with glowing coral and schools of colorful fish darting in synchronized flashes. Christopher’s in awe, pressing his face close to every piece of glass, taking notes with his tiny mechanical pencil, obviously conducting serious research for his future career as a marine biologist.
Eddie lingers behind him, taking everything in. The hum of the filtration systems fills the silence, and for the first time all day, the headache behind his eyes begins to ease.
They wander into the big coral tunnel—the one that curves overhead like a glass cocoon, blue light rippling through every inch. Sea turtles glide lazily above, and Christopher gasps out loud, “Dad! Look!”
Eddie looks. And yeah—okay, he can admit, it’s pretty damn cool.
He’s just starting to let himself relax fully when a familiar voice carries through the tunnel, low and easy but somehow booming right through the murmur of the crowd.
“—and that bright one right there? That’s a parrotfish. Fun fact—they actually make sand. Like, real sand. They eat coral, digest it, and then—uh, well, let’s just say they’re nature’s sand factories.”
Christopher whips around, already changing course before Eddie can steer him in the other direction. “It’s the guy from the front!”
Eddie groans quietly, but it’s too late—Buck’s leading a small group of kids through the tunnel, moving his hands to form what Eddie can only guess is his best attempt at a—actually, no. Eddie has no clue what the fuck he’s trying to do. He’s wearing a headset mic now, the low timbre of his voice amplified just enough for the nearby group to hear. And despite Eddie’s earlier impression, he’s... good at this. He’s confident but not obnoxious, patient when kids interrupt him, and every time he explains something, his whole face lights up.
It’s almost unfair, how much Eddie’s heart jumps in his chest when this random stranger smiles.
“Can we go listen?” Christopher asks, already inching closer.
“Yeah, go ahead,” Eddie says, following at a slower pace.
Buck spots them halfway through his spiel, and falters mid-sentence when he sees Eddie. That polite smile flickers back on—this time not quite fake, but cautious.
“Hey, it’s you guys again,” he says, stepping away from the tour group once it disperses. “You finding everything okay?”
Christopher nods enthusiastically. “We saw the turtles! And the sharks! And did you know octopuses have three hearts?”
Buck grins. “I did. You’ve got your facts down, man.”
Christopher beams, proud. Eddie hangs back, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
Buck glances over at him briefly. “You holding up, or are we losing you to tank fatigue already?”
Eddie huffs out a small laugh. “I’m surviving.”
“Good,” Buck says, still smiling. Then, quieter, “Wouldn’t want to waste your paycheck.”
Eddie freezes, before chuckling, embarrassed. “Okay, I deserved that.”
Buck raises an eyebrow, but the edge in his expression softens. “Yeah, kinda.”
Christopher, still too focused on the fish to focus on anything else, tugs on Buck’s sleeve. “Can you tell us about that one?” He points at a stingray gliding along the glass.
Buck crouches easily, elbows resting on his knees. “That’s a cownose ray. See the little dip in its face? That’s why it’s called that. They’re super gentle, even though they look kind of scary.”
Eddie watches him for a moment. There’s no performative cheer now, just genuine warmth. Buck’s completely focused on Christopher, answering every question with real excitement, never talking down to him. It’s... nice. Nice and terrifying and making Eddie feel… weird.
When Buck finishes explaining, Christopher asks, “Do you work with the turtles too?”
“Sometimes,” Buck says, glancing back toward the rehab tanks at the far end of the hall. “Mostly I help with tours and education stuff. But I got to help feed our oldest sea turtle once—she’s over fifty years old.”
“Whoa,” Christopher says, eyes wide.
Buck grins. “Yeah. I told her she didn’t look a day over forty.”
That earns a laugh from Chris and—unfortunately—from Eddie, too.
Buck catches it, smiling wider now. “See? He laughs. I was starting to think all you did was scowl at other people’s happiness.”
Eddie shakes his head, sighing, “It’s been… a long week.”
Buck nods once, then gestures toward the next hall. “If you guys haven’t been to the tide pool yet, it’s through there. You can touch the rays.”
Christopher’s already on the move, dragging Eddie by the hand. “Come on, Dad!”
Buck stands, watching them go. “He’s got good taste,” he says.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, glancing back at Buck. “He really does.”
Eddie isn’t sure what possessed him to say it, but he swears he sees a blush spread across Buck’s cheeks before they turn the corner.
