“Jesse,” Arthur breathed as he reached the threshold. He pointed outside. “Go wait for me on the walkway. I’ll be right there.”
Abruptly, Patrick shut the door. Murmurs of hushed conversation trickled in through the space between the wood and the frame, but Jesse couldn’t make out the words. Bile began to rise in his throat, the painful memories of his visit to Percy’s home surfacing once more in his mind.
As Jesse headed back toward the walkway, the waves reached their peak, and by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, all of the shame and anguish he felt crashed over him, forcing the oxygen from his lungs. He placed the bottle of wine by his feet. Resting his hands on his knees, Jesse shut his eyes and tried to force himself to breathe.
Had Arthur changed his mind?
“Oh, heavens, Jesse,” he heard Arthur say as the man came up behind him. Jesse straightened to stand as Arthur continued. “I’m sorry, but I had the timing mixed up. One of the fair’s organizers is here, so I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule.”
Jesse’s heart sank. Dammit, he’d spent so much time fretting over this evening for nothing. But Arthur was a busy man. Jesse couldn’t exactly fault him for—
“And I’d have you stay since we’re talking about the print shops right now—in fact, I even mentioned the modified Jobber you’re working on—but I can’t bring some random man—”
“Excuse me, random man?!” Jesse spluttered, Arthur’s statement hitting him like a punch in the stomach.
“No, notrandom man. That’s not what I meant!” Arthur sighed and touched his fingertips to his forehead. “All I meant wasthat it wouldn’t look right for me to have someone like you here for the meeting.”
Jesse’s heart about stopped.
Someone like you.
Arthur continued talking. “Firstly, I hadn’t even mentioned to Mr. Russell that you were coming, so that might cause an issue in and of itself. Secondly, I’d have wanted to prepare him first for your visit for other reasons as well. I’d have wanted to tell him about your impressive background, for example. About the engineering program you were enrolled in. I’d have wanted Mr. Russell to know how irreplaceable you are at Putnam Press. And, well, I’d have wanted to prepare you for the meeting, too. I mean, what you’re wearing, it’s not exactly—”
Jesse winced, and Arthur immediately stopped talking, seemingly catching himself.
“I’m not trying to insult you. Really. But that coat isn’t the nicest. And while I’ve seen some of your morning suits—which are lovely, by the way—for a special occasion like this, with such an important person, it would be expected that you wear a nicer evening jacket at the very least.”
Jesse clenched his hands into fists, his palms starting to sweat, even in the cold.
Arthur reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Anyway, that’s not the point I’m trying to make. I’m only trying to explain to you why it isn’t the right time for us to see each other here. In this world—inmyworld—these little things—specifics like communicating the potential guest list for a formal meeting like this one and what people wear to it—are extremely important. What if you come by next Thursday instead? We can still see each other this Saturday, too. Actually, I’ll come by Putnam early. That way, we can spend some extra time together while you work.”
Jesse turned away, his heart still hammering from the cacophony of emotions roaring inside him. He would never really fit into Arthur’s life. Not permanently. Someday, Arthur would come to his senses and realize that Jesse wasn’t enough for him. Because, fuck, howcouldhe be enough? Jesse wasn’t from Arthur’s world. He could barely make his rent.
Jesse may have tried to escape the life he’d been born into, but he hadn’t succeeded, had he? Because no matter his profession, no matter his name, it seemed like he’d always be Jesse Wolff—a poor boy from the little neighborhood at the back of the Union Stockyard.
He started toward the sidewalk.
“Jesse,” Arthur whined.
“You want me to leave, so I’m leaving,” Jesse spat.
He waited for Arthur to call out to him, to reassure him that he could stay. Dammit, how badly he wanted Arthur to tell him that he had made a mistake. How fervently he wanted Arthur to say that of course Jesse could come inside, if not to sit through the meeting with Mr. Russell, then to warm himself by the fire and to play cards together later in the evening.
But Arthur stayed quiet.
Resentment twisted in Jesse’s stomach. He continued toward the sidewalk, hating both himself and Arthur more with each Goddamned step.
“Wait, Jesse,” Arthur said. Hope fluttered in Jesse’s chest, and he turned. Arthur pressed a few coins into his clammy palm. “Here. For the streetcar. I’ll see you on Saturday. I promise.”
Jesse stared at the money for a few long seconds. He wasn’t sure whether he ought to keep it or throw it or scream. In the end, Jesse shoved it into his pocket and turned away.
As he walked toward one of the main roads, his reality began to shift, the horrible fog of foolish fondness and hurried hope lifting to reveal the horrible truth.
Even though Arthur wasn’t Percy, he was still Arthur Hughes.
And Jesse was so fucking tired of being made to feel like he wasn’t enough.
Chapter Thirteen
