“Yes, Nicholas,” Finn says. “We can easily imagine.”
“In fact,” Kavya adds, “we’ve all been trying not to imagine out of respect.”
Finn walks over and accepts the mug that Kavya offers him. “But if you’re really doing this, first of all, bravo.”
“Truly,” Kavya agrees. “Impressive job. Didn’t know you had a secret affair in you.”
“But more importantly, if the entire town is about to learn the truth, it’s time to stop being polite. We want the gossip. It’s unhealthy for you to keep it bottled up inside. You need to tell your friends.”
As I look at them both across the shop, my resolve caves.
“You’re not supposed to know,” I say. “I mean, if it were true.”
“To know you’re secretly carrying on a carnal relationship with Randy’s grandson,” Kavya says.
“Considering how I am, there would be rules and agreements in place, were that true. So I think I need to check with Clay before I really tell anyone. Theoretically.”
Kavya nods. “Sure. But while we’re on the topic, and purely in the hypothetical…”
“When did it start, how often, are you having fun, and is it serious?” Finn asks.
I laugh. “Almost right away? A few times each week. Hell yeah. And I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear your last question.”
They exchange a glance before nodding, satisfied.
“I’d say you’ve got about a day, maybe two before the entire neighborhood knows,” Finn says.
Kavya nods. “Tick tock. Better talk to your theoretical man.”
“And look at that,” Finn says brightly. “I see him out the back window now.”
It’s a relief, actually, to tell my friends what’s happening. A wave of appreciation for both of them goes through me, too. But just as quickly, the dread of everyone discovering takes over, along with the concern that Clay will balk.
“I guess that’s my cue.” As I walk toward the side door, though, I spin and look at my friends.
“Isn’t he so hot and talented and surprisingly sweet?” I ask, and they both laugh.
“Yes, Nicholas,” Kavya says.
“You’re very cute together,” Finn agrees.
I nod, pleased. “Thanks. I’ll see you both soon.”
Behind the shop, Clay is hauling two heavy bags of concrete, one in each arm. It warms me that he’s just around like this, although lately, that comes with a pang of awareness that he’s leaving, too.
When he sees me, he heaves the bags to the ground beside some others.
He pulls the back of his arms across his forehead, wiping sweat. “Hey,” he says and cocks up his eyebrows, flirty. “Morning.”
My mind flashes back two hours, driving home before sunrise. He kept putting his hand on my thigh, holding it there without saying a word.
It felt incredible.
“Morning,” I answer.
“I was going to install concrete countertops upstairs. Try to make it more appealing on the market. But with an interested buyer already coming, I’m going to stick to finishing what I’ve already started.”
“I guess that’s good, right? Save you some work?”