The touch pool is packed. There’s a line of kids on their tiptoes, their sleeves rolled up, reaching into the shallow water while a few parents hover behind them pretending not to be grossed out. Eddie can’t blame them, considering he can see a band-aid floating in the water across the tank. One poor mom is trying (and failing) to keep her kid from diving head first into the water. Christopher’s practically vibrating at the edge, notebook tucked under one arm, waiting for permission to start what Eddie has no doubt Chris would describe as the best moment of his life.
Eddie’s smiling, the first genuine, unprompted one of the day, before he realizes it. He doesn’t even care about the smell, or the screaming, or the fact that they’ve been in yet another line for another twenty minutes—Chris is happy, and that’s all that matters to him, that’s all he wants to focus on.
Well, that is until he hears that voice again. It’s starting to feel like that voice is gravity to him, or a magnet. Because as soon as it registers, Eddie’s head is snapping up.
“Hey! You guys made it.”
Buck’s making his way through the crowd right as they near the front of the line—no headset this time, and his hair is damp. Eddie starts to wonder if he just washed up or maybe dunked his head into one of the tanks for fun. He looks like the type that would do that, that would say he was getting the first-hand experience of how the fish felt. Somehow, that thought makes Eddie’s heart flutter and sing a happy little tune. Stupid, traitorous heart—he doesn’t even know this guy. And better yet, this guy is in fact, a guy.
He looks less like a tour guide now and more like an easy version of himself. His sleeves are rolled up to expose tan forearms that are scattered with freckles Eddie refuses to acknowledge, let alone admit to noticing or staring at or thinking about touching with his hands or his lips or his—yeah, that's enough.
Christopher grins. “Buck! I’m gonna touch the stingray!”
Buck crouches beside him, smiling. “That’s the best one here. Okay, so here’s the trick—you wanna use two fingers, gentle strokes, right down the middle. Almost like petting a really wet cat.”
Chris giggles, and Eddie snorts before he can stop himself. Buck glances up at the sound, his grin going crooked.
“You think I’m kidding?” he asks, eyes catching Eddie’s. “Try it. You’ll see what I mean.”
“I’m good,” Eddie says quickly. “I’m not really a… touch-the-creature kind of guy.”
Buck’s mouth twitches. “Oh, come on. Live a little.”
He’s teasing, not pushy, but there’s something playful underneath—something that makes Eddie’s stomach flip like he’s just missed a step on the stairs. He looks anywhere else, pretending to adjust Christopher’s sleeve.
Buck leans his elbows on the edge of the pool, close enough that Eddie catches the faint clean scent of his soap, something sharp and oceanic. Of course it’s oceanic. Probably has kelp in it or something.
Christopher dips his fingers in and gasps when a ray brushes by. “It’s so soft!”
Buck lights up as if that’s the best thing he’s heard all day. “See? They’re amazing, right?”
Eddie folds his arms, watching them. Buck doesn’t talk to Chris like he’s a kid, he talks with him, carefully answering every question with actual thought. It’s the same patience Eddie uses when Chris’s homework turns into tangents about dinosaurs. It hits him in a weird place in his chest, the stupid fluttery feeling coming back.
Then Buck looks up at him again. “You sure you don’t wanna try?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Scared?” Buck asks, smiling, all harmless teasing.
Eddie opens his mouth to say something smart, except nothing comes out. Just a strangled sound that could be mistaken for a laugh if you’re generous.
Buck’s grin turns a little mischievous as he leans in closer, whispering. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you if they get aggressive.”
And that—yeah, that shouldn’t do anything. It’s clearly a joke. But Eddie’s brain short-circuits anyway. Protect you.
He’s not twelve. He’s not flustered. He’s—
He’s definitely not flustered by a guy who works with fish.
He’s definitely not flustered by a guy, period.
Buck dips his hand in the water, demonstrating, and the muscles in his forearm shift under tan skin. Eddie immediately looks away, staring at an informational sign and pretending it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
“Cownose Rays—Did You Know?”
No. He did not know. He does not want to know. He wants to leave.
“Hey, Dad!” Christopher calls. “Buck says they have sharks you can feed!”
“Yeah?” Eddie says, clearing his throat. “That’s… great.”
Buck laughs softly. It’s quiet, genuine, and definitely directed at him. “You okay there?”
“I’m fine,” Eddie lies. “Just—just taking it all in.”
“Good,” Buck says, still smiling. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the magic.”
The words are teasing, but there’s warmth behind them. He means it. And that, more than anything, throws Eddie completely off balance.
