Sue appears beside her wife. “Since the twice-retired players of the gay women’s softball league, the GWSL, started meeting here. And that was when you were still in diapers,” she says sweetly. “Care for some egg whites?”
“Twice retired,” I say.
“The retired players of the GWSL decided some years ago, while at a brunch much like this, to start a seniors league up. But they’ve since retired from that, too.”
“I was an ump,” Nance adds flatly, and they both stare at me.
This feels like a trap, and I realize I should go before I accidentally accept a plate of eggs. “Can you just give me an idea how long this is going to last?”
“It really depends on the Sunday,” Sue says innocently.
I shove my hands in my jacket pocket, and when I do, find their letter, which I yank out.
“This is for you,” I tell them abruptly. “It was with Randy’s stuff.”
A slight change in expression comes across both of their faces, but Sue quickly recovers as she places the envelope in the pocket of her skirt.
“Thank you,” she says. “You know, Randy loved to join us for brunch.”
Nance gives her wife an exasperated look as Sue looks at me expectantly.
I shove my hands in my pockets. Thank god, before I have to say something for myself, a woman and a man appear, insisting they need the host couple to settle a dispute about scones.
Saved, I shuffle away, grumbling.
It’s obvious my grandfather had a busy life here with lots of friends. Good for him.
Just makes me feel weird. Outside. Like someone hollowed out a pit in my gut and left something cold there.
Not that I want anything like this for myself. The only thing people ever do is disappoint you, and that goes double for family. Hell, Sue and Nance needed legally binding documents to handle Randy. It obviously wasn’t all sunshine and roses and Sunday keg brunches.
When I get back around front, I see the light is on in the shop. There’s Motown music on the stereo, and my spirits lift a little when I imagine Nicholas inside.
Of course he still listens to love songs when there aren’t any customers. It doesn’t even make him seem like a sap, either. He might not have a lot of guys trying to date him right now, but he seems to me like the kind of person who might actually end up happy in the end.
As happy as anyone is, I mean.
A sudden clamor erupts from inside the shop, banging metal and breaking glass, and I suck in a surprised breath. Concerned, I ignore theClosedsign and throw the door open, luckily finding it unlocked. “Nicholas!”
A groan pulls my attention behind the counter. My heart racing, I find him sitting on the ground next to large broken shelves, shattered vases and debris around him.
“Shit! Are you okay!”
He shakes his head quickly. “These shelves,” he says. “They’re always coming loose. I knew this would happen again.”
Again? Hell no. The carpenter in me objects to that.
My boots crunch on the glass. I squat down next to him and offer my hand. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
Carefully, Nicholas takes my hand, and I heft him up. His grip is warm and firm, and I don’t let go immediately.
Something tumbles in my belly.
“Thank you,” he says, and I pull my hand away, coming back to reality. “I think I’m fine.”
I furrow my brow. “You didn’t cut yourself?”
Nicholas brushes off his jeans. “No, thankfully.” He casts his eyes around the mess. “Although I’m feeling the loss of those vases right now.”
