He shut the door behind him, and doubt instantly crept in—not about Rory but about myself and whether I was ready to take the next step.
“It beats my last digs.”
I took in his decor, trying to make sense of who he was. Not one thing in here spoke to the abandoned boy I’d met on the street. He was more subdued now than before. Butthissubdued? Everything was so neutral. So TikTok posh. My eye caught on the decorative tray with an aesthetic book and candle on his small square coffee table.
“Is that a wood-wick candle?”
“A what?”
“This,” I said, picking it up. “The wick is made of wood. It crackles when it burns.”
“I have no idea. I’ve never burned it. It’s not mine.”
“Sure. Right.”
“I’m serious. The place came furnished.”
“So, you’re saying your design style is not Bohemian chic?”
“It is not. It’s just hard to find gutter chic in the stores nowadays.”
I laughed. Like everything else about him, Rory’s humor surprised me. He was quick on the upswing, always having an answer. It made me wonder what influences had come and gone throughout his life and why none of them had stuck. How could others not have seen the goodness he hid just beneath the surface?
“This place. It’s almost too good to be true.”
Rory nodded, so slow I wondered what was prompting the less-than-enthusiastic response.
“Isit too good to be true?” I asked.
“No. It’s what it appears to be. I’ve been sort of… lost. It’s been rough since I last saw you.”
“Worse than the streets?”
“Uh…” He laughed, but there was no light behind it. “Mentally worse, I guess you can say. Here, let me give you a hint.”
Rory walked to the window and gently nudged the mini disco ball that hung on a string in his window. “I named her Grace.”
“Hey, that’s my name.”
“Yeah, I know.” He smiled. “It reminded me of you. Your sparkle. No shit, I sometimes talk to it.”
He seemed different; more introspective and less urban cowboy. But his admission—that he talked to a little globe of light because it reminded him of me—was what ovaries were made for.
“My god, Rory, that might be the strangely nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“I’m not a psycho or anything,” he clarified.
“No. No.” I grinned. “Of course not.”
“I just… I missed you.”
I glided my fingers along his face, wishing there was a way to ease his pain. And maybe there was, but it would take time. Something we now had plenty of. Rory leaned into my touch, like the weight of what he’d been carrying tipped him to one side.
“I’m here now. If you’ll let me be.”
“If? I’m not the wild card here.”
“You think I am?”
