“Water’s good.”
At least, he had clean glasses.
“Thanks for your help. I can take it from here.” If he cut off this encounter now, Avery could be satisfied he’d managed to only embarrass himself a little. He didn’t meet Scott’s eyes, patting a box that leaned against the counter. It slid out from under his hand and hit the floor with a solid thump that would have broken any toes in the way.
“These things can be pretty heavy. Definitely a two-man job.” Scott polished off his water, a tiny trickle of it sliding down his chin before he wiped it away. Avery wiped at his own face on reflex.
“Scott, you don’t have to stay.”
“What did you just call me?”
Avery’s heart fluttered in his chest. “Scott?”
“How’d you know my last name?” His brows knit together, and his lower lip pushed forward. He had a good lower lip. Full and softly pink.
Avery blinked. “Sorry?”
“My last name is Scott.”
Oh, no. Here it was. Things had been going so well. Here was the moment where Avery made it awkward. “But the fireman—the lady—the lady fire—the firelady, she—”
“Vasquez?”
He was having trouble breathing. “Is that her name?”
Not-Scott put his hands on Avery’s shoulders. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. It’s not a big deal. My name is Lincoln.”
“She—the...Vasquez. She called you Scott. At the fire station, when I was there.” Dropping off lasagna like a society matron. “I’m Avery, by the way.”
Not-Scott’s shoulders relaxed. “I forgot she talked to you.” His smile was nice. The good bottom lip shone a bit, and Not-Scott’s teeth were white, with only one a little crooked, like it wanted to make sure his face wasn’t totally perfect.
“You do that a lot,” Not-Scott said.
Lincoln. His name was Lincoln.
Avery’s throat was so dry it could be used to start a fire. Who needed a microwave? “Do what?”
Lincoln’s grin spread. He wasn’t quite clean-shaven, and soft, brown stubble ran along his jaw. But the hair wasn’t exactly brown. Or not only one kind of brown. So many. Coffee. Chocolate. Darker chocolate. Avery was better at numbers than colors.
“The thing where you stare at me so hard it looks like your head is about to explode.”
Avery’s gaze slipped to the floor. “Sorry if I’m making it weird.” He always made it weird.
He expected Lincoln to take off, tell him to have a nice life, but instead, his broad hand appeared in Avery’s line of sight. “Let’s try this again. Hi, Avery. My name is Lincoln.”
Avery’s grin was a relieved reflex as he shook Lincoln’s hand. “Lincoln. Like Abraham Lincoln.”
Lincoln let go of Avery’s hand. “Most people just call me Linc.”
“Nice to meet you, Linc. Most people call me—” He faltered. Most people called him Avery. His father called him disgusting.
“Red?”
“What?”
“Most people call you Red?”
“Why would they do that?”
