07:38 Patrick:why?
07:39 Andy:clean clothes
07:40 Patrick:tell me if you’re leaving. or, keep your ass in my bed until I get back from my run, because I wasn’t finished with you.
07:42 Andy:I’m going to Roslindale this morning and you’re going to Medford, so…
07:43 Patrick:grr
07:43 Andy:?
07:44 Patrick:I’d like to know who scheduled us on opposite sides of town
07:44 Andy:my boss.
07:46 Patrick:I need to have a few words with that asshole.
Islipped myphone into my pocket—this line of conversation was going nowhere good—and headed for the early Gothic cottage. Studying my clipboard, I forced all sexytime thoughts from my head and ignored the repeated vibrations inside my pocket. A narration of his plans for me wasn’t going to fast-forward the time before lunch, and it wasn’t magically depositing me into his bed.
My only option was supervising some demo and thinking about anything other than the thin grasp I had on the storm brewing between Patrick and me.
*
“This doesn’t makesense,” he muttered. I noted the measurements while Patrick’s hands skimmed over the surface of a pale yellow wall. He pivoted, and gestured for me to join him. “Does this feel like the original plaster to you?”
I spent the early morning hours figuring out how things would be different today. We never agreed upon a more-than-sex plan, and I didn’t know how I’d handle it if Patrick wanted to be all cuddly at jobsites. I was down for a quick, silent fuck in a closet on special occasions but I drew the line at holding hands in front of our general contractors—those boys would die laughing if they knew I was with the boss, and any credibility I had built would them would be lost.
Relief did not even begin to describe how I felt when we met up for lunch and things felt normal—or, as normal as they could be when you’re sleeping with your boss and revealing basically every private thought you’ve ever had.
My hands pressed against the wall, and I concentrated on the smooth, seamless texture beneath my skin. “No. This feels like drywall. Drywall with…some kind of faux finish, or a few layers of oil-based paint. It’s too flat for one-hundred-and-thirty-year-old plaster.”
“Exactly,” he murmured, and stepped back from the wall. “But those—” Patrick gestured to the other walls, “aren’t. It’s just this one.”
I shrugged. “A lot of walls are redone when there are electrical or plumbing issues.”
“There are no major junctions here, though.” Patrick took another step back and crossed his arms over his chest, and I seriously considered stroking his bicep. Just for a minute, and just because I could, even though it contradicted everything else in my head. “Let’s bust it open.”
“Patrick. That’s ridiculous.”
He stared at the wall for another moment then strode into the hall. I found him standing in the doorway of the neighboring room, his hands fisted at his side. That was the room—the one where his mother died—and this time, I let my hand rest on his arm.
I always resented that my father died alone on the street, in a sea of strangers, and the opportunity to say goodbye was stolen from me, though I never considered being there—powerlessly watching his final breaths—might have been worse in ways I couldn’t begin to fathom.
Resting my head against Patrick’s shoulder, I squeezed his arm. I knew something about Patrick’s grief. He kept it hidden away, but I saw it. I knew it.
We stayed that way for a few moments, and he covered my hand with his before charging toward the wall adjoining the yellow room.
“It’s the same. This isn’t the original wall. Do we have a sledgehammer around? I might have one in the trunk.”
“No.” I shot him a bland look. “I don’t want a sledgehammer in here until the floors are protected and the original moldings and baseboards are appropriately handled.”
“This doesn’t make sense. He did this for a reason. He wouldn’t put up new walls to fuck with us…there’s a reason.”
Patrick was quiet on the drive back to the city and didn’t say much while we returned to his office. Something was bubbling around in his brain, but he immediately turned his attention to design plans when he reached his desk.
The afternoon quickly faded to evening while I updated my plans with the corrected measurements and printed new copies for the contractors.
He glanced up when I returned with a reel of new designs hot off the printer. “Matt and Riley are downstairs. They want to check out what you have. I told them about the room dimensions and new walls.”
