“Oh.” I’m relieved, but also embarrassed that he did that, going so far out of his way to accommodate my weirdness. “Thanks, Caesar,” I add quickly, then step forward. My heart practically jumps into my throat, but not wanting the anxiety to win, I give him a slow, soft kiss. “That’s so nice of you.”
“It’s nothing,” he grunts. “I’ll whip something up. It’s important that you eat.”
I realize how warm it is, and when I glance up at the sky, the sun is higher than I expect. “Wait, you already drove to the next town and back? What time is it?”
“Ten-thirty. You needed your sleep.”
“Oh.” I think about it for a second, then remember how much work there is that needs my attention. “Oh, crap. I have to get started. I have to go to the stationary store, and—”
“Breakfast,” Caesar interrupts. “Then everything else.”
He slips inside to cook, and I shuffle over to check out the shrubs and flowers, which need some serious attention. Guilt stabs me since I know my mom would hate to see everything so overgrown, but I try not to give into it.
With Caesar stomping around the house, the flowers would be the last thing on her mind.
I wonder if he’s going to leave today. I wouldn’t blame him. I’ve completed a magical transformation from a fun and flirty date on the back of his motorcycle and into a mopey, depressed geek.
This is why I never tried to date over the past few years. Sharing this all with someone I care about feels hard, like all the cuts are fresh again, the pain right back on the surface.
As I’m plucking weeds and tossing them aside, a car rolls into the driveway. I jump up and spin, like I was caught doing something I shouldn’t be, which is a strange reaction.
“Drew!” Becca calls, stepping out of the car. “It is you.”
Becca works at the stationary store, one of two main employees. She’s in her late forties, and her chestnut hair is chopped into a sensibly short bob. Unlike her coworker Marsha, she and I never really got along, although we’ve managed a polite truce.
“Becca,” I say, wiping my hands off as I hurry to her. “Good morning.”
She tilts her eyes to the motorcycle. “I thought someone might have been intruding.”
I almost roll my eyes. The idea someone would rob the place and then stick around the next morning with the bike parked in plain sight is laughable. “No,” I say, forcing a smile instead. “A friend gave me a ride back.”
Friend. I hate calling Caesar that. It feels too much like lying.
She purses her lips, not smiling but not frowning either. I never exactly came out of the closet to Becca, knowing she was close-minded about those things and not wanting to put my mom in an awkward spot, but it’s not like I lied about it, either, and I can tell she’s wondering now if I brought a man back with me.
If only she knew.
“I’ll come by the store this afternoon,” I say, switching the subject. “Will you be around?”
“Every Tuesday for fifteen years,” she says, like she’s correcting me.
“Of course.”
I’m aware of everything, the overgrown flowerbeds and the massive motorcycle and the even more massive, tattooed man inside the house, cooking me eggs. Every instinct demands that I cover this up, play nice, smooth over.
But for once, something else is just as loud. It says that this isn’t right, that there’s nothing I should be ashamed of. This is my life, too, and I can’t spend the whole time trying to make other people happy.
Caesar’s voice calls out from inside the house, deep and rough. He’s yelling something for me, but I can’t make his words out.
Becca’s eyes get wide. “Your friend?”
“I’m so sorry. I need to go,” I say quickly, anxiety cresting again at the thought Caesar might walk outside any minute. “Thank you for stopping by. And I’ll see you this afternoon.”
Becca frowns, clearly annoyed. “Certainly.”
When I glance back at the house, I see Caesar approaching the front door. I wave to send him back, and Becca sees me waving, but I can’t even think of an excuse. “Thanks,” I call over my shoulder, then hurry to the house.
When I rush inside, Caesar stands a few feet back from the door, furrowing his brow. “What’s wrong?”