Christopher’s back to scribbling in his notebook, absorbed in some new observation. Buck straightens, brushing water off his hands, and glances toward the hallway leading to the next exhibit.
“You guys headed to the sea otters next?” he asks. “If you time it right, you can grab a spot right near the front. Best splash zone in the place.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, his voice coming out a little rougher than he means it to. “Thanks.”
Buck’s grin softens. “Anytime.” He gives Christopher a small salute. “See you out there, buddy.”
Christopher waves enthusiastically, and Buck winks before turning to leave.
And if anyone saw him watching Buck as he walked away, he’d deny it.
By the time they reach the otter enclosure, Christopher’s excitement has evolved into something close to religious fervor. He’s halfway to the front before Eddie can blink, and Eddie’s trying to keep up while also trying to push a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed phenomenon out of his head completely.
Eddie’s barely processed any of the information booming through the loud speaker about feeding times and splash zones (who the hell has a splash zone for an otter enclosure?) He’s still trying to shake the memory of Buck’s grin and the sound of his voice at the touch pool — that teasing Scared? I’ll protect you looping in his head like an embarrassing song he can’t turn off.
He sits beside Christopher, scanning the crowd, trying to focus on anything other than the way his pulse won’t calm down.
Then, naturally, because the universe is cruel, Buck appears again. A jump scare, but instead of being horrified, Eddie’s body is decidedly delighted at Buck’s presence. Something it definitely didn’t consult his brain about.
He’s hanging out on a platform this time, holding a bucket of fish, talking to one of the trainers. He’s got a towel slung over his shoulder, shirt a little damp, curls sticking up at the edges after drying a bit from earlier.
Eddie swallows hard.
He’s not staring. He’s definitely not staring. He’s just… looking in the general direction of a man who happens to be wearing damp khaki shorts that fit really well. That’s not a crime.
Buck glances up mid-conversation and spots them. The smile that spreads across his face is instant and bright, and Eddie can’t tell if it’s friendly or—worse—directed at him.
Christopher waves, thrilled. Buck waves back, then jogs over.
“Hey! You made it to the main event,” Buck says, stopping beside them. “Good spot, too. Splash zone’s prime real estate.”
Christopher grins. “We’re gonna get soaked!”
“Only if you’re lucky.” Buck looks at Eddie. “You don’t seem like a splash zone kind of guy, though.”
Eddie raises an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Buck shrugs, pretending to think. “I don’t know. You just strike me as the stay-dry type. Responsible. Probably carries a towel in the car.”
Eddie blinks, caught completely off guard by the accuracy. “I—yeah, actually.”
“Knew it.”
He says it so easily, like they’ve known each other for years, and Eddie’s brain does that thing again where all rational thought goes fuzzy around the edges.
He clears his throat, trying to sound normal. “Well, someone has to keep him from catching a cold.”
“Sure, but where’s the fun in that? Getting a little messy’s half the point.”
Eddie’s stomach does something dangerous at that phrasing. He looks away fast, pretending to adjust Christopher’s hat, because there is absolutely no universe where he’s going to engage with that sentence.
Buck seems to realize the effect—because when Eddie finally looks back up, Buck’s smirking, eyes glinting with something way too close to mischief.
“You okay there?” he asks, casual but not really. “You look a little flushed.”
Eddie stares at him. “I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh,” Buck says, unconvinced. “Could be the heat. Or, you know… something else.”
Eddie’s brain: Don’t engage, don’t engage, do not engage—
“It’s the heat.”
Eddie says, in the comfortable seventy-two degrees the air-conditioning is continuously pumping through the building.
Buck laughs under his breath, clearly enjoying himself.
And Eddie—Eddie’s spiraling. His mind is running a hundred miles an hour, tripping over itself. What the hell is happening? He’s flirting with you. Is he flirting with you? No, he’s just friendly. He’s like that with everyone. Probably. Except you’re not imagining the way he looks at you. Oh God, stop thinking about it. Stop looking at him. Stop—
“Dad, look! They’re feeding the otters!”
Eddie jolts back to reality. “Right, yeah—otters. Great. Very—very cool.”
Buck glances at him one more time, grinning, before jogging back to the platform. The crowd claps as the otters do a few tricks, sleek bodies gliding effortlessly through the water. It’s amazing and really quite cute, and Eddie wants to focus on that—but all he can see is Buck, standing there, laughing as one of them splashes him straight in the chest as it jumps in too close to him.
