Just a date.
What was the worst that could happen?
* * *
“Now put the longer peg in the small hole.”
Small hole? Oliver stared at the board in front of him.
“They’re both the same size.”
Seb held up the instruction booklet and pointed to an illustration. “It’s this one.”
Oliver checked the board again. As the only thing board-like in the entire package of parts and bits they’d opened, it had to be right, yet it looked nothing like the black-and-white drawing.
“Let me see that.” He took the page and squinted at it, then held it at arm’s length until the image came into focus again.
“Want to put your glasses on?”
Oliver didn’t need to look at his brother to see the shit-eating grin on his face.
“Shut up.” He set the page down, rotated the board, and popped the peg into place. He smiled up at Seb. “See? No problem.”
Seb snorted and sorted through the remaining selection of screws and brackets on the counter until he found the match and handed it to Oliver. “Same thing, other side.”
Oliver fought his impatience. The chairs were a good idea. People would have a chance to linger in the shop if they felt more comfortable. Foot traffic was harder to come by than he’d expected, and getting them to stay was even harder. But a lack of customers meant money wasn’t exactly plentiful either, so buying the flat-pack, DIY kind had seemed like a reasonable solution at the time. Except he and Seb had been at this for over an hour, and they’d only managed to assemble one and a half out of the five chairs.
“I bet I could get a couple of kids from the high school to come put the rest of these together for you. They’d be cheap. You could practically pay them in pizza and chips, or—” Seb glanced around the shop. “Kale chips and beet juice, anyway.”
“Would you shut up and help me turn this over?” He couldn’t afford to pay students, or anyone else. Oliver was used to putting in extra hours to get things done, but spending his only day off listening to his little brother’s wisecracks was not in his plan. He thought he’d escaped these jokes when he and Seb graduated from high school, finished college (Oliver more than Seb) and moved on to adult milestones like jobs and boyfriends (lately, Seb more than Oliver).
But they were so close to being done with the second chair, even if it wobbled, and Seb’s help was free. Oliver bent, clutching the four rubber feet that would keep the chair from sliding on his white tile floor. As he knelt, someone knocked on the shop’s front door. The sound made him flinch, and one of the feet tumbled out from between his fingers, bounced a few times on the floor, and skittered under the butcher-block counter.
“Shit!” he shouted, as the bell over the door tinkled. Since he’d opened his shop, Pulpability, three months ago, he’d lost dozens of screws, nuts, washers, and now rubber feet into the void under that counter. No hardware ever returned from that portal.
“How’s it going?” Seb’s partner, Martin, stood in the doorway, looking nervous. Honestly, he always looked a little nervous with his thin shoulders and brown hair that never quite got out of his eyes.
“Fine, except now I’m going to have to drive four hours back and forth to IKEA to pick up one stupid rubber foot.”
Seacroft was unexpectedly far from almost everything convenient, including IKEA. But the cost to ship the chairs was exorbitant, so he’d made the drive even though it had taken most of a day. Doing the trip again for a single foot, though, was insult to injury.
“Better wait until we finish the other ones.” Seb nodded at the other boxes lying on the floor. “You never know what else we might lose.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Oliver put the rest of the feet on the chair. Let it wobble. The chairs were important, but he had other things that needed to get done.
“I bet we could get Cassidy and her friends to assemble the rest,” Martin said. Cassidy was one of the students he had been tutoring. “I know she’s looking for ways to earn money before she goes to college in the fall.”
“That’s what I said. Smart idea, Dr. Lindsey!” Seb grinned, and Martin returned the smile shyly.
Witnessing Seb’s descent into domestic bliss was so weird for Oliver. With his white-blond hair and collection of tattered T-shirts and torn jeans, Seb seemed a bit ethereal, like he couldn’t be bothered dealing with the real world. But then Martin showed up and tethered him firmly to the ground. It didn’t help that Martin was so obviously devoted to Seb as well. They were disgusting, really.
“Are you ready to go?” Martin asked, gray eyes on Oliver.
“Go where?” Oliver pulled the next flat-pack off the pile and lugged it toward the counter. Now they had started, he was anxious to finish, like people were already lined up down the street to sit in his chairs.
“Brunch?”
“Oliver doesn’t do brunch anymore.” Seb rolled his eyes. “Too many trans carbs and refined fats.”
