CHAPTER SEVEN
NICHOLAS
When the last customer for the day leaves, I lock the door behind her.Maid in Manhattanplays quietly on the television, with J.Lo whisked off to the park for a dog-walk in an inadvertently stolen jacket, but the shop is otherwise still after a busy day.
Clay is working in the basement, and I find myself aware of that fact again. Just as quickly, though, my thoughts circle back to the letter from Randy.
I settle behind the counter and get it out, reading the letter over again.
Nicky,
Sorry about the building. Truth is it’s a mess, and I never had the money to fix it. If you’re reading this, looks like I kicked the bucket before the roof did, haha.
I thought about leaving it all to you, but I’m worried it might be more cost to fix up than it’s worth. I saw that astrologer on Patch Street about it, and she said I should leave the whole mess to my grandson. So if you’re mad about this, take it up with the stars!
I love you dearly, Nicky. It was very important to me that I have a flower shop downstairs, and you made it a beautiful one.
Now please go and get laid in my honor.
Hugs and kisses, Randy.
I let out a soft chuckle as I shake my head. Randy knew that I have a strict policy, no hookups in the gayborhood, but he always joked that I was going to have to pick up the slack once he was gone.
For years, he told me the list of needed repairs was nothing urgent, and even though I had moments of doubt, I chose to accept that. It’s just like Randy to keep my rent unreasonably low instead of raising it to pay for the renovations. Everything he did made you want to hug him and shake him at the same time.
A rattling noise at the basement gets my attention, and Clay emerges from downstairs.
Speaking of men who elicit strong reactions.
“Evening, Clay,” I say as I tuck the note back under the counter. The decrepit state of the building is my problem, too, but I find myself sympathetic to Clay’s position. He’s inherited a headache, and he’s still learning the extent of it.
Ever since he came out to me, I’m trying to reassess Clay and how I feel about him. He’s given me plenty of signs that he’s a good person, but he’s also possibly the grim reaper of Blossom’s future. The reality that I’m physically attracted to him further complicates it, although I haven’t noticed any indications that he’s attracted to me.
I rewire my brain back to what matters. Clay is going to sell the building. The decisions he makes now will shape my entire future.
“Evening,” Clay says as he wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. He’s wearing a heavy tool belt with his old cargoshorts, and his t-shirt is wet with sweat, shaping itself to the contours of his beefy body. There’s dirt on his neck and his arms and his left cheek, and his boots are dusty from the basement.
A whoosh of desire goes through me, taking the air right out of my lungs.
With a tool belt and sweaty muscles, Clay is in his element and fully present and embodied, not glaring at the ground or backing out the door.
“Sorry to disturb,” he says.
“You’re fine,” I tell him, composing myself. “We’re closed for the day, so now is a good time. You have any luck down there?”
“Not much.” He starts to walk into the shop, then looks down at himself. “I shouldn’t track dirt in.”
“Just take your boots off. And don’t touch anything.”
Clay bends to untie his boots. “I can see hairline fractures in the foundation, which isn’t great but also isn’t the biggest problem. But there are too many damn boxes in the way to do a proper check. If I find a bigger issue, I know some masonry, but I’m no expert.”
I nod. “Randy loved his boxes. They accumulated over the years. He always insisted it didn’t count as hoarding if he kept everything in boxes.”
“They’re all his?” He steps out of his boots and walks into the shop, white socks on the hardwood floor. “I looked in a couple. Seemed like old junk, honestly. Magazines, broken bobbleheads. One had a bunch of plates with actresses from old movies on them.”
I laugh. “If it looks like old junk, that’s only because it is old junk. Randy even called it that.”
“He did?”