The water hits him hard, and for a second, Buck’s expression freezes—then he bursts out laughing, pushing his wet hair back from his face. His shirt clings to him, completely soaked through, and Eddie’s brain short-circuits again.
He’s officially losing it.
He’s a thirty-something single dad, sitting in a crowded room surrounded by children, having what can only be described as a crisis over a man who feeds fish and small mammals for a living.
If that wasn’t enough, when Buck looks up and catches him watching, he winks.
Winks.
Eddie looks away so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash.
Christopher, clearly focused on Buck getting doused in water, is laughing his head off. “Dad! He’s so funny!”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, voice faint. “Hilarious.”
When the show ends, Buck climbs up to the railing, still damp, grinning as the crowd filters out. He stops next to them again, shaking water off his hair and directly onto Eddie like an overgrown Labrador.
“See? Told you the splash zone was the best.”
“Sure,” Eddie says, eyes fixed firmly on the ground.
Buck leans an elbow on the railing, smiling down at him. “You missed out. You’d look good soaked.”
Eddie’s brain shuts down entirely. Just gone.
There are no words. No coherent thoughts. Just static.
Christopher laughs like this is the funniest thing in the world, and Eddie manages to choke out, “We’re—we’re gonna go find the turtles again.”
Buck, clearly amused, straightens up. “Good plan. I’ll see you around.”
He walks off, still smiling, and Eddie exhales the longest breath he can’t even remember consciously holding.
Christopher’s still talking about everything he’s seeing, completely unbothered, while Eddie trails behind him, trying very hard not to think about the fact that some guy named Buck, of all things, has completely tipped his world on its axis.
He’s fine. Totally, wonderfully great and happy and good.
Just a straight, normal guy having a completely normal reaction to a completely normal situation.
They’ve circled half the aquarium before Eddie notices they’re being followed—or maybe sought out. He’s not sure which until he hears that same too-bright voice behind them, closer than coincidence allows.
“Hey! I was hoping I’d find you two.”
Eddie turns, already braced for it. Buck’s there again, somehow dryer than he should be after the otter debacle, curls still a little damp but determinedly tamed, a new polo shirt clinging in all the right ways.
He looks like someone who’s never been defeated by a day’s work in his life, which would almost be irritating if it weren’t also so stupidly endearing.
Christopher’s thrilled. “Buck! You came back!”
“Of course I did,” Buck says easily, grinning. Couldn’t leave without checking on my most promising protégé.”
Eddie folds his arms, fighting the involuntary warmth in his chest. “Don’t you have other tourists to charm?”
Buck meets his gaze. “I’m on break. Thought I’d use it wisely.”
“By stalking us through the shark exhibit?”
“By hanging out with two people who don’t think I’m insane for my enthusiastic love for sea life,” Buck says. “Well, at least one of them doesn’t.”
Eddie exhales, trying not to smile. “I wasn’t being critical.”
“You rolled your eyes.”
“I roll my eyes at everyone.”
“Wow,” Buck gasps, “and here I thought I was special.”
Eddie stares at him, completely still, while something traitorous beneath his ribs stirs to life. He doesn’t dignify it with a response. Christopher’s already moved toward the glass, completely enthralled by the shadow of a passing shark, which leaves Eddie alone with Buck and the strange awareness buzzing between them.
Buck leans casually against the wall, looking far too comfortable for someone who just admitted to borderline harassment. “You’ve got a good kid,” he says. “Polite. Smart. Way more patient than you.”
Eddie glances down at Christopher, who’s currently narrating a shark’s imaginary inner thoughts, and mutters, “He takes after his mom.”
Buck doesn’t look away from him. “I think he takes after you.”
Eddie turns toward the tank, pretending to study the water. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” Buck says simply. “You showed up tired and still made the day about him. That’s not nothing.”
There’s no teasing this time, no grin to hide behind, just quiet certainty. It catches Eddie off guard, caught up in a moment he wasn’t prepared to admit existed.
He clears his throat. “You’re observant.”
“Occupational hazard,” Buck says. “Also, it’s kind of obvious.”
Eddie hums, feigning neutrality. “You always this forward with strangers?”
“Only the ones I can’t stop thinking about.”
Eddie looks at him then, really looks, and realizes Buck’s closer than before—leaning against the same stretch of wall, elbows nearly brushing his. The proximity feels intentional. So does the way Buck’s watching him, head tilted, his mouth barely curved. There’s something patient in his expression, like he’s giving Eddie time to notice the implication.
