Clay tilts his head to the side slightly, and something different washes over his features. I hear my own words and realize the implication, like I’m offering myself, and I quickly stammer on to cover up.
“While you’re in the gayborhood,” I add. “I’m sure you could find a guy who would be happy to oblige you.”
“Right.” Clay nods. “That’s true.”
“I understand feeling hesitant,” I tell him, sharing more. “But it sounds like you have more experience with casual hookups than I do, at least. I only do that when I’m on vacation.”
He frowns. “I guess this is like a vacation for me. One where I work all day. But the guys in this town must be worth shit. You’re a damn catch, and even you can’t get a decent date.”
“I am a catch, thanks for recognizing,” I tell him with a laugh, emboldened a little more by all the implications of what he’s saying. “And you would be a catch, too. For casual sex or for hand-holding and romance, if you ever changed your mind.”
“Not gonna lie. Experimenting with hand-holding sounds even more terrifying to me. I might be as bad as the other guys in this town.”
I laugh and shove a couple of the deep red roses into the vase, topping off the bouquet, which I’ve realized I’ve made quite romantic and lush. “I guess it can be terrifying, in a way.”
Clay walks over to me at the work table. “It’s good,” he says, “that you know what you want. Most people don’t. Or, at least, don’t know how to stick to it.”
I play with the flowers. “Randy always told me I needed to loosen up and have fun. He was more of your philosophy.”
“A pessimist. That’s what I hear.”
I chuckle. “He said it was fine to look for love, but a shame if I didn’t enjoy myself while I’m waiting for the right guy. He’d definitely encourage you to experiment, if he were still around.” I shake my head quickly. “Anyway. It’s fine to call yourself bi whether or not you’ve tried anything. And it’s fine to not take that identity on, too. Whatever feels right for you, that’s what matters.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Clay looks at me like he doesn’t know what else to say, and I push the vase toward him before I embarrass myself with any more unsolicited advice.
“There you go. A bouquet for upstairs.”
He raises a half smile. “Thank you.”
My stomach does a little dance.
Clay lifts the bouquet. “Have a good night, Nicholas,” he says and lumbers out the door.
The next morning, Kavya, Sue, Nance and I all stand in the back of the shop, staring at the shelves.
“Our stuff has never looks so organized,” Kavya says.
“It’s impressive handiwork,” Sue agrees as she looks at the brackets. “Flawless.” She turns to me. “And he didn’t ask for anything in return?”
“Nothing.”
Nance cracks her knuckles. “I heard at the barber that he’s bisexual.”
“He’s not exactly out,” I tell her.
“Then why’d he take Gunther’s number at the gym?” Kavya asks.
Sue taps some of the new supports that Clay installed. “These are quality brackets. He didn’t charge you for these brackets?”
“Nope,” I answer again.
She purses her lips, considering that. “Hmm.”
Sue is the best carpenter in town, so she knows what she’s talking about.
Nance huffs. “Is Randy’s grandson not an asshole?”
