“Well, the streetcars weren’t running yet because of the snow. And I couldn’t be late to start on composing the formes. So, I walked.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Arthur said in a way that simultaneously tugged at Jesse’s heart and sent a bolt of irritation rushing through his veins. He hated the thought of Arthur pitying him.
“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
“Would you like for me to send someone to take you to the shop the next time it snows? At least, if the snowfall is significant enough?”
Jesse’s stomach tightened unpleasantly. “No, thank you. I can look after myself.”
“Are you sure? Because I hate the thought of you trudging through the snow so early in the morning. Goodness, you must have been freezing.”
“Arthur,” Jesse said curtly, a hint of pleading in his voice.
Arthur winced, crumpling in on himself like a sheet of cheaply manufactured paper that had been incorrectly loaded into one of the cylindrical presses, and Jesse felt a twinge of regret, the emotion manifesting as a pinching in his chest.
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you, is all,” Jesse said, hoping that he could fix it.
“You wouldn’t be,” Arthur murmured softly, his eyes fixed on the curve of the sleigh. “Would you ever... I-I mean, what if... what ifIcould be the one to take you to work? Would you still say no to that?”
Jesse began to chew on his bottom lip as he thought it over, the pinching feeling in his chest worsening. Accepting Arthur’s help... it would make him feel so small. But he hated how crestfallen Arthur looked right now.
Arthur held up his hand. “No, never mind. I’m sorry, Jesse. I shouldn’t have asked. I thought it might be a nice way to spend more time together, but I can see now how strange of an offer that probably was.”
Now Jesseknewhe had to fix this.
“I would love to spend time with you, Arthur. But...” Jesse paused to work out how to best put his feelings into words. After briefly checking to see if anyone nearby was watching them (luckily, the streets were still mostly empty because of the snow), Jesse touched Arthur’s thigh with the back of his hand and moved his fingers back and forth. It was the most affectionate gesture that he could stand to make in public. “But I can’t have you pitying me. Or... or thinking of me like I’m less than you.”
Arthur met Jesse’s eyes. “Never,” he said, intently. “I wouldneverthink that, Jesse.”
Some of Jesse’s shame receded, and he let out a long breath.
“Thank you,” Jesse said, rubbing his fingers back and forth a few more times. “Sorry for being so curt before.”
“Entirely my fault for trying to pressure you.”
“The next time it snows, I’ll wait for you,” Jesse said. “But if you’re not outside my house by five thirty—”
“Five thirty?!” Arthur balked, placing a hand on his chest and recoiling in an exaggerated manner.
“Yes, five thirty,” Jesse said with a smirk. “If you’re not there by then, Iwillstart walking.”
“Alright, I shalltryto be there,” Arthur said before scoffing loudly and then exclaiming, “Five thirty!” He sighed. “Well, you better show me the way to your home, then, so I know from where I should pick you up in the future.”
Arthur urged his horse onward. Jesse kept his hand on Arthur’s thigh for as long as possible, only removing it when they reached a busier road. Riding next to Arthur in the cutter was happy and peaceful for the most part. Arthur made little comments here and there, stating how lovely the snow was or how much he was enjoying traveling on his own for once. He took care to make sure that Jesse knew that he liked his coachman, though, which was sweet.
“His name is Patrick Murphy,” Arthur said. “You’d like him, I think. He’s Irish, like you.”
Jesse shifted uncomfortably. He still hadn’t told Arthur that he wasn’t Irish, but German, though he himself had never been to Germany. His parents had come to the United States before he had even been born. Perhaps he would tell Arthur the truth soon. Partially. Jesse couldn’t imagine ever telling Arthur exactly where in Chicago he had grown up. He hated even telling other people in Bridgeport that.
Arthur continued on. “He’s a fine man. He’s more than a coachman, too. In fact, he has a lot of responsibilities. He lives in the carriage house on my property so that he can constantly be close by. I furnished it myself as soon as my parents moved out and I hired him, and I made it as nice as I possibly could. I even purchased the mostbeautifulmahogany sofa for the place. Well, really, I had initially purchased it for myself, but when Patrick first saw the piece, he seemed enamored with it. So, I let him have it. And then I bought something else for my library instead—a sofa that isn’t nearly as nice, though that’s probably for the best, considering how often I eat on it.”
Jesse wasn’t even sure which part of that he liked best. Arthur was nothing like what he had initially thought.
“You take your meals on your sofa?” Jesse asked, chuckling.
Arthur let out a hearty laugh. “It’s a little eccentric of me, I know.”
Jesse would never tire of hearing Arthur’s laugh—carefree and boisterous, oftentimes imbued with the tiniest bit of mischievousness. It made Jesse’s ears tingle, sending little vibrations of happiness rippling through his body, the tremors cracking the shields of frigidity that he had erected long, long ago.