And Eddie does notice. He just refuses to acknowledge it.
He’s been in his share of complicated situations. Emotional ones, messy ones. He’s lived through war zones and sleepless nights and a marriage that was over long before he said it out loud. He’s handled panic and grief and the strange loneliness that sits heavy in his chest when the world keeps turning without you.
He’s never been undone by a man standing too close in a public aquarium, though.
He tells himself Buck’s friendliness is part of the job, a kind of institutional cheerfulness that’s been misinterpreted by sleep deprivation and low blood sugar. But there’s nothing professional about the way Buck’s eyes linger on him when he laughs quietly at something Chris says. There’s no customer-service excuse for how the air between them narrows every time one of them speaks.
Buck breaks the silence first. “I get an hour for lunch,” he says, “Already used fifteen minutes finding you.”
Eddie lifts a brow. “That supposed to make me feel flattered or guilty?”
“Depends,” Buck breathes. “Are you flattered?”
Eddie doesn’t answer. He wants to. He shouldn’t. His heart betrays him anyway, thrumming in a way that feels unduly reckless for a man his age.
Chris calls out something about turtles, eager to move on. Eddie seizes it like a lifeline. “Guess that’s our cue…”
Buck doesn’t move, and Eddie looks back to see if he’s following, motioning with his head for Buck to start walking. “You sure?” he asks.
“‘Course. Wouldn’t want you to have wasted fifteen minutes of your break for nothing.”
“O-oh,” Buck stutters, falling in step behind him. “Yeah, wouldn’t want that. Plus, I could give Chris the grand finale when we get to the turtles. I know all their names.”
Eddie turns slightly, caught between retreat and curiosity. “You named the turtles?”
“Of course. Someone has to give them personalities. Otherwise it’s just… random animals in water.”
Eddie tries not to smile. “Of course you’d be the one to do it though, I’m not fully convinced you aren’t crazy.”
Buck nods gravely. “Occupational hazard, remember?”
There’s that grin again—soft, irreverent, just shy of flirtation—but the weight behind it hasn’t disappeared. It’s there, humming beneath every word, every shift in posture.
Eddie doesn’t step back. He doesn’t step closer, either. He just stands there, aware of how small the distance has become, how the space feels charged in a way he can’t categorize.
He tells himself it’s fine. Harmless. A passing thing. Maybe it’s just the lighting, or the strange intimacy of being surrounded by water, or the fact that Buck keeps looking at him as though he’s something worth discovering.
Whatever it is, he’ll deal with it later.
Just not right now, not while his son’s laughing beside a tank and this man with salt-damp hair and an overactive mouth is smiling at him like that. Like he’s already figured out the ending, and he’s just waiting for Eddie to catch up. When his pulse doesn’t spike every time Buck looks at him.
Later. Definitely later.
Later never comes as Buck gets pulled away halfway through what he deemed the ‘grand finale,’ and Eddie would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little disappointed to see him go.
They make it to the gift shop some time later, instantly getting slapped with children screaming and exhausted parents negotiating their way out of having to buy the thirty dollar stuffed animal. Eddie could probably navigate it all with his eyes closed—one of those universal parental battlegrounds where you surrender your wallet for peace.
Chris darts from one display to the next, arms full of indecision: plush sea turtles, shark keychains, a pencil that sparkles when he turns it. Eddie leans on a nearby shelf, smiling despite being dead on his feet. It’s a pleasant exhaustion that comes from a day gone right, regardless of everything that could’ve gone wrong.
He’s thinking about whether coffee could count as dinner when a voice says, “You’re a hard guy to catch.”
Buck.
Eddie tries to stamp down his uncharacteristic happiness at getting to see Buck one more time. “You do realize we’ve seen you more than the actual fish today.”
“And you are welcome for that,” Buck grins. He’s traded the polo for a faded staff hoodie, the sleeves shoved up, the fabric still creased from where it was no doubt shoved into his locker. It makes him look younger, less polished, maybe more real—which makes him even more terrifying where Eddie’s inner turmoil is concerned. “I figured I should say goodbye. Or at least make sure your son didn’t get lost in the gift shop vortex.”
“He’s holding his own,” Eddie says. “He’s tougher than he looks.”
“Wonder where he gets that from.” Buck’s tone is light, but there’s something steady under it, an undercurrent Eddie feels rather than hears.
Christopher turns just then, beaming. “Buck! Look, I found the turtle that looks like Shelby!”
