CHAPTER ELEVEN
NICHOLAS
The pizza arrives, and Clay and I move to the couch. His hair is still wet, and the candles cast dancing shadows on the walls.
It’s Randy’s old place, but strangely different, too. And maybe the surreal nature of it helps explain why I’m sitting here, internally reasoning out an entire sexual relationship with Clay.
Clay, who has been quite considerate, even when he’s scowling at me. Clay who is passing through town, and doesn’t believe in romance, anyway, making him unavailable for anything more.
He hands me a plate with a slice on it. “Good-looking pizza.”
“It is,” I agree. “The toppings change with the growing season. The little charred slices of asparagus and leek are my favorite right now.”
He nods and takes a big bite of a slice before grumbling his pleasure, and the center of me quivers.
The idea of a purely sexual proposition here in town is both sneaky and exciting, and in a way, Clay could be a safe person. He’s not going to turn around and gossip, so I’d enjoy a little reprieve from the neighborhood’s peering eyes. And with swoony dates and romance off the table, it’s an opportunityto try something casual, and see if I can still protect myself emotionally, too. I’m pretty sure I’m up for it.
Protecting myself from Clay the landlord, however, I’m not sure. The fact that he could ruin my business still hangs over my head. It makes this a particularly bad idea, I have to admit. If things took a turn for the worse, or Clay ran into some internalized homophobia, it could play out in our professional relationship, too.
Or memories of mutual blowjobs could endear him to the building and help convince him not to sell to a developer in the end. That also seems possible.
The more I learn to read Clay, the more I think he could be interested in something with me. He’d probably never come out and say it himself, although I get the impression he doesn’t invite many people to use his shower. But I’m not quite confident enough in that assessment, yet, to do anything but smile and enjoy the fantasy where he isn’t a threat to my livelihood.
Clay nods his head back. His heavy stubble is growing darker, approaching a beard, and it brings out the lines of his eyes. “Let me ask you something. What made Sue and Nance want to help me out today?”
I swallow the heavenly pizza. “They care about the property. And I guess they see that you’re taking care of your building, which earns you some goodwill.”
He nods, seemingly satisfied by that, and goes at his slice again.
“Sue’s a master carpenter,” I add. “She designed that house in the back and led the crew that built it. Banks wouldn’t finance two unmarried women at the time, which is infuriating crap, but then they figured out a way to make it work in your grandpa’s big backyard, and Sue built the most beautiful house in town.”
“That’s impressive. I plan to put the years in and make myself a master carpenter, too.”
I nod. “I know it takes a lot of hours. Is that your big plan, after you sell the house?”
Clay finishes devouring his slice and wipes his hands roughly with a napkin. “Part of it. I’m going to use the money to start my own crew. Back in Missouri, I’ve been busting my ass for years and paying attention. I know what suppliers to use. Where the work is, where it isn’t. And I’ve seen all the ways my old crew did things backward, cutting corners when they shouldn’t have. I know I can do better than that, so I’m going to take the money, move to a little city not far from where I used to live, and set up shop.” He swallows. “My old crew used me,” he says evenly. “But I know I can do better.”
“I’m sure you can,” I tell him. “But I’m sorry your old crew used you, either way.”
It’s more than I’ve heard him talk at once before. Clay says everything definitively, with strength in his eyes. I can tell how serious he is about his dream. He’s fully capable of moving back to Missouri and achieving this, and nothing is going to stop him.
It’s impressive. It reminds me of when I was set on opening my shop, my vision the only thing that mattered.
Although when I express sympathy about his old crew using him, he does turn away, his eyes back to the ground as his hand rubs his knee.
This all means that Clay is definitely on his way out of here. He is going to sell the building and leave town as soon as possible, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.
It’s a ticking clock, reminding me that this is my chance. If I’m going to take a risk and proposition Clay, I don’t have long to do it.
“You’re investing in yourself,” I tell him with a broad smile. “That’s amazing. Congratulations.”
“It puts you in a tough situation, I know,” he says, “everything with the building being up in the air. But I promise I’m going to treat the place right while it’s mine. Fix up what I can, leave it as good as possible for you.”
“You’re going to sell it,” I tell him. “I understand that. And I hope you’ll sell to an owner who cares about the building as much as you do.”
He leans forward just slightly, moving toward my space. Clay is probably six feet tall, a few inches taller than me, and even sitting down, I can feel the difference.
“I’m not going to make any promises I can’t keep,” he says. “And you don’t know me enough to trust me, anyway. But I don’t intend to start my dream by ruining someone else’s. Not if I can help it.”
