CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
NICHOLAS
Maybe the birthday fumes are getting to my head, but I’m pretty sure Clay is the cutest person in the entire world at this particular moment.
He’s wearing a cartoonish flower costume, complete with a sunflower mask, but that was obviously too much for him to handle, so he’s covered it up with one of his blue work shirts and topped it off with his boots.
I feel awful that I didn’t communicate the expectations clearly enough to him, but I’m also struck wordless by the fact that he put this outfit on to please me.
My heart aches even as flutters fill my stomach. Clay is about to leave.
There’s no way I can let him leave without saying something.
We cut a path through the party and toward the long bar that occupies the rear wall of the garden. I get distracted with air kisses and birthday wishes the entire way, including a quick hug with my parents, who are each dressed in head-to-toe rose print.
When we finally reach the rear, Clay drops his paper bag on the bar and takes a seat. “Whatever you’ve got on tap,” he says to Lex, the bartender. “Cheap and light.”
Lex shoots me a wink as they fill his glass. “Coming right up!”
When I take a seat next to him, Clay pulls his sunflower off.
I offer him a smile. “Thank you again for doing this for me. I know that simply coming to the party is a stretch.”
Grumbling, he puts the sunflower on the bar. “I can’t believe I pranked myself like this.”
I laugh. “I can’t believe you came dressed in the same outfit as Harry. Nance, I might have expected. But not Harry.”
He takes his glass and immediately throws back a gulp. “Every minute I stay at this party, you should consider it a birthday gift.”
“I definitely do.”
Lex leans over the counter. “That beer’s half off, if it helps.”
I touch Clay’s arm, risking this little bit of affection. It’s not out of line with how I touch my friends. I’ve been hugging and squeezing and leaning on people all day.
But this warmth, his warmth, is different. My heart leaps, and I feel like the connection between us is so strong and vibrant, the entire party must be able to see it.
I can feel Clay’s breath catch, too, but then he pushes the paper bag toward me, breaking the spell.
“Sorry it’s not wrapped,” he says.
I grin as I pull the bag open. “It’s perfect.” From inside, I take out a square blue envelope. “And there’s a card.”
“Kind of.”
When I open the envelope, a folded list falls out.
“It’s a schedule of maintenance tasks for the building.” He points at the paper, arranged by season and yearly cycles, his messy handwriting rendered in careful, neat rows. “That’s all shit your landlord should do. Make sure you get on him and don’t let him slack like Randy did.”
He’s trying to take care of me. But he’s only doing this because he’s leaving, and that fact is like an edge of pain, tugging at my breath.
I bury it away the best I can. Any conversations need to be saved for a different time and place, even though the words are dancing on my lips now.
“This is so thoughtful. Thank you, Clay,” I tell him, releasing his eye before the sentiment gets to be too much. I turn to the bag and pull out the rest, and immediately start laughing.
“You went to the hardware store for me.”
“Now don’t throw those away when you’re done,” he says as I pull out a tube of caulk and some weird plumbing product in a bottle. “You take those bottles to the hardware store down the street and make sure you get the exact same product. Same brand, same line. Got it?”
