“Well, he called it his old gay junk. And then he made endless jokes about his old gay junk. You can probably fill in the blanks.”
He huffs and rubs the back of his head.
Before, I had assumed these reactions were because he was unfamiliar with gay people and gay cultures. Now, I realize I was wrong about that.
Clay is gruff, but I’m learning not to read into it. He’s just uncomfortable and guarding himself. For all I know, he has good reason to be this way.
“I’ll have to drag the boxes out to assess the rest of the basement,” he says.
I nod sympathetically. “Sorry. That sounds like a real pain.”
“It’s fine,” he mutters. His eyes tilt to the television screen, where J.Lo avoids Ralph Fiennes back at the hotel, and Clay’s gaze lingers for a second before he turns back to me.
“You likeMaid in Manhattan?” I ask.
“I don’t think I know it.”
“Seriously? It’s a modern classic rom-com.”
“I don’t watch those,” he says.
“Never?”
“No. I like how-to videos on YouTube. And action or sci-fi if I’m watching a movie.”
I walk along a table of potted plants, pretending to busy myself because I suddenly have nervous energy and it’s hard to stop from noticing the smudge of dirt on his cheekbone, which is sexy in a way dirt has no right to be.
“I play rom-coms every afternoon,” I tell him. “It’s love songs until lunch, and then movies for the second part of the day.”
“You don’t get sick of it?”
“Love and romance? Never. People buy flowers for all occasions, of course, but anniversaries, dates, and commitment ceremonies are our bread and butter. It’s a big part of what drew me to the business. Every day can be a celebration, and there’s nothing worth celebrating more than love.”
Clay grunts. He shifts his tool belt and remains standing toward the rear of the store.
“Not a fan of love?” I ask casually.
Not that I should care. Clay doesn’t even live here. I’m just making small talk, I guess.
“It’s not for me,” he says flatly. “I’m glad to stay single.”
I nod. “Good for you.”
And he didn’t take Gunther’s number. He could just not be interested in Gunther, but it makes me wonder if Clay is the type of single who has casual hookups or not.
Purely out of curiosity.
“Single life can be full of romance, too,” I say cheerfully. “There’s magic in my friendships. Like with my friend Finn—you might get to meet him soon. We’ve never dated or hooked up, but we love to get dinner together at nice restaurants, or meet up for friend-dates and cocktails. And I’m known to give all of my friends bouquets. A little romance should be in everyone’s life who wants it, in my opinion, single or partnered.”
Clay snorts. “You can keep the magic and romance. I’ve got other shit to worry about.”
I laugh, knowing he doesn’t mean it dismissively. “Right. You’re not lingering to talk about love. You want to see the toilet, right?” I walk over to the little bathroom and pull the creaky door open, returning our conversation to much safer ground. “It’s right here,” I say.
“Right,” Clay says as he joins me. “The broken toilet.”
“It’s not totally broken. You just have to jiggle the handle a lot to get it to stop running, and it does these random gurgles. It clogs easily, too.” I jiggle the handle, and it starts running again before letting out a gurgle. “See?”
Clay steps into the tiny bathroom, occupying the space with me. Our bodies brush together, and when his musky scent hits my nose, desire thrums through me.