Buck crouches down beside him, that easy, unguarded smile returning. “Perfect choice. She’s one of our favorites.”
“Can you sign her tag?” Christopher asks suddenly, hopeful. “So she remembers you?”
Buck laughs quietly. “Of course she should remember me.” He takes the tag, writes something quick, and hands it back. Christopher squints at it. “‘Keep exploring. —Buck.’ That’s cool.”
“Only for the best guests,” Buck says, standing. His gaze drifts back to Eddie. “You’re gonna have a hard time topping this next weekend.”
“I’ll just fake a shark attack,” Eddie says, tone dry. “That should do it.”
Buck snorts. “Morbid, but effective.”
”Are you, uh—” Eddie shifts nervously, “you’re here every weekend?”
“Yeah,” Buck says. “Saturdays.”
Eddie hums in response, a contemplative answer to a question neither of them voiced.
Will I see you again?
Buck watches Eddie a beat too long, expression softening. “I meant what I said earlier, you know. About you being a good dad.”
“You sure you’re not confusing ‘good dad’ with ‘overly caffeinated chaperone’?”
“No,” Buck says easily. “You’re patient. You pay attention. You don’t realize how much that matters.”
Eddie shifts his weight, unsure what to do with sincerity when it’s aimed at him.
Buck clears his throat. “So, uh, you two headed out?”
Eddie nods, glancing at Chris. “Yeah, right after we pay. Long drive home.”
Buck looks at him, expression unreadable for a beat before he reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls something out. “Then take this,” he says.
“You giving out party favors now?”
“Consider it a souvenir.” Buck hands him a small sticker — a cartoon sea turtle floating above the words Breathe Easy. “I usually give them to the kids, but, uh—” His grin turns small, lopsided. “You look like you could use the reminder more.”
Eddie stares at it for a second longer than necessary, thumb brushing over the smooth surface before he tucks it into his pocket. “Thanks,” he says, quieter now. “Guess I’ll try to remember.”
“Do that,” Buck says softly.
Christopher’s already wandering toward the counter, still chattering about how Shelby might miss him. Eddie swipes his card without looking at the total, before Chris turns for the exit. Eddie follows, but Buck stays there, his hands in his pockets, watching them go. It should feel ordinary, a stranger seeing them off.
It doesn’t.
Eddie hesitates at the doorway. “Hey,” he says. “You, uh—is Buck your real name? Just want to get it right when he inevitably asks me to thank you later.”
Bucks shoulders drop a little, relief flickering across his features. “Yeah, Buck.”
“Buck,” Eddie repeats. “Suits you.”
Buck laughs. “And you?”
“Eddie.”
The grin softens into something warmer. “Good to officially meet you, Eddie.”
Eddie nods once, then turns to catch up with Christopher, who’s waiting by the doors with his new turtle pressed to his chest.
He doesn’t look back. Not because he doesn’t want to—he just knows that if he does, he’ll see Buck still watching, and it’ll be so much harder to walk away.
Later that night, after Christopher’s fallen asleep and the house has gone quiet, Eddie’s emptying his pockets onto the dresser when something small slides out and lands face-up on the wood.
The sticker.
A cartoon turtle drifting through blue water, a reminder to ‘breathe easy’. A reminder that a man he’d known all of two hours could read him better than most people he’s known his whole life.
Eddie picks it up, his thumb tracing the curve of the shell. He tells himself it’s just a cheap sticker, probably handed out by the dozen, but it feels heavier than that, somehow. Lodging itself into his memory and refusing to fade.
It makes him think of Buck’s smile, the effortless confidence he’d perfected. The way Chris had lit up around him, laughing so hard he almost fell over. The way Eddie’s own chest had gone strange and tight when Buck pointed that smile at him.
He tells himself it’s nothing. Just a good day with his kid, and unexpected kindness from a stranger.
Still, when he finishes setting out his things for the morning, he doesn’t throw the sticker away. He doesn’t tuck it in some drawer or toss it to the side. He places it on the nightstand instead, next to his phone and watch, where it’ll be the first thing he sees tomorrow.
He switches off the lamp, the room folding into stillness. The flow from the street filters through the blinds, soft and blue.
He should sleep. He’s tired. He’s been tired all day.
When he closes his eyes, he thinks of salt water. Of laughter. Of Buck’s shy smile when he’d said Eddie’s name.
Just a day, he tells himself.
Nothing more.
But when sleep finally comes, the first thing he dreams of is the sound of water.