Clay slightly rolls his eyes, but I think he’s enjoying the conversation.
“What’s that look?” I ask, teasing him a little.
“If I had an entire neighborhood waiting for me to fall in love, I’d be surrounded by a lot of disappointed people. What’s the opposite of a romantic?”
“A pessimist.”
He frowns. “That makes me sound like a dickhead.”
I laugh warmly. “To be fair, you haven’t come across like a dickhead since you drove your truck at me.”
“I’m still disputing that.” His brow is tight, but there’s a shadow of a smile on his face, too.
I grin. “Okay, granted. A pessimist is not the opposite of a romantic. But I’m afraid I’m the one in the minority here. I’m turning thirty next month, and many men our age aren’t interested in candlelit dinners or afternoon walks through the park. Hookups are easy to come by, but romance isn’t.”
Clay’s hand goes back on his hammer. “See, you lost me again. Hookups are the only thing that I understand. Two people help each other out. Then I get my alone time.”
“I’m not opposed to casual relationships. I do enjoy some noncommittal sex when I’m out of town, with people I won’t have to see for the rest of my life. And will you look at that?You’re standing here in your socks, and I’m babbling about my dating life. This is not how I planned to end the day today.”
Clay looks down at his socks.
“Now that you’ve seen my toilet,” I say, immediately second-guessing the word choice, “I should let you go.” I reach out to touch his shoulder casually, but pull my hand back and gesture instead, reeling it in. “I’m sure you’re ready for your dinner and plenty hungry after all that work.”
Plenty hungry? Hell. Now I’ve lost it.
Clay nods. “Yeah, sure.” He arches an eyebrow and looks at me before relenting. “Maybe I’ll come by and start on the boxes tomorrow.”
“Sure. The shop is closed on Sundays, but I’ll be here in the afternoon if you need me.”
Clay nods. “Sounds good.” Without another word, he returns to his boots, which he efficiently ties up. “Have a good night, Nicholas,” he adds before exiting out the back.
“You, too!” I call after him, and after the door clicks shut, I add his name.
“Clay.”
