I spend the rest of the morning at a coffee shop down the street, poking at my laptop and trying to take care of business. A quick call to the stationary shop confirms that everything is running smoothly without me, which is a relief. Although my mood crashes when I browse online for jobs in Chicago and see that everything requires experience or education that I don’t have.
I finish my coffee and pull out my phone. I’ve been resisting texting Caesar all day, but he did say I should come back and work on the machines.
Hi! Hope you and Grace are having a beautiful afternoon! I was thinking of stopping by to play with the machines. Is that still okay?
I stare at the message, then quickly add a bunch of kissy faces and hearts at the end before I hit send. Caesar never really looks at his phone, but I’m relieved when a message shows up just a minute later.
I don’t know what all those squares in your text mean, but come on by.
I place my hand over my heart. Caesar must not have emojis installed on his phone.
This makes our age difference suddenly stark. I like that Caesar is older, but when we’re hanging out, I’m never really thinking about his age. He’s just him, and I’m just me, and we have a million differences, but somehow, that’s just part of why we work so well.
No emojis, though. That’s wild.
Instead of slipping into self-doubt, I just gather my stuff up and head out. Caesar and I made an appointment to finish my tattoo in a few days, and while no one’s going to rush me out of town once the ink is done, I don’t want to waste any of the time I have left with him.
When I get to his house, Caesar is working on his motorcycle up front. He sits on a stool, legs spread wide, and his bike is propped up on some kind of lift in front of him. There are tools spread out on a towel, and Grace lounges lazily in the grass off the driveway. He’s left the garage rolled open, letting sunlight stream in to the pinball machines.
“Drew,” he says, standing as he wipes his hands on a rag. He’s dressed in his standard cargo shorts, black boots, and T-shirt, but I notice that his silver hair is combed properly for once. “You made it by.”
I greet him with a kiss. “Couldn’t resist. Something wrong with your bike?”
“Just doing maintenance while it’s nice out.” He rocks back on his heel, eyeing me. “Thought it might be nice to work together,” he adds.
“Softie,” I tease.
Caesar grunts.
I glance to the machines. From my inspection last night, I know that they’ll keep me occupied for a while. I could have just torn out a few decent pieces and called it good, but since they’re somewhere I can give them serious attention, I should be able to mess around and salvage a lot more.
“You know,” I tell him, “I’m not going to be able to haul this all back on the bus.”
Caesar waves a hand at the garage. “Store it all here. Long as you want. I don’t mind.”
I hesitate. A part of me is scared to push the question, but since he keeps acting so sweet and caring, it’s too difficult to resist. “Does that mean we could see each other again, if I come back to Chicago? I have to return to Indiana after we finish the tattoo, but…” I trail off, a hopeful lilt in my voice.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Caesar says. He avoids my eye, his brow set as he studies the motorcycle. “And you know where I’ll be. Come find me anytime you’re in town.”
I grab his hand and rub my thumb across the back of his hairy knuckles. “I will.”
Caesar finally turns his silver eyes back to me. “Good.”
It’s as much of a commitment as I would expect from Caesar and as much of one as I’m honestly able to make right now, even though my heart demands something more. But he’s letting me store my geeky machines in his garage, and he wants to see me again after this trip. It’s not a wedding proposal, but it is more than I’ve had with a man in years, and even just this hint of a future is enough to excite me.
“You want to stick around for dinner?” Caesar asks. “Some of the artists from the shop are meeting up for drinks later. Thought we might join them after.”
“Wow. I thought it was going to take you at least a few days to scrounge up friends.”
“You asked, didn’t you? I told you I’m not that much of a loner.”
I throw my arms around him, pinning his arms to his side. “You’re just worried I won’t spend the night again.”
Caesar grunts. “Like I told you. You know where to find me.”
I keep squeezing him. I’m pretty sure Caesar means so much more than what he says with his few choice words. He does want me to spend the night again, but since he’s been shut down for years, he doesn’t know how to say that. Or maybe it’s too risky for him. Maybe he’s scared of being abandoned again, worried I’ll treat him the way his family and Mack treated him.
“Dinner and drinks with friends,” I say. “Sounds like a great third date.”
