The Grey Gull was louder than usual—storm chatter and half-drunk fishermen stacked three conversations deep, the windows rattling softly with the promise of bad weather rolling in. Salt and whiskey hung in the air. You were tucked into the corner booth like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there, your shoulder pressed into Duke Crocker’s chest. His arm was slung around you, easy and familiar, thumb idly brushing against your knuckles where your fingers were laced together.

Duke leaned down just enough to murmur, “You comfortable there, babe?” You tipped your head further into his shoulder in answer, smiling. “Very.”

Across the table, Nathan stood with his beer untouched, posture straight, jaw tight in that way it got when he felt like he was being evaluated instead of invited. Audrey hovered near him, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the two of you like she was trying to solve a puzzle she didn’t remember agreeing to.

Someone—maybe Vince—had started it. The comparison. The joking-not-joking kind that always ended in raised voices and hurt feelings.

“I’m just saying,” Audrey said, lifting her chin, “if you go by the checklist—morals, reliability, emotional stability—Nathan’s perfect.”

A few heads nodded. Nathan shifted, uncomfortable. Duke snorted softly, taking a pull from his beer like he’d heard this song before.

You didn’t move away from Duke. If anything, your fingers tightened with his. “But I like how mine’s a little off-center,” you said calmly. “He’s got Wabi-Sabi.”

Audrey blinked. “You can’t win an argument by making up words.”

Duke turned his head slightly, eyebrow cocked, amusement dancing in his eye. “Ouch. Babe, she just called you out.”

You smiled sweetly. “Wabi-Sabi is an eastern tradition, Audrey. It’s celebrating the beauty in what’s flawed.”

The table went quiet.

You kept going, voice steady. “It’s the cracks that let the light in. The rough edges that tell you something lived, survived. Duke’s not perfect—and thank God for that. He’s honest about what he is. He tries. He shows up when it counts. And he loves like it might be the last thing he ever gets to do.”

Duke’s grip tightened, subtle but grounding. His jaw worked like he wanted to joke it off, but something softer settled in his eyes instead.

Nathan looked down, thoughtful. Audrey’s expression shifted—not defensive, just… contemplative.

Duke finally leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Well,” he drawled, “guess I’m keepin’ my cracks.”

You smiled, resting your head against him as the storm outside finally broke, thunder rolling low and deep—like Haven itself was listening.